It was 2009, and while the Volvo had been good to me, I could feel the edges starting to fray. The convertible top had already shown its temperamental side. The timing belt service was looming, and I hadn’t exactly been proactive about it. There were a couple of minor water leaks that I mostly chose to ignore. Nothing catastrophic had happened, but I was growing increasingly uneasy about owning a ten-year-old turbocharged Swedish convertible with deferred maintenance.
At the same time, Schild Computer Services was picking up. Computers in 2009 were still bulky. Towers were actual towers, and monitors were not yet slim, lightweight panels. I found myself hauling equipment across Tillamook County in a car whose trunk required creativity and optimism. It worked, but just barely.
Dakota was also spending more time with me at the beach. Anyone who has owned a corgi knows that sand and corgi hair are not gentle companions to leather interiors. The back seat was picking up scratches. The interior never quite felt clean. I would vacuum it out and feel like I was simply resetting the clock until the next layer of sand settled in.
The Volvo had been aspirational. It had represented the “I’ve got a real job now” phase of life. But my needs were shifting, and I was ready for something more practical.
This time, I didn’t need to browse aimlessly. I knew exactly what I wanted: a Jeep Patriot Limited in Inferno Red with the factory navigation system. There have been very few times in my life when I’ve had such a specific configuration in mind and refused to compromise. The Patriot was one of them. Limited trim. Leather. Heated seats. Navigation. And only in Inferno Red.
A couple of coworkers had Patriots and generally liked them well enough. At the time, I thought they looked cool — like slightly shrunken XJs. They had that boxy Jeep shape without being enormous. It felt like a return to something familiar after the Grand Cherokee, but scaled to where my life was at the time.
I did briefly lose focus. For about a week, I found myself looking at a 2004 Grand Cherokee Overland in Inferno Red. The light interior, the wood steering wheel, the upscale touches — it stirred up nostalgia quickly. I convinced myself that maybe I needed something bigger and more substantial again. But then I remembered 2008 gas prices and what mid-teens fuel economy felt like when you were the one paying for it. I wasn’t commuting a few miles to school anymore; I was driving all over the county for work. Nostalgia didn’t pencil out.
So I returned to the plan.
After a few weeks of searching, I found it at Miles Chrysler Jeep Dodge in Woodburn, Oregon. It was exactly what I had pictured: a 2008 Jeep Patriot Limited 4×4 in Inferno Red with the navigation system. It had only 9,000 miles on it — about 70,000 fewer than any vehicle I had previously owned — and it was still under the factory bumper-to-bumper warranty for another year. The idea of buying something that still had warranty coverage felt like a major step forward.
My dad went with me to look at it. In true form, he immediately tried steering me toward a Sport model on the lot. It was also Inferno Red, but it was decidedly not a Limited. No leather. No heated seats. No navigation. All things that had become non-negotiable in my mind.
Ya boy likes nice things.
The Limited was priced around $19,000. The Sport was closer to $13,000. For someone making $30,000 a year and carrying credit card debt, that difference mattered. We negotiated the Limited down to $18,000 and tried the walk-away trick. This time, they actually let us walk.
As we sat at lunch afterward, I bounced in my chair the entire time. My dad made every practical argument he could think of. He reminded me what $18,000 meant in real dollars. He pointed out that the Sport would do everything I needed it to do. He was right, of course.
But there was no convincing me.
As he had joked to the salesman earlier, I had money from Grandma burning a hole in my pocket. Her policy was simple: she would loan money at no interest as long as I made every payment on time. She didn’t run a debt-to-income analysis, and I wasn’t volunteering one. I had never missed a payment, and I didn’t plan to start.
Only a Limited would do.
At first, I was in that new-car daze. I had a Jeep again, and it looked sharp sitting in the driveway. The Inferno Red popped. The interior still had that faint new-car smell. It had leather, heated seats, and technology. It was getting decent fuel economy. On paper, it checked every box. As an avid country music fan, the Patriot was christened Reba, after another cute redhead.
But once the excitement settled, I started noticing things.
It was louder than I expected. There was more road noise than I anticipated, which was ironic considering I had just come from a convertible. The ride wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t refined either. It felt functional more than premium.
And then came the first passing maneuver.
The Patriot had the “bigger” 2.4-liter four-cylinder paired with a CVT. In theory, modern and efficient. In practice, when you pressed the accelerator to pass, the RPMs would climb, hold steady, and drone while the car slowly gathered speed. There was no satisfying downshift. No surge. Just noise and patience.
It was probably about as slow as my old Accord, but at least with the Accord I could downshift and wring more out of it. I could choose the gear and make it work. The Patriot just hummed along and eventually got there.
It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t exciting.
One feature I had been particularly excited about was the navigation system. In 2009, factory navigation still felt pretty futuristic. Around that time I had also decided it was finally time to try dating for the first time in my life. I didn’t have a particularly big social circle. Between church, small group, and work, my schedule was fairly predictable, and I certainly wasn’t the type going to bars or clubs. My best friend, also named Tyler, lived over in Bend, and I got to see him every couple of months, but otherwise my social life was pretty quiet. So I signed up for Match.com.
Before long I started chatting with a woman who lived in Newberg. I had never been to Newberg before, but that wasn’t a problem anymore. I had navigation. I plugged the address into the Jeep and confidently followed its directions.
Now, the normal way to get from Tillamook to Newberg is to take Highway 6 and then split off on Gales Creek Road. It’s a fairly straightforward drive that takes about an hour and a half.
My Jeep had other ideas.
Instead, it routed me down the coast to Beaver and then sent me inland on something called Blaine Road. Blaine Road, it turns out, was narrow, winding, and at the time included several miles of gravel. It was not exactly the sort of drive you want when you’re already nervous about a first date.
Thankfully I tend to leave early for things, so I still made it on time, if a bit stressed.
She was very nice and we ended up going on a few dates, including one trip to the drive-in theater in Newberg. That outing revealed another one of the Patriot’s quirks: the windshield was surprisingly low. At stoplights I often found myself craning my neck to see the signals above me. After a few dates she decided we weren’t the best match and we parted ways, but I was glad I had at least put myself out there.
While I didn’t love the Patriot, it was fine. It did what I bought it to do. It carried computer equipment without complaint, handled beach runs easily, and started every morning. It wasn’t exciting, but it was dependable.
It also went on one genuinely great road trip.
My high school friend Danny was getting married in Utah, and my friends Tyler and Chris wanted to go. Tyler was in the wedding but couldn’t get there on his own, so I volunteered the Patriot and declared it a road trip. We loaded it up with garment bags, duffels, and snacks, and set off across eastern Oregon.
For this purpose, the Patriot was perfect. Three guys, long stretches of highway, rotating drivers, and endless conversation. It cruised comfortably and returned about 25 mpg, which felt impressive at the time. After years of V8 thirst and premium-fuel Volvos, that number felt responsible.
That fuel economy became especially important when I glanced down somewhere in eastern Oregon and saw the gas gauge planted firmly on E. The distance-to-empty display said 30 miles. The GPS said the next station was about 50 miles away.
That math did not work.
I knew from experience that the Patriot’s distance-to-empty reading was accurate — I had once run it dry in Tillamook and called my grandma for gas. That was not something I wanted to repeat in the high desert.
We immediately switched to conservation mode, shutting the engine off at the tops of hills and coasting whenever possible. Every mile ticked by slowly. Then, with about five miles left according to the display, we spotted a small gas station the GPS didn’t know about. The price was painful. I didn’t care. I filled it up.
We made it to Utah without further drama. For that trip, at least, the Patriot felt exactly right.
By 2011, I had owned the Patriot for about two years. I was steadily chipping away at the loan balance, but there was still a long runway ahead of me. The payments were significant, and the longer I drove it, the more I realized something uncomfortable: there was absolutely nothing wrong with it.
It started every time. It hauled what I needed it to haul. It never stranded me. It was competent, sensible, and completely uninspiring.
I was paying real money for a vehicle that did everything right and inspired absolutely nothing. There was no anticipation when I walked toward it in a parking lot. No extra glance over my shoulder after I locked it. It was responsible. It was practical.
And I was bored.
Driving still mattered to me. I liked feeling engaged. I liked a little personality. As my side business stabilized and my life felt less fragile than it had a few years earlier, the itch returned. I wanted something smaller. Something more playful. Something less practical and a little more… mini-mal.
As you get older, one realizes that sometimes boring and dependable is good, and why I finally ended up with a Toyota suv as a daily driver after 50 years of many much more, um, rather “exciting” cars.
I agree with you – at least something about the car should excite you or make you feel proud. My first car was an MGB. Grandpa gave me $3000 to buy a used car or put down on a new one. Dad helped choose the MG (I could write a story about that. Who picks a tiny old convertible for a new teen driver who needs to learn stick? Well, he did good.). A year later, I was in the middle of a three car accident on a rainy local street. Car was totaled not so much from the damage, though three of the four fenders were involved. It just wasn’t worth very much. I negotiated a higher buyout and put the money towards a one year old Toyota Corolla. Safe, reliable, boring. I saw that the body shop still had the MG and told them, if you fix it up to sell, let us know. The shop had it ready around high school graduation time. I bought it back (graduation gift?) this time with fresh paint and gave the Corolla over to my family. My brother learned to drive on it and traded it in for a Jeep. Since then… no boring cars. Kept the MGB for ten years. Drove my infant in the back seat of my BMW 325i convertible. Once he got too big, we bought a first gen CTS-V. My most “boring” cars were still atypical- had two Nissan Leafs (leaves).
So when do we get to read your Cars of a Lifetime series? MGB? CTS-V? Sounds like a fun read…
MGB (10 years) to 325i convertible (kept 18 years) to CTS-V to Leaf, another Leaf, now C class but I have a low mileage 560sl too. Husband went from Fiat spider to 280 sl to Buick Le Sabre, then a GMC Safari van (we needed to tow), then a Hummer H2, Range Rover, and currently S class as mom is in a wheelchair and we need the big sedan. Talked son into a SAAB 9-3 convertible which he has kept 10 years so far.
My wife and I both really liked the Patriot when it came out, and having had an Inferno Red Dodge Caravan, I know how that color can pop. However, due to the issues we had with said Grand Caravan put the products from the company now known as Stellantis out of contention. I’m glad that the only issues you had with the Patriot were preferential and not mechanical.
What’s always surprised me is that the “cute” Compass persisted while the Patriot, which looked more like a real Jeep, was retired.
We rented a Compass once for a long trip in the Southwest, other than the paint shaker 2.4 engine it was adequate.
One of the reasons that there’s motorcycles is so that I can drive a boring minivan every day without it bothering me. If I need something playful, the bike is right there.
Yesterday I was watching something talking about good and bad used vehicles under $10K. In this category the good was 01-07 Ford Escape. The bad was the 07-14 Jeep Patriot because of CVT failures, noisy engine, and poor gas mileage relative to size. Of course the Escape could also be a Mariner or Tribute.
I watched the same video. I remember the first year or two of Escapes being the champion most recalled vehicle, which is now a Ford tradition. Maybe they worked the bugs out after a while. It sounds like Tyler got out from under the Patriot before any demons erupted.
One of the things I’ve learned from reading so many of these COALs and personal histories here on CC is that there’s really no such thing as an objective standard for what’s good or not automotively. Rather, it’s all about what you wanted when you wanted it (with a healthy dose of what you could manage to get when you needed to get it). So, you wanted a Jeep Patriot in 2008, and you got it, and it was great until it became boring. I think we’ve all been there. I can relate for sure.
I am glad that you had at least one good road trip in it. Vehicles aside, there’s nothing like a road trip with lifelong friends. Memorable well after the vehicle is gone.
Vehicle navigation systems…Yeah, an amazing technology up until the point where they became entirely and suddenly irrelevant. I’m sure that there are some here who feel differently, but I cannot imagine the regret around spending money on something like that…when in the past dozen years the thing that one carries in their pocket can perform the task so much better. But indeed, in 2008, it was pretty magical.
A reliable Jeep? Wow. Well at least for two years anyway.
Reminds of what a guy from church said on his new Jeep (I think it was this model). “I just bought it and I am already having trouble with it.”
As long as you love it, and it has been reliable that is all that matters. I would rather fight a caged tiger and polar bear at the same time than buy a dodge/jeep. I would have to be paid.
I remember this as a great example of Chrysler late in the Daimler period – they nailed the styling, but was not crazy about the dash design or about the refinement of the smaller vehicles. These looked like Jeeps, but I don’t see many now.
It is a tough thing – getting EXACTLY what you wanted, and then finding out that maybe what you wanted wasn’t what you wanted.
I’ve always been pretty ADHD when it comes to cars. They don’t hold my interest for very long.
Funny, I never saw the Jeep Patriot as desirable. Navigation systems are driven by algorithms rather than knowledge, Google Maps wants you to turn as soon as possible which locally means turning left onto a busy multi-lane road from a stop sign instead of going a block further and using a traffic light. Similarly going to Zumwalt Prairie Google said take the first right through a cattle ranch along what used to be a road, instead of the second right with the signpost to the front gate.
I agree with DougD that motorcycles can supply the excitement, after I got my first bike I sold my modified VW Scirocco for a bone stock Jetta.
My wife bought the first Patriot at our local dealer in the summer of 2007. The only options were AC and cruise. You would have enjoyed yours far more if you had spec’d the manual transmission, ours was quite quick and actually fun to drive. It was only FWD not 4X4 so it was probably 2-300 lbs lighter as well. We kept that car for almost 10 years and put over 260,000 kilometers on it. Overall it was a very satisfactory vehicle for the time that we had it.
I agree! A manual would have been the way to go.
A good friend has one of these, in a lower-spec because he, *ahem*, controlled himself and bought based on need and budget. It’s not the vehicle I would have recommended, but it’s served him well and it is getting on towards 200K. 2.4-liter and 6spd auto, I believe. Doesn’t have the weird CVT crawler ratio that the Trail Rated Compass came with, but the approach and departure angles are quite good so he can ramble down some dirt.
It feels reasonably solid and squeak-free going down the road and the cabin noise is not too bad. The seats suck. The interior materials are horrible. It’s slow and thirsty. But if it doesn’t break and you view your car as a tool as my friend does, then why spend more?
Ha! Yes, 39 year old me is much better at controlling himself. I’ve bought several base model cars since then. I did like the goodies in the Limited though.
Automotive “enthusiasts” love to trash the Compass/Patriot/Caliber trio, but I daily drove a 2010 Caliber 5-speed for 12 years and it was honestly a great car. Not perfect by any means, but surprisingly reliable and super practical, and the 2010 interior refresh did the car worlds of good. I could carry 4 people around with plenty of room, then fold down the rear and front passenger seat flat and haul all sorts of 8′ long cargo without problem. The 2.0L World engine with the 5-speed worked just fine.
Living in upstate NY, the rust really got to it though…I didn’t start undercoating it annually until I had owned it for a few years, and by then it was too late. Got totaled in a road mishap about a year after I stopped daily driving it, legit miss it.
I did look longingly at the refreshed interior not long after I bought mine. I also think the later 6 speed automatic probably made it feel a lot better than the CVT, but I’ve never sampled one.