The Orange One

"I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

That's not actor Peter Finch's oft quoted venting in the 1976 movie 'Network', it's my inflamed left hip taking a stand and saying it's done working the clutch. My wife and I just returned home from an outing to Rye Playland with our NYC grandkids. Forty percent of the driving time in my beloved 5-speed KIA Soul was spent mired in stall & crawl traffic. So, after scarfing down ibuprofen, I was ready to schedule a hip replacement for the aching joint. I was also primed to reluctantly trade the manual shifting KIA for a new automatic ride. Little did I suspect in that painful haze, that the prelude to the 1990s war brewing in Chechnya would influence my new car buying experience.

My eldest grandson loved the KIA.
It was almost perfect for his size.
Even for a city kid, he couldn't wait to drive.

It was a sobering moment as the reality of my decades of happily shifting gears would soon be over. Pausing for a moment, I reminisced about some favorite previous rides - the first, a solid as a tank '62 Volvo 122S, followed by a classic '68 Mustang, a sleek '71 P1800E, '77 Isuzu Trooper, and of course the KIA Soul. All were equipped with manual transmissions. I loved the sensation of throwing the floor stick forward into overdrive on highways and scenic byways, then pulling back to downshift on curves while blasting tapes (yes, tapes) of Fleetwood Mac. But anticipating future NYC marathon drives to see family, the choice now before me was between a titanium hip or an automatic transmission. It was a no-brainer, those exhilarating driving days were over.

The 1971 fuel injected Volvo P1800E.
It had some restorative body work done to repair effects of NE winters;
I did not

Now fast forward to a Subaru showroom after my car trading/buying negotiations were completed. Those also necessitated ibuprofen but I was on the verge of selecting from one of two shiny new Crosstrek model options available in the dealer's current inventory. The choice boiled down to color - one was silver, the other a bright 'you can't miss it' citrusy color.

In my mind it was obvious; I'll go with silver. My most recent cars were silver, as was my hair, so I was accustomed to that ubiquitous shade. But my wife Carol pushed me the other way, "Go for the orange one". "But I'm locked in a silver/grey mode!" I countered. That said, I know she's reliably right about pending decisions. Yet, I equivocated. 

Meanwhile the salesman was tapping his toes, his patience was wearing thin - which of the two sets of keys should he hand over before icing the deal? Then I happened to turn the page of the Crosstrek sales brochure to the official color chart. Suddenly I had an epiphany, decision made! "I'll go with the orange one". But why would a fruit suddenly change the course of years of my car buying decisions? Here's the side story which bolstered my acquiescence.

Carol and the new Crosstrek
The beachball was not part of Subaru's accessory package

On the recommendation of dear friends, the prior evening we viewed a subtitled film set inAbkhazia, a Russian-backed separatist region in the breakaway republic of Georgia.

Abkhazia is in the northwest sector abutting the Russian border

Ivo, an Estonian man has decided to stay behind in his ethnically Estonian enclave and harvest his crop of tangerines. In the bloody conflict between Abkhazian troops battling Chechnyan mercenaries, a wounded man is left behind. Ivo takes him in. The film plot line unfolds as a morality tale addressing issues of conflict, reconciliation, and pacifism. It was a captivating movie, not surprisingly nominated for Best Foreign Language film at the Academy Awards and Golden Globes. By the way, the film was titled Tangerines.

Turns out Subaru's designated color name for 'the orange one' was tangerine. It was a sign I couldn't ignore. And so ended the days of silver cars, my Crosstrek is 'orange'. 

photos © David Greenfield

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