Pottering along at 75 on a nearly empty freeway in ye olde ES yesterday, I flipped on a turn signal for a lane-change. Of course the signal worked, which caused me to ponder: As the car approaches its 500,000th mile, how many times have I flipped that switch? How about the ignition switch? The door locks? How many times have I wound the driver's window up and down? Opened the wind wing or the vomit box?* All of them still work as well as they did the day Sven drove her out of the factory 29 years ago, near as I can tell.

That's really amazing! So was my original fuel pump's working fine for 470,000-something miles before croaking (when opened up, nothing was broken or stuck in it -- the motor windings were simply worn away and no longer rose above the insulator so the brushes could brush 'em; it had come to the end of its design-life). The ES's front wheel bearings were re-packed for the first time at about 480,000 miles. They needed it, but could have gone a bit longer as nothing was scored. My original, generally ignored, heater and vent controls still work fine.

I had to wonder: If the new $35,000 Jeep Cherokee I'd just passed -- hence the turn signal -- managed to make it to half the miles my Volvo has gone, how would its switches and bearings be doing? How about switches on a new Volvo V70? Somehow, I doubt the same bits and pieces would be functioning so well on those cars.

I was told years ago was that Volvo's engine castings for B20s and earlier have a hell of a lot of molly in their iron alloy, plus I was told those castings were set outside on racks for 12 months -- four Swedish seasons -- to cure, for all the molecules to shake hands, to get comfortable and stable, before any machining was done. That, I was told, contributed greatly to Volvo longevity. I've never been able to confirm those statements. I've asked Volvo executives about it, asked their PR people about it, asked Irv Gordon about it, but it seems nobody these days can tell me if it's so. If once upon a time they set the castings out for a year, I doubt they do now, given today's corporate priorities. (If you know whether the castings-outside bit is fact or just urban lore, please give a shout -- a slightly warped mind wants to know.)

The integrity with which our older Volvos and their bits and pieces were made is, I suspect, a big part of why they have the souls they have, which are quite different from, say, an old MG's. New Volvos -- most new cars -- have about as much soul as a Maytag washer, which is why it's harder to care about them at all. Caring about a machine -- and taking care of it -- is an important element in its longevity, obviously, but all the care in the world isn't going to make a shoddy switch last.

Speaking of taking care of things, there so many little considerations I give my car to make it last I'm probably not aware of all of them. They've developed over years. Some were conscious decisions, some not. Never allowing anyone to slam my doors was a conscious decision years ago: I realized that old Volvo's window winders are delicate -- a design weakness -- and slamming doors is a great way to make the winders cranky. Slamming doors does the locks and striker-plates no good either. Slamming my car door is a felony. I warn passengers before they close them. You slam my door, you don't get invited back. You don't even get a ride home. Irv Gordon doesn't even want to lock his car, I learned while riding with him for two days and 500 miles. He tries to avoid wear on the tumblers -- and the rest of the mechanism. He keeps to a minimum the times he even opens the doors, or his hood, and Irv taught me this little stunt: When checking your oil, before wiping the stick and reinserting it, let the oil drip off its end into the left hood hinge. Wipe the stick, dip it, look at it -- and let the oil drip off its end into the right hood hinge. On 1800s, that's important -- ignored hood hinges want to stiffen, then freeze up, and in time you'll have broken hinges from metal fatigue or a bent hood.

A rule of mine, as long as we're at it -- consider these Helpful Hints From Heloise's illegitimate brother -- in life as well as in the car, is to never use more force on anything than required to accomplish the job. If I've an adversary who's smart, I might convince him with subtleties or logic; if an attacker is dumb and numb, screw it -- go for the lead pipe. But why beat up anything or anybody unless there's a clear and urgent need for it? By using switches gently, by just clicking doors shut, by easing onto and off of the brakes and throttle, and into and out of turns (even when driving con brio), by gently opening wind wings or trunk lids, everything will last a hell of a lot longer, including you.

I admit I'm a sucker for a good twisty road, so the ES is on it's third set of lower ball joints and the second set of uppers, and suspension bushings (and tires) get replaced more frequently than usual. However, my ES's original clutch lasted to some 460,000 miles (all mileage approximate since Smiths made the speedo) because I don't use it much. It still worked when I changed it out, but you could tell it wanted to slip. Of course I use the clutch, but never would I hang the car on it at lights on hills. When starting off from a stop, I slip it the minimum I can get away with at low revs to get car off smoothly. Only when it's fully engaged, do I really get on the gas. By matching engine revs well with the drive train when shifting up or down, the clutch is used briskly but with very little slippage, hence, again, it doesn't wear out. Neither do U-joints. A bonus is a nice crisp punctuation in the exhaust note. My original throw-out bearing lasted because I always put the car in neutral when stopped for more than a couple seconds so the bearing gets light use.

Cleanliness is valuable too. When I built my engine, I used a good marine primer (Z-Spar Syncroprimer) on its outsides, then debated whether to topcoat it with glossy white or maybe bright yellow instead of the old Volvo red. I've always painted my boat engines glossy light colors so I can see oil or coolant leaks right away. But they don't get road dirt on 'em; I stayed with glossy red for most of the engine. A gloss coat washes easily and leaks are obvious.

Clean carpets mean the fibers don't get abraded or cut by sharp-edged grit; clean door jams and rocker drain holes mean moisture-holding crud isn't helping rust your car.

I could go on and on, but the idea is to simply think about how you're treating that car I'd guess you prize if you're reading this. Think about what Action A does to Part B. Get into the Zen of it, as they say in Santa Cruz. All of this doesn't take much time -- and it saves tons of time in the long run, especially when you think of the hours you don't have to work earning money to buy a tinny and plastic new car. It's a different philosophy from the one you adopt when driving beaters, which I've also done. For awhile, I was off at sea for months at a time, ashore awhile, then gone again. I bought $100 cars and sold them for about the same. However, I don't think that's necessarily the cheapest way to go when you need a car for the foreseeable future, or you want to drive coast-to-coast with peace of mind -- or if you don't much like a wasteful, throw-away world.

Oh, in my rules for parking 1800s and other good old Volvos in a previous issue, I forgot one thing. Never leave the car in gear if there's any chance someone will hit it. That avoids getting broken gearbox parts in addition to bent bodywork.

* Vomit box? That's the little flip-lid box aft of the shifter in the console of later 1800s. You don' wanna know how it got that name.