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12 Bonehead Basics of Car Maintenance
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You know, That Guy who thinks that the best way to keep a car from overheating is to roll down the window. That Guy who hires the neighborhood kid to wash his car 'cause he’s allergic to “going outside and doing things.” There are lots of ways to be That Guy, but only one way not

to be: by regaining your self-sufficiency and learning the basics about car care. Using STP® is a good first step. And while we can’t do the rest for you, we'll give you a few pointers. Check out the tutorials. Take a look at the videos. And get under your hood. Good luck, and Don't Be That Guy.

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  • Mar
    11
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    First cars, fondly remembered

    Posted in: Car Culture, Car Knowledge
    Behold the noble Trabant!
    Behold the noble Trabant

    My first car was a Nissan Sunny California, a station wagon designed and conceived by people who thought only in straight lines and sharp angles. It was ugly, it was temperamental, and the accelerator pedal appeared to be coupled to the engine by way of wishful thinking, or perhaps a particularly unmotivated receptionist prone to dropping calls. Put under any strain at all — which was not often; the car would only exceed 70 miles an hour if one were to take the Earth’s rotation into account (and even then it could only do it in one direction) — the engine grumbled constantly, like it had planned on calling in sick and really wanted me to know it.

    I loved that car. I loved it because it was mine, and because it could take me places, and because it was the first thing I had really bought on my own. I grew to love its idiosyncrasies — the way I had to turn the heater knob to get it to turn on, the exact level of rainfall at which the windshield wipers would give up; how it was simply best to avoid 4th gear as unlucky. I grew to look forward to filling up the gas tank and adding in oil — the way one enjoys feeding a pet, as though by providing for its needs you’re acknowledging some deeper relationship. I grew to appreciate not just the car but the memories I accumulated inside it was well, until it was more than the sum of its steel and rubber and plastic.

    But, of course, that’s how first cars are — you look on them fondly in spite of their flaws. And if Germany was a person instead of a country, that first car would be the Trabant — a conveyance that was equal parts joke and jalopy, created in answer to the original “people’s car” (or, literally translated to German, “Volkswagen”).

    The Trabant (more affectionately, “Trabbi”) was designed in East Germany in the 1950s, and like the three-wheeled cars discussed in these environs before it hails from a time when small was beautiful — indeed, the vehicle that would become the Trabant started out as a quest to develop a three-wheeled motorcycle. Like the Volkswagen Beetle, it was meant to give affordable, efficient transportation to the masses — to be not just a car, in other words, but a means of freedom. Its name, Trabant, means “companion” or “satellite” in German — an echo of another famous vehicle released the same year, Sputnik. Lest you think this too sappy or overwrought, consider that it might’ve been worse — the West German equivalent to the Trabant was just called “Lloyd.”

    A front-wheel drive 2+2 sedan, the diminutive Trabant had seating for four people and a trunk for their luggage. It had an advanced, fully independent suspension, too, so it was pretty comfortable for its time — and, at 34 miles to the gallon (officially — many people report much, much greater mileage), it was easy at the pump as well. Most important, though, the Trabbi was cheap to buy and inexpensive to keep running — and so simple that nearly anyone could work on it. What wasn’t there to love?

    For starters, while it may have been named after Sputnik, the Trabant’s engine was decidedly stone age. It was a two-stroke monstrosity with no integrated oil system; when you went to fill up the car with gas (this naturally required opening the hood) you were expected to mix in some oil as well, which the car then cheerfully went about burning. You may recognize this as a process more common to lawnmowers than to Lamborghinis, and of course you would be right.

    But it also meant that the Trabant had no need for an oil pump, which saved weight and complexity. Nor did it have a water pump. Or a timing belt, or a fan belt, or a distributor. And yes, that meant adding in oil every time you filled up. And yes, that meant the car’s 4th gear was most useful for going downhill (the downside of a two-stroke engine that burns oil is that, if the throttle is closed, there’s no lubrication; like many two-stroke cars the Trabant solved this by incorporating a freewheel in top gear). But so?

    The little engine, which developed as much power as a whopping twenty-six horses, was so light that it could be removed from the car by a single person — I like to imagine them doing so on a regular basis, perhaps wanting to admire its efficiency and straightforwardness, holding it up to the light of a setting sun. Having no radiator, no thermostat, and no water pump, the Trabbi’s was air-cooled — just like, we are told by Trabant enthusiasts, classic Porsches.

    What the Trabant did not have in common with those Porsches, however, was its space age construction. The Trabant was a monocoque with a steel frame and panels constructed of a material called duroplast — a resin plastic like formica or bakelite, reinforced with cotton or wool. It was light, it was strong, and it was cheap. It was also, curiously, edible. Not for you or I, but farm animals like sheep were known to snack on the Trabant now and again — and can Porsche make that claim? I thought not.

    The net result of the tiny engine and the cotton paneling was that the Trabant was exceptionally light — just over thirteen hundred pounds. Thirteen hundred pounds! Every year, the average American eats more corn than that! We’re talking, not to put too fine a point on it, about a car that weighs half as much as the portly new BMW Mini or the gargantuan Mazda Miata. And this was something you could really appreciate when, inevitably, you had to push the thing somewhere. 

    But for all its foibles, the Trabant was popular — so popular that for a time it was more expensive to buy one used than it was to buy new, because a used Trabant let you avoid the waiting list (of course, this being East Germany, the waiting list could be up to ten years long). Nowadays a host of Trabant fan clubs, supporting the hundred thousand modern Trabant drivers, has kept the car around even though automotive technology has long since passed it by.

    Some Trabant enthusiasts, of course, go above and beyond. In many cases, this just involves a change of clothes — garishly decorated in war paint, Trabants become modern art masterpieces, clad in tiger stripes or polka dots or stamps. In others, though, the makeover is internal. That venerable two-stroke is often the first to go; with its feather-light frame, a beefier engine gives the Trabant a decidedly favorable power-to-weight ratio. In this guise the Trabant becomes a race car, incredibly enough; they also rally them, which is definitely a sight to see.

    But it shouldn’t come as any surprise that people would keep the Trabbi around — like any first car, we look back nostalgically. Remember the good and downplay the bad; turn quibbles into quirky features. The Berlin Wall is twenty years gone now, and good riddance. All the same, like that other great communistical invention, Tetris, the Trabant’s simple charm abides.

    AO, STP® Blogger

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