Most of my cars have been slow, reliable, fuel-efficient, and practical. Yet, every so often, I get a hankering for something fast, or at least quick and sporty. Despite having a fast car at the moment, I keep looking at slow cars online. What’s my problem?
Getting a Prelude, and Selling it for a Scion
In the early 2000s, I bought a 1998 Honda Prelude SH with 195 HP. It was quick, sporty, and my wife and I even got married in it. It was, however, bad on gas, never getting better than 23 MPG on premium fuel. Gas prices spiked back then (to a whopping $2.30 a gallon!), and my long daily commute was bankrupting 27-year-old me. Additionally, I had sworn if the Toyota bB ever came to North America, I’d buy it, and low and behold, Toyota (Scion) was going to do it. So in 2005, I sold my sporty Honda, took an 87 HP hit, and bought a new 108 HP Scion xB—a vehicle I loved. But friends and co-workers said—you’re going to miss having the Prelude’s power.
Frankly, I didn’t. In fact, I started Subcompact Culture in 2008 because of my love for smaller cars. I also found out I wasn’t the only person on the planet who preferred smaller vehicles. I bought them because I wanted to not because I had to. Slow cars can be a lot of fun.
But the Prelude wouldn’t be the last time I sold a powerful car for something less rapid.
Buying, then Selling, a Subaru WRX
In 2013, we bought a brand-new Subaru Impreza WRX hatchback. I remember sitting in the dealership thinking—holy crap—I have a WRX! With 265 HP, it was the fastest, most powerful car I’d owned by leaps and bounds.
We took this car on our 10-year wedding anniversary through Canada (something I wrote about). It was, for the most part, an amazing vehicle. However, we noticed we didn’t really drive it all that much. We had our 2007 Toyota Yaris which got excellent fuel economy and was fun to drive. We also had our 1995 Suzuki Sidekick, which was a convertible, a blast off-road, and still fun around town, too. (Again, slow cars can be fun.) We didn’t want to put too many miles on the WRX or scratch it parking downtown. Also, every boy racer under the sun would try to race us. So, it sat. A lot.
In 2017, we opted to sell the WRX, stash some cash from its sale, and get a cheap economy car; a new 78 HP Mitsubishi Mirage. Talk about a horsepower downgrade, to the tune of -187 HP. We then also bought our first JDM vehicle, a 1989 Mitsubishi Delica Star Wagon with like 89 HP. It was glorious.
Did I miss the WRX? Honesty, not that much. Maybe the WRX’s luster just wore off; perhaps I didn’t like the idea of spending $30,000 on a vehicle. Maybe I was glad to have extra cash in the bank and a JDM van to show for it. I also know from lots of previous experience that speed doesn’t always equal fun or gratification.
Yet, I kept asking myself, how can any car enthusiast possibly enjoy—let alone prefer—a slower vehicle? Do I hate high-horsepower cars? Do I have a neurological condition that needs to be addressed?
Satisfying Another Horsepower Hankering
Recently I got a hankering for high horsepower again. We sold off one of our two glacially slow diesel-powered Mitsubishi Pajeros, and I bought a 2005 Subaru Forester XT with a bunch of thrust. It’s got a tune, go-fast parts, and goes like stink. It corners amazingly, makes awesome turbo sounds, and frankly, looks great. Yet, I still regularly think about owning another Yaris, maybe a Honda Fit Sport, possibly a Scion iQ or xD, or even getting another Suzuki Sidekick or something. What the hell is wrong with me?
For Me, Slow Cars Have Been the Best Cars
Honestly, our 2007 Yaris was the best car I ever had and we had it 14 years. It was fun to drive thanks to the modifications: upgraded intake, header, axle-back exhaust; lowering springs, upgraded shocks, hub spacers, a rear sway bar; good tires and upgraded wheels. No, it was not a fast straight-line car, but at barely over 2,000 lbs., it made the best use of all 108 HP. It was a momentum car providing the illusion of speed. It’s not that you couldn’t get in trouble with it, but you could drive it hard and rarely worry about wrapping it around a tree. Oh, it was easy to park, too.
Plus, the Yaris was thrifty, often returning over 40 MPG. It was also dead-nuts reliable. That car never left me stranded. In the 14 years I owned it, it threw two check-engine lights, and one even turned itself off (camshaft position sensor). The other one was for a mass airflow sensor needing replacement after 100,000 miles. If you look up the word “trustworthy” in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure there’s an illustration of our Yaris.
Fast, Modified Cars Are Still Fun, But …
It’s not that I’ve already fallen out of love with this boosted brick of a Forester XT; it’s quite the contrary. It’s fast. It handles incredibly. It’s a boxy underdog among more powerful cars. It’s got over 192,000 miles on it with lots of mods. I’ve fixed a sensor here and a weird noise there, but still don’t fully trust it after nine months of ownership.
The Yaris? I would’ve taken that thing anywhere. Well, anywhere that didn’t include snow or require any ground clearance.
A Love Affair with … Reliability?
So perhaps my beef is less with fast cars, and more about the idea I continually have a love affair with reliability. While speed and power are seductive calls, dependability, and reliability are solid foundations to which you can base longstanding automotive relationships on. I guess I must just think about what’s important to me; what gives me satisfaction. Historically, that has ebbed and flowed.
I Admit it: I Love Reliability (But I Still Like Fast Cars, Too)
As a self-professed gearhead, there’s part of me that feels guilty; I’m supposed to be into buying, owning, and driving high-horsepower vehicles. But I still love driving our slow diesel Pajero and Delica, and I adore our 2022 Subaru Crosstrek, which has the power-to-weight ratio of a misfiring Vespa. Every car I’ve ever owned was fun in its own right, obviously including my Prelude, WRX, and this Forester XT. But I clearly can appreciate slower, frugal, reliable transportation that’s unique and fun to drive without any of the additional baggage a less-reliable vehicle can bring.
Then again, a rip in the Forester might just make me forget about all this, or at least until the next check engine light comes on. Hey, it’s probably one engine rebuild away from being as reliable as a new car.
And lest ye forget: Power. Reliability. Economy. Pick two. Maybe that should be my first tattoo. Maybe it should be on my forehead.