Star Power
100,000 miles in a
2006 Saturn Ion Red Line
Pirate Press December 2017
Reflecting back on my trip to Daytona Beach in May 2010 to purchase my Red Line, a lot has certainly changed. Back then, our country was financially reeling from the 2008 economic crisis and the Gulf Coast was struggling with the Deepwater Horizon disaster. So, it’s no wonder that not even Nostradamus could have predicted that seven years later we’d have the most active Atlantic Hurricane season in history or a President threatening to build a 1,000-mile, $15 Billion dollar privacy fence.
Fortunately, my Saturn turned out to be a real blue-chip investment that would put the best S&P 500 stocks to shame. While new cars are terrible in terms of immediate depreciation, I saved more than half the Saturn’s original $25,000 sticker price by picking up the local, one-owner example with just 29,000 miles on it. Truthfully, it faced more danger at our beachside hotel on that rowdy Spring Break Saturday night than it did during the entire 500-mile trip home the next day. Despite that, it was in excellent condition both inside and out, even if there were a couple small items I needed to fix upon returning to Mississippi. The main item was a check engine light (P01189) that predictably waited until I made it halfway home before it began angrily flashing at me. Although the dealer I purchased it from promised a 30-day/1,000-mile warranty, my salesman quickly developed amnesia when I called about it. However, I was prepared to drive the 8-hour trip back there the following weekend to pay him a personal visit, but my calmer (and some say, more level-headed) wife persuaded me not to. Therefore, I must implore each and every one of my loyal Pirate Press subscribers to swiftly and immediately deliver internet justice by dispensing negative feedback for Gary Yeomans Ford on all social media sites! With the crowd-sourced power of an EMP, the overwhelming barrage of unfavorable reviews will certainly bankrupt them, causing the dealership to shutter the doors forever and forcing my crooked salesman into a real life of crime, like Florida politics.
But since they were no help, I dutifully visited Joe Bullard Cadillac for a professional diagnosis and was charged $209.24 to correct it, which was $89.24 for the Supercharger Inlet Pressure Sensor and $120 for labor. Three months later, the error code returned and being a little more familiar with the car, I examined the aforementioned sensor myself. Not only did I discover that I could have ordered the exact same one from Amazon for $16.99, but that I was charged 90 minutes of labor for a task that literally took me one minute with a screwdriver. I felt so violated, I wanted to file a sexual harassment lawsuit! And needless to say, that was the last time I took it to that dealer.
While I had crossed the 30,000-mile threshold driving it back from Florida, I deemed it a perfect time to change the oil, both air filters and the fuel filter. There was one of those tiny oil change reminders on the inside of my windshield stating it had just been changed. But what was puzzling was that I was bought the car from a Ford dealer, but the oil change sticker was from a Mazda place, so maybe they thought the Red Line was an import? I checked the dipstick and the motor oil was indeed new, but I sorely doubted they used the Mobil 1 Synthetic that was specified on the oil cap. As such, I wanted to drain it as soon as possible, just as I did with the full tank of gas that I was reasonably sure was regular 87 octane, and not the recommended 93 premium octane. Perhaps sensing that the car would be traded in soon, the original owner never bothered replacing anything. In fact, the cabin air filter was so dirty it actually impeded the air flow out of the vents. It was here that I sliced open my finger on the sharp plastic edge of the glovebox that the air filter sits behind, and I painfully learned that nothing on the Red Line was easy to work on. The Eaton M62 supercharger is both a blessing and a curse, as it imbues the car with double the power of the naturally-aspirated model, yet its inclusion makes general maintenance a nightmare. It so sufficiently blocks access to the oil filter that changing it requires a 9-inch socket extension as well as unbolting the intercooler fill tube. And trust me, even after 14 oil changes over seven years, the struggle doesn’t get any easier. The engine air filter is equally frustrating as there’s no room to squeeze a free-flowing K&N filter past the thick coolant hoses. In fact, it’s so awful that many owners simply resort to removing the entire driver side tire just to gain entry to it. The good news is that it only requires changing every 30,000 miles. If I didn’t know better, I’d think these items were sadistic puzzles deliberately devised by the serial killer “Jigsaw” to drive me to the brink of lunacy. Thankfully, the fuel filter was relatively easy, even if the entire underside was sprayed in sticky, black undercoating. Of course, it was also completely unnecessary, but was the dealer’s concession to profit so they could charge $99 for it. The corrosive gasoline that leaked from the fuel hoses washed away some of it, and the exhaust system burned the rest off. The only amount left was a small peppering on the inside of the aluminum wheels. It’s also hard to appreciate the high-speed development at Germany’s famed 14-mile-plus Nurburgring circuit that went into the Red Line when the flat bottom is only visible from underneath. But the Venturi channels and aero package certainly paid off as it was rock-solid when I hit 155 mph last December.
Along the way, I swapped the restrictive cast-iron exhaust manifold and catalytic converter for a shiny, mandrel-bent long-tube header. However, removing the pollution control created some potent exhaust fumes that my daughter says smells like burnt cookies. Personally, I think it reeks of asphyxia in 0-60 seconds. Despite that, I’ve found it’s great for keeping tailgaters at bay. A few whiffs of the eye-watering emissions and they usually drop back a couple car lengths. It’s also particularly fun on motorcyclists, who are defenseless, and don’t have windows to roll up. But even keeping the rear factory 2.5-inch tubing and stock muffler, it’s still surprising how loud the exhaust is, particularly under boost. And speaking of the supercharger, the original heavy steel 3.35-inch pulley was swapped for a lightweight aluminum 2.9-inch unit with the understanding that anything smaller could incur belt slippage and cause the upgraded 42-lb. fuel injectors to run lean. When the smaller pulley was installed at 42,000 miles, the supercharger fluid was also changed. Measured on a dyno, peak boost climbed from the factory maximum of 12 PSI to 20.3 PSI and maximum power rose from 205 to 310. The Eaton M62 also doubles as a great heater during the winter months. Since the Red Line can be reluctant to warm up quickly when cold, I’ve found that a third gear pull from around 30-90 mph is more than enough to immediately flood the cabin with superheated air.
Fortunately, my Saturn turned out to be a real blue-chip investment that would put the best S&P 500 stocks to shame. While new cars are terrible in terms of immediate depreciation, I saved more than half the Saturn’s original $25,000 sticker price by picking up the local, one-owner example with just 29,000 miles on it. Truthfully, it faced more danger at our beachside hotel on that rowdy Spring Break Saturday night than it did during the entire 500-mile trip home the next day. Despite that, it was in excellent condition both inside and out, even if there were a couple small items I needed to fix upon returning to Mississippi. The main item was a check engine light (P01189) that predictably waited until I made it halfway home before it began angrily flashing at me. Although the dealer I purchased it from promised a 30-day/1,000-mile warranty, my salesman quickly developed amnesia when I called about it. However, I was prepared to drive the 8-hour trip back there the following weekend to pay him a personal visit, but my calmer (and some say, more level-headed) wife persuaded me not to. Therefore, I must implore each and every one of my loyal Pirate Press subscribers to swiftly and immediately deliver internet justice by dispensing negative feedback for Gary Yeomans Ford on all social media sites! With the crowd-sourced power of an EMP, the overwhelming barrage of unfavorable reviews will certainly bankrupt them, causing the dealership to shutter the doors forever and forcing my crooked salesman into a real life of crime, like Florida politics.
But since they were no help, I dutifully visited Joe Bullard Cadillac for a professional diagnosis and was charged $209.24 to correct it, which was $89.24 for the Supercharger Inlet Pressure Sensor and $120 for labor. Three months later, the error code returned and being a little more familiar with the car, I examined the aforementioned sensor myself. Not only did I discover that I could have ordered the exact same one from Amazon for $16.99, but that I was charged 90 minutes of labor for a task that literally took me one minute with a screwdriver. I felt so violated, I wanted to file a sexual harassment lawsuit! And needless to say, that was the last time I took it to that dealer.
While I had crossed the 30,000-mile threshold driving it back from Florida, I deemed it a perfect time to change the oil, both air filters and the fuel filter. There was one of those tiny oil change reminders on the inside of my windshield stating it had just been changed. But what was puzzling was that I was bought the car from a Ford dealer, but the oil change sticker was from a Mazda place, so maybe they thought the Red Line was an import? I checked the dipstick and the motor oil was indeed new, but I sorely doubted they used the Mobil 1 Synthetic that was specified on the oil cap. As such, I wanted to drain it as soon as possible, just as I did with the full tank of gas that I was reasonably sure was regular 87 octane, and not the recommended 93 premium octane. Perhaps sensing that the car would be traded in soon, the original owner never bothered replacing anything. In fact, the cabin air filter was so dirty it actually impeded the air flow out of the vents. It was here that I sliced open my finger on the sharp plastic edge of the glovebox that the air filter sits behind, and I painfully learned that nothing on the Red Line was easy to work on. The Eaton M62 supercharger is both a blessing and a curse, as it imbues the car with double the power of the naturally-aspirated model, yet its inclusion makes general maintenance a nightmare. It so sufficiently blocks access to the oil filter that changing it requires a 9-inch socket extension as well as unbolting the intercooler fill tube. And trust me, even after 14 oil changes over seven years, the struggle doesn’t get any easier. The engine air filter is equally frustrating as there’s no room to squeeze a free-flowing K&N filter past the thick coolant hoses. In fact, it’s so awful that many owners simply resort to removing the entire driver side tire just to gain entry to it. The good news is that it only requires changing every 30,000 miles. If I didn’t know better, I’d think these items were sadistic puzzles deliberately devised by the serial killer “Jigsaw” to drive me to the brink of lunacy. Thankfully, the fuel filter was relatively easy, even if the entire underside was sprayed in sticky, black undercoating. Of course, it was also completely unnecessary, but was the dealer’s concession to profit so they could charge $99 for it. The corrosive gasoline that leaked from the fuel hoses washed away some of it, and the exhaust system burned the rest off. The only amount left was a small peppering on the inside of the aluminum wheels. It’s also hard to appreciate the high-speed development at Germany’s famed 14-mile-plus Nurburgring circuit that went into the Red Line when the flat bottom is only visible from underneath. But the Venturi channels and aero package certainly paid off as it was rock-solid when I hit 155 mph last December.
Along the way, I swapped the restrictive cast-iron exhaust manifold and catalytic converter for a shiny, mandrel-bent long-tube header. However, removing the pollution control created some potent exhaust fumes that my daughter says smells like burnt cookies. Personally, I think it reeks of asphyxia in 0-60 seconds. Despite that, I’ve found it’s great for keeping tailgaters at bay. A few whiffs of the eye-watering emissions and they usually drop back a couple car lengths. It’s also particularly fun on motorcyclists, who are defenseless, and don’t have windows to roll up. But even keeping the rear factory 2.5-inch tubing and stock muffler, it’s still surprising how loud the exhaust is, particularly under boost. And speaking of the supercharger, the original heavy steel 3.35-inch pulley was swapped for a lightweight aluminum 2.9-inch unit with the understanding that anything smaller could incur belt slippage and cause the upgraded 42-lb. fuel injectors to run lean. When the smaller pulley was installed at 42,000 miles, the supercharger fluid was also changed. Measured on a dyno, peak boost climbed from the factory maximum of 12 PSI to 20.3 PSI and maximum power rose from 205 to 310. The Eaton M62 also doubles as a great heater during the winter months. Since the Red Line can be reluctant to warm up quickly when cold, I’ve found that a third gear pull from around 30-90 mph is more than enough to immediately flood the cabin with superheated air.
The stainless-steel header is great for performance, not so much for tailgaters.
Yet despite coping with an extra 105 horsepower for the past 58,000 miles, it’s only broken down on me twice: the first was for a failed crankshaft position sensor in 2015 that cost $31.08, and the other was when the original ten year-old battery finally died. Neither of those are consequences of the extra power, so I can’t legitimately fault them. However, when the battery expired, it seems the jump-start also fried the radio. Truthfully, I never used it much because the supercharger whine is such music to my ears, but I do miss the clock on it. Among the parts replaced under warranty was the electric steering motor, the ignition switch, and the ignition lock cylinder. Of course, these items were all due to the GM recall of 1.6 million vehicles. And while GM has only acknowledged 12 deaths linked to the faulty parts, an independent consumer watchdog group has stated that it could be responsible for as many as 303 deaths. Regardless, the engine seems to be running as strong as ever, evidenced by the fact that it uses no oil between 5,000-mile intervals, and it also recently returned an all-time best fuel economy of 33.1 mpg. Taking it a step further, I even had an oil analysis performed by Blackstone Labs which returned encouraging numbers. The report observed that “Wear metals are impressively low, showing no obvious mechanical problems” and highlighted a TBN of 5.3 which meant there was enough active additive left to delay the oil change another couple thousand miles if I desired.
Flatbed service after the OEM battery was devoid of a single cold cranking amp.
Over the past 7 years, I’ve replaced a lot of items simply for cosmetic reasons, even though they’ve continued to work properly. The head lights and tail lights were the main offenders since the plastic tends to age faster than a Hollywood starlet. Despite polishing, the headlights grew increasingly hazy and the tail lights became dull. Similarly, I encountered problems finding bits like the aluminum ignition cover which was scratched up. Revealing its European roots, it’s actually a Saab part like the Red Line’s F35 transmission. I had several dealers tell me it was discontinued, but I finally located a new one at a Saab dealer in Atlanta. But what gave me the most difficulty was the Italian leather door inserts. Seeking to upgrade the Ion’s interior appointments, I ordered the buttery-smooth cowhides for what, according to the instructions, should have been a novice task. Predictably, the instructions omitted one critical step, which of course I didn’t discover until I had already ripped apart the passenger door. And then trying to communicate with the seller in India went over as well as peace talks between Palestine and Israel. Even armed with a drill, the plastic welds on it proved nearly impervious to damage, as I struggled and strained against it for a solid six hours. I finished it, but was left with the gift that keeps on giving: Tendinitis in my forearm that plagued me for a year afterwards. Suffice it to say, after that fiasco, I never even attempted to reupholster the driver door.
For Black Friday 2015, I was staying in Disney World but still managed to get online and order a set of ZZP high-performance coil packs. With the holiday pricing, I was able to purchase the custom coils for $25 apiece, which is cheaper than I could have gotten the inferior factory replacements. Furthermore, with the improved voltage, more windings and better core material, the ZZP units vastly improved the starting power of my car. I’d always heard that aftermarket ignition systems like MSD were the way to go, but this was the first time I’d actually experienced it. However, in the two years since, I’ve been unable to substantiate the purported claims of significantly better fuel economy.
For Black Friday 2015, I was staying in Disney World but still managed to get online and order a set of ZZP high-performance coil packs. With the holiday pricing, I was able to purchase the custom coils for $25 apiece, which is cheaper than I could have gotten the inferior factory replacements. Furthermore, with the improved voltage, more windings and better core material, the ZZP units vastly improved the starting power of my car. I’d always heard that aftermarket ignition systems like MSD were the way to go, but this was the first time I’d actually experienced it. However, in the two years since, I’ve been unable to substantiate the purported claims of significantly better fuel economy.
It also bears mentioning that my Ion is the last of an era in many regards. Most obvious is that with each passing year there are fewer and fewer Saturns on the road. Sadly, when I do manage to spot one, they are largely mistreated and have definitely seen better days. For instance, only 5,827 Ion Red Lines were built between 2004 and 2007 and that amount does not take into account over a decade’s worth of attrition which has reduced that figure considerably. Mine was one of just 274 silver coupes for 2006 and such scarcity means that my Red Line is actually more rare than many Ferraris. Unfortunately, such uncommon availability does not translate to overall worth. According to the National Automotive Dealers Association (NADA), my Red Line is worth a paltry $4,500 which is the same cost as a new transmission that it actually needs. One morning in 2012, I was driving to work when I noticed that a simple upshift into fifth was met with a noisy protest as the gears clashed. Since I had not experienced this phenomenon before, I initially blamed myself, thinking perhaps I had rushed the shift or released the clutch too early. Yet, despite checking my footwork and making steady, deliberate upshifts, the gear-grinding became more and more frequent. I did my best to appease the gnashing gear teeth, which included such measures as a new upgraded shifter linkage and bushings from a 2008 Cobalt Turbo, and even fancy synthetic transmission fluid that cost $50 for two quarts. Alas, it was all futile and for the past five years I’ve lived with the constant crunch that accompanies every fifth gear upshift. Even more frustrating, sometimes it tries to pop out of gear when turning. As best I can tell without disassembling the unit, the fifth gear synchronizer seems to have gone AWOL. So to avoid damaging it more, I’ve become pretty adept at simply driving my Redline like it has an automatic transmission. Thanks to a pretty-wide torque spread (90% of the 280 lb.-ft. is available from 2500 rpm) the engine is remarkably flexible. This allows me to simply leave it in fifth and drive it in one gear like a big-rig truck. It pulls smoothly from as low as 1000 rpm, and I’ve created a game by trying to make it the 22 miles from my job to my house with just one upshift into fifth gear. Of course, it helps being in a rural community with no stop signs and traffic lights. I tootle through town in fourth gear and then once on the highway perform my lone upshift into fifth. From there, I have roughly 20 miles before the requisite downshift for my driveway. Other motorists permitting, I generally never have to drop out of fifth, though it does require taking a couple 90-degree curves rather fast and wide to keep the revs up. I’ll also admit to enjoying the elastic sensation of flat-footing the throttle and briskly accelerating from 20 mph to 80 mph without a single upshift.
The Red Line model is so rare, it makes up only 1% of all Saturn Ions.
Living where I do, the topic of animal encounters is a frequent one, and sadly the Red Line is not immune to them. While over the years I’ve amassed a collection of splattered insects that would make an entomologist envious, I’ve thankfully avoided encounters with such large mammals as wild hogs, cows and deer. However, I have crossed paths with both a dog and a bird. The canine was furiously chasing something and bolted right out in front of my car one morning. I immediately swerved and managed to just barely clip him. It temporarily spun him around before he, apparently unfazed, continued on his pursuit. While our meeting was temporary, it created permanent damage on my front bumper, leaving a faint spider web mosaic of cracked paint. As with the dog, the blue jay also appeared out of nowhere, performing a suicidal nosedive under my car. Unfortunately, like a kamikaze X-Wing fighter zooming into the Death Star trench, the avian intruder never made it out the other side. Instead, there was just a flurry of feathers expelled in the wake of my car. But the one truly terrifying creature that strikes fear into the hearts of rural drivers everywhere is a skunk. Luckily, I’ve never hit one, but I’ve come behind some folks who were the unwanted recipients of an early morning skunk shower, and the noxious odor is truly nauseating. Charles Darwin, best known for his controversial Theory of Evolution, wrote in 1839: “We saw also a couple of Zorrillos, or skunks—odious animals, which are far from uncommon. In general appearance, the Zorrillo resembles a polecat, but it is rather larger and much thicker in proportion. Conscious of its power, it roams by day about the open plain, and fears neither dog nor man. If a dog is urged to the attack, its courage is instantly checked by a few drops of the fetid oil, which brings on violent sickness and running at the nose. Whatever is once polluted by it, is forever useless.” Personally, it leads me to believe that some of the people I’ve run into at Wal-Mart must be part skunk. But that notwithstanding, the fact that male skunks have multiple female partners and play no part in raising their young sounds pretty appealing to me!
Shortly after rolling over 100,000 miles, I regrettably found out how fragile (and expensive) the plastic body panels are. It also harkens back to a lesson my Father taught me when I first started driving. And that is, it’s not so much my driving as the other people that I need to be cautious of. As it happened, I came off the highway to merge onto a local road near my job. There was an old Ford Explorer in front of me that was going slow enough to have been driven by Miss Daisy. There was a yield sign, but rather than doing exactly that, the Explorer driver proceeded to completely stop. But that’s not where the accident occurred. No, I was frustratingly stuck behind the Ford even though no oncoming cars were present. After a seeming eternity, the Explorer finally began to tentatively roll forward onto the highway. As it did, I inched forward also. But, then the Explorer driver spotted an approaching car and rather than following through and moving out, suddenly hesitated and slammed on the brakes. Naturally, this abrupt stop right in front of me caused me to bump the back of the Explorer at around 5 mph. However, since I was barely above idle when I touched the back of the Explorer, I didn’t anticipate much damage. But after getting out and seeing it, I realized that the damage wouldn’t have been half as bad had there not been a huge, rusty trailer hitch protruding from the bumper. Now, when Mr. McGuire admonished Dustin Hoffman’s character in “The Graduate” that plastic was the path to the future, he neglected to mention that its strength was also its weakness. That is, plastic has millions of uses given its flexibility and lightweight, but those same properties do not engender durability. Nope, that corroded trailer hitched punched through the Saturn’s plastic nose cone like a young Mike Tyson through a wet paper bag. And because the front bumper is largely hollow, it didn’t arrest the forward momentum until it encountered resistance from the steel hood, slightly bending it back as well.
A plastic bumper is great until you actually have to use it.
Perhaps realizing that I bumped her because she stopped without warning, the elderly female driver immediately scurried back to my car inquiring if I was okay. I proclaimed that I was just fine, noting that the impact was so minor that it didn’t even trigger the airbags. And predictably, the Explorer didn’t even have a scratch (unless you count the numerous ones that it had already accumulated over its neglected lifetime). I opined that I was glad neither of us were hurt, since it took a patrolman twenty minutes to arrive even though we were just two miles from the Sherriff’s office. By the letter of the law I was at fault, even though she actually caused the accident by suddenly stopping in the middle of the highway. After ensuring we were both fine and submitting the accident report, I cautiously drove my car back to work. Since I couldn’t pop the hood, I was unable to visually inspect the damage and I was concerned about the possibility of a punctured radiator. Despite that, it drove fine even though it pained me to do so in such condition.
I took it to a body shop in Mobile that we had done business with for thirty years. My Father and the original owner had been friends, but I soon learned that he had retired and the shop had been turned over to his son. And I would unfortunately later discover that the son didn’t share his father’s pride or enthusiasm in running the business. He quickly tallied up the necessary parts and labor which amounted to a staggering $3,041.06. At $914.52, the hood was the most expensive piece, though I remarked that for that sum, I could almost certainly replace it with a lighter, carbon fiber hood. After that, the bumper rang up at $517.65 along with $223.63 for the headlight and a couple hundred dollars for other incidental items. Finally, the paint and labor at $1,144 rounded out the estimate. At this point, I was concerned that the insurance company might simply total my car given the estimated value was only $4,500. Of course, that amount is a slap in the face since there’s no way I could even remotely come close to finding another car with the same performance or immaculate condition for $4,500. Heck, even with $14,500 I would be hard pressed to find a viable replacement.
Fortunately, my insurance company decided to pay my claim and I was able to keep it. But funnily enough, the week before I had just mentioned to my wife that I should probably drop the comprehensive coverage on it. Thankfully I didn’t, and now I had a chance to recoup those seven years of premiums on it, along with a freshly painted hood and bumper which it sorely needed even before the accident. Also, I negotiated to have the rear spoiler repainted as well, since the five cats we “inherited” from my Mother had left quite a few scratches on it. The only downside to all this was that with the Saturn being out of production for ten years, new parts were scarce and had to be ordered from GM’s warehouse in Michigan. Additionally, every time I called the body shop, they never answered or when they did, were quick to provide a laundry list of excuses. One time, the wife professed that her husband was in the paint booth and she couldn’t go in there because she was pregnant. Another time, they blamed the delay on a worker quitting. All totaled, it took four weeks to get my Saturn back, which is an eternity to pay for a rental car (Disclaimer: Part of my low premiums was declining the rental car insurance). However, whether spending $850 upfront for the Hyundai as I did, or paying $10 extra per month for the coverage over the past 84 months, it was pretty much a wash either way.
So after my $500 deductible, I received a check for $2500 from my insurance company and coupled with the $850 rental car bill, I ended up paying almost $1500 out of my pocket just to get my Red Line on the road again. But remarkably, the story doesn’t end there as a couple weeks later I received a letter in the mail from my insurance company. I figured it was a follow-up to my claim, but much to my surprise it was a notice that the woman in the Explorer had filed a “bodily injury claim” fraudulently alleging that she was hurt in the accident. The letter went on to state that although I had personal liability limits of $50,000 per accident, that I might want to consider retaining an attorney in case the costs exceeded that. Naturally, I was furious at this deceptive practice since there wasn’t even a blemish on her vehicle. However, my insurance agent was not surprised in the least, and said he’s come to expect it. He volunteered that the insurance company will end up paying her something to settle it, despite it clearly being a case of fraud. However, he alluded to having some proof of the deception, but did not go into specifics for legal reasons.
Finally, my Red Line wrapped up seven years of service by being forced to indignantly endure the wrath of Hurricane Nate. At our original home, I was able to park it in a carport, but our rental house has no such provision, so it was relegated to withstanding the 75 mph fury in our front yard. Thankfully, flooding wasn’t an issue as it was in Houston, but I can confirm it got pretty nasty when Nate passed over. In fact, the wind was howling so loudly that it was impossible to tell if it was simply the storm itself or an approaching tornado. But, after Nate had moved through, my Red Line was only slightly worse for the wear. It was covered from bumper to tailpipe with leaves and debris, and a small flying oak limb had lodged itself under the rear spoiler. Inside, a tiny leak from the tropical deluge had soaked a small section of the foot well carpet leaving a musty odor behind, but otherwise there was no permanent damage.
So after my $500 deductible, I received a check for $2500 from my insurance company and coupled with the $850 rental car bill, I ended up paying almost $1500 out of my pocket just to get my Red Line on the road again. But remarkably, the story doesn’t end there as a couple weeks later I received a letter in the mail from my insurance company. I figured it was a follow-up to my claim, but much to my surprise it was a notice that the woman in the Explorer had filed a “bodily injury claim” fraudulently alleging that she was hurt in the accident. The letter went on to state that although I had personal liability limits of $50,000 per accident, that I might want to consider retaining an attorney in case the costs exceeded that. Naturally, I was furious at this deceptive practice since there wasn’t even a blemish on her vehicle. However, my insurance agent was not surprised in the least, and said he’s come to expect it. He volunteered that the insurance company will end up paying her something to settle it, despite it clearly being a case of fraud. However, he alluded to having some proof of the deception, but did not go into specifics for legal reasons.
Finally, my Red Line wrapped up seven years of service by being forced to indignantly endure the wrath of Hurricane Nate. At our original home, I was able to park it in a carport, but our rental house has no such provision, so it was relegated to withstanding the 75 mph fury in our front yard. Thankfully, flooding wasn’t an issue as it was in Houston, but I can confirm it got pretty nasty when Nate passed over. In fact, the wind was howling so loudly that it was impossible to tell if it was simply the storm itself or an approaching tornado. But, after Nate had moved through, my Red Line was only slightly worse for the wear. It was covered from bumper to tailpipe with leaves and debris, and a small flying oak limb had lodged itself under the rear spoiler. Inside, a tiny leak from the tropical deluge had soaked a small section of the foot well carpet leaving a musty odor behind, but otherwise there was no permanent damage.
The Red Line after enduring its first Hurricane.
Ironically, despite surviving the crucible of 100,000 miles, I’m happier and more comfortable in the Red Line now than when I first bought it. As it’s aged, I’ve been liberated from worrying about the slings and arrows of daily use, and have learned to really enjoy it in a way that would be impossible in a brand new car. It’s a unique, inexpensive thrill ride that I drive because I choose to, not because I have to. Unfortunately, I’m now at a crossroads whereby I have the unenviable task of picking whether to keep it or trade it. Both decisions offer advantages and disadvantages, so it will not be an easy one. Also, we’re living in a paradoxical age wherein we have the fastest production cars ever built (like the 808-hp Dodge Demon) yet police enforcement and traffic is equally high, stifling the ability to use it. I can rarely exploit my car’s 310 horsepower, much less one with 400 or 500. One way or another, I feel like 2018 will be a major turning point on the automotive highway of my life.
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