For this adventurer, the roof rack does nothing but look good
by Beth Teitell

Thursday, July 26, 2001

You know what I'm sick and tired of? It's a nice summer Saturday, you're minding your own business, driving to the mall to buy a La-Z-Boy, or to Dunkin' Donuts to get coffee and a cruller, and all around you showoffs are whizzing by, their cars virtually invisible beneath their glamorous weekend toys: muddy bikes, colorful surfboards, sleek rowing shells.

It's enough to make a girl . . . well, not actually do any of those sports, but at least try and look the part. Which is why I'm buying my sedan one of those sexy Thule roof racks.

``That's wrong,'' a friend said when I told her my plan. ``It's like wearing black bike shorts and a racing top when you don't even ride a stationary bike.'' No it's not. It's better. I don't have to worry about how my car's thighs will look in a rack.

So I went to Thule's Web site, and was trying to decide between the H2Go, which is nice because it accommodates multiple hull shapes, and the Hang Two Surf Carrier, when I realized I needed professional help. Not a shrink. An authorized dealer.

I called Eastern Mountain Sports. Well, talk about mumbo jumbo. The guy went on and on about how it ``totally depends on what you're carrying,'' and threw around words like ``fixed cradles'' and ``flat bottom boats,'' until I could stand it no more.

``Which looks better?'' I asked.

I don't know what they teach salespeople these days, but he responded as if the question were absurd. ``Which looks better?'' he repeated. ``Uh . . . the one that holds your boat properly.''

I realized where the confusion lay. ``There is no boat,'' I said.

When he said how he'd never thought of a carrier as a ``fashion statement,'' and mentioned that a rack would cut down on fuel efficiency and hence might be a bad idea if I'm not actually carrying anything, I realized I should have called Anna Wintour over at Vogue, or maybe Mario Russo, the Newbury Street hairdresser, and asked them. Those are people who know what they're talking about. I may not know a lot about furling sails or riding the curl of a wave, but I do know that having the right rack is crucial. A flimsy carrier doesn't do anything for you (it doesn't even carry stuff reliably, not that that matters). If anything, a bad rack makes you look more soccer mom and less surfer dude than you would without it.

As I weighed my choices, I thought of a cautionary tale relayed by a friend. ``I wanted to look like Amazon woman,'' she said. ``So I left my bike rack on my car all winter.'' Nothing happened. Her hair didn't automatically get sun bleached. A washboard did not appear on her abs. Tevas didn't grow on her feet.

``The only result,'' she said, ``was that I couldn't get my car washed without removing the rack, which I was too lazy to do.'' I shuddered. The last thing I need is a dirty car. (Unless it was dirty in a ``I've-just-driven-down a mountain'' way, which hers wasn't. It was Allston dirty.)

Actually, a dirty car is not the last thing I need. At least grime wouldn't make me look bad by comparison. Dress your car too well, I realized, and your shortcomings are thrown into greater relief. And there's nothing worse than a vehicle that knows who's boss, either. Sometimes you see a car like that, wearing a ``This car climbed Mt. Washington'' bumper sticker, humiliating its owner, or letting its convertible top blow in the breeze, while the driver, all paunchy and middle aged, looks older than if he were driving a Buick.

Now that I think about it, maybe I'll forgo the surfboard carrier and instead get Thule's Frontier Box. That way I won't raise expectations, and even better, I could actually carry something I might use. A giant ice cream cake, say, or a two-week trip's worth of shoes.