The Minivan Zone

When I titled the previous post "I swore I'd never do it," I was referring, of course, to becoming one of those people on the road I've detested since I began driving (the same year as the introduction of the first minivan, incidentally, the 1985 Dodge Caravan).

I've always seen minivans as the great intestinal blockage of the otherwise open road. If a vehicle was going to be travelling exactly at (or, for crying out loud, below) the posted speed limit, you could bet a dollar and win every time that it'd be someone in a minivan. I honestly came to believe that minivan manufacturers actually built in a governor on the throttle of those beasts to prevent any leadfooted soccer mom from giving guys in souped-up Acuras the what-for. I mean, newer vans especially have a lot of power. My Odyssey is a V-6 - and, despite its bulk (our van measures in length just a hair shorter than the RMS Queen Mary in Long Beach Harbor), it's still a pretty light vehicle compared to the types of cars that used to be outfitted with V-6's.

For example, find someone who owns a 1960s vintage Mustang or Camaro. The entry level of both of those cars came with V-6 engines, but the cars themselves, owing to Detroit's Faustian agreement with the likes of the Bethlehem Steel Works, were made of solid iron. Those cars are rolling, unstoppable urban assault vehicles. In fact, I read the other day about a demolition crew using a crane and the rusted-out (yet still impossibly heavy) hulk of a '71 Dodge Challenger to demolish a building. They'd just lift that old Challenger up to about 100 feet (surely straining every motor and cable on that crane to their limits), and simply drop that bad boy. Anyone remember the difference between size and density from physics class in high school? Yeah.

But, I digress (as I often do). I was discussing the odious quality of minvan drivers to manage to drive as ssssslllllloooowwwwwllllyyy as possible in any given road situation. This is great in parking lots and neighborhoods; not so hot on freeways and interstates.

I made numerous proclamations down through the years (usually while behind an '88 Plymouth Voyager with a bad catalytic converter on the 22 Freeway) that I'd NEVER own such a vehicle, insults to the California driving gene pulsing in my very DNA that they were. I'd drive an SUV (and I hate them for different reasons) simply on principle.

Then, we got the news we were getting the girls.

The backseat of our 1990 Camry suddenly looked, well, small. Certainly too small for my daughters (especially considering at least one would still be in a booster seat).

And, in a sentiment I'm going to be expressing for the rest of my days, nothing's too good for my girls.

So, we went looking. I knew if the day ever came that I was forced into a minivan purchase, it'd have to have a Honda or Toyota nameplate on the front. My brother Pat has been driving a 1995 Odyssey over 100 miles round trip to work and back for the past ten years, and hasn't had a bit of trouble out of it. "Drives like a car!" he'd tell me. "Like you're behind the wheel of an Accord or something!" Hmph. Well, maybe.

So, we test drove a very sad 1998 Toyota Sienna that didn't impress us too much (and the funky stains on the carpets frankly gave us the creeps). Our next drive was the only second-generation Odyssey on the lot at Ron Tonkin Honda over in Portland. (Dealers simply can't keep them on their lots). We drove, we liked, we haggled, we bought.

And, you know something? When I'm behind the wheel of that baby, I find myself driving slower.

It's like some weird, zen-like sensation comes over me, and all my California offensive, uh, defensive driving skills seem to float gently out of my body, and I'm left at one and at peace behind the wheel of what is truly a bitchin' ride. My following distance seems to increase magically in that van, and a kid on a tricycle would accelerate from a stop faster than I do in this van (although I could smoke the tires if I wanted to - that baby's 6 cylinders have a lot of power behind them). And, most amazing of all, I find myself toodling along the highway, almost always traveling at or even below the posted speed limit. There isn't a governor on the throttle, I know this for a fact. It must be something they atomize and spray through the air vents, because nothing else can really explain the drastic change in my driving habits.

So, if you happen to be driving on I-5 or I-205 in Washington State or Oregon and find yourself behind a silver-gray 1999 Honda Odyssey with three impossibly cute little girls in the backseat doing 50 miles per hour in the middle lane, don't be offended if I don't notice and wave as you drive by.

I'll be in the minvan zone.