Orbiting showroom for next car Chicago Sun-Times
My car is undistinguished, reliable, good-looking but not a pageant queen.
It was made in the U.S.A. and so was I. I was born in Detroit, where my dad worked for Ford, and I grew up in Pittsburgh, another city built on American muscle.
But American manufacturing -- or rather the body running the shop -- let me down. The Saturn was supposed to be a singular kind of car but now is a dinosaur. The extinct kind.
I know my dear Silver Bullet won't last forever. Or even the year. I would have bought a third Saturn, but now I'm an auto orphan.
Penetrate the Chicago Auto Show. Here, in the cavernous halls of McCormick Flat, fueled by an overpriced soft pretzel, I was ready to waterfall in love again.
I wanted something with good fuel mileage. I liked that I own an American car but am not heedlessly loyal and was open to foreign cars. My price rank was more Honda Civic, less Mercedes-Benz.
If I could tweak my Saturn, I would make it intimate better in snow and with more space for bikes. And I'm hoping in the next decade to add to the people, so I wanted ample room in the back for hauling kids out of car seats.
