On the beaches of South Florida at certain times of the year, the sand is cordoned off to allow sea turtles to drop their eggs. Mama takes off and a few weeks later the babies scamper off into the surf. A few, when mature, return to that very same beach to drop their eggs. I think about his as we pull into the Honda plant just outside Lincoln, Alabama.
This is the very birthplace of our road trip Mother Ship – the 2009 Honda Pilot Touring Edition we’re driving courtesy of American Honda Motors. She’s a sweet ride, if a little road weary after a couple thousand miles. In fact, if you licked her bumper she’d taste like the sands of West Texas. But, you can sense the comfort of home as we roll past acre after acre of sister Pilots under tents waiting to scamper off onto the roads of America. Few will return to this place. Probably none.
We are greeted by Ted Pratt, Director of Communications for Honda Manufacturing at the plant in Alabama. He’s our guide for a private tour. Collin (age 12) is with me and he’s a little road weary too, quiet and keeping to himself a bit. Gillian was too young for the tour so she and Steve are sitting it out today.
The plant is vast and Honda Pilots roll down the line beneath a series of catwalks. We use these to look down on various operations. You can tell that Ted is proud of this plant and soon you can see why. I’m impressed as I see the stylish gauges I’ve been looking at for a few thousand miles popped into place and the entire dash assembly installed. I’m amazed as I see the doors fitted, then removed to be detailed. They travel in pairs across the ceiling to an entirely different area where they are reunited with the precise vehicle they were fitted to earlier. The precision is breathtaking. And, there are more people than I expected on the manufacturing floor, tucking, touching, and making sure things are done just ever so. This personal attention surprises me.
“People can feel imperfections that machines can’t.” explains Ted. And, he’s right. Even in our era of precise technology, nothing is as sensitive to defect as the human being.
Standing on the curb after our tour I ask Collin “What was your favorite part?”
“The robot welders,” he replies not so sleepy now, “they were pretty awesome!”
“Pretty awesome” is his favorite expression now and he’s right, the welders are pretty awesome! We watched entire doors and large panels move through a sophisticated ballet from one weld angle to another; occasionally sending sparks many feet in the air.
“I liked the sparks,” I said to Collin.
“Yeah, but remember what Ted said. A good weld has no sparks.”
I smile at him as we pile into our Pilot and head toward the Southeast, probably never to return to this place. Certainly never to return to this time. It’s a happy, sad feeling all Moms have, even mother turtles I imagine.
This is the very birthplace of our road trip Mother Ship – the 2009 Honda Pilot Touring Edition we’re driving courtesy of American Honda Motors. She’s a sweet ride, if a little road weary after a couple thousand miles. In fact, if you licked her bumper she’d taste like the sands of West Texas. But, you can sense the comfort of home as we roll past acre after acre of sister Pilots under tents waiting to scamper off onto the roads of America. Few will return to this place. Probably none.
We are greeted by Ted Pratt, Director of Communications for Honda Manufacturing at the plant in Alabama. He’s our guide for a private tour. Collin (age 12) is with me and he’s a little road weary too, quiet and keeping to himself a bit. Gillian was too young for the tour so she and Steve are sitting it out today.
The plant is vast and Honda Pilots roll down the line beneath a series of catwalks. We use these to look down on various operations. You can tell that Ted is proud of this plant and soon you can see why. I’m impressed as I see the stylish gauges I’ve been looking at for a few thousand miles popped into place and the entire dash assembly installed. I’m amazed as I see the doors fitted, then removed to be detailed. They travel in pairs across the ceiling to an entirely different area where they are reunited with the precise vehicle they were fitted to earlier. The precision is breathtaking. And, there are more people than I expected on the manufacturing floor, tucking, touching, and making sure things are done just ever so. This personal attention surprises me.
“People can feel imperfections that machines can’t.” explains Ted. And, he’s right. Even in our era of precise technology, nothing is as sensitive to defect as the human being.
Standing on the curb after our tour I ask Collin “What was your favorite part?”
“The robot welders,” he replies not so sleepy now, “they were pretty awesome!”
“Pretty awesome” is his favorite expression now and he’s right, the welders are pretty awesome! We watched entire doors and large panels move through a sophisticated ballet from one weld angle to another; occasionally sending sparks many feet in the air.
“I liked the sparks,” I said to Collin.
“Yeah, but remember what Ted said. A good weld has no sparks.”
I smile at him as we pile into our Pilot and head toward the Southeast, probably never to return to this place. Certainly never to return to this time. It’s a happy, sad feeling all Moms have, even mother turtles I imagine.
1 comment:
"nothing is as sensitive to defect as the human being"---true indeed.
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