For a commuter like myself who spends upwards of 14 hours a week sitting behind the steering wheel of the same vehicle, few events can trigger such introspection and careful thought as the possibility of replacing this vehicle with another. It's not just a new steering wheel to hang on to — it affects the world's perception of you, and your perception of yourself. Not a choice to be made lightly.
When my current car started breaking its record of good behavior a couple weeks ago, I knew it was time. It had climbed the hill of its halcyon years, and was now descending the other side towards the valley of rust, repairs, and ruin. It was going to start draining my wallet, and it was time to move on and up. I needed to buy a car.
Knowing virtually nothing about the world of cars, I blindly jumped on my universal solution for needs such as this: Craigslist. I picked an arbitrary price range and started picking out cars that I knew. My only guidance was my loyalty to Nissan (caused by a great run with my first car, a '91 Sentra) and my general dislike of domestic models.
Very quickly, I learned that I was going about this process backwards. In a less populous region, it might be necessary to throw a line out and see what's available. But in the Bay Area one could almost guarantee that any model imaginable would be available — much easier to simply identify a few specific models and years to search for, and go from there.
First, I ruled out the Camry, Corolla, Accord, and other famously reliable but mind-numbingly boring models. I needed something with a little more sport this time.
Upon the recommendation of a friend, I checked out some decade-old BMWs and Audis. I have to admit, I loved the idea of owning a BMW. I've heard nothing but good things about how reliable they are, how fun they are to drive, and of course the good looks didn't hurt either. One particular listing caught my attention: a 1997 BMW 318i with upgraded halo headlights, an M3 bumper, and otherwise spotless condition. Its location in Sacramento seemed a bit far to ask my current car to take me — like asking an ex-girlfriend to drive you to your fiancé's house — but I set up a tentative test drive anyway.
Just to keep things sensible, I also pursued an 1999 Audi A4, a 2003 Mazda Protege, and a 2001 VW Jetta. The Jetta and Protege, as it happens, were a stone's throw from my apartment, so I tested them out first.
I'd never done a real test drive before, except in my Midwestern hometown with my parents asking most of the questions. Aiming to be over-prepared, I brought a notepad with the car's basic stats, a camera to snap a few pictures, a flashlight (stupid daylight savings time), and my best bargaining tactics.
The Jetta owners were super nice and very honest about the car. No cruise control, no power windows, no power seats, and a few buttons didn't work. But it drove exactly as I'd expect a Jetta to drive: very predictably. In fact, "predictable" is exactly the right word for the Jetta. Nothing about it is unexpected or out of the ordinary. It's an all-around good car. But I wanted something with a hint of a playful streak. After a couple days of pondering, I politely declined.
Next on my list was the Protege. I'd like to say it was love at first sight, but that's probably completely untrue. The eyeball-grabbing blue color (described as "electric blue" by the owner) immediately turned me off. In comparison to the shiny black exterior and soft black leather interior of the BMWs I had been looking at, it looked like a toy. But I had driven a Mazda 3 rental for a couple weeks, and I knew this one was an apple from the same tree. I had to give it a chance.
After I got past the color and gave it a drive, I was consistently impressed. It was snappy on the acceleration and steering, was fun to drive, and more importantly it had a sunroof. Yes, I opened up the sunroof and all the windows and floated onto the freeway, ignoring the lack of sun, warmth, or anything that would justify opening the sunroof and windows. The clean title, meticulous records, and excellent condition of the car sealed the deal: this one was my favorite so far.
I wasn't quite ready to give up on my luxury European dream, though. Rather than going to Sacramento, I set up another test drive with a 1996 BMW 318i in San Francisco. I figured I should at least drive one around the block, and if the experience really blew me away I'd head over to Sacramento and give the souped-up one a chance.
That's when things started getting shady. I showed up at the agreed time and place, and soon after, a large BMW X5 pulled up and two guys who looked like bouncers got out and approached me. "Come this way, we'll drive you to it," one said. I probably looked like one of the Hardy Boys with my flashlight and notebook, as I stepped up into the SUV and was whisked away. I made small talk with the driver en route, since his friend only seemed to speak an Eastern European language I didn't recognize. He told me the 318i was in great shape, ready to sell.
We crossed through the gate into Seacliff and drove around until we found the car, which, they pointed out to me, was parked across the street from the house of Robin Williams. (I use the term "house" loosely. More like a shack, really.)
Red flags went up as soon as I saw the car. The BMW "318i" logo had been pried off the back of the car and replaced with a sloppily-attached M3 logo. The car sat lower to the ground than it should, indicating that somebody had messed with the suspension (even though the dealer denied this). There were scratches all over the outside as well. The dealer noticed that I had noticed these, and countered, "Good as new." Oh, if you say so.
Putting all that aside, I focused on doing what I came to do: to find out whether it would be as fun to drive as they say. I got inside the cramped interior and started it up, glancing down to locate the basic controls. I looked up and realized I could barely see through the windshield; it was yellow and scratched like it had been parked on a windy, sandy beach for most of its life.
At this point, no amount of test-drive-induced exuberance would overcome my disdain for the condition of this car, so I drove it around for a while and left it at that.
After weighing the various options (by putting them in an Excel spreadsheet and ranking them by various formula-calculated criteria, of course!) I decided the Protege was the best bet. It had about 100,000 fewer miles than the European cars I was looking at, and it reminded me fondly of my old Sentra. After canceling my last BMW
pipe dream test drive in Sacramento, I called the Protege owner and arranged a final meetup.
One more time walking around the car — I hadn't yet seen it in daylight, after all — and once I was satisfied we proceeded to fill out the paperwork. A few minutes later, I was driving my bright blue toy back home.
Two questions remain: Was it worth it? And who will buy my old car? Stay tuned.
Upon the recommendation of a friend, I checked out some decade-old BMWs and Audis. I have to admit, I loved the idea of owning a BMW. I've heard nothing but good things about how reliable they are, how fun they are to drive, and of course the good looks didn't hurt either. One particular listing caught my attention: a 1997 BMW 318i with upgraded halo headlights, an M3 bumper, and otherwise spotless condition. Its location in Sacramento seemed a bit far to ask my current car to take me — like asking an ex-girlfriend to drive you to your fiancé's house — but I set up a tentative test drive anyway.
Red flags went up as soon as I saw the car. The BMW "318i" logo had been pried off the back of the car and replaced with a sloppily-attached M3 logo. The car sat lower to the ground than it should, indicating that somebody had messed with the suspension (even though the dealer denied this). There were scratches all over the outside as well. The dealer noticed that I had noticed these, and countered, "Good as new." Oh, if you say so.
After weighing the various options (by putting them in an Excel spreadsheet and ranking them by various formula-calculated criteria, of course!) I decided the Protege was the best bet. It had about 100,000 fewer miles than the European cars I was looking at, and it reminded me fondly of my old Sentra. After canceling my last BMW 
