Before you jump to any conclusions – this post has nothing to do with Twilight.

I was born an engineer. I had no choice in the matter.

Call it fate. Call it genetics. (A father and two brothers in the same profession indicates it is most likely due to genetics)

Whatever label you apply to it, it was a foregone conclusion.

I know this because I cannot stop being an engineer. Technical thoughts are in steady state of churn within my head. I see formulas, dimensions, materials, shapes, interfaces, ergonomics, simplicity, complexity, GUI – all things that define physical and electrical man-made elements in our daily lives.

No more is this fact more obvious than this past weekend when I changed the oil in my car.

Now – before I get into the meat of this story – you need to also recall the air temperature this past weekend. I believe it was a high of around 4 (at that low of number – Celsius or Fahrenheit units no longer matter). I have no reason for changing my own engine oil in my car under these conditions other than to say I am an engineer and we do such things – independent of the extreme nature of the environment.

Back to the story.

I have eluded to the fact in prior posts that I purchased a new car this summer. Throughout my life, I have been responsible for over ten cars in my life, including:

I’ve also had some indirect responsibility for other makes/models of cars, but you get the idea.

Successful at swapping out an alternator

Successful at swapping out an alternator

As an engineer, this means that I must know significantly more about the cars than merely the items I touch while seated in the driver’s seat. In addition to nearly everything inside the engine compartment, I am also familiar with exhaust systems, suspension, lighting, brakes, wheels/tires – pretty much any physical feature on the car.

Plus, taking the car to someone else for repair is always out of the question – usually for financial concerns, but also due to pride. They have been my cars. Repairing them takes only some basic know-how. Most of the cars in the above list are far from complicated and could be figured-out when it comes time for repair. This means that I have:

  • replaced starter motors on the Taurus and the Dynasty
  • diagnosed and swapped out the alternator – twice – on the Ranger
  • re-plumbed much of the exhaust system on the Prism
  • re-soldered the blower motor resistor on the Ranger
  • countless other significant repairs

All the while in doing these repairs, I often thought about the choices engineers made in enabling the most often anticipated failures of a vehicle to be corrected. In some cases, the choices are well-made – such as brakes. At least for disk brakes. If you have ever swapped brake pads on a vehicle, you realize it is a job that can be done in a matter of minutes with no real expertise or specialty tools. That said, if you have ever attempted to change drum brakes – you realize it is a day-long struggle with knobs, springs, and too-much unnecessary complication. Engineers who design drum brakes should be ashamed of themselves. Designers of disk brakes can be applauded.

Now – changing engine oil is a basic routine that all cars must go through on a very regular basis. Let’s say that your car lasts up to 200,000 miles. Changing oil/filter at 5,000 mile intervals means that you will change the oil 40 times. You’d think car design engineers would consider this when designing parts that are directly or indirectly involved during a routine change of oil. Unfortunately, that is seldom the case.

I recall my Prizm. Not only was the car far too close to the ground (which is expected) to access anything, but removal of the oil filter resulted in dumping oil all over the exhaust manifold. There was no alternative. Thus, after every change, the car would smoke profusely while the oil residue burned away from these ultra-hot parts.

The Ranger was just as bad, only this time the oil from around the filter would simply pour down the side of the crank case, past a few hot points (including an oxygen sensor on of the exhaust pipes) and eventually work its way under the vehicle by dripping on the ground over a 10 square foot area. Plus, the filter could only be removed from the top, which resulted in accidentally spilling oil over the spark plug wires and maybe the battery (just for good measure). The filter had to be screwed into place blindly, because there was no way to see where it attached to the entire (unless you were lucky enough to be 3 inches tall). Ford should go ahead and fire their entire engine department for this design aspect, alone.

Just home from the dealer - all shiny in the sunlight.

Just home from the dealer - all shiny in the sunlight.

But – my new car (a 2010 Mazda 3 Hatchback) has thus far been a pleasant surprise. For once, I feel that the engineers have actually considered the items that are common replacements throughout the car’s life and made them easy to see and repair.

This weekend, my oil change exercise was amazingly simple. The car has shielding fully enclosing the undercarriage near the motor – except for two areas involve the oil. There is an obvious oil plug within easy reach and highly visible. The oil comes out of the port in a nice, steady stream, indicating the internal shape of the oil pan is designed to evacuate as much oil as possible. The oil filter is the star of the design – as it sits full accessible at the bottom of the car. A well-positioned hole provides easy access and the filter is fully oriented so that it screws straight up into the engine. This means I can fill the new filter with fresh oil completely and put it back into the engine with no chance for spilling. Any drips once the old filter is removed will fall straight down, with no other engine parts in the way.

After over twenty years of maintaining cars – my new Mazda has finally got it right.

I’m tempted to round up engineers from other car companies and say “See!!!!! This is how it is done right!”

Because the engineering blood in me sees these sort of things – all the time.