#Nokian

Wide swaths of the motoring public tend to dislike spending money on new tires, thinking them little more than rubber circles which are all the same. As gearheads, we know the difference of course, and often dive into the purchase with zealous amounts of comparison and opinion. If only we could transfer this enthusiasm to everyone.

Until now, the specter of all-weather tires has been somewhat nebulous. Purported to be a bridge between all-seasons and winters, they used to be derided by some as ‘good at everything but great at nothing.’ But tire tech has come a great distance in a short amount of time, particularly from brands like Nokian which plow cubic acres of dollars into their R&D departments.

Those four black circles at each corner of yer car are technically the only parts of the machine that literally touch the pavement. All the modern safety or efficiency gear in the world is useless if an owner has cheaped out with off-brand rubber or simply runs the wrong set.

Those of us in the Snow Belt know this, explaining the rise of that three-peak mountain snowflake symbol that certifies the tire for winter duty. But the rise of electric vehicles comes with a new set of considerations – and Nokian thinks they have an answer.

Finnish company Nokian put down roots in the South a few years ago, opening a brand-new facility just northeast of Chattanooga back in 2019 where they currently employ about 350 locals. In a spurt of good news for the area, Nokian has announced they plan to bump that number to 475 by the end of this year.

People tend to have some pretty strong opinions in this neck of the woods, ranging from thoughts about this year’s crop of NHL rookies to unsolicited sentiments about how Uncle Walt really should have added a ledger board when he built that new deck last summer. Hey, at least the thing is still standing. For now.

While the works of us are largely united on the subject of winter tires – it’s broadly accepted that driving aids such as pedestrian detection and lane centering and even the basics like stability control aren’t of much use if those four fist-sized patches of rubber on each corner of the car have less traction than pork at a PETA picnic – there’s still plenty of debate over the usefulness of studded winter tires. One group swears by them while the other swears at them.

This author was in the latter group – right up to the moment I bolted a modern set of studded tires to my Cherokee Trailhawk. Turns out, a lot has changed in two decades.

Quick now: Just how full is your refrigerator at this precise moment? I mean, it is kinda full, is it sorta full, is it totally full, is it almost empty, does it have the bachelor’s portion of beer and Cretaceous takeout? The reason I ask is because when I visit my more successful friends I’m simply bowled over by the amount of empty refrigerator space they have. Double and triple Northlands or Vikings with nothing in them. Deep stacks of empty shelves. Sometimes they have empty sections, doors behind which the air is chilled to 33 precise degrees but where nothing is stored.

My friends tell me that they need the space for the parties and gatherings they are going to have. I refrain from pointing out that in the modern suburban era nobody ever goes to anybody else’s house unless it is on pain of death/shunning/shaming. That gregarious age documented by Updike and Cheever is long gone. My friends won’t be hosts. Nobody’s coming to the parties that they won’t really have. All of that empty fridge space will always be empty. They spend most of their nights on “foodie adventures” anyway, spending massive amounts of money to avoid being trapped in their homes with only Netflix to fill the gaps in their meaningless conversations. And it’s only the two of them anyway, plus one designer baby after the wife turns 38 and panics.

I feel very virtuous, almost Spartan, because I only have a single-width Sub-Z from about 15 years ago. And my fridge is relatively full. But still there’s empty space. Sometimes Danger Girl goes through and tosses a half-ton of expired food. Still more fridge than we need. Compare that to the fridge at my grandmother’s house. She had four boys living in the house. Six people to my three. And her fridge was under six feet tall. With two cramped compartments. How did she do it, particularly given the fact that she cooked a real dinner, a real lunch, and a real breakfast every night? How did she survive on one-fifth the frosted space available to my DINK foodie friends?