Real Americans never settle for just one. You should have one for each need, or one for each mood you may be in. This “one car personality” is some big-city, East Coast thing where people have less range of emotion and lead one-dimensional lives.
I have a ten-year-old Olds that gets 30 and outhandles the big Jags. The 78 Dodge three-quarter is just for pulling the John Deere around. For the opera, my 63 Avanti makes the swains step back, and still gets over 20–though the blower does come into play when shaming a tuner. Cruise nights bring out the 66 ElCamino my uncle left me (283, 21 MPG); when you pull up to the country bar in a one-ton GMC dump truck, the pickup kids have to move over a spot. West of Laramie we use the Jeep (20 MPG, but my old Real Army 4-cyl only got 13). The best fun is when somebody in the neighborhood thinks he’s just bought the biggest SUV. We go out back and crank up the 1953 Studebaker 6X6 deuce (seven tons, empty), put down the top, drive past the offender’s home, then go out for ice cream at the drive-in. (it’s sad, but drive-throughs are out of the question). I don’t know how people can get by with one car. How drab their souls must be.
