Anyone that knows me knows that I take my automotive obsessions quite seriously. Meticulous cleaning, detailing, and customization. I also have two young children who suffer from the inability to successfully navigate processed food products in to their mouths while partaking in vehicular transport. With the context laid, it’s no surprise that I wrestle with the awareness of one of our cars, which is the predominant mode of transportation for the kids, resembling a mobile processed food delivery device.

To be fair, the kids need to eat and more often than not you’re in motion to and from some nondescript retail or grocery store or soccer practice. Therefore, it’s easy to stop at the nearest cholesterol castle surrounded by a moat of saturated fat for a quick heartache happymeal. In a recent turn of events, Son #2 has been vehemently resisting crispy chicken in lieu of French fries. He’ll sort through the chicken and toss the undesirable fried poultry bits to the floor in a quest to uncover the golden potato treasures like a desperate archaeologist.

But Son #2 isn’t alone in his automotive inconsideration. Son #1, while he loves chicken with the crust and tots, he has a severe disregard for accuracy in consumption and even less for food stowage. And this entry is about him.


As with many things in life, you learn to fight the winnable battles unless you have a sadistic desire to constantly beat your skull against a brick wall. I’m learning that no matter how much I ‘suggest’ the need for cleanliness of the vehicle and the lack of the fried mystery meat product aroma and caffeinated brew stains, my meager voice goes unheard. As a matter of fact, my requests are creatively twisted into song or elaborate story by Son #1.

The other night after soccer practice, we needed to provide sustenance to the youth of the family and stopped at a ubiquitous comfort food capital for deep fried goodness. And as predictable as rain in Seattle, Son #2 removed the poultry products from his tray, tossed them to the floor, and went about ingesting his French fries. Likewise, Son #1, because he must dance while he eats, performed his best imitation of what a small tornado would look like inside of Carl’s Jr. if both were trapped in my wife’s backseat.

Knowing my aversion to food ‘tossage’ on floor mats, you can imagine my dismay in what was next. Eloquently and calmly, I explain to Son #1 that French fries do not belong on the floor of the car. In an equally eloquent and oh-so sincere response, I’m told that there are ‘only’ 30,000 French fries on the floor. And in fact, food objects such as French fries will make cars jump better. Son #1 continues to explain that the 30,000 fries will make my wife’s car jump 30,000 feet. A pretty bold claim, if you ask me. For the mathematically inclined, it seems there’s a linear relationship between the quantity of French fries residing on one’s floormats and the distance which that vehicle can be propelled through the air.

Son #1’s concept is fatally flawed in several areas. Let’s do some simple math here to dispel this claim:

One order of medium French fries at a leading fast food establishment is approximately 40 fries.

Therefore, 30,000 fries would equal 750 orders of fries (30,000/40 = 750).

Statistically, the average French fry is 4-inches in length. If we assume that each fry is on average 1/4-inches x 1/4-inches square, we find that the average volume of a single French fry is 1/4 cubic-inch 1/4*1/4*4 = 1/4).

So, the total volume of 750 orders of French fries with 40 fries per order is 7,500 cubic-inches (750*1/4*40 = 7,500).

This is 4.34 cubic-feet of French fries.

The average mid-sized sedan has approximately 100 cubic-feet of interior volume which is roughly a 60/40 split between front and rear areas. That means 40 cubic-feet of interior space is in the backseat.

Densely packed, the total quantity of fries would take up over 10% of the backseat volume. It’s safe to say that none of us would pack efficiently when it came to French fries. Therefore, we can safely say that this would be a loosely packed volume of 20%. No room for much else.

Despite being moderately intriguing to fill a mid sized car with fries, I find that this increased volume usage has nothing to do with the ability of a vehicle to propel itself into the air.

Let’s talk additional weight instead.

One medium order of fries weighs approximately 5.5 ounces. Taking our earlier calculation of 750 orders, we find that the total quantity of fried goodness weighs 4,125-oz which is about 258-lbs (750*5.5 = 4,125).

Automotive performance can be measure by many metrics. But when it comes to jumping a vehicle into the air, I can’t imagine one more important than the power-to-weight ratio.

The typical mid-sized sedan doesn’t possess a jaw-dropping power-to-weight ratio. I don’t think I can jump over Long Beach harbor in a Honda Accord. Already being at a power-to-weight disadvantage, adding an additional 258 pounds will only erode any slight performance the automobile had to begin with.

Let’s assume the average mid-sized car weighs 3,200-lbs. and has 250HP. That means the average mid-sized car has a power-to-weight ration of 0.08HP/lbs. (250/3,200 = 0.08). Not great.

Add 258-lbs. to that which is approximately 8% weight growth and you get a P/W ratio of 0.07HP/lbs. (250/(3200+258) = 0.07).

The lower the P/W ratio, the worse the performance. No mid-sized car is jumping farther with 8% weigh growth.

What about that distance of 30,000-feet?

30,000-feet is approximately 5.68-miles and I’m fairly certain that the record for jumping a car with even one fry is significantly shorter than this distance. In fact, Travis Pastrana set a world a year ago for jumping his Subaru 274-feet. Do I really need to do the math here?

I will. 30,000-feet is a 10,850% increase over a documented world record automobile jump.

While my theorems and attack at Son #1’s stunt credibility may not be thorough enough to win Nobel Prize for scientific discovery, I’m fairly certain based on applied mathematics here that 30,000 fried potato products would severely limit the airborne capabilities of a mid-sized passenger vehicle and it couldn’t jump 30,000-feet.

Deep-fried performance improvements: none. Stories: large. Fries: many. Got to love Son #1 for trying!