In Praise of Prius

We just got back home from a 3,200 mile journey in our Toyota Prius. My wife Ellie, myself, and George the dog. We all fit in the car in perfect comfort, though George complained a good deal about having to sit in the back seat--not because it failed to satisfy his regal comfort needs (he is a King Charles Cavalier spaniel, after all!) but because he believes himself to be worthy of the service of a human lap, where he can snooze in luxury. Once in a while, he does get to share the passenger seat with Ellie, but he has learned the command, "In the back!"--and reluctantly complies.

But I was going to write about the Toyota Prius. In praise of. I am working on my second one to date. I traded in the first a little more than a year ago, when used models were in such demand that when I took the car in for a service, the dealer made me an offer I couldn't refuse, and I walked out with a new one. Well, drove. And the dealer ate the service cost. Nothing wrong with the old one, of course. It was just that a brand new one was too tempting, given the trade-in value.

My new Prius, the second one, is silver, and my only gripe is that there are too many of this color on the road. There are a goodly number of Priuses, period. Time was, when I was first a Prius owner, they were scarce enough that we proud drivers used to wave at each other, in recognition of our superior wisdom in owning a machine that contributed so little to pollution, and drove so nicely on the road. Not to mention its distinctly avant-garde design--which some sniffed at, but those of us who truly know good design when we see it could appreciate. No snobbery, of course. Just a very good eye, just very good taste.

But to get back to my subject. We left our Los Angeles home with the odometer showing 14,772 miles. We drove north along Route 101 to San Luis Obispo, and thence north on Highway 1 to Carmel, where we spent three nights. From Carmel, we returned to 101 and drove north and then west to Mendocino, back on the coast. From there, north again, to Crescent City, California, and on to Yachats, Oregon, with a handful of nights at various locations along the way. Then inland, to Portland, for a night; and north again, to stay another night in Anacortes, Washington, before taking the ferry across to our final destination, Orcas Island. A week on Orcas, then the long journey south, with stops in Kelso, Washington, Mckenzie River and Ashland, Oregon, and finally Stockton, California before the long haul on I-5 back to Los Angeles.

We climbed curving, mountainous roads and coasted back down the other side. We drove through cities and farmlands, meadows and forests and wilderness. Never once did the Prius give us a moment's anxiety. Speed on the freeway? Don't tell anyone, but seventy-five to eighty miles an hour was comfortable. Overtaking? It had excellent acceleration, speeding up promptly when called upon to do so. Comfort? Even on the longest legs of our journey, the car felt roomy, the seats as comfortable as any car I've owned--and I drove an S-Type Jaguar before we got the Prius.

And gas consumption? When we pulled into our garage on arriving home in Los Angeles, the odometer read 18,048 miles. That makes, by my calculation, 3,276 miles traveled, door to door. The handy gas consumption gauge told me that for the overall trip, including mountains, we had averaged 48.0 miles per gallon. It would have been closer to 50, but for those last five hundred miles or so on I-5 South, from Portland to Los Angeles. And even then, had I chosen to be a righteous citizen and stick to the speed limits, I believe I would have come in at 50 M.P.G.--using regular gas. Which is, I think you'll agree, a pretty remarkable record.

In the interests of total honesty, I will admit to one failing on the part of my Prius. There is, my wife insists, the metallic, rather high-pitched sound of a chain coming from the rear of the car that has been the source of irritation to her. The strange thing is, I myself have been unable to hear it. I've sat in her seat, in the back while she drove, but I haven't been able to hear a thing. Ellie is convinced that the sound is pitched too high for the masculine ear. Perhaps. It's even more irritating to her that I can't hear it. Anyway, she's all in favor of another trade. We'll have to check it out.