How long do most people drive their cars?

How long do most people keep their cars?

Six years. Average. Meaningless.

My last car? Three. Too short. Impulsive. Regret.

Current vehicle? Five years and counting. A decision. Predictable. Perhaps.

Factors:

• Depreciation. Brutal.
• Reliability. Essential.
• Financial situation. Always fluctuating.

Longer ownership? More cost-effective. Duh. Less transaction fees. Less headache. Better for the environment.

But boredom? A valid concern. The allure of the new. A siren song. Always tempting. That’s human nature. It’s just the way things are.

My dad kept his Ford pickup for eighteen years. Ridiculous. Loyal. Sentiment.

Emotional attachment. Irrelevant. A car is a machine.

People change. Cars should too. Or not. Depends. The choice is theirs. It’s their prerogative. It’s their business. It’s their decision. Their car. Their life.

How long should you drive your car?

How long should you drive your car?

It haunts me, this question. How long should you drive it?

• Longevity is relative. It’s more of a feeling, isn’t it?
• It depends. God, that word.
• My ’18 Honda Civic? I feel like its time is coming soon.
• A feeling in my bones, despite regular servicing.
• I guess mileage matters, I’m nearing 150,000 miles now.
• Oh man, is that bad?

Maintenance records matter, I guess. Mine are…okay. What’s “well-maintained” even mean?

• Oil changes, sure, I do that.
• Tire rotations.
• Other stuff? The mechanic always has a list.

Driving habits. I drive like I am 80, so smooth. Does it really matter, though?

• Some drive hard, yeah, i get that.
• Some neglect.
• My dad used to drive like a maniac, I always wanted to say something.

So, years and miles…it all blurs. It is more that sad moment where you know. You just know.

How many miles do most people drive their cars?

Twelve thousand miles a year, they say. Seems a lot, doesn’t it? More than I drive, that’s for sure. My little Honda… barely cracks five thousand.

This year, maybe six. Road trips are rare. Mostly just errands. Grocery store, work, that’s about it.

Driving less is something I’ve always felt. The car sits in the driveway a lot. My life’s become smaller. Simpler. Maybe sadder.

A month? Hardly a thousand. Probably less. I should take it for a longer drive. A real drive, beyond the usual grind. But I don’t.

Should a car be driven? Before what? Before it…dies? That’s a loaded question. A car’s worth isn’t measured by its mileage, it’s measured by the memories.

The journeys. The places. The people you were with. My Honda holds so many quiet miles. So many quiet days.

• Average annual mileage: Way less than 12,000 for me.
• Monthly mileage: Barely reaches 500. Sometimes less.
• Meaning of miles: It’s not about the numbers. It’s about the life lived. Or, not lived.
• My car: A 2018 Honda Civic. It’s paid off. That’s a good feeling, at least.
• Road trips: Almost nonexistent.

What is considered a long trip in a car?

Five hundred miles? Pfft, amateur hour. Anything under a thousand miles is a glorified jaunt, like going to the corner store for milk – only with more questionable snacks involved. Eight hours? My grandma takes longer to decide on a restaurant.

Seriously though, a real long car trip involves multiple states, questionable motel stays, and enough questionable gas station coffee to make a small nation tremble. Forget about your fancy eight-hour trips. We’re talking about the kind that tests your sanity.

Think about this:

• Multiple days on the road. We’re talking about bringing enough chips to feed a small army and enough chargers to power a small city.
• More than 1000 miles. Yes, I said it. A true long car trip. Like driving from NYC to LA – and stopping only for the occasional gas station hotdog.
• Passengers who are not robots. Kids? Pets? A significant other who thinks singing along to 80s hair bands is a bonding experience? That increases the long-trip meter tenfold.

Last summer, I drove from my place in Austin, Texas to visit my aunt in Portland, Oregon. That my friends, was a long trip. It felt like driving across the surface of the sun. I swear, the map started to melt. My car’s AC system gave up after day two. I’m pretty sure I aged five years during that trip. My poor dog thought we were migrating. It was epic! Or, as my therapist put it, “traumatizing.”

Road conditions? Forget it. Potholes the size of small cars? A mere inconvenience! That was in the past. Now, my car doesn’t even flinch. It’s like a robotic T-Rex on wheels.

How long does the average person go on vacation?

Twelve days. Pathetic.

Americans, apparently. Busy. Always. Prioritizes work. Sad.

My own vacation? Three weeks this year. Costa Rica. Jungle. Silence. Needed.

• Limited vacation time: A global issue, not just the US.
• Productivity: A false god. Exhausts. Kills.
• Mental health: Vacation is essential. Not a luxury.
• Personal experience: My last trip rejuvenated me. Intense. Recharged.

Planning is key. Don’t overthink it. Just go. Escape.

Prioritize. Seriously. You will die. Eventually. Don’t waste life.

2024 data. Expedia’s report consistently shows similar results. The pattern persists. Depressing.