ev-charging

Inspired by the Marx Brothers

~ Ken Mirvis ~ Leave a comment

I am not one of those people who can recite great comedy routines from memory. I do not know every bit of Monty Python’s hilarity. I almost never reference comics. But I do love good humor, especially when it perfectly captures reality.

In the email introducing my last entry, I gave a shout-out to Tom Papa’s “Well, I have” schtick. Now we have two in a row! For my money, the Marx Brothers were the funniest siblings ever on earth!

In Animal Crackers, Groucho plays Captain Spalding, the bumbling African explorer who once tried to shoot an elephant in his pajamas. (“Of course, in Alabama, the Tuscaloosa.”) Chico plays Emanuel Ravelli, a huckster musician who shows up to play at a fete hosted by the socialite Mrs. Rittenhouse (Margaret Dumont) one day before he was due.

The dialogue goes like this:

Mrs. Rittenhouse: You are one of the musicians? But you were not due until tomorrow.

Ravelli: Couldn’t come tomorrow. That’s too quick.

Captain Spalding: You’re lucky they didn’t come yesterday.

Ravelli: We were busy yesterday, but we charge just the same.

Captain Spalding: This is better than exploring! What do you fellows get an hour?

Ravelli: For playing, we get $10 an hour.

Captain Spalding: I see. What do you get for not playing?

Ravelli: $12 an hour.

Captain Spalding: Clip me off a piece of that.

Ravelli: Now, for rehearsing, we make a special rate. Thatsa $15 an hour.

Captain Spalding: That’s for rehearsing?

Ravelli: Thatsa for rehearsing.

Captain Spalding: And what do you get for not rehearsing?

Ravelli: You couldn’t afford it. You see, if we don’t rehearse, we don’t play, and if we don’t play, that runs into money.

That has been one of my favorite comedy routines for about sixty years. Thanks to this EV adventure, I finally understand the logic, and it is brilliant!

We stopped at a charger the other day owned by the City of Kearney, Nebraska. I plugged in, went through the App/Apple Pay abracadabra, and then sat back to grab a few quick kilowatts. The text message from the charger that came to my phone went something like this: The time you spend charging will cost $0.00 per hour. Once you are fully charged, the time you stay hooked up will cost $3.00 per hour.

There it is! The Marx Brothers in real life: For charging, you pay little to nothing. But for not charging … you can’t afford it! (BTW, I did pay for the electricity, but at a very reasonable rate.)

One of my biggest fears on this EV-charging adventure is that we will arrive at a charger. Some inconsiderate SOB will have a car hooked up and fully charged, but I cannot get to the charger. High “idle-time fees” are the answer. Charge a minimal break-even amount for the charging itself, and then break the bank for bogarting the charger once its work is done.

I expect we have a new Marx-Brothers-inspired business model here: provide an essential product for free and charge exorbitant rates for not using it. I am smelling fame and fortune with this one. Anybody interested in investing?

Three Clicks Got Dorothy Home

~ Ken Mirvis ~ 1 Comment

Dorothy only needed three clicks to get home.  We needed five.

Just before Thanksgiving, we headed from home in Vermont to home in Boston for the holiday. This time, I had the mid-trip charging situation a little more under control … or so I thought.

Midway through the drive, we stopped in White River Junction for a charge. White River has a couple of options, so we figured we’d be safe. I pulled into the Mobil Station, drove all the way around it, and never saw the chargers that were supposed to be there.

No problem. I could see the Chevy dealership up the road that also has a charger.  Off we went for our first (of what I expect will be many) dealership charges. The people were nice. The charging was easy. We sat and played a game of cribbage while we waited. (Rebecca beat me, dammit.)

The battery charged almost to the point we needed, then it just stopped. We wasted about a half hour thinking it was still working, but apparently it wasn’t. The lady at the dealership said that happens sometimes. (Note to self: Make sure things keep working.)

We still needed a bit more charge to get to Boston worry-free. I asked about the chargers that were supposed to be at the Mobil Station. They are there, she explained, but in another parking lot behind the station. No wonder I couldn’t find them the first time.

We pulled up to finish the charge. This time I was a pro at using ChargePoint chargers, so no more lost credit card fiascos. We grabbed a bite to eat then came out to leave.

Techno Side Note: Level 3 EV chargers look a lot like gas pumps and nozzles. The similarities stop there. Instead of a rubber hose, EV charging cables are about 50% larger in diameter and are filled with very densely packed wires. They are heavy, and in winter (and maybe in summer; I just don’t know yet), they are stiff and hard to maneuver. They carry up to 350 kV of DC electricity. That is a lot of juice! The plug, which looks a lot like a gas pump nozzle, needs to be wrestled to get it to line up with the charging outlet in the car. The whole operation is not really hard, but it takes real work, at least for a novice.

When we returned to the now-charged car, the plug was stuck. I didn’t know how hard to wrestle with it. I surely didn’t want to break anything, but it just wasn’t coming out. I punched and punched and punched the little release button. It clicked responsively but nothing budged.

So, I did what I am getting used to doing: I called the lady at ChargePoint. I think I got the same lady who taught me to use my credit card properly a few weeks earlier: sweet and knowledgeable with a very heavy accent who asked way too many unnecessary questions.

She instructed me to lock the car and close the windows, then click the “unlock” button on the key fob five times. Five clicks later, the charging plug lifted gently from its nest, and we were headed home. A new lesson learned.

Dorothy ain’t got nothing on us. We both made it home. I wonder how many more lesson-learned moments await us.

It’s Only a Credit Card. No Big Deal.

~ Ken Mirvis ~ 1 Comment

Last week, Rebecca and I embarked on our second shakedown adventure: A drive from home in Vermont to home in Boston, where we would have to charge up in route. I did my homework, creating a spreadsheet of every charging station along the way. I worked on that spreadsheet for hours. Then we stopped at a rest area to pee. I asked the attendant when he thought they would start installing charging stations at rest areas. He didn’t think that would happen because gas stations were already installing them. There were a few new chargers at the next exit, just a few miles away. My research had never turned them up.

“Great,” I thought, “let’s try them out even though we still have plenty of juice.” We arrived at the charging station five minutes before I had a scheduled Zoom call. We could charge up during my call and leave with enough juice to get to Boston.

But this charger did not accept credit cards. It only accepted payment through the ChargePoint app and a tap of the phone. I had already downloaded the app and put in a payment option, but apparently, I had not yet punched enough buttons.

So, we waited to try again until after my call. After the call, still no luck, so I called ChargePoint. The lady answered pretty quickly, but her accent was so strong that I could barely understand her, and the cold and wind did not help. Despite my inner urgings to stay calm, I was getting frustrated. After endless useless questions and identify checks, I re-entered my credit card information, got the information into “My Wallet,” and tapped the machine once again, this time successfully.

Mindless fool that I am, I laid my credit card on the hood. Then we sat for 15 or 20 minutes while “Mo” took on $10 worth of electricity. I unplugged, and off we went.

Everything worked great. We got good mileage. The drive was easy. The new Level 2 charger at our house worked perfectly. Then we went to a restaurant to pick up some supper. Oh crap! Where was my credit card? DUH! Wherever it blew off the damn hood!

While we waited for our food to arrive, I called the credit card company to cancel the card. No one had used it, so no problems. The new one is in the mail.

Of course, this was the card I use for all of my remote and on-line purchases, so I knew that my stupidity in leaving the card on the hood would cost me hours of work getting a new number into who-knows-how-many sites and apps.

My frustration was palpable. I hated the idea of those wasted hours at the computer and the inevitable one or two that I would neglect to do. I was really pissed at myself. Then the light bulb went off. I reached into my shirt pocket. There it was: the credit card. Instead of leaving it on the hood or putting it back in my wallet, I had mindlessly put it in my shirt pocket. The elapsed time between canceling the card and finding it could not have been a minute, but the deed had been done.

How many more times in this adventure will I multitask to the point of becoming forgetful? The count begins!