Man vs. mileage 

This morning, like most days, Mike Turner — of northern South Carolina — eats a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with brown sugar before he heads to work. After gulping down a glass of apple juice, he opens the fridge, grabs his small blue-and-white lunch cooler and then heads out the door. He's been up 20 minutes (since 4 a.m.), and it's time to get rolling.

The black abyss of the outdoors briefly swallows him as he walks the short distance to his car. Despite his swift cadence, he registers Mother Nature's soundtrack of chirping crickets and the melodic accompaniment of a lone owl. The married 52-year-old electronic technician slides onto the blue plastic seat of his car, and he places his cooler and ID badge on the passenger's seat.

With the click of his seatbelt, it's time to begin his 52-mile commute to the plant in North Carolina. Seamlessly, he swiftly turns the key in the ignition, cuts on his headlights, presses the clutch and gives the gas pedal a measured and deliberate amount of pressure. Then, he shifts back to neutral and kills the engine. At the end of his gravel driveway, he veers left onto the winding, hilly, two-lane country road and coasts for about half a mile. When his speed gets down to just above a crawl, he turns the key in the ignition, accelerates up to 45 miles per hour before shifting to neutral and repeats the process. During the 10 miles it takes to get to I-26, he'll likely cut his car off five or six times.

It's a desolate drive to the interstate most mornings ... other than the voice of the NPR commentator who rides with him through the airwaves. That's not to say, however, that his regular journey hasn't come with its share of occasional excitement. One morning a couple of years ago, Turner collided with a medium-sized doe. He was traveling at about 45 miles per hour at the moment of impact. That's when he witnessed the unimaginable. The animal took flight. Literally. Over the hood, clearing the roof and beyond the trunk, the four-legged creature stared death in the eye and -- unlike Bambi's mom -- lived to do it all over again. When Turner walked back to check on her, she'd already continued on her journey, undoubtedly stunned, not knowing what hit her. But she left no trace. Well, almost no trace. The plastic covering of his headlight was cracked; a repair that would cost him $35. That's a vast savings over his last run-in with a deer, which cost him $700.

But to be fair to the deer, even if there had been a hair of daybreak on the horizon, the doe still wouldn't have recognized what was coming toward her. After all, most people do a double take when they see Turner's 1992 Honda Civic hatchback heading in their direction. Maybe it's the rounded-off nose that acted as a scooper to the benefit of the doe or the boat tail with Lexan glass in the back that helps ensure the best aerodynamic drag; whatever the case, Turner's pimped out ride is something to stare at.

"I've had folks say 'the Martians are coming,'" Turner chuckles. "People take pictures of my car on cell phones everywhere I drive." He's even been stopped by curious cops a few times but never ticketed. (After all, it's not a crime to look crazy.) Turner is unfazed by the attention. What he is fazed by, however, is his mileage efficiency and the gas he saves. Because, no matter what people think or say, his hyped-up hooptie averages more than 70 miles per gallon -- and that's not a figure that can be ignored.

Going under the screen name of "basjoos" on CleanMPG.com, a site that lets drivers track daily mileage and share information, Turner is just one of a growing legion of people who identify themselves as hypermilers. They make up a community of drivers committed to taking the edge off of rapidly rising fuel costs through a combination of practical design and driving-style modifications, and in some cases, controversial techniques. These drivers come from all walks of life, aspire to different hypermiling goals and have varying motivations.

For Turner, her name was Katrina.

"When the hurricane hit and the gas prices went up, that was my 'Aha!' moment," says Turner. "It was a wake-up call. I realized that all it takes is a little hiccup for things to get crazy. I wanted to get myself into a position where I wouldn't be in a bad spot, whatever happened."

Prior to the storm, Turner aggressively hypermiled to save in fuel costs because of his long commute. To do this, he practiced until he mastered the art of gas-saving techniques like coasting, which means his engine is only active 40 percent of the time he drives and runs only two thirds of his traveling distance. After the devastating tempest, however, he felt compelled to go a step (or a few) further.

After researching home-built aircraft design techniques and considering designs of streamlined cars of the 1930s driven on the autobahn, Turner got to work. He built his test model using inexpensive corrugated plastic. As each design proved itself, he upgraded to lightweight aluminum. Among his modifications, Turner's "Aerocivic," as he's dubbed it, has a grille block on the front, which reduces the amount of openings for the radiator. The bottom of the car is completely enclosed so that nothing hangs below and he's put wheel covers over all four tires. There are also blocks over the windshield wipers to keep them out of the airstream and his outside rearview mirrors sit on the inside -- thus reducing the drag coefficient, a number that basically indicates how the car "slides" through the wind. Prior to the modifications, his car's drag was .34; now, according to Turner, it's an impressive .17.

The changes cost him $400 in hard cash and an estimated two weeks (stretched over time) in sweat equity, but his ROI has been well worth it. He went from getting 45 miles per gallon to 70 miles per gallon and now only has to pull into a gas station every 800 miles to fill up. That's like driving from Charlotte to Chicago.

Interestingly, Turner has altered his car to such an extent that he can actually drive the posted speed limit on highways and still get better than 70 miles per gallon.

And he really doesn't consider himself a "gearhead." A botanist by degree, tropical plants are actually more his thing. His yard is home to several 6-foot-high bamboo. He's just a guy with a mechanical aptitude who picked up a manual and took an interest because the car companies are selling "a bunch of poorly efficient vehicles."

Saving money motivates hypermiler Matt Leerberg, but the element of fun involved in the driving experience itself stimulates him even more.

"I absolutely love to drive and that used to translate into a lot of speeding tickets," confesses the married research lawyer who lives in Raleigh with his wife and two young children. "I started hypermiling because I got tired of setting the cruise control to avoid getting pulled over again."

But it wasn't an instant transition for Leerberg. When he first started hearing about hypermiling and some of the basic techniques, like inflating tires to the maximum level allowed by the manufacturer and driving at or below the speed limit to shave off 2 percent of gas costs, he wasn't impressed.

"There's nothing fun about saving 2 percent. That's not even a lot of money," he scoffs. "But, when I read an article about guys who were getting 100 percent better mileage [than their car's EPA rating], that number got my attention. If you could cut your gas bill in half, now, that's something. Plus, they seemed to be having a lot of fun."

Leerberg began to do some research on the Internet. He started by learning about techniques used by Wayne Gerdes, the man credited with coining the term hypermiler and the guy who says he gets 59 miles per gallon out of his stock 2005 Honda Accord -- beating Honda's expectations by 25 miles. One thing Leerberg quickly learned is that most hypermilers drive hybrids. But his car defies logic -- and catches the eye.

"My car is a red 2003 convertible Eclipse Spider, and it goes against every rule of trying to get the best fuel economy overall," admits Leerberg with a laugh. "But, one of the things I've learned from hanging out online with these experts is that the real savings is in hypermiling in a car that is not supposed to get good fuel economy.

"Because, if you take a car that gets 60 miles per gallon already and increase it to 80, you're honestly not seeing that much money," he explains. "But if you take a car that get 20 miles per gallon and increase it to 40, you're saving a fortune."

So, in May of this year, in a quest to spice up his boring 26-mile commute, Leerberg started to get his feet wet as a hypermiler. The first thing he did was inflate his tires to the manufacturer's limit. Next, he totally changed and retaught himself how to accelerate from a stop. Instead of flooring it, he began to press the gas pedal a hair and simply putt-putt forward -- a technique that he admits causes some impatience in other drivers. And, finally, he lowered his top speed to the speed limit or less.

Leerberg's miles per gallon increased 40 percent immediately. When he calculated it, he realized that if he just held himself to these basic techniques, he could save $600-$700 per year. Not exactly chump change, and anybody could do it. But a 40-percent savings wasn't enough. He wanted more.

"It's the numbers. I love crunching numbers," explains Leerberg. "That's what's fun about it. It's trying to get your numbers up. I was just getting 25, which is 100-percent EPA for a long time. Now, I'm up to, like, 160-percent EPA because I've been getting, like, 42 or 43 mpg."

Speculating, he continues, "I think some of the guys are doing it ostensively because they want to reduce America's dependence on foreign oil, and they're showing their support or they want to save money. But I think the people who are really fanatic about it are doing it because it's a game. I think that's a big part of it."

Both Leerberg and Turner track their mileage daily on CleanMPG.com. Most hypermilers easily access this mileage data by transferring the results from an electronic device that links into a car's computer and generates real-time information on fuel consumption, RPMs and a host of other things. Turner uses a device called a SuperMID because of the age of his car, but Leerberg invested $150 in his gadget, which is called a Scan Gauge (both have to be purchased online). CleanMPG.com is also important because it provides a supportive, environmentally conscious neighborhood of like-minded individuals; as many novice hypermilers rapidly discover, some of their practices are not well received by nonhypermiling motorists.

Case in point: Leerberg is still learning to balance his technique with the possible agitation level of other drivers.

"If I'm on a single-lane country road -- and, I use a lot of those to get to work -- I definitely don't drop below 35 miles per hour because the speed limit is 45 miles per hour and that makes people furious, especially in the morning commute," he says with a laugh. "They're not thrilled with me when I'm putt-putting around.

"I think the funniest thing that happened to me is that, one day, I got passed by a Toyota Prius," Leerberg recalls. "It just zoomed around me. I'm sure the people were like: 'Why is that young guy with the red sports car going 30 miles per hour? There must be something wrong with his car.'"

Like Turner, Leerberg is fairly nonchalant about the reactions of other drivers, "I've had people curse at me, but it's OK," states Leerberg. "If you're driving aggressively, you have people curse at you, too, because you're cutting them off. Sometimes, I have my kids in the car, so if people are going to be pissed, I'd rather people be mad about me going too slow than for driving aggressively and driving unsafely."

Dr. Leon James, a professor of psychology at the University of Hawaii who has spent more than a decade studying driving patterns and road rage, is not quite as dismissive about the varying attitudes between hypermilers and nonhypermilers.

"The nonhypermiler usually is focused on getting somewhere. Hypermilers are motivated by fuel efficiency and saving money. There's a conflicting goal," he continues. "Now, the road is divided basically into two communities that may be at war with each other because of their differing driving styles and psychologies."

James elaborates that one of the areas the two driving cultures could clash revolves around the emotional use of the gas pedal. This is because, he explains, motorists use the gas pedal to relieve negative traffic emotions.

"If someone is blocking the lane -- what we call the 'left lane bandit' -- and you're tailgating a person that just won't move over, well you have to move over to the right, pass them and then move over to the left again," says James, whose Web site is www.drdriving.com. "A lot of drivers do this maneuver emotionally so that they floor the gas pedal when they pass on the right and then often look at the driver as they go by and give them what we call a 'stink eye,' showing their disapproval," he continues. "It's kind of a retaliation. And so as they execute this, they accelerate much faster than is necessary to pass, creating perhaps an unsafe situation.

"The emotional use of the gas pedal is something that hypermilers learn to overcome," says James. "That's one of the chief ways that they can save gas. They do not accelerate fast. And, when they approach traffic lights, they decelerate and start coasting. But, the person behind them, who is a nonhypermiler, does not appreciate this."

According to James, nonhypermilers often feel that their human rights are being violated because hypermilers are not driving the way that is most convenient and fast for them. But, he says hypermilers also have a responsibility to adjust their techniques in any given situation to the drivers around them -- because, not all hypermiling techniques are created equal. A few have even been labeled as controversial and/or unsafe. James points to "pulse and glide," a technique used by Turner, as an example of a hypermiling technique that is very obnoxious to other drivers.

"The person in the car behind someone doing this has no idea what's going on," he says. "That's where I'm talking about the conflict. It's a psychological warfare between the two attitudes. And, if gas shortages continue and the hypermiling community expands, both sides need to adopt an attitude of latitude to allow for the diversity of drivers and their goals on the road."

Leerberg, 30, is still a newcomer to the hypermiling scene, so small accomplishments are still worth talking about and the fun quotient remains high. Of course, he says co-workers, especially the ones who have taken a ride in his car, think that he's absolutely lost his mind.

On the last tank of gas before this interview, Leerberg got 45 mpg. He believes it is likely the best he'll ever get, and he couldn't stop talking about it. The thing is, what he had to do to achieve this meant being radical. So, during a week of 105 degree weather, he was driving around with no AC and his windows barely cracked (driving with rolled-down windows is like driving with a parachute and kills fuel economy), cutting his car off at traffic lights (because an idling car is getting zero miles per hour) and driving like a grandmother (the sweet spot for the best mileage on the freeway is around 50 mph) -- in silence. Because, to be a hypermiler, you have to be hyperalert. And a radio or cell phone or eating or drinking distracts you from the task at hand: driving.

"People will probably stop talking to me if I tell them anymore about how the commute was that morning," he says with a chuckle, sounding only mildly concerned. "Their body language says it all. There's a lot of eye rolling."

Despite the lack of warm fuzzies from his co-workers and people who may be driving near him, Leerberg has no lane envy for the motorists who zoom by him. As a matter of fact, he's gotten into a rhythm with his new, right-lane motorist mates.

"It's me and some grandparents and some people's cars that are broken, but it's OK. When I look over, and I consider that [driver] used to be me, I don't miss it at all," he says. "Maybe if it was taking me twice as long to get places it might be frustrating, but because I don't actually lose a lot of time doing it, it doesn't bother me."

If Leerberg keeps on the way he's going, by the end of the year, he'll save $1,000 in fuel costs. And he will have accomplished his goal of putting the fun back into driving, especially since there's only one critic of his driving who can get him to revert to his old ways: Her name is Mirella, and at three months old, she already has her father wrapped around her finger.

"She hates being in the car, so I have to minimize the time," Leerberg explains. "The only thing that makes her stop crying when she's in the car is when you floor it. When you're a hypermiler, you never floor it, and you never go over the speed limit. Those are the rules. But, when she cries, I cheat."

For his sake, hopefully there's never a cop around.