I Unironically Bought A One-Owner Manual Chrysler PT Cruiser During The Pandemic And It Was Awesome

I don’t remember exactly where I read it, but the line that best summarized the collective fun poking towards the PT Cruiser went something like this: “We must all remember the PT Cruiser. So it can never happen again.” And yet it was precisely this much-maligned car, purchased ironically during the COVID shutdown, that managed to endear itself so much to me that it gave birth to the Doodle Wagon brand that continues to be an integral part of my family. Allow me to elaborate.

It Looked Like A Scam

[Ed note: Say hi to Nick. He’s an academic and also a reader who submitted this article, which I thought was worth sharing! -DT]

The first time I laid eyes on “Pete,” as we ended up calling it, was on a Craigslist post out of a central PA town 250 miles away. It was February of 2021, the depths of the pandemic. Like everyone else working from home, I was getting antsy. The ad was inconsistent, with photos from different contexts. It presented the car as RWD in like new condition despite near 120,000 miles, both of which were resolutely impossible. But the asking price was only two grand. “Donna” responded to my inquiry from an AOL account, starting a new thread with every response. She claimed it was a one-owner car, treated to regular oil changes, and hand washing only. She said it belonged to her late husband, and while she was keeping hers, she had to sell his. Someone had almost bought it that day, but had broken their leg in an accident on the way in. I was in luck and invited to go see it. 

My Spouse: “As Long As I Have Nothing To Do With It”

At this point I was both convinced this was a scam and inexplicably drawn to the entire situation. Was it the electric blue paint? The manual transmission? I mentioned it to my spouse, and after the laughter subsided, managed to convince her I was not joking. We’d driven exclusively German cars up to that point. She just didn’t know how to handle the astonishing request. I argued it could be a second car for driving our tall bernedoodle around, and before I could actually get a chance to think about it all, she said “as long as I have nothing to do with any of it.” A local friend agreed to drive us in my car, and very suddenly, it got real. 

It Was Not A Scam At All, And The Seller Was A PT Cruiser Diehard

After an uneventful drive, we knew we had arrived when we spotted the two PT Cruisers in her driveway. Hers had flames painted over its body, while his looked old, small, and somewhat forlorn, with none of the shine of the photos. The car was dirty, the steel rims had rusted, headlights were cloudy, there was a rust spot on a rear fender, and (three) wheel arches had ugly metal cladding. But the paint looked otherwise clean, the interior was in great condition, and the manual was an aftermarket Hurst shifter topped by a skull whose eyes lit up with a button. Donna was dealing with some health issues of her own, but her own eyes lit up when talking about the car. Despite my initial misgivings, she could not have been more real, and assured me that better looking hubcaps where in the mail. After a quick test-drive, I asked her to return the hubcaps she had ordered, kept the difference as a discount, paid her cash, signed papers, and drove away. Pete had no trouble with 70ish mph speeds in fifth gear. I drove home and went to bed trying not to think too much about what had just transpired. 

Creating The Doodle Wagon

The next morning began the transformation that would turn Pete into what I would call the OG Doodle Wagon, a succession of unloved, ugly, or just plain weird automotive icons that came and left my possession carrying those beloved plates (Aztek, HHR, HHR-SS, C-Max). The first was to drop the car off to my buddy Keith, a trusted detailer, rust guru, and small fix genius, who generously held his tongue while scratching his head in the car’s presence. Keith detailed the car in and out, got rid of the metal cladding that “did not belong there,” filled in and resprayed the rust spot, and polished the headlights. I honestly do not remember where I got the idea, but responding to his suggestion to just “clean and spray” the existing rims, I just texted him to pick “canary yellow” paint. Somehow…. he went for it, adding to the long list of small miracles that brought Pete into being. When I went to pick it up, I knew an icon was born.

My First Impressions

I come not to bury the poor PT Cruiser, as so many more have competently done so before me. The take presented here does not settle the perennial debate on whether it was “not that bad” or “truly an unbelievable turd” — two extremes between which we seem to collectively seesaw depending on our state of nostalgia. I come here to tell the story of how Pete turned out to be a remarkable car that spread happiness in my small corner of the world, at least judging by the number of chuckles and thumbs up we received on a daily basis. It never stopped being awkward, slow, and somewhat tippy. It didn’t like snow, and didn’t brake particularly well either; participating in traffic required you to be actually attentive. Yet once you made your peace with it all, including the fact that this was not the turbocharged GT but the regular 150hp 2.4 liter, you could begin noticing the multiple virtues of this surprisingly capable clown.

The first was how remarkably analog it all felt. I had remote locks and power windows, but that was just about it. Climate controls had a wonderful simplicity to it, and feeling the heat envelop you after turning the dials made the car feel cozy. The radio felt accessible, and encouraged me to listen to it often, perhaps the only car in which I’ve ever done that regularly. The gauges were annoyingly dim at night, but a Walmart leather cover made the steering wheel strangely nice to command, and the seats were just so comfy. The aftermarket HURST shifter was a pleasure to operate, not in the sense of comparing it to German or Japanese counterparts, but in the sense of enabling my soft, professional hands to operate mechanical machinery. The clutch action was neither memorable nor forgettable, and once you got yourself beyond the “first to second RPM drop” terror, it was enjoyable to go through the gears. I began catching myself always wanting to go out on a drive in it. 

Kids These Days Like The PT Cruiser. It Is No Longer Uncool

As weeks went by, Pete ingratiated itself into our local lives with surprising ease. The reasons were both material and aesthetic. It took me no time to recreate the, um, colorful IKEA-style exterior on the inside. An inexpensive portable Bluetooth speaker that matched its electric blue exterior got successfully Velcro-ed on the dashboard, sitting right underneath some oversized fuzzy dice that matched the canary yellow wheels. Charmed by these details and the retro vibe, Pete became a favorite of our teenage niece and her friends. Driving through downtown with the dog looking out the rear window became an arresting sight.

Yet beyond its aesthetic, if we can allow that term, Pete turned out to be really useful for a number of reasons. It had a very low loading floor that would put our current CX-50 to shame. Unlatching a few levers allowed me to fold the bigger rear seat like a suitcase, sending it straight to the basement. Our dog loved the open rear space instantly, having the lay of the land back there, whether for looking out the window or lounging on his blanket when tired.

[Editor’s Note: I once spoke with the Chrysler engineer who designed the PT Cruiser’s rear suspension; he told me Chrysler had used a 32-inch old-school TV as a requirement for rear cargo volume. To fit this big CRT TV, Chrysler had to avoid having big struts poking in from the sides, so they developed a remarkable watts-link twist-beam suspension. 

Somewhere on an SD card I have a video of me and that engineer doing a walk-around of the PT Cruiser’s suspension. Until I find that, the above is all I got. Anyway, back to Nick! -DT].

Mulch runs suddenly required no planning, as did picking up the odd piece of furniture. Long pieces of lumber became no problem, given the flat folding front passenger seat. We once even fit the equipment for an entire small gym, when a friend said yes to turning their garage into our COVID CrossFit box. Those were the days.

We had Pete for about seven months and 2,000 miles. It had some relatively inexpensive needs during that time, including a new front caliper, AC recharge, ignition coils, a cam shaft sensor, a lower motor mount, and the notorious shift cable bushings – which actually left me stranded, but luckily in a local parking lot in our town. Our BMW would have commanded a fortune for such needs, but not humble Pete, with cheap parts and modest labor requirements. Before the next winter, I decided to let it go, posting it locally for a price that included its repairs. A repair shop owner from the next town over came to test drive it, and undeterred from the yellow rims, offered asking price on the spot. It was for his daughter Mary, a fierce high school student who paid with her own cash and had to be convinced to accept “her first tank of gas on us.” 

To this day, I think about Pete often. I know it has been good to Mary, as I stop by her father’s shop to chat, and catch a sight of it. I try not to regret the Rust-Oleum can that let her coat the rims back to black, as a local kid may not want the notoriety of our silly doodle.

The world continues to shudder from the sins committed by that Bryan Nesbitt-penned abomination. And yet, sometimes I catch sight of Pete parked by the lake, as Mary and friends chat and watch the sunset. Its rims may no longer be yellow, but its secret is safe with me. And there’s absolutely nothing ironic about that, dear readers.