By Nan Peacocke
For Coastal Senior

I'd rather, much rather, have a horse. There are no more paths for them and pastures have all but disappeared. Dirt roads are just plain scarce. And let's face it, the concrete and asphalt are too hard on their hooves. Speaking of facing it, the modern trend is definitely against them and for the internal combustion engine. By the latter, I mean that dreaded four-letter word, auto. In polite company, it is called the three-letter word, car.

I've had to buy six cars for myself over the years and one for a son. Still it never gets easier and I dread it much worse than labor pains when giving birth or an IRS audit.

Nevertheless, when my car's odometer reached 110,000 miles and it was costing me in down time and repairs, I finally admitted I had to do it. I'd already resorted to rentals on several occasions. I knew there was only one way I was going to make myself car shop. I would have to be walking - with no other choice.

So for Mother's Day I drove to Atlanta and gave my old car to my 16-year-old grandson for his first car. He was thrilled. His Dad called their insurance agent and we were surprised to learn that adding this car as his to the family's car insurance bill lowered, rather than raised, the total cost. Something about him being the primary driver of a hunk of my old junk as opposed to being carried on their cars. The insurance company call was my first feeling that I no longer owned a car and it wasn't totally an unpleasant feeling.

Next, my grandson washed his new car - and washed it and washed it. Even under the license plate was spit and polish. Then I was horrified as I watched him hang a new pair of fuzzy dice from the rear view mirror. And he didn't stop there. He covered my, oops, make that his, beautiful leather seats with plastic covers in a zebra pattern. Then came a matching steering wheel cover. This, by a boy from a good family. Once a private school student even.

Another unusual thing here was that I flew home. I don't trust airplanes. Back in Savannah I was now officially walking. I again rented a car for 24 hours so it was really the witching hour now....and me without a broom....so to speak.

According to the media ads, was I ever lucky! The automobile dealers were glutted with inventory so they'd probably just give me any one I chose just to get it off the lot. Wrong. Remember I've been through this six times before. I know better. A lot better.

I pre-shopped for a car before leaving Atlanta and had pretty well settled on the kind and the dealer. Of course, all the salesmen in Atlanta tried to convince me that dealers other than their own were either in jail or merely awaiting sentencing.

Next morning in Savannah I was on "dealer's row" (Abercorn Street) in time for the market's opening bell, 9 a.m. Nothing happened. They weren't open. What joy, bliss and rapture. A car dealership with no salesperson. I looked 'til my heart was content and knew every car on a first name basis before they finally opened the doors over an hour later. They apologized for the delay explaining they had a sales meeting. So much for giving cars away.

I informed them I was walking and thus buying today, had no trade in and paying cash. (I had done my financing ahead so no need for them to know the difference). They gave me their best price and I walked (to my rental car).

Next stop was the place I'd bought my last car. I was unhappy with them for recalls. I need my car every day to work. Down time is unacceptable. All in all, I visited four car dealers that day and walked away from each one because I thought I could get a better deal.

Weary, I took a lunch break and used my cell phone to call my son in Atlanta for support. At least I thought that was why I was calling him. His words of wisdom were that if they didn't make me a deal within my budget I should walk out the door, then I'd get their bottom line. I was too embarrassed to admit I had already done that times four.

Of course, I inquired about my old car while I had him on the line....just for old time's sake. He informed me my grandson had to find a ride to school because it wouldn't start. I imagine grandson could also be persuaded that horses aren't a bad idea about now. I wasn't really surprised to hear MY car wouldn't start for him although I was sorry for him. It turned out it needed a new alternator but I knew that wasn't the real problem. It was really due to too much abusive washing.

Nan Peacocke is a freelance writer who lives in Savannah - and can sometimes be seen driving her new car.