Ok. How about the classic aluminum body Land Rover Series II hand crank model? I'd go for that.
Ok. How about the classic aluminum body Land Rover Series II hand crank model? I'd go for that.
I've been on a journey of profound introspection lately, and it's led me to a single, powerful conclusion about my next vehicle: I am done with modern automotive complexity.
No more infotainment systems that freeze up because they're trying to download a 3D map of Mars while streaming a podcast and handling a Bluetooth call. I'm over it. I'm tired of having to do a soft-reset by holding down a combination of buttons that feels like I'm unlocking a cheat code in a 90s video game.
The solution? A vehicle so simple, so pure, that its most advanced feature is "on" and "off."
My new chariot will feature:
Engine: A single-cylinder Briggs & Stratton engine. You want to know what's wrong with it? You open the hood and look. No diagnostics port, no cryptic error codes. Just a spark plug, a fuel line, and a lot of satisfyingly loud chugging. And instead of X-drive, this will have chain drive.
Wheels: Straight from the Home Depot aisle. They're designed for wheelbarrows, which means they can handle a load of concrete, so I'm confident they'll get me to the grocery store. Plus, a flat tire means a quick trip to aisle 12, not a three-hour wait for a tow truck.
Infotainment: A pocket radio. That's it. It has AM/FM and a volume knob that actually works, every single time.
Repair Manual: A single sheet of paper with the words "Check the plug, dummy."
When this car breaks down, it won't be a mystery. It will be a mechanical problem with a mechanical solution. It's a revolt against the sleek, silent, and frustratingly opaque. It's about taking back control from the engineers and the programmers.
Some people want a car that's a rolling supercomputer. Me? I just want one that works. And if I have to restart it, it's because I ran out of gas, not because a software update corrupted the climate control system.
Who's with me?
I've been on a journey of profound introspection lately, and it's led me to a single, powerful conclusion about my next vehicle: I am done with modern automotive complexity.
No more infotainment systems that freeze up because they're trying to download a 3D map of Mars while streaming a podcast and handling a Bluetooth call. I'm over it. I'm tired of having to do a soft-reset by holding down a combination of buttons that feels like I'm unlocking a cheat code in a 90s video game.
The solution? A vehicle so simple, so pure, that its most advanced feature is "on" and "off."
My new chariot will feature:
Engine: A single-cylinder Briggs & Stratton engine. You want to know what's wrong with it? You open the hood and look. No diagnostics port, no cryptic error codes. Just a spark plug, a fuel line, and a lot of satisfyingly loud chugging. And instead of X-drive, this will have chain drive.
Wheels: Straight from the Home Depot aisle. They're designed for wheelbarrows, which means they can handle a load of concrete, so I'm confident they'll get me to the grocery store. Plus, a flat tire means a quick trip to aisle 12, not a three-hour wait for a tow truck.
Infotainment: A pocket radio. That's it. It has AM/FM and a volume knob that actually works, every single time.
Repair Manual: A single sheet of paper with the words "Check the plug, dummy."
When this car breaks down, it won't be a mystery. It will be a mechanical problem with a mechanical solution. It's a revolt against the sleek, silent, and frustratingly opaque. It's about taking back control from the engineers and the programmers.
Some people want a car that's a rolling supercomputer. Me? I just want one that works. And if I have to restart it, it's because I ran out of gas, not because a software update corrupted the climate control system.
Who's with me?
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