Our motivations to go electric are slightly different — my wife is a more committed environmentalist than me. I have long disliked empowering the Saudis and sharing my slender purse with fat cat oil companies.
It's an experience. Put beside my teenage muscle car, the Mach-E would be a silent killer, flying off the line while the Chevelle literally spun its wheels. But I can sure put some quick space between myself and those freeway drivers whose abilities I question. You can take your first steps toward that feeling if you visit the Detroit Auto Show before it closes Monday. Again, politics aside, industry, technological and economic forces will converge to make these the cars of the future.
In my view, you owe it to yourself to start learning. As you do, I think you'll become eager to get on the path to EV ownership. It and the Chevelle that replaced it averaged maybe 12 mpg — and gas went over 40 cents a gallon the day I got my license. After my high school muscle cars, I drove a series of junkers in college: An orange Ford Maverick that felt like it used more oil than gas; a Toyota Corolla whose previous owner had riveted metal patches over rusted-out rocker panels; and an American Motors Hornet whose red paint had oxidized to a sort of Pepto Bismol pink.
Driving was not fun. I had a pair of Toyota pickups during early career years in Boise, Idaho — good for driving up the ski hill right outside of town and exploring the Idaho mountains. Soon, being a dad and a homeowner relegated driving to mere utility.
The only fun I had on the road was terrifying flatland visitors while taking driving them to a little mountain town. Gas prices continued to spike periodically, as they do, and my brand-agnostic family leaned toward economical vehicles: A Saturn, a Ford Escort, two Corollas. Finally, moving to downtown Detroit just a few blocks from work and dealing with the shock of urban parking and insurance costs, my wife and I traded in our two Corollas for one Prius.
