AndyH
Well-known member
From the Plug In America June newsletter.
Range Anxiety: Myth or Fact?
I have a big time range-anxiety confession to make: In 2001, when my friend Lisa Rosen offered to let me borrow her EV1 for one gas-free week, I was frankly unsettled. Nice offer, but what if I ran out of juice? I might be late to work or miss an appointment or get stranded by the side of the road or . . . my imagination ran wild.
So WHO exactly am I now to judge anyone else's range anxiety? I admit it. I have developed an unbecoming attitude of arrogance concerning my nearly 10-year history with electric cars. I've been known to cast judgmental aspersions in the general direction of the EV meek, mild or uninitiated -- easily and conveniently forgetting the hysterical three-dimensional range anxiety I wrestled with back in the day.
So how did I conquer my anxiety without Xanax? Something strange happened during what I now call "the week of the EV1." The tension started to just slip away as easily as the car slid down the freeway. I enjoyed masterfully whipping Lisa's 120-voltage cord out of the EV1's trunk and plugging it into a standard outlet in the parking-structure wall of the courthouse where I worked as a court reporter. I felt like some kind of high-tech Charlie's Angel for mainlining electricity and couldn't wait to glide sleekly and silently home at workday's end.
The question then arose: Should I throw my husband Howard's professional hat in the ring to beg, plead and bargain for a fleet-leased RAV4 EV? He runs an optometric business and could have qualified. William Korthof, owner of EE Solar, solved my "dilemma" and abruptly halted such inane pussy footing around. He actually RENTED a RAV for me to drive for another week of plug-in bliss. Who needs Xanax when you have a mentor like Lisa to encourage a whole new way of experiencing transportation and a solar installer like William to insist upon it?
Love. I fell head-over-heels in love with electric cars. And gas stations blurred blissfully into my own personal past. Forever and ever.
It can happen to you, too.
Amen,
Linda Nicholes
Range Anxiety: Myth or Fact?
I have a big time range-anxiety confession to make: In 2001, when my friend Lisa Rosen offered to let me borrow her EV1 for one gas-free week, I was frankly unsettled. Nice offer, but what if I ran out of juice? I might be late to work or miss an appointment or get stranded by the side of the road or . . . my imagination ran wild.
So WHO exactly am I now to judge anyone else's range anxiety? I admit it. I have developed an unbecoming attitude of arrogance concerning my nearly 10-year history with electric cars. I've been known to cast judgmental aspersions in the general direction of the EV meek, mild or uninitiated -- easily and conveniently forgetting the hysterical three-dimensional range anxiety I wrestled with back in the day.
So how did I conquer my anxiety without Xanax? Something strange happened during what I now call "the week of the EV1." The tension started to just slip away as easily as the car slid down the freeway. I enjoyed masterfully whipping Lisa's 120-voltage cord out of the EV1's trunk and plugging it into a standard outlet in the parking-structure wall of the courthouse where I worked as a court reporter. I felt like some kind of high-tech Charlie's Angel for mainlining electricity and couldn't wait to glide sleekly and silently home at workday's end.
The question then arose: Should I throw my husband Howard's professional hat in the ring to beg, plead and bargain for a fleet-leased RAV4 EV? He runs an optometric business and could have qualified. William Korthof, owner of EE Solar, solved my "dilemma" and abruptly halted such inane pussy footing around. He actually RENTED a RAV for me to drive for another week of plug-in bliss. Who needs Xanax when you have a mentor like Lisa to encourage a whole new way of experiencing transportation and a solar installer like William to insist upon it?
Love. I fell head-over-heels in love with electric cars. And gas stations blurred blissfully into my own personal past. Forever and ever.
It can happen to you, too.
Amen,
Linda Nicholes