How My Relationship With Cars Changed When I Moved To The Big City

Walkable neighborhoods are a hot-button topic. They often restrict driving, but at the same time, we’re told they’re the solution to so many of our woes.  I’d always lived in the suburbs, so relying on a car was deeply ingrained in my psyche — I loved cars, worshipped them, drove them every day. Then I moved to the big city and suddenly everything changed.

Growing up as a gearhead, I came to resent growing up in the suburbs. I had none of the conveniences of living in the inner city, nor the freedom one gets in a rural area. I watched friends grow up with motorbikes and farm cars, having a ball out in the country where there was nobody to care. Meanwhile, if I ever dared let loose in my own area, I’d end up paying a high price with the local police.

Part of me always longed to own a big property somewhere far from the big smoke, where I could build my own dirt track and hoon with abandon. But that would be a lonely life, and the other part of me longed to go drinking and dancing with my friends. The latter part won out. Particularly given the fact I couldn’t really afford a big old property in the first place. That decision would ultimately have some profound effects on how I felt about the beloved automobile.

[Ed Note: So many Autopian readers have moved to cities, sometimes for work, sometimes for fun, and they’ve had to reduce their fleets, sometimes to no cars. If this post does anything, I hope it makes it clear that you can absolutely be a car enthusiast without a fleet of cars. -DT]. 

Leaving Home

After decades of living in the suburbs, I finally went downtown. I scored myself a dope little pad with a carpark, because hey, I wasn’t about to give up my dream car. I moved in, settled down, and then something struck me. I’d been living here for a week, and I hadn’t driven once. 

The magic of the big city had instantly taken hold. If I wanted a quick takeaway meal, no problem. Just stroll down the street and find a place that looked like it met with basic health codes. Groceries, cleaning supplies? The local supermarket was a 10-minute walk away Beers, wine, or spirits? If the local pub didn’t appeal, there was a smattering of bottle shops happy to supply.

As someone who loves driving, the change was frankly, quite jarring. A month in, and I realized that I’d used it twice in that time. It was now sitting for weeks on end. I begun to wonder if I’d actually need to source some kind of fuel stabilizer given it was hardly moving.

Speaking to my fellow gearheads, they pointed out this was an opportunity. Since I didn’t need a car for day to day errands, I didn’t need to settle for something practical. Get a coupe, a drop top, a super sedan slammed on its guts. The car can just be for fun. 

I understood this in a logical sense, and my Audi fit the bill nicely. But at the same time, it began to felt a bit silly having the car at all, let alone a nice one. I had all this money tied up in my little turbo sled, but I was barely using the thing.

See, when I was in the suburbs, with a few big roads around, it was different. I was driving on the daily, and there were occasional opportunities to let my car off the chain. Maybe it was booting it up to 50 mph on the local highway, or enjoying nailing the apex on a particular off-ramp. If you had a cool car, you could still enjoy it a little. 

But that falls apart here. See, the walkable neighborhood is great for walking, but not great for cars. There are speed humps everywhere. Drains. Gutters. Driveways into local businesses that promise to tear up your front bumper. On the rare occasion I choose to drive around here, it’s super unfriendly to my sports car. I find myself wishing for something more normal.

Sure, I could treat my car like a toy. A special treat, optimized just for the fun driving. The problem is, to do any of that, I’d have to spend an hour in traffic first to get to the countryside. Once I’m there, that’s great, but the time investment really makes it a rare treat. In these tough economic times, owning a sports car for occasional  jaunts seems a bit foolish. It’s like owning a jetski in downtown Manhattan. When do you really get to use it?

I’ve found the key is to make the most of car journeys when I need to do them. Maybe the weekend is a good time to visit some far-flung burger joint or dispensary of fried chicken. I’ve got friends in the suburbs, too, and driving is often quicker than chaining together the buses. In these cases, I relish leaning into the throttle where it’s prudent and hearing the engine come on boost. Pshhhhhht. It’s now a special luxury, rather than a part of my day to day.

The real thing that dawned on me, though? I simply don’t need a car anymore. There’s nothing in my life that really demands one. It’s a nice to have for some trips into the broader suburbs, but there’s nothing I couldn’t do instead with trains, buses, or the occasional Uber. I could easily get by with no car at all, and for an automotive obsessive, that came as kind of a shock.

Still, for now I maintain a vehicle, because my Audi is a peach. I do love it, I just worry I’m not getting it the exercise it deserves…

The Pressure

It’s also worth talking about what it’s like being a gearhead. It’s a proud culture to be a part of, but it can come with a certain level of pressure, too. The young corporate ladder-climber might feel the pressure to buy a fancy home, throw opulent parties, and buy an expensive luxury car. It’s easy to fall into a similar trap as a car enthusiast.

I’ve fell victim to this pressure at times. Particularly as an automotive writer, you can feel out of place if you don’t own a whole fleet of interesting cars. When your fellow writers are out there driving and restoring all kinds of hot metal, you can feel like you don’t measure up if you’re not doing the same. Meanwhile, for me, as an auto writer, to consider abandoning cars entirely? It just feels like a move you don’t dare to make.

Personally, I’ve felt the biggest disconnect when it comes to what I do with cars. For me, I see what others are doing, and I feel like I haven’t done enough modding, nor enough racing. I’ve longed to build something truly special, something fast, capable, and unique. I’ve longed to take it to the racetrack to lay down ever decreasing laptimes. I feel like if I don’t put together some kind of engine-swapped brown manual unicorn with my own two hands, I’ve failed.

Circumstance has denied me the opportunity, or is it a lack of will? I’ve certainly owned multiple cars at once, including a number of interesting ones. But I’ve never had a godly fleet, nor anything particularly fast or weapon-like. At best, I’ve owned three cars at once, at that felt like too many. I was bleeding insurance payments and registration every month! Many a time, I’ve looked at my cars, and felt like I should be doing more with them.

That’s not to say I don’t consider myself an gearhead. More and more, I’m trying to frame being a car enthusiast as exploring what you actually like about cars, on your own terms, and within your own means. You don’t have to own a Ferrari or enter the Paris-Dakar. You don’t have to build Ladas from rust in your back yard. You can take part in the hobby in whatever way suits you and your lifestyle.

That pressure doesn’t really exist though. It’s external nonsense that you don’t have to believe in. All I know is that I love talking design, I love talking engineering, and I take every chance I can get to drive something new. Now that I’m living somewhere where I can’t keep a big fleet, I’m trying to make that the center of my own gearhead narrative.

A Change In Priorities

If anything, this experience has brought my love for cars into finer focus. I have a better understanding of what I want. I have always enjoyed sports cars on the road, particularly when I can wind them out in the hills. But I realize it’s now it’s always been a spoiled joy—and one I’m not really interested in driving hours to take part in.

On public roads, you’re forever pulling your punches. You’re rolling off the throttle just as things get exciting because of the speed limit. You’re terrified that there’ll be a cop car waiting to bust “boy racers” round the next bend, whether you’re going hard or not. And, if you have any kind of a soul, you’re behaving yourself because it’s entirely inappropriate to put yourself or others at risk for your own selfish thrills. 

Maybe it’s the draconian traffic enforcement in Australia, or maybe it’s just part of growing up. But the whole idea of fast road cars is kind of dead to me. Call me disillusioned, but what are they even for?

All this has made me realize what I really want out of cars: I wanna race, and I wanna go fast. Proper fast. Forget public roads, cops, traffic lights and stop signs. It’s on the racetrack where cars get real.

The last time I went on a track day, my old Miata had maybe 100 horsepower. But I met every last one of those fucking valiant old stallions and we roared around the circuit together. That felt good. That felt free.

I’m over driving on the streets. It’s stunt cocaine. It’s coffee without the caffeine. You could park a BMW M2 in my garage next week and I’d have to ask what you expected me to do with it. “It does zero to 60 mph in under four seconds!” you’d say. “That’s a vanishingly short time to lose your license,” I’d respond.

But give me a cheap-ass race car and a trailer and a truck to tow it, and I’d be out there shredding tires and actually living for once. None of that nonsense about holding back on public roads, with the car hinting at some vague potential. I’d be paying visits to the redline on the regular, getting my money’s worth out of the rubber.

Locking up in the braking zones is a great way to get your race car in the local paper. pic.twitter.com/JE0acm7CD9

— Lewin S. Day (@rainbowdefault) July 15, 2024

Many things preclude me chasing that dream right now. Race cars aren’t cheap, built or bought. I have nowhere to park a truck, or a trailer, or store many stacks of race rubber. But I know now that I won’t be satisfied until I do this. I’ve gotten to my mid-30s and I’ve honestly never done more than a few basic track days. I’ve never raced wheel to wheel outside a go kart track. I’ve never done one of Australia’s glorious tarmac rallies. So much that I’ve dreamed of has been ignored for so long.  

I don’t know where I’ll get the money, or the time, or the opportunity. But before I leave this Earth, I want to do some real fucking car stuff. I’m sick of being a spectator. It’s gotta be me out there. 

Ultimately, I don’t need a car anymore—but I want one. It just so happens I want one with lots of power, lots of grip, and a certified roll cage so I can get serious on track with this thing. Maybe I truly can make the stars align. We will see. 

Image credits: Lewin Day, Bree Evans via Unsplash license, Joeyy Lee via Unsplash license