This year, seeking to live a greener lifestyle—and save some green—I purchased an electric vehicle (EV). In addition to the obvious bragging rights associated with my new carbon-free lifestyle, it’s allowed me to drive disdainfully past gas stations and earn the delicious scorn of Silicon Valley warriors as I cruise past solo in the HOV lane.
But there’s more. It’s possible that I’ve joined a cult. I’m more than willing to bore anyone who will listen with chatter about lithium-ion batteries, regenerative braking, torque curves, Level 2 chargers and our woefully inadequate urban infrastructure. I follow EV-related Facebook pages and read EV forums. I’m even helping mount a campaign for chargers at my workplace.
My daughter thinks I’m a nerd, and indeed, I probably am. If you are one of the people who’s had to listen to me during this period, I’m sorry.
The fact is, I’ve become an annoying EV evangelist. And this is my story….
How did I get here, anyway? After all, I’ve always liked internal combustion, and have owned a succession of BMW cars and motorcycles that I’ve been known to pilot at, ahem, supra-legal speeds. I like being green. But I also happen to like G forces.
Most EVs, on the other hand, are not known for being rapid. Let’s just say that my Chevy Volt’s acceleration is, well, underwhelming. It comes off the line okay when you press the so-called gas pedal. But at freeway speeds, the laws of physics overwhelm the little car, and it pretty much gets left for dead by anything north of a Ford Fiesta.
This isn’t necessarily a reflection of the motor’s power. With EVs, performance is in the hands of the pointy-headed guy who wrote the software—not the mechanic. The Volt can go 100 mph, but to use an unsavory metaphor, this is a little like premature ejaculation. It’s all over in one great, emotional outburst.
But any deficiencies in the speed department are compensated for by this: the quiet. The Volt emits a whir that’s akin to air passing through pursed lips, or a ceiling fan spinning overhead. Could this be the sound of someone doing the right thing for the environment?
You need to be a bit of a geek to do this in the first place. Skeptics are correct to point out that the financial benefits of EVs, if there are any, are years away, given the amortization of a $35,000 vehicle. If thrift was all that mattered, I would have kept my 1998 BMW with 140,000 miles on the clock. Or bought a Kia.
Fortunately, the blow is softened by Uncle Sam, who bestows his largesse in the form of a $7,500 tax break. And California, being the center of the green cosmos, chips in a refund to the tune of $1,500. The state also sends me four hideous green stickers that allow me to ride solo in the carpool lane, which I view as a sort of absolution from the sin of driving.
Even though it isn’t. Naysayers will tell you that EVs are not without environmental cost—and of course, they are right. Charging an EV requires electricity. Electricity comes from power plants. Power plants emit CO2.Duh.
Still, the average EV costs about three cents per mile. And their widespread use might just help us avoid skirmishes with autocratic, oil-rich nations in far-off deserts. ICEs (internal combustion engines, as they are disdainfully referred to), bestow none of these benefits.
Okay, so EVs might be characterized as a kind of social good. But are they also real cars, which might even be fun to take on a road trip, not just in the carpool lane at 5 p.m., going from someplace to someplace else? My wife and I decide to find out. Our goal: an EV tour, up the California coast, using (hopefully) only electrons.
Who goes on a trip where your daily range is within the capability of the average bicyclist? We do. Plus, we’re proving a point here, so lay off.
Planning an EV tour starts with the many smartphone apps that show, in real time, where chargers are in your area (complete with photos and snarky reviews). Flush with optimism about our new project, I begin clicking on the icons along our planned route. It’s an amazing resource, but at first glance it looks like our journey will be confined to our own county, requiring us to sleep at home every night and dine at the same restaurants we have enjoyed for the past 25 years. In other words, there are no chargers in places you would actually want to go.
But wait! There’s a free charger at the Santa Clara Valley Water District, and the Hartnell College gym parking lot. There’s also the Monterey Bay Pollution Control District, the Marina Walgreens…you get the picture. Just think: while the car charges, we could spend an idyllic four hours combing the streets of Fresno, capped off with dinner at Denny’s!
Okay, if I want my wife to accompany me (and I do), we’ll need to find more sumptuous accommodations than the parking lot of the Lost Hills RV Park.
At the other end of the scale we have the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay ($600 per night), or the Hyatt Carmel Highlands ($500 per night). Both have chargers, but that kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? What was designed as a vacation for the eco-conscious proletariat has suddenly become a champagne tour with environmental undertones. We may be green, but we are not awash in green. Frankly, this is why we drive a Volt, and not a Tesla.
Eventually, we settle on this: we will travel north, to the Golden Gate; over Mt. Tamalpais to West Marin County; and further north, to Bodega Bay, where there happens to be a charger at a beach park. Our first stop is Costanoa, a lodge near Pescadero. They don’t actually have a dedicated charger, but are willing to let us plug into a 120V outlet for eight hours (rather than the four hours required for a 240V charger). I’ve never used the “slow” charger before (I have 240V at home), and I picture us sitting in lawn chairs next to the power outlet, waiting for our car to be cooked, like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Or worse—sending the entire campground into darkness with a blown circuit breaker.
But there is no such drama. As we walk by our car in the darkness, on our way back from dinner, we see the reassuring green light on the dash, indicating that juice is flowing in the right direction. That night, in our rustic tent cabin, we are treated to a lovely symphony, with the patter of rain on the canvas, and waves in the distance. As I sleep, I am dreaming of electrons, snaking their way through the tiny cord (at someone else’s expense), and into my lithium-ion battery. Oh joyful image!
On the second day we head north to San Francisco, where we intend to tour the Presidio. It doesn’t hurt that the grounds are a veritable Valhalla for EVs, with a neat row of five chargers awaiting us. There is a satisfying click as we engage the huge, pistol-like plug into the car. This is the sound of someone doing the right thing for the environment. Or so we like to think, anyway.
By the time we’re ready to head across the Golden Gate, we’ve accumulated a precious 20 miles of range. But we have a mountain to go over to our destination in West Marin County. As we climb the switchbacks, we watch as the available miles drop precipitously. We’re down to four at the summit. Electric cars don’t like hills, or headwinds.
But then the fun begins: Like all electric cars (and hybrids), the Volt uses regenerative braking to charge the battery when coasting. After cresting the summit, we begin reacquiring miles. It’s a fun, celebratory game as we watch the numbers change, like a clock running in reverse, and we arrive at our destination in West Marin with one mile to spare. It’s like putting gravity itself in the tank.
Of course, the penalty for miscalculation is less severe in my case, as the owner of a Chevy Volt. Here’s why: once you’ve burned through the 40-mile electric range, a small gas engine comes on, in an act of grace and mercy, to save you from roadside misadventures, hitchhiking, and being pillaged by passers-by in the fashion of Mad Max.
Things are different with a “pure” EV. With those, when you’re out, you’re out, leading to the dread “range anxiety.” While living entirely on battery power has its appeals, this is not one of them.
Then there are $70,000 Tesla S models, which are in another league entirely, with a pure electric range of more than 300 miles. Owners can get most of the way to LA before they have to be inconvenienced with a night in the nearest Ritz-Carlton. Not only that, but our well-moneyed brethren have access to their own network of free “superchargers,” which are incompatible with Volts, Nissan Leafs, Fiats, and other, more pedestrian EVs owned by us mouth-breathers.
Don’t worry. I’m not jealous or anything.
Having made it to West Marin, I look at the app, and one place shines like a beacon along the north coast: Doran State Beach in Bodega Bay. We hear the electrons are good there, and we aim to get some.
Turns out, the charger is free, and we use the opportunity for a great beach hike. This is another thing about EVs: chasing electrons can lead to some fortuitous choices.
And so it is on the last day of our trip. Our plan is to drive to Muir Woods, after divining that the famed tourist trap has a charger.Unfortunately, when we arrive, we discover the parking lot is overflowing, due to an enormous media event. Just as we prepare to abandon our plan, a ranger appears and miraculously waves us through, directing us to the lone charging spot, bypassing hundreds of cars in the process. Another perq of EV ownership! Who knew?
Afterward, we head back to San Francisco, and straight to the cavernous garage next to our hotel, where there are—happily –a bank of six chargers. Sweet electrons!
By the time we get back to our home in Santa Cruz, we’ve logged over 400 miles in three days, averaged 178 mpg, burned less than two gallons of gas, and saved (according to the onboard computer) more than 150 pounds of CO2.
Extra planning required: lots. Angst over occupied or broken chargers: considerable. Hitchhiking required: none. Fun: huge.
And that’s the thing: it’s been a long time since I’ve driven for fun. Well, maybe it’s more correct to say, it’s been since gas was $3 per gallon. Once it got above that, the fun ceased. But now, suddenly, driving is fun again.
I’m not driving a lot less than I used to. I’m just doing it with less guilt.
