Why ditching my EV was the easiest break-up of my life
In my short, failed season as an EV driver, I observed a latent sense of entitlement among my fellow green-mobile owners. It’s nice to see the truth finally starting to come out.
Looking back, it was the easiest break-up of my life. Not that I’m someone you’d describe as a subject expert in that space, but believe me when I say ditching my electric vehicle was as easy as breathing.
I allowed myself a chuckle this past week, with a heavy dose of smugness on the side, as I read how, finally, EV manufacturers are on the hook for telling fibs about the range capacities of various models.
A study by the Australian Automobile Association found the driving ranges of many of the top-selling EVs fell far short of those that were claimed. The worst performer was the 2023 BYD Atto 3. The study found it had a driving range of 369km on a single charge, more than 20 per cent below the promised 480km. In a country as vast as Australia, that’s not a small discrepancy. The 2024 Tesla Model 3 (the car I owned briefly) had a real-world range of 441km according to the study, 14 per cent less than the 513km it promised me.
Study? I could have told them all of this for free. I still recall all too well the dark days and nights of creeping range-anxiety. The many times I decided not to do something, or decided to stay home instead of going somewhere (especially when it was a drive out of Sydney) because of the uncertainty of range and ability to charge the car. One weekend, for a trip to the NSW southern highlands, I swapped my car with a mate’s so I could enjoy the trip and not worry about getting stuck.
There were hours spent sitting in shopping centre carparks with a flask full of tea and my laptop, the car plugged into an “express charger” that still took as much as 50 minutes to get the tank full. Somehow, I think I always knew my old Tesla 3 was based on special Elon Musk kilometres rather than real-world kilometre. Oh, the betrayal.
Apart from feeling a deep, probably disproportionate sense of validation in response to this study, it also has been nice to see the truth about EVs beginning to come out. About their practical suitability, the real cost of production to the environment and, of course, the cost of infrastructure to support them: charging stations and the like.
Almost in the same breath that this study was released, news broke that federal and state leaders also seemingly have cracked, announcing that plans to charge EVs for a percentage of road infrastructure are finally under way.
You see, EV drivers avoid paying the same fuel tax that you and I do, which is 51.6c a litre. The cash that’s raised (billions every year) goes toward road maintenance and construction. Fair enough? Probably. But the 300,000 Aussies who drive an EV don’t have to pay and, last I checked, they still drive on the same roads we do.
This may be the only time in history that I agree with Jim Chalmers and no, it’s not a veiled cry for help. Unlike taxing people on money they haven’t made yet, this policy is not fundamentally stupid and socialist in nature. It actually makes sense.
Apart from the simple, practical logic behind it, it confronts the intangibles, too.
In my short, failed season as an EV driver, I observed a latent sense of entitlement among my fellow green-mobile owners. A sort of “we’re special, we’re saving the planet” vibe. A sense of superiority based on greater enlightenment.
That’s fine, be as enlightened as you like, but cough up and chip in.
As well as providing light relief during what was a very heavy week, this story got me thinking about that other cohort of road users who can lean towards the evangelical and entitled: cyclists.
Now, before you start, let me clarify. Some of the people I love most in the world are Lycra bandits. I’ve been to more cycling races, cycling events and cycling-related activities here in Australia and overseas than most of you may believe. I own a bike. I probably should ride it more, but I’m definitely not coming to the conversation from an adversarial place.
What I am saying is simple; it’s time for cyclists, and yes that would include me, to pay a nominal registration fee that would contribute to the funding of broad road infrastructure, but especially that which is cycling specific.
It’s especially important when you consider that cycling-focused policy is increasingly becoming activism. Perhaps if these ideas and plans came with a tangible cost to bike users, the approach might be more measured?
Take, for example, the most perplexing and ineffective piece of infrastructure known to man, Sydney’s Pitt Street bike lane. My office is close to Pitt Street, and since moving here I’ve watched in wonder and, frankly, confusion as the traffic snarls and crawls along during peak hour while that bike lane remains as lightly used as a gym membership bought on Boxing Day. It’s often easier to walk along the bike lane rather than the footpath, it’s so empty. I’ve seen it at peak hour, morning and evening. I’ve seen it during the day.
I heard an anecdote that a former ambassador to Australia, stuck in the snarl of Friday night Pitt Street traffic, ended up ditching the car and security, and walking to their destination. I’d believe it.
What’s even more bizarre is the moment someone dares question its efficacy it’s like unleashing outrage of such savagery you’d think people were suggesting Sydney host a puppy-kicking festival. It’s just another ideology.
EV drivers and cyclists want it both ways. As for cyclists, they want to be treated differently on the road. I’m conceptually OK with that but every time I see a Lycra bandit freewheel through a red light because the traffic is clear; every time I see three or more riders abreast on a busy road, causing danger; every time I duck to avoid a delivery driver screaming up the footpath on an e-bike? My benevolence is taxed. And perhaps that’s also part of the broader, occasionally heated animosity between cyclists and drivers. A sense of the rules being disproportionate.
What I’m suggesting isn’t new, or especially controversial, but what is interesting to note is that from what I’ve been able to read and glean, there are very few countries that have managed to pull it off. Bless the ever-efficient Japanese; bikes there must be legally registered but that is primarily a measure to combat theft, rather than contribute to infrastructure.
In Denmark, it’s a similar story, where bikes are registered with a unique VIN for the same purpose. That’s about it.
Surely if you can require someone to register a firearm or a pet, and put in place certain measures around how they’re kept and used, then why not bikes?
There are an estimated 10 million Australian bike owners. A nominal registration fee might help ground some of the more ideological ideas like “Make Sydney a cycling City”.
That’s pie in the sky stuff. My productivity would plummet if I had to ride a bike everywhere. I’m a regular public transport user, but a bike in my job? I sometimes wonder if the people behind these ideas know any normal people with normal lives.
User pays is a simple concept. It governs most of what we do as a society and even though my bike gets out only slightly less than a minimum-security prisoner, I’d happily be the first to cough up for the greater good.
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