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Gas Is Sky-High and the Glaciers Are Melting. But I'm Not Junking My Great American Joyride.

My car swills gas, downing shot after shot of rich red petrol. It rumbles rudely at stoplights, scaring the Prius drivers around me. Its flinty suspension -- stiff and unyielding as a tax-department bureaucrat -- pounds my middle-aged back on rough roads. After collecting a relatively minor speeding...
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By Terry Box