I’m not sentimental about cars. To me, there is no point in feeling attachment to a depreciating asset. My attitude likely stems from when I was a teenager and my future brother-in-law gave me his 1981 Subaru, which had survived a minor crash with a 1970s-era Buick that left the Buick’s chrome bumper scratch-free but crumpled the front end of the hatchback. Still, being a suburban kid on Long Island, I was thrilled to get a car that promised the ability to go, well, anywhere. Paying for insurance was an issue–a still-astonishing $1,600 for six months. But I set...