The German Car
The German Car
April, 2004
I just bought a German urban assault vehicle. This particular vehicle is named after an obscure nomadic tribe in Sub-Saharan Africa. Far from the simple, no-frills life of its namesake, it’s loaded with computer wizardry to the extent that I think you either need to be a fighter pilot or an engineer to operate it. Based on both edicts from the EPA and a Germanic sense of overkill, there are sensors for about everything. You are told when you need to refuel, if a tyre (yes, that is how it’s spelled) has too low air pressure, whether the spare is fully inflated, doors open, lights left on, you are too far over/under the speed limit, and popcorn is done in the microwave (just kidding).
Diligently I read the owner’s manual to make sure I was worthy of driving such a fine instrument of conspicuous consumption and Deutschland intricacies. One night shortly after acquisition, we went out for the evening. About a mile from home going down a gentle hill, a warning light flashed “Check your gas cap” while somber music played on the 12 speakers spaced around the cabin. I pulled over, got out, took off and then put on the gas cap, but the warning remained (now a simple yellow icon of a gas cap). After trying this a couple of times with the engine running or off, the light finally went out. I called the dealer and took it to them the next day. They performed an hour-and-a-half computer check that produced 25 pages of printout that told them nothing was wrong.
Two days later, the same thing happened. Nothing I did seemed to make the warning go away—not removing/replacing the cap, not filling the capacious gas tank. But, it did go away after sitting on a parking lot for an hour. And it happened again a couple of days later. I did notice, however, that the warning light always came on at exactly the same place each time. Ah, some consistency.
Again, I drove to the dealer who said that this was a problem for the manufacturer’s service hotline and the technician (they are not mechanics these days). For two days they consulted, checked, ran computer tests, and then called with the “good news” that they had an answer.
You know the old story. Man goes to his doctor, lifts his arm and says: “Doctor, it hurts when I do this.” The doctor says: “Well, don’t do that.”
After two days and consultations with Stuttgart or Berlin, they concluded that when the car is cold, its multifarious sensors are on high alert. If there is a change in barometric pressure (e.g., as you go downhill), the computer thinks there is a loss of pressure in the gas tank—thus the warning light. The solution: warm up the car before leaving the house. Ah, German ingenuity wins out again.
April, 2004
I just bought a German urban assault vehicle. This particular vehicle is named after an obscure nomadic tribe in Sub-Saharan Africa. Far from the simple, no-frills life of its namesake, it’s loaded with computer wizardry to the extent that I think you either need to be a fighter pilot or an engineer to operate it. Based on both edicts from the EPA and a Germanic sense of overkill, there are sensors for about everything. You are told when you need to refuel, if a tyre (yes, that is how it’s spelled) has too low air pressure, whether the spare is fully inflated, doors open, lights left on, you are too far over/under the speed limit, and popcorn is done in the microwave (just kidding).
Diligently I read the owner’s manual to make sure I was worthy of driving such a fine instrument of conspicuous consumption and Deutschland intricacies. One night shortly after acquisition, we went out for the evening. About a mile from home going down a gentle hill, a warning light flashed “Check your gas cap” while somber music played on the 12 speakers spaced around the cabin. I pulled over, got out, took off and then put on the gas cap, but the warning remained (now a simple yellow icon of a gas cap). After trying this a couple of times with the engine running or off, the light finally went out. I called the dealer and took it to them the next day. They performed an hour-and-a-half computer check that produced 25 pages of printout that told them nothing was wrong.
Two days later, the same thing happened. Nothing I did seemed to make the warning go away—not removing/replacing the cap, not filling the capacious gas tank. But, it did go away after sitting on a parking lot for an hour. And it happened again a couple of days later. I did notice, however, that the warning light always came on at exactly the same place each time. Ah, some consistency.
Again, I drove to the dealer who said that this was a problem for the manufacturer’s service hotline and the technician (they are not mechanics these days). For two days they consulted, checked, ran computer tests, and then called with the “good news” that they had an answer.
You know the old story. Man goes to his doctor, lifts his arm and says: “Doctor, it hurts when I do this.” The doctor says: “Well, don’t do that.”
After two days and consultations with Stuttgart or Berlin, they concluded that when the car is cold, its multifarious sensors are on high alert. If there is a change in barometric pressure (e.g., as you go downhill), the computer thinks there is a loss of pressure in the gas tank—thus the warning light. The solution: warm up the car before leaving the house. Ah, German ingenuity wins out again.
posted by Bud Hirsch at 9:40 PM
0 comments
