Moral: don't make a judgment on the basis of what people drive

Your car says something about you, whether you want it to speak on your behalf or not. Some people go out of their way to make a statement via their personal transport. Sometimes the language isn't all that clear, and sometimes the statement is a cliche.

A bright red sports car, for example, states that the owner is uninhibited, wants his/her presence known.

Really dense blacked out windows I generally take to mean the occupant wants you to think he/she is important -- or is some kind of crook.

Green Volvos are supposed to signify liberals, but if they are old beaters, it probably means the owner is a regular listener to Click & Clack on National Public Radio and doesn't believe in squandering large amounts of cash on new cars (but frequent modest outlays for repairs are OK).

Hummers signify an identity crisis -- at least to me. And I'm not at all certain what drivers of used hearses are trying to say.

One extravagant automotive statement pulled into the Globe parking lot a week ago and, although I don't usually get involved with an individual's personal transport, this was an automotive shout that got my attention.

At first glance, one must look hard to figure out that the car is a Suburban -- the GMC on the grille and all other identifying logos had been removed. And Suburbans don't come with dual rear wheels, fancy wooden dash fascia and a lighted, hidden running board -- plus darkly tinted glass all around.

Among other things, this vehicle said to me that its owner had an extravagant lifestyle, owned a Cigarette boat or some similar high- powered craft and was likely a high-rolling bachelor who favored gold neck chains. Well, one out of four doesn't make me an expert on reading car language.

And, I had missed the obvious statement: "I'm from California." Not the owner, the truck.

The owner turned out to be a regular fellow in a neat suit and tie -- no gold chains -- and married with five children, which could possibly be classed as an extravagant lifestyle these days. Consider the cost of groceries and new shoes for five kids.

The Suburban is the toy, transport and joy of F. Jay Barrows of Mansfield, who bought it locally and had it shipped to California for the makeover by a company called Pacific in Huntington Beach.

It started out as a heavy-duty Suburban with a 454 cubic-inch V-8 under the hood and a suspension to handle a 9,000-pound tow load -- for about $27,500. Pacific changed it significantly, adding another $7,500 to the bill. Barrows keeps meticulous records on the truck's performance, so he knows for a fact that it has delivered an average 10.8 miles per gallon overall in its life so far; that it averages 8.6 mpg on level ground pulling the boat. With a 42-gallon tank, it manages considerable range between fillups.

The boat, incidentally, has two 454 CID GM engines in it, a top speed of 68 mph and at that speed consumes fuel at about the same rate that you can dispense it from a gas pump -- all of which explains why he carries five gasoline credit cards.

(Barrows insists that he operates the boat at significantly lower speeds, not for the sake of economy so much as for safety. And I believe him; he gets irritated talking about dumb boaters.)

I couldn't resist the invitation to take the Suburban for a short spin. Acceleration was pretty good, although a hard push on the accelerator generated visions of fuel pouring through a large diameter hose. The emergency handling proved quite good, too, as I swerved to avoid debris in the highway, coming very close to the guardrail -- at which point Barrows calmly informed me that the rear fenders actually extend beyond the side mirrors. I was closer to the guardrail than I had known.

The thing is rigged for comfort -- front and rear air conditioning, leather seats, the works. If it were my truck, I would have opted for stronger brakes; they were good, but good on this much car is not enough to suit this driver.

So what is the rationale for owning -- and feeding -- such an enormous consumer of energy? A weekend on the boat, Barrows said, is enjoyment for the whole Barrows tribe and a lot cheaper than a weekend at Disney World -- or any resort with five kids in tow.

What does a man do to support this stuff? Barrows sells insurance -- a lot of it, by the looks of things.

All of which goes to prove one shouldn't jump to conclusions about people on the basis of a car; this didn't look like a family car, but it turned out to be just that.

Copyright 1996
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