Tropes and Saabs
The tired trope “Saab story” is frequently applied to hosers such as myself who find themselves with a car from Swedish carmaker Saab. It suggests you will be sobbing (get it?) with regret thanks to comically poor reliability.
To wit, both of my parents owned Saabs, with associated stories, in the late 70s. I believe one was orange and the other shit brown. Saab stories include the clutch linkage crapping itself between (if memory serves) the wilds of Long Island, the madness of NYC, and the anger of suburban New Jersey.
Upon purchasing my very own Saab story and sharing it with my hilarious friends, I learned something new. “Nice car. My brother also had a piece of shit 2010 Saab back in the day.” See, they’re very funny.
Which brings us to my own not-that-funny Saab story. It will serve as Chapter 1 in a Saab series that is sure to generate untold millions of view. All about my Saab.
Oh Its Badass Alright
This car is actually pretty badass. If, like me, you’re a 40-ish-year-old dad who subscribes to the idea that old beat-up oddball cars that are station wagons with turbochargers and zero modern technology define badass.
For many years, me, my wife and 3 kids have moved around the world. It’s been amazing. BUT, it’s always left me with the inability to follow in the footsteps of the Ezra Dyer’s of the world – he of Car and Driver fame – with the purchase of cheap, questionable quality cars.
Enter the giant old-ass barn that we have acquired on the latest move. It cannot fit my wife’s equally odd Ford Transit Connect “cupcake delivery van” with a roof rack within its old-ass door frames.
Which means, fellow mid-life car nerds, I have an extra space burning a hole in my car-filled imagination. A space that needed filling! Thanks to a chance meeting whilst moving firewood for a realtor neighbor’s new client, I made a discovery.
The Aero!
That being a 20-year-old Saab 9-5 AERO station wagon! AERO gets capitalized so my fellow car nerds understand the significance of this find. The big hairy turbocharged engine, big alloy wheels, and a tiny ground clearance thanks to lowered suspension. Did I mention it’s a wagon?!
Owned for 18 of its 20-year existence by a lovely older British lady who retired from a professorship in the rust-free environs of Virginia, this old Swede had just recently landed in my backyard up here in rustalicious New Hampshire.
Martha, as she named it, ferried her family for those decades with glee all over the damn place. To the tune of more than 220,000 miles. Impressive. BUT! It was rust-free. And she was being told perhaps this aging beauty was no longer the right vehicle for Eastern Seaboard trips to visit her kids in Philly.
And so, a deal was struck and I became the latest participant in the age-old Saab story. And goddamn do I love it.