By now my regular readers will have figured out that I’m a certified (some would argue “certifiable”) car nut. Never one to hide my obsession under a bushel, I’ve gradually become the “answer man” that my friends and family members turn to with their car related questions.

As winter approaches, inquiries predictably trend toward things like winter tires and proper jumper cable etiquette. But lately I’ve noticed a distinct lack of curiosity regarding one specific type of vehicle, which until recently, was widely considered a basic survival tool for tackling Maine’s snow, sleet, salt and ice encrusted winter roads. I’m referring of course to the traditional Maine “winter beater.”

For those unfamiliar with the term, a “beater” is pretty much what it sounds like: a well-used, some would even say used-up vehicle the sole purpose of which is to transport folks from point A to point B over the course of a single Maine winter.

It’s brilliantly simple concept when you think about it. If you’re lucky enough to own a halfway decent ride (i.e., one you would consider driving your mother-in-law to church in without having it fumigated first) why would you risk exposing it to fender benders, cracked windshields, torn CV joints and the myriad other automotive indignities associated with Maine winter driving?

Why indeed, when you can just as easily park your “good” car in the garage and drive your “winter beater” beginning, let’s say right about now, and continuing at least until this year’s crop of potholes and frost heaves has been subdued, usually around Memorial Day.

While there are no hard and fast rules, there are a few basic guidelines to follow when shopping for what I sincerely hope will be your first in a long line of memorable winter beaters.

Let’s start with the issue of initial cash outlay shall we?

Cash? Absolutely! Nobody in his or her right mind would even consider financing a winter beater. This is, after all a car you hope (or at least pray) you’ll be driving for five, maybe six months tops. We’re not talking extended warranties here, chummy.

A budget in the $800 range (including sales tax, registration and a case of 10-W30) should do nicely. So, empty your piggy bank, rummage for spare change under the sofa cushions, cash in your Moxie bottles and let’s go car shopping!

Obviously, in this price range, some degree of compromise must be expected, but surprisingly less than you might think. If you’re concerned about safety (and frankly in an $800 rattletrap who wouldn’t be?) just consider this nugget of timeless early ‘60s automotive advertising hype, which could have been transcribed verbatim from one of Don Draper’s own cocktail napkins: “Road Hugging Weight!”

Trust me on this one, folks. When you’re piloting nearly 5,000 pounds of velour lined, button-tufted early ‘90s Buick Roadmaster Wagon (with a half acre of fake wood bolted to its flanks) you’ll walk away unscathed from virtually any automotive altercation you encounter between now and mud season.

But aren’t old cars expensive to maintain? Who said anything about maintenance? Listen up. With something like 287,000 miles on the clock and blue smoke billowing from the dual exhausts, you’ll never change the oil on this puppy. Just “top it up” and keep on driving. How simple is that? Your winter beater is basically the four-wheeled equivalent of a disposable razor. When it’s used up, ditch it.

One often under-appreciated advantage of driving what amounts to a different disposable car for few months each year is that it affords you a rare opportunity to indulge your secret inner “Walter Mitty” fantasies.

Be honest, now. Just once, wouldn’t you love to show up at the Saturday night Methodist bean supper in a black Mercedes S-Class! Who cares if it’s 30 years old, the frame is rusted and the muffler just fell off? The sticker’s good until June! Besides, isn’t this the exact same car Saddam Hussein used to get chauffeured around in? I mean, how cool is that?

My personal favorite was a “moose brown” ’71 Caprice I paid my sax player Richie Gerber $100 for. Barely a decade old when I got it, it was already a classic beater. The odometer had stopped at 138,000 miles. The frame was bent and the shocks were nonexistent.

Yet on that long ago, sub-zero morning when I was due at the local radio station by 5 a.m., and my shiny new import car was off exploring cryogenic interment options, that rusty, trusty, $100 Caprice roared boldly to life and got me where I needed to go, proving once and for all that when it’s crunch time during a Maine winter, you just can’t beat a beater!