Man cleaning steering wheel
When it comes to car detailing, it’s the little things that matter. A job well done requires pursuing the dust and dirt into every nook and cranny, including the air vents. 

GHENT, N.Y. — I attempt to get some exercise every day. But, by 3 p.m. last Tuesday, I still hadn’t.

“No problem,” I told myself, “you’re going to vacuum the car and detail the dashboard.” I doubt there are many others who put so much aerobic effort into cleaning their car that it constitutes a form of exercise.

And I didn’t even complete the task. For the first time ever, I decided to spread the chore across two days: vacuuming the floors, mats and seats on Tuesday; detailing the dashboard, seat pockets, cup holders, etc. on Wednesday.

 When I proudly updated my wife on my progress, after returning from the driveway valiantly lugging the vacuum cleaner, she sounded unimpressed. Actually, it was worse than that: She hadn’t even noticed that the interior of the car was begging for a sponge bath. I didn’t take her indifference personally. She usually doesn’t notice when the “check engine” or “low fuel” light goes on, either.

Take my word for it. The car, especially the floors that haven’t been vacuumed for months, was an embarrassment. I’m not obsessed with car cleanliness. I’ve got a life. I’m not one of those guys you see at the car wash eagerly depositing quarters into the stainless steel industrial vacuum cleaner after getting the Ultimate wash.

I can’t take the stress. By the time my 50 cents or dollar runs out, I’m just getting started. A job well done requires pursuing the dust and dirt into every nook and cranny, including the air vents.

One reason the assignment took so long on Tuesday is that I discovered an entirely new cranny. When I started to fold the rear seats of our Honda CR-V to gain better access to the dog hair trapped in the crevice between the seat and backrest, I noticed for the first time that the space beneath the seat contained debris dating back to 2017, the year the car was purchased.

I could take my wife’s apathy regarding my car-detailing labors as an oblique criticism of my obsession with life’s minutiae while I let the big things slide. Earning a living, for example. I realize I’m the main beneficiary of my mania. Beholding a clean car provides me a brief moment of well-being that borders on euphoria.

I trace my interest in car hygiene back to my seventh or eighth birthday. That’s when my parents gave me one of the greatest gifts a kid could that age in that era could have, at least a male kid, if you’ll allow me to traffic in discredited gender stereotypes.

It was a gleaming Playmobile battery-operated toy dashboard that boasted a steering wheel with working horn, gear shifter, lighted turn signals, motor sound when you turned the ignition key, and make-believe AM radio. The windshield wipers even worked.

Fast-forward 15 years or so, when I got my first car, a Ford Maverick. Actually, that’s not a great example. Not only was the car a lemon, but the dashboard was profoundly boring. Basically, what you’re looking for in a car dashboard is one that mimics the mood in the cockpit of a Boeing 787 or a Stealth F-117 Nighthawk.

In the best of all possible worlds, you’d be surrounded by a fairyland of lights and dials, not just on the dash, but also the ceiling and armrests. What you’re trying to create is the illusion of being a professional airline pilot. Or, better yet, an astronaut guiding his futuristic spacecraft through the Milky Way.

I’m tempted to credit my passion for instrument panels to being a child of the ‘60s and the Space Age. But, my hunch is that’s also behind the popularity of video games. Where else in life are you going to get the sense of control, of mastery and mission, that you do behind the console of an Xbox (its contoured wedge design even resembles stealth technology) or the wheel of even the most nondescript SUV?

My gray Honda CR-V, for instance. It’s so ordinary that I can’t distinguish it on the street or in a Walmart parking lot until I hit the key fob and it blinks and yelps.

I start by gently vacuuming the dashboard to remove the easily accessible dust, then go after the imbedded stuff with a wet sponge. Whatever you do, don’t use one of those Magic Eraser sponges. They are, indeed, magic, eliminating stains that other sponges can’t touch. But, they’re also mildly abrasive and they permanently dulled the glass that protects the speedometer and other gauges. I could shoot myself. Of course, automobiles, no matter how beloved or well cared for, aren’t Faberge eggs. They’re pieces of equipment exposed to the elements. Some wear and tear is inevitable. I accept that.

On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being my friend Bruce, whose Prius has never been introduced to a vacuum cleaner, and 10 my other friend, Steven, who has the engine block of his Porsche power-washed, I like to think I fall somewhere around a psychologically grounded 7 or 8.

In the meantime, I’m heading back to the car to finish cleaning it this afternoon, hopefully before anybody else needs to use it and starts mucking it up again. One hopes for an hour or two of pristine perfection.

It’s similar to that spine-tingling sensation I got in childhood when I removed my brand-new toy dashboard from its box — before my obnoxious little brothers got behind the pretend wheel and broke it.