A lifetime ago, when I worked some Sundays at what I’ve come to call—nod to Bill Richardson here—the Bachelor Brother’s gas station, there wasn’t a whole lot automotive I couldn’t diagnose and fix. Cars were pretty simple then, and the 80:20 rule was in effect: 80 per cent of problems could be traced to 20 per cent of causes, perhaps fewer.
After a long string of air-cooled Volkswagens I could always fix unless the problem required a machine shop, my final Volks, the 1983 Westfailya Mello Yello, required little tinkering. By that time Volkswagen had discovered self-adjusting valves. Other than changing oil, setting valves was the most frequent preventive maintenance air-cooled VWs required.
I now own a Tacoma that actually requires a special tool to change the bloody oil filter. And this is after removing half a dozen bolts to drop the skid plate behind the front bumper to get to the damn thing. The Tacoma model previous to mine had the oil filter canister in the engine compartment, easily accessible and not requiring tools more sophisticated than Vise-Grips but appreciating the correct socket instead.
Brand-new cars are a black hole of mystery. So is everything you buy that has any electronic components... which is everything short of a yo-yo.
I generally blame this on Apple, the Godfather of modern planned obsolescence. Walk into an Apple Store and hang out at the counter where the “Geniuses” are and the most frequent line you’ll probably hear is, “It’s how old?” This said about any Apple product older than 18 months, less if it’s an iPhone.
If you seriously believe you’re a competent DIY person, watch a YouTube video about replacing a battery in any Apple product. It’s humbling.
But Apple’s version of planned obsolescence isn’t your father’s kind where things just broke on schedule—the day after the warranty ran out. Apple’s version is more insidious, updating software that doesn’t work on older models or no longer supplying any software updates. Replacement parts? Yer kidding?
I have an iPhone 5s. I have it because my wife has several models more recent than that, but I’m not sure where she hides the newer old ones. While I don’t have a calling plan—don’t want to be that available, thank you—it does the kinds of things iPhones do. It is also handy for hammering in upholstery tacks.
But its operating system, the last one it remained eligible for, is older than many of the Geniuses, not that I’d ever show it to them for fear they might stroke out laughing. Because it’s old, many apps won’t work on it, including the parking app I could use around town. But nooooo... I’m the guy hammering at the keys on the pay parking machines and hoping the one I’m hammering on will recognize my credit card.
Now that I’ve meandered, let me get to the point, assuming there is one. Unlike a number of European countries and some states, Canada does not have a right-to-repair law. Such laws make it more difficult for manufacturers to retain a monopoly on fixing the few things they make that can be fixed, cars for example. There’s so much proprietary software on new cars it’s easy for manufacturers to hold back basic information independent repair shops would need to repair the few things repairable on new cars. It’s a form of monopoly.
Right-to-repair legislation formed a part of the Liberal Party’s 2021 election platform, which explains why Canada doesn’t have any and why few of us are likely to live long enough for there to be any.
But what we really need, especially when it comes to vehicles, and even more especially when it comes to electric vehicles, is a right-to-be-repaired bill. If you own a relatively new car and it develops a problem with any electronic component—and you’d better believe it will—the chances of the dealer or anyone else having the part(s) needed to make it run again are slim.
To the extent the pandemic-induced, over-hyped supply chain problems were a pain in the arse, they’re far from over. Oh sure, there are more new cars available and wait times for many have been cut in half—six month instead of one year, assuming a year is 16 months—but the main reason there are more new ones out there is because there aren’t any parts to repair one if it develops problems or, lord help you, gets in a crash.
When I was having recurrent electronic issues with a car still under warranty, the dealer, perhaps in an attempt to mollify me given my car still ran, usually, pointed out a dozen newer cars sitting in the service parking lot. They were EVs of a brand I won’t name, but starts with the initials BMW. “No one knows how to fix them,” the customer service manager said, his hair turning grey before my eyes.
While I’m sure the fact no one knew how to fix them might have given some hope to the owners that a fix would be found, their issue doesn’t rise to the frustration threshold of a friend of mine.
His new EV wasn’t even old enough to have experienced any problems when it was hit by another driver more interested in what might have been going on in the back seat than what was about to happen in front of her, which is to say plowing into my friend’s car.
Prior to electronics, the damage would have been considered superficial. New bumper cover, quarter panel, hood, etc. Nothing mechanical, nothing structural, just a few off-the-shelf parts and a little paint.
As of this writing, there is no idea on the part of the body shop as to when it might again be on the road. Suspicion is running high it might be some time after the next year’s model comes out. Why? So many sensors, cameras, wiring, personal vibrators, whatever, they have no clue how long it’ll take before the manufacturer has any spare parts that aren’t going into new cars.
In the meantime, the depreciation clock is running and my friend hangs his head in shame at driving a gas-burning, air-fouling, noise-making rental that could kill him if he forgets to turn it off after it’s parked in his garage. Oh, the humanity.
I wonder if the guy who bought Mello Yello is interested in selling it?
