Boltage: Day One

First, the bad news: we are taking a rain check on that first, full day of ownership road trip. We'd hoped for a jaunt up the coast to Santa Barbara, about 100 mile roundtrip from here. Seemed like a perfect first go in the Bolt. But the weather today is once again kind of piss-awful. Not just wet but cold.

By California standards, mind you. The rest of the country can call us weather wimps if you like. We don't mind, because it's true. The other truth is, we need the rain way more than I needed a Bolt shakedown cruise, or so the fates decided. 

Not that this means the Bolt will stay in the garage for the day. Oh, no. It was out for brunch this morning, and we're headed for a movie later this afternoon. That will be about 30 miles, roundtrip. It'll do.

Second, let's get this out of the way. It's the mandatory driveway cheesecake shot. I mean the car, not me, wise guy. I'm just in it. 

Though today is my birthday. Really, it is. (I know, this was awful family planning on my parents' part but I have decided I can live with it.) I tried to talk someone into buying me a Bolt as a birthday present, but you can guess how that worked out. I look pretty happy anyway.

My biggest niggle with the Bolt so far is the shifter. I realize some of my frustration is a function of a lack of familiarity, but how much familiarity should be required to use such an essential piece of driving equipment? The little instructional sign they hang from it tells me maybe it was the Ergonomics Cop's day off at Chevy when they came up with this goofy solution.

Maybe you've read about this one already. To hit reverse, the handle has to be bumped up, then left. This I get, sort of—accidentally shifting into reverse could produce many needless thrills. Yet, to shift back into the forward propulsion position, the lever only gets bumped down, not right, and down as you might expect, especially if you are accustomed to manual shifting.

It's been only a day, and I'll get used to it. But good grief, what a face palm moment.

Here's another Bolt puzzle. I've never owned a car with a backup camera before, and after once backing and smacking my Mini into a brick planter, I was determined to never own another car without one. The Bolt has a dandy backup camera system, and that big display to view it, not to mention the bird's-eye view camera (on the Premier).

This is where old school meets new tech, and the reunion is not entirely a joyful one. A hugely ingrained habit of anyone who learned to drive before 2005 is throwing your right arm behind the passenger seat, and pivoting around to look behind as you back up (and the one time you get lazy, smackeroo!).

Of course, if you keep on doing what you learned, a backup camera seems kind of pointless. What do I do now? Can I trust this piece of technology with my rear bumper and anybody or thing behind me?

I dunno. Suggestions are welcomed.

Speaking of which,  I know folks are reading this blog. So why not leave me a comment or two? You know, some words of discouragement. We can all use some of those.

Either way, see you tomorrow—Bolt willing!

Older Dogs and Newer Tricks

And the adventure begins... today.

My Arctic Blue BoltEV Premier arrived at the local Chevy dealership some time late Thursday evening, along with one other (a white LT). I should be grateful I suppose for the offbeat hour. Had the carrier not arrived in the virtual dead of night, I could hardly have stopped myself from scampering over to witness the moment. The last week or so has been that way.

On Friday morning, Larry the sales manager invited me to come by after lunch. They'd be finished with dealer preparation by then, he assured me. I pretended to busy myself with other things all morning.

They weren't quite done with the prep work when I turned up at the appointed hour. It must have been obvious the suggestion that maybe I could come back a bit later wasn't going to cut much ice. A really long face can work wonders sometimes. I was led around the back by Alonzo, the salesperson.

Turns out the car was just getting a bit of a scrub down by these jolly gentlemen. I could wait for that. In fact it was damned entertaining watching them soaping and spraying. It was the first Bolt they'd seen, too. And it was mine, all mine!

Not quite yet. First, a test drive. Then the paperwork.

The briefing I received on the car was quite impressive. Both the Larry and Alonzo seemed to have read up on the Bolt (and it can only help that it shares a number of features with the Volt). Alonzo drove it off the lot. More instructions. The shifter, the display, the regeneration lever.

"Whoa, is all of this going to be on the final exam?" I felt like asking. I didn't. This stuff was important, I could tell. (I think he also wanted to drive the car.) A couple of blocks later he pulled into a parking lot and we switched.

Piece of cake, more or less. I started out driving with the shifter in the "D" position (I refuse to call it a "gear" as Chevy does in the manual). Except for the very pleasing EV torque, the Bolt drove like, well, a regular car. A regular car with a very funny instrument display.

Alonzo didn't seem to mind letting me take a fairly long and varied test drive. Out on the freeway for a bit. Then, "do you mind if I drive to my house? It's only a few miles." I asked, assuming he'd makes some excuse about being expected back sooner than that. No, that was fine. I think he was enjoying the test drive as much as I was.

I pulled into the driveway. My wife came out to have a look. She liked it right away. Okay, I guess that means I am buying it.

Another big ask of Alonzo: do you mind if I pull the car into the garage to test out my new EVSE? No, sure go ahead. And so we did (it works, by the way). As test drives go, this one was quality. 

When we returned Larry wondered if we'd gone to Vegas. I think that's probably a standard car dealer in-joke about a test drive that went on just a little too long.

Nothing is quite so boring as paperwork, so I won't bore you with it. Suffice to say it was a cash deal at MSRP that involved about an hour of signing and initialing. You know the drill.

Rainy days in Southern California, how often do they happen, especially lately? So that's when it started. It was also getting dark. Wipers... defogger... where the heck did they hide that stuff? Alonzo was following me home in my old Mini. He was sure he'd know the way even if we got separated. I preferred not to risk it, if only because it was sort of late and I was sort of tired. He stayed right with me.

By this point I was getting pretty handy driving the Bolt in the "L" setting. Without a lot practice I found it fairly easy to come to a full stop without braking. This, I really like. It's a useful driving skill you can hone, like downshifting a manual.

I drove him back to the dealership, where Larry took my picture with the Bolt. I assume they do this for every customer. But this was their first one off the lot, so maybe they were almost as excited as I was. They are going to post it on their Facebook page, I think.

Back home, we decided to eat dinner out, either to celebrate or because we hadn't planned anything to cook. This is where I flunked Alonzo's test.

No, nothing car-shattering. Only when we got out of the Bolt at the restaurant, I could not for the life of me figure out why the headlights would not turn off. Are they on a timer, or some whatsis?

You can lock this car. You can walk away. But if you haven't pushed the Power button, the car thinks you are still in it. Or something. Doh. What is this, like Windows, where you have to Start Up to Shut Down? More or less.

I'm going to call that a design flaw, just because I felt so stupid for not getting it, even though I'd done it several time already that day. So maybe this car requires a bit of mental retraining, after 40-plus years of doing things another way. Probably so.

In the meantime, the charger is humming away in our garage. Another road trip in planned for tomorrow (weather permitting), when no doubt some more newer tricks will be learned by an older dog.

All Juiced Up and Ready to Go

Second thing first. My dealership just called. My Arctic Blue BoltEV Premier is on the lot, delivered at sometime in the night, literally in the middle of a thunderstorm. Should I take this an omen? Made by Chevy, delivered by Zeus!

They are charging it up as I type. We will be acquainted this afternoon! 

First thing second, my JuiceBox installation went swimmingly. Yesterday my electrician slapped some conduit and a big honking 14-50 outlet on my garage wall in about 90 minutes. I completed the installation this morning, in about a half hour. Here's the evidence. Not a pretty thing, but it's in the garage, so who cares?

Next chapter, coming soon. Very soon.

A Sense of Impending Imminency

Trucking around town on Christmas Eve morning I got an unexpected call from the sales manager at my dealership. He informed me that my Bolt had been rolled off the train at that vast distribution center in the middle of an even vaster vastness known to those in the know as the Inland Empire.

"What does it all mean," I asked him as, if he was a dispenser of existential truths. "Thy Bolt shall be arrivith before the dawning of the new year," proclaimed the Seer of Chevy. "Forsooth," said I.

Okay, he told me it should be in by Wednesday or Thursday. I told him that would be great. Then we chatted about the weather and stuff and wished each other happy holidays. It just seemed like it should have been more dramatic. 

I expect Monday and Tuesday to be a quiet days in Lake Woebegone. But after that, watch this space, boys and girls.

'Twas the Night Before...

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the bevy 
Not an EV was stirring, not even a Chevy; 

The garage was swept by the owner with care, 
In hopes that a new Bolt soon would be there; 

The drivers were nestled all snug in their beds; 
While visions of tax credits danced in their heads; 

And I watching TV with a cat in my lap, 
Had just settled down for a post-dinner nap, 

When out on the internet there arose such a clatter, 
I sprang to my Mac to see what was the matter. 

I opened the browser, it said I needed Flash, 
But I knew I shouldn’t be quite so rash.

Then on my iPhone up came a text, 
To tell me the thing that I must do next,

And what to my wondering eyes did arise, 
But a video on YouTube of four tiny tires, 

And who was the driver of that cute little car, 
I knew in a moment it was Mary T. Barra! 

More rapid than Tesla her EVs they came, 
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: 

"Now, Nightfall! now, Arctic Blue! now, Silver Ice!
On, Orange Burst! on, Cajun Red! on, Summit White! 

To the top of the driveway! drive away all! 
Now drive away! drive away! back to the mall!”

So from the dealers in to garages they flew 
With electrical charges, and lane assist too— 

With rear vision cameras, and rails on the roof 
They will cost you extra, and I have the proof. 

DC fast charging, that would also be nice
But it isn’t included in the base price,

Yet I knew as I began to clear my mind
That it was the best EV deal I was likely to find

Though even as I marveled at all of the science,
She said, “remember it’s not just for compliance!”

So I asked “when will I see this dandy new car,”
She said “it’s so near, yet nearly as far.”

As she sprang to her Bolt, I leapt to give leeway, 
And away she sped, right down the freeway.

But I heard her exclaim, ere she bolted out of sight— 

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, and everybody else!)

No News is No News

The waiting game continues. I've drummed my fingertips on the desktop for so long now, it's beginning to annoy the cats. Edgy cats, now that is something you don't want.

An email to my dealership today produced no update on the current location or probable delivery date of my Bolt. Has it come any closer to the magical gates of the distribution center in Mira Loma, or has it returned to the mystical Land of Oz, whence it came? 

The Gates of Mira Loma, with a rack of cars leaving for somewhere.

Ask Dorothy, maybe she knows. Seems like nobody else does.

When it happens, it happens, I hear you muttering under your breath. Stop that muttering, it's rude. And don't talk with your mouth full.

Okay, so my sense of angst is more than it should be. Actually  it's more than it might be ordinarily. I'd planned this purchase for calendar 2016, to take advantage of the federal tax credit, which I know I can use this year. Next year, possibly. This year, for sure.

Besides, I fully expect all support for renewables to drown in the sea of goofy, reality-free politics we are living in today. Renewable energy is a commie plot. Fossils are All American. By this time next year, we will be bathing in cheap American oil and burning "clean" American coal, whatever the hell that is. 

So I am feeling some urgency to get this thing done before it becomes completely politically incorrect to care about climate change. Maybe it's already too late. I've been known to miss buses, too.

Either way, the window is closing. Only four business days left in 2016. Thump, thump, thump.

In the meantime, I need to find something else to give my mind (and fingers) a rest. So I'm gonna go feed the cats. For sure they always get what they want.

This Train is Bound for Pedley

"I'll take Intermodal Logistics Centers for $100, Alex."

"And the answer is: it's on 256 acres located between Riverside and Ontario."

The question to the answer is of course: "What is the Union Pacific Railroad Automotive Distribution Center at Mira Loma, California?"

This should actually be a Final Jeopardy question. It's so obscure nobody with an actual life will get it. In other words, it's perfect for Jeopardy. So shouldn't at least some of the geeky knowledge I've acquired in pursuit of my new BoltEV be worth something?

In your dreams, buddy boy.

Oh well. Even if it's of no practical use, at least I know my Bolt is headed to GM's gigantic Southern California distribution center in the Inland Empire community of Mira Loma, otherwise known as the greater Pedley Metropolitan Area. (I get inland, but empire must have come from somebody who's never actually been to Ontario.)

Exactly when it will get there, I am not certain. GM is Ebenezer Scrooge when it comes to sharing what it knows about when your car is due to be anywhere. My dealership suggests vaguely that it should be offloaded at Mira Loma "before Christmas." So I take this to mean Friday or Saturday. Maybe.

How different it was years ago.

When I ordered my 2003 Mini Cooper I had the obsessive pleasure of monitoring its daily progress with the shipping company, so I was able to determine the precise day the ship was scheduled to dock. I happen to live near the port, and managed to talk my way inside on the very day the load of Minis was due to roll off. How I worked that out is a story for another day.

The port employee who drove me around actively discouraged me from trying to locate my car in the veritable sea of Mini Coopers. He was too late; I'd already spotted it. So, yes, I have baby pictures of my Mini, with all of its shipping dressing still applied. Awww. I carry them around in my wallet. No, I don't. Honest!

I will have to accept that scratching this compulsive itch is unavailable with the Bolt, even if I felt quite so motivated this time around. 

Or is it? Does anybody know anyone who works at the distribution center? After all, it's only two hours and six minutes away, without traffic. And it's only Christmas Eve. 

Sounds like a round of Double Jeopardy to me.

Of Bolts and Bottle Caps

When I was growing up a neighbor kid on my street collected bottle caps. He didn't just collect them, he hoarded them, by the bag loads. Funny thing is, when you're a kid, this sort of behavior isn't taken as being overly strange by anyone. In fact, to the other kids it seems kind of cool, a thing everybody else on the block secretly wishes they'd thought of first.

Wow, man. That's a lot of bottle caps!

It's only when you get to be an adult when the impulse to take arbitrary things to ridiculous extremes is questioned. It might even be classified as clinical, possibly as an obsessive or compulsive disorder. You know you're grown up when people start cautiously asking, "so, how many bottle caps do you think will be enough?" 

As if it's a goal, or something.

People who've never obsessed about anything will never get it. They've probably never collected anything in their lives. If they did, they'd know: it isn't a goal, it's a process.

I'm a fan of obsession, so long as whatever you are obsessing over isn't harmful to you, let alone, to someone else. So am not the least bit ashamed to be obsessed with my new BoltEV. I want to know everything about it, including when it will get here, and the very minute when I will first set eyes on it.

What I know today is it's on a train rumbling west, somewhere between here and Illinois. Clickity-clack, clickity-clack. I hear the sound in my sleep. 

It may have crossed your mind that when my Bolt is delivered, it will be one of the very few around. Practically nobody will have seen a Bolt before. Anyone who drives one can expect to be questioned by strangers in parking lots for months to come.

So for my obsessions I might be the cool kid on the block, for a little while, at least. Hey, one of the rewards of obsession is maybe somebody will get it, and think it's cool. And when that ends, that will be cool, too. Next obsession, coming up.

I wonder if that kid up the street kept his bags of bottle caps, or at some point threw them away and decided to become a real adult. Most people do.

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

Vanity, thy name is..

What did I learn this month? I learned that if you don't have all your Christmas shopping completed by December 20, that you're gonna be in big trouble. No, I already knew that. My Christmas shopping was actually finished yesterday. So there.

What I really learned this month is how to order a personalized license plate from the California DMV. I've been driving in these parts for decades, so how did this essential bit of Golden State knowledge manage to elude me?

Maybe because they used to be known as "vanity plates." And who wants to be thought of as vain, unless you're in politics or the entertainment industry? I'm no rock star and nobody has tried to buy my influence in ages. Sadly. Fortunately, nobody calls them vanity plates any longer.

So with my new Bolt on the way, it was time for some remedial education on what it really means to be a car owner in California. The first thing I discovered, much to my surprise, is you can order personalized plates for a car you don't even own yet. You will need to prove that you own or lease the car when you pick up the plates at the DMV office of your choice. That should be in about six to eight weeks.

After clicking through screens of small print terms and conditions (I think it was something about bequeathing your first born male child to Jerry Brown. Who reads this stuff?), I got to the screen where you select your plate style.

Wow, too many choices. I really like the "new" retro-style black plates with orange lettering that the DMV started offering within the last year or so. Those plates would have looked great on some other cars I've owned, but not so much on an Arctic Blue Bolt. So I selected the current standard white background with blue lettering. At $48.00 it's also the least expensive option. It's nice when what you want actually costs less.

It was also nice that my first choice for a plate motto was available. Maybe it wasn't already taken because it's really dumb, I don't know. Or maybe it's because nobody owns a Bolt yet so I was the first to think of this clever pun. I'm going with the latter, if you don't mind.

So, here are my new plates:

So if you see me around, wave. Even if you think the motto is really dumb, be nice and wave anyway. After all, no matter what they are called today, they're really still vanity plates.

Why Out of the Blue?

I hate cars. I really do. So why write a blog about buying one?

Because I'm a red-blooded American male, that's why. And you should never completely believe anyone who's lived his entire life as a guy with his feet planted squarely in the American car culture when he says he hates cars. I can't entirely convince myself of it, either.

Narrowing down my conflicted emotions, I'll tell you what I really hate about cars. I hate how much they cost. 

Okay, that was too easy. I hate how they they suck up money every minute of every day, even when they're doing nothing. They sit in your garage, and cost. Depreciation, insurance. Another day, another bunch of dollars. Not much anyone can do about that, short of not owning one.

But then, even when you're theoretically going somewhere, they sit in traffic, and at red lights, and they cost. Zero miles per hour, and still, the money flies right out the tailpipe, along with all those exterminated fossils. I really hate that part. That part always seemed not only ridiculously expensive, but unforgivably wasteful.

Before I even knew it myself, it seems what I always wanted to drive was an electric vehicle. When I ordered my last car 14 years ago (yes, it's been that long), I figured practical EVs had to be just around the corner. They weren't.

Since then, kudos to Tesla for building the first widely accepted EV that could actually take you to the next city. Not so many congratulations are in order for pricing them for about as much as a small farm in Missouri. Sorry, Tesla, no sale — and it isn't about not being able to afford one.

This is where the Bolt out of the Blue comes in. Just as I was thinking about buying a new car for the first time in over a decade, I pick up on this new EV soon to be sold for under $30,000, with an advertised range of better than 200 miles. From who? Chevy? Nah, you've got to be kidding. 

No, it was true.

The last GM product I bought was never, so this was going to be a tough sell. But the more I read about the car over the summer, the more I liked what I heard. It was the right size (compact), and the right configuration (hatchback). It was small, and practical – my two primary criteria.

Even more impressively, they'd designed it as an EV from the ground up, instead of shoehorning batteries and an electric motor into an existing platform, as so many other car makers have done in recent years. Not only that, they'd beat Tesla to market in this price range by a year, or more. For sure this wasn't my grandfather's GM.

They were calling it the Bolt. And though the choice of a name seemed like one of those classic mistakes made by corporate marketing departments (and still does), it ended up being a bit prophetic for me. When bolts come out of the blue, they are unexpected, by definition. This was a bolt in name, and in nature.

So when pricing was announced in October, I acted on the unexpected. I marched myself right over to my local Chevy dealership and slapped down a deposit on one of the first Bolts in their allocation. That car was built in Michigan in late November, and I am told, is at this moment on the back of a flatcar rolling westwards, across the Great Plains towards California. It should be here in a matter of days.

This blog will be a diary of my experience with the car. It will be candid, and I hope, informative.

(LA Times Photo)

Oh, and I ordered it in blue. What else?