It’s been a long time coming but I finally bought a new car. Well not a new car per say, but far less used than all my previous ones. My old 1991 Subaru Liberty wagon had been a trusty nag since 2007. But like the Blues-mobile, it finally gave up the ghost. I absolutely loved that car, in spite of and because of all its flaws.
Known as “The Ubertron”, it was a silver/grey colour, littered with minor dings in the sides and peels in the window tint. It usually sat low on creaking suspension and despite an automatic transmission, could handle roads I had absolutely no business taking it down. There was a function that raised the car through some sort of airbag system that could give it a few extra inches of clearance. All you had to do was press a button and wait several minutes for a flashing light to stop. Then congratulations, it was time to pretend it was a four-wheel drive. It also had randomly locking doors, cup holders that prevented access to the radio when in use and a 3.5 mm port for plugging in music players. Although it tended to make an incredible screeching noise when I tried, so I stuck to an FM transmitter instead.
In retrospect, it really wasn’t all that surprising that things went wrong. This particular car rolled off the assembly line in 1991 and promptly went on to do… nothing. It was bought by a couple in Canberra that used it to go to the shops occasionally, maybe the odd trip further but nothing major. It sat in the front yard (not driveway) and mostly passed time trying to convince burglars that someone was home. It was the second car of a couple that only really needed one. Hence it wasn’t driven regularly, but neither was it serviced or cared for and inaction took its toll. The Ubertron stuck to this sedentary lifestyle for about another 26 years. Eventually the couple that owned it were moving away, either overseas or elsewhere in Australia. The Ubertron came back on the market.
As for me, I was living in Fremantle, WA at the time. I was driving a Suzuki Swift that had belonged to my grandmother and spent most of its life on the northern coast of West Australia. As such it was held together by rust and had all the power of a wound-up rubber band without the acceleration. Not to mention a curious defect that meant engine oil would ooze out of the dash and drip on my legs as I drove. Forcing me to line the floor with newspaper and roll up my pants whenever I got in. This was when I was about to move to Melbourne and there was no way the Suzuki would join me. It was so unsafe that not only would it fail the rego inspection, they would most likely have to evacuate the garage and get the army to do a controlled explosion.
In any case I was struggling to find a suitable car to replace it. I was very interested in Subarus and there were plenty in WA. The initial problem was mileage. Given that WA seems to cover two thirds of the earth’s surface, finding an affordable, Subaru road-warrior with less than 300,000 on the clock wasn’t easy. Not to mention, like my grandmother’s Suzuki, local conditions gave many the same chronic rust problem that meant half the chassis could disintegrate if you went over 80. Having no luck in WA, I asked my dad in Canberra if he could keep an eye out for me. He, like many fathers, is never happier than when given A Task to concentrate on. It’s a generally male thing, but seems more noticeable in fathers. Smart women know to let guys keep their seemingly idiotic hobbies (within reason). If they’re not so distracted, they may try to turn their hand to fixing the plumbing or renovating the house with no other qualifications than what the Y chromosome provides. The trade and general fixit industries thrive on such experiments.
Anyway, my dad threw himself into The Task with more vigour than I was using and gave fresh options every couple of days. I was mostly underwhelmed by model or overwhelmed by price. But then there came a silver/grey 1991 Subaru Liberty Wagon. Only $5,500 with under 140,000 on the odometer.
Perfect!
Subaru? Check (it’s a brand thing).
Wagon? Check (I needed the space for weekends away climbing).
Acceptable price? Check (see cheap as possible).
Given I was on the other side of the country, it was up to my dad to handle most of the particulars for me. But I gave him the money and he gave me a car that would carry me for the next five years. It came with everything I wanted (except several speeding tickets the previous owner racked up before selling it, but that’s another story).
- I know, pretty pimp right?
I finalised my affairs in Perth and flew to Canberra to collect and drive it to Melbourne. We got along great from the start, although there was one major problem. I left Canberra in high spirits and began the several hours high speed to Melbourne. This was before the Hume was a mess of road works, heavy machinery, lollipop men and bloody-minded caravan drivers. I flew out of the ACT, hit the cruise control (what a glorious feature!) and headed West. But as I slowed down, the car began shaking, rising and falling as if the entire road was made up of speed humps and cattle grids. Speeding back up to 100 soon solved that problem and all was silk. But every time I slowed down it happened again, bucking and heaving as if I was on a 4WD track that was nothing but flawless bitumen for everyone else. Arriving in Melbourne was interesting as it was a constant rodeo doing 60km through city streets. I played casual, hanging my arm out the window and pretending I’d had some fully sick hydraulics installed in a car that was as old as glasnost. I took it to a mechanic who set me straight. I needed four new tyres STAT. The problem was that the car had spent too much time sitting around doing nothing. The tyres themselves had sagged out of shape like an ageing movie star and the drive from Canberra heated them up and caused more trouble. When going 100, centrifugal force kept every nice, round and smooth. But slow down and they reverted to something closer to an oval at best. There’s a reason there’s never been any successful variation to the shape of the wheel.
So began a series of occasional mechanical adventures. After years of sluggish activity and a quick repair, I took it hundreds of kilometres, most weeks. Not just city terrain either. There was bush, dirt roads, rocky roads, heavy loads, the lot. All this action took a toll. The CV joints eventually went, the muffler made enough noise to convince people I had a V8 and during one trip to Canberra, the water pump exploded and left me with a wildly steaming car out the front of the Lodge. I’m probably on a list somewhere as a suspected car bomber. Even a strut on the boot broke during a trip meaning the door wouldn’t stay open. A friend with some initiative found a large, sturdy stick, sawed it to an appropriate length with a pocket knife, bandaged the end to make it soft and voila! We now had means to keep the boot open when packing – a feature I kept even after I repaired the door, just in case.
But for all the troubles, there were plenty of good times. The Ubertron took my friends and I to Arapiles, the Grampians, Black Ian’s Rocks, Camel’s Hump, Mount Macedon and more. At Mt Taylor in the ACT, the road was so terrible getting up it in anything less than a tank was a miracle. A friend and I were so grateful we got out and took turns hugging the car.
- This joy is real.
The tarp covered boot easily took two camp chairs, three tents, climbing racks, ropes, pillows, cooking equipment and eskys without having to make someone get in the car first so we could pack around them. Oh yeah, that thing had space. In fact I always wondered if that would get me in trouble. The boot was always covered in a blue tarp and had several old ropes lying around. It made me paranoid about being pulled over in case the cops thought I was a serial killer out trolling for victims.
But most of all, it was comfortable. It was like driving your favourite doona. Something you felt safe in, didn’t have to pose and everyone was comfortable to quietly settle in after a weekend away. It wasn’t pretty, particularly speedy or reliable (eventually). But it was mine and I used it to benefit myself, my friends and a phase in my life I greatly enjoyed. I take some comfort knowing it’s gone to a semi-retired mechanic that wanted something to tinker with. Maybe with a new engine it will ride again, but maybe not.
Either way I’m pleased that while plenty of people have had a 1991 Subaru Liberty Wagon, I’m the only that can lay proper claim to The Ubertron.
