| Thanks for reading Hyperdrive, Bloomberg's newsletter on the future of the auto world. To start, a confession: Unlike most readers of this newsletter, I am not a car guy. My parents pushed me to get my UK driver's license at 17, and I didn't buy my first car until more than 20 years later, last November. I'm a frugal person, and the thought of spending — or worse, borrowing — money on a depreciating asset made me blanche. Plus, I've lived in cities all my adult life and didn't want the hassle of parking, so I'd always relied on public transport, taxis and the occasional rental. This all worked well until I became a parent and my weekends involved crisscrossing the north side of Chicago for gymnastics, soccer practices, birthday parties and, ideally, returns to home base for naps. After one day waiting for a bus that never arrived and having to explain to my four-year-old that we'd missed her friend's birthday party, I took a couple of refresher lessons, passed my US driving test and resolved to become a car owner. Over this past Thanksgiving weekend — taking advantage of Black Friday sales promotions — I tested and bought a used 2022 Honda CR-V hybrid with 41,000 miles on the odometer. The vehicle was listed at $36,000, but after discounts and some haggling, I paid $30,130 cash and drove it home that day, not expecting I'd have to speak to a car dealer again for at least a decade. Not so fast.  President Donald Trump holding up a tariff-rate chart in the White House Rose Garden on April 2. Photographer: Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images North America When President Donald Trump went forward with 25% tariffs on imported autos effective April 3, it set off a frenzy at car dealers across the country. This was the biggest inflationary event for the industry since the Covid pandemic, when automakers went months without being able to make new vehicles. Once work was able to resume, pandemic protocols precluded companies from being able to ramp right back up to normal levels. Supply shortages meant prices shot up, rendering the new-car market unaffordable for many consumers, who snapped up used models. Desperate dealers resorted to desperate measures, calling up customers and pleading with them to part with their vehicles so they had more to offer on their sparse lots. History is now repeating itself somewhat after Trump's tariff shock. This week, I got a panicked call from a manager at the dealership that sold me my CR-V. "I need to buy your car back, sir, and I'm willing to pay substantially more than you paid for it," he said. I asked if it was because there was a problem with the vehicle, and he replied that no — on the contrary, it was just the kind of car he could sell straight away. His lot of used vehicles that he typically keeps stocked with around 100 cars was below 40 and he was furiously looking to replenish inventory. While I do like a deal, I'm also now used to the convenience of using a car on weekends. Even if I did make a profit, the dealer clearly thinks he can, too. A similar vehicle is likely to cost me more than I'd make on a quick flip. So, I declined the offer. But who knows — if this volatility only escalates, the Honda will be one of the few assets I can barter with. And if worse comes to worst, the family could use the CR-V to flee for Canada. — By Kiel Porter  A Tesla Model X electric vehicle on display at a Hong Kong showroom in 2018. Photographer: Bloomberg/Bloomberg Tesla stopped taking orders in China for Model S sedans and Model X sport utility vehicles — both of which are imported from the US — after the countries raised tariffs on one another in an escalating trade war. China announced Friday it will raise tariffs on all US goods to 125% starting April 12, after President Donald Trump imposed an equivalent charge designed to counter America's trade deficit and punish Beijing for retaliating against US import taxes. Trump's additional duty — on top of a 20% levy put in place earlier this year over China's role in fentanyl trafficking — raised the rate of US tariffs on China to 145%.  BMW offers teen driving courses in a tiny town outside of Palm Springs, California. Photographer: BMW Performance Center West Joel Stein vowed to himself 22 years ago while slaloming a BMW Z4 convertible between traffic cones — jaw clenched, shirt drenched with sweat — that if he ever had offspring, he'd make them take a driving-school class. When his son, Laszlo, turned 15 and a half last year — the age at which California allows one to get a learner's permit — Stein signed him up for the course for teenagers at the BMW Performance Center West, the company's driving school in Thermal, a tiny town just outside Palm Springs. The one-day course costs $999 (the two-day version is $1,999) and is offered once a month. The classes almost always sell out. | 
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