Globe Drive

The dinosaurs once roamed the ancient plains in ignorance. Maybe a few noticed the all-eclipsing asteroid hurtling toward them, but for most it was business as usual, right up until impact.

And it's the same with me. Just a few weeks ago, I finally spotted the giant sign hanging over the freeway announcing that Ontario drivers had to go hands-free. I was on my BlackBerry at the time.

I vaguely remembered something about a cellphone ban, but it went into a mental back file, next to cleaning the furnace room and checking the belt tension on the clothes dryer. Now the law was breathing down my neck. As of Oct. 26, it would be illegal to use a hand-held phone. By February, the police would be handing out $500 tickets.

I know that distracted driving is a serious problem - I was nearly killed once by a trucker who veered into my lane as he yelled into his cellphone.

I've also seen men shaving at the wheel, a woman applying eyeliner with a hand-held mirror as she drove the Gardiner Expressway in a Jaguar, and a guy in a Lexus watching porn on a dash-mounted screen. And I can hardly stand in judgment, since I once typed a news story on my BlackBerry as I navigated rush hour.

Like every other driver in the province, I now had a choice: Leave my cellphone at home, or come up with a device that would let me use it hands-free. But what?

I stopped at Kromer Radio, a Toronto electronics store where the installers were working flat out. General manager Mark Stoakes told me he'd sold 1,300 devices in the past three weeks.

Stoakes showed me the options, which ranged from a $59 Bluetooth gizmo called Mr. Handsfree to a $2,599 Kenwood audio and entertainment system that looked like something a hip-hop mogul would choose for a gold-plated Bentley: It included a hands-free telephone system, a GPS and CD, MP3 a video players. At the touch of a button, hidden motors folded up the entire system and retracted it into the dash, Transformers-style.

Stoakes suggested the Bury, a cool-looking system that could be wired into my car and provide me with true hands-free capabilities, calling and hanging up with voice commands. The Bury would even automatically mute the stereo and turn it back up again. The cost: about $600, including installation.

"There are a lot of worthless systems out there," Stoakes warned. "Make sure you get one that really works."

In a eureka moment, I realized my BlackBerry came with a free wired headset. I plugged it in and hit the road, gloating - I had solved the problem for nothing, freeing up funds for more important purchases (like parts for the airplane I'm trying to build.)

My bubble was quickly burst. As I headed north on the Don Valley Parkway, my BlackBerry rang, but it was somewhere under the seats, lost in a tangle of Tim Hortons cups, Powerbar wrappers and skeins of used hockey tape. And when I jumped out of the car at a gas station, I forgot that the wire was still in my ear; the BlackBerry came flying out behind me and smashed onto the tarmac.

So the wire was out. It had been 40 years since Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. There had to be something better. But what? I called Mark, my tech-savvy buddy: "Bluetooth," he said. I tried out a Bluetooth headset a couple of years ago, but gave it up for practical and aesthetic reasons: I kept forgetting how to answer calls, and it made me look like a Trekkie. When a friend spotted me with it, he shook his head in pity: "You really want to be THAT guy?" he asked.

I didn't. But I still needed a solution. It was road-test time. I made some inquiries, and a stream of hands-free devices began arriving at my office. There were wireless headsets, Bluetooth speakers that clipped to the sun visor, and a mysterious black box called the iLane that promised far more than just hands-free calling - it would read my e-mail to me, and send out responses based on voice commands.

"Hear Your Email, Clear Your Inbox, Watch the Road," the box proclaimed. Unfortunately, the instruction manual was 49 pages long, and I had to register the device on a website. Then I realized that the e-mail responses the iLane sent out weren't texts, but MP3 files - I would be the guy who plugged everyone's voice-mail box. The iLane wasn't for me.

Next I headed to Mercedes-Benz Canada, where I picked up what looked like the ultimate mobile phone accessory - a Bluetooth-integrated E-350 sedan that would automatically link with my BlackBerry. There were cheaper cars that would do the same thing, but if you're going to set up a high-tech mobile office, why not start with a leather-lined German luxury sled?

A Mercedes rep gave me a guided tour. I could answer a call by touching a button on the wheel, or even by voice command. The stereo would be automatically hushed, and the caller would come over the sound system. But there was much more.

The Mercedes was a mechanical butler - it would take care of the mundane road chores while I focused on my calls. It had radar-equipped cruise control that would maintain a safe distance from other cars, and a system that measured potential parking slots. The Mercedes would even monitor my driving patterns - if it thought I was nodding off, a warning would sound. Hidden beneath the car were tiny sensors that detected road marking stripes: if I wandered out of my lane, the car would send a warning buzz through the steering wheel. "It doesn't work in snow," the rep warned.

I was now riding in true hands-free style. A call came in, and I answered it with tap of a finger. I hung up with another tap. The colour screen on the dash let me know who was calling (my son). If I selected reverse gear, the screen turned into a backup camera. If I pulled up the audio system, it displayed the title of the song that was playing, as well as the artist's name. If I selected the navigation system, the screen displayed the streets around me. I could zoom in or out, choose a different perspective, or drive straight to an address. In my search for hands-free, I had found a road-going version of a B1 bomber - if I knew the GPS co-ordinates, I could drive to Saddam's Baghdad compound.

As cellphone upgrades went, the Mercedes was hard to beat. My BlackBerry could be anywhere under the seat, inside the glove compartment, or even locked in the trunk - my motorized German manservant would handle the details.

Even so, my first trip in the Mercedes was anything but risk-free. My eyes were constantly down in the cockpit, trying to divine the car's advanced functions. I couldn't figure out how to dim the headlights (I finally realized they were automatic) dial down the heat (also automatic) or understand out why orange and red triangles kept popping up like genies in the side mirrors (a blind spot warning system that turned out be brilliant once I got used to it.) More than once, I pulled over to look at the manual.

But I had no issues with the phone system: I could take a call without taking my eyes off the road, and the sound quality was beyond compare - after my beaten-up Honda, the Mercedes was like stepping into a bank vault and having a three-ton door close behind me.

By day two, I had figured out the E-350. The top-drawer safety systems and cellphone integration had sold me - not that I could afford a car with a price tag of $70,000 (taxes not included.) But if you had to talk in a car, this was the way to do it.

I realize the technology is available in less expensive forms - you can buy a Ford Focus or Toyota Prius and models from other car makers with a similar hands-free system. But I was planning to stick with my paid-for Honda, so I needed a way to make it hands-free.

I opened up some of the boxes on my desk. First was the Plantronics Voyager Pro Bluetooth headset, which has been getting excellent reviews. As headsets go, it was pretty big - when I slipped it on, I looked like the guy in the ShamWow commercials.

Next I opened the Aliph Jawbone, a tiny headset that arrived in a crystal case that gave it the look of a crown jewel. Unlike the Voyager, the Jawbone had no buttons or marked controls. There was a tiny silicone knob called a Voice Activity Sensor that was supposed to rest against my cheek, so it could pick up vibrations. To answer or end a call, I was supposed to press on the middle of the device, figuring out the right spot by feeling for a subtle depression.

There was only one other control - the Noise Assassin button, which had a couple of functions, depending on how it was pressed. Maybe I was too old for the Jawbone - this was the kind of technology a kid would like, a piece of titanium licorice created in some alien forge.

On the road, both headsets worked well enough, but having them stuck on my head began to bother me after half an hour or so. There were further downsides: If I took the headset off, I couldn't answer the phone; connecting to the headset disabled the onboard microphone and speaker. And the controls on the Jawbone continued to mystify - I recalled that I was supposed to press the Noise Assassin button to increase the volume, but when I tried it, I hung up on my wife three times in a row.

The Voyager was easier to understand, but it was heavier. And neither handset was actually hands-free. If I wanted to make a call, I still had to pick up the phone to dial a number or find a contact. On the upside, friends told me that the voice quality of both headsets was good, unlike the early BlackBerry model I tried a few years ago. (That model had been an utter failure - one friend said I sounded like Michael Jackson at the bottom of a well. Another compared it to getting a call from a deep-sea diver breathing helium.)

I decided to try some Bluetooth speaker systems - simple-looking boxes that clip to the sun visor and connect to your phone. I had two: a slick-looking Sony HC108 and the Motorola T325, a minimalist rig about the size of a cigarette package.

Unlike the headsets, there was no chafing, and the boxes automatically linked with my phone when I got in the car, and disconnected when I stepped out - this was the poor-man's version of the Mercedes.

So far, so good. I used the Motorola to call my wife. Although the Motorola apparently had a way of storing numbers, I couldn't see how you were supposed to access them, since there was no screen. So I dialled from my BlackBerry - a hands-free no-no. My wife came through loud and clear, but when I tried to hang up, she was still on the line. More snafus followed: When I brought the Motorola to my desk to charge it up, a robotized female voice kept announcing "connection failed" when I touched the buttons. I knew there was an answer to the problem, but I was sick of reading manuals.

On to the Sony. Like the Motorola, it presented a blank face; there were two lights, one blue, one green, which were supposed to indicate the HC-108's status. The instructions also indicated that I could use it to do voice-command dialling. I tried it and gave up. It was back to old-fashioned dialling.

The next problem with the boxes was charging - if the batteries died, it was no go. The Motorola came with a wall-charger, so I had to remember to bring it in each night. The Sony plugged into my car's power outlet, but the cord wouldn't reach the visor. Bottom line: Neither solution was perfect, but they worked.

I decided it was time to consult with some experts. I met Kelly Williams, a race car driver and safety expert. She arrived in a white Porsche Turbo with manual shift, then jumped into the Mercedes to critique my technique, observing as I navigated downtown traffic while taking three phone calls. Williams made two observations: I was a worse driver than I thought, and there was no such thing as safe hands-free, not even the Mercedes.

"If you have to use a phone, this is the best way to do it," she said. "But it still takes your attention away from the road. Driving is a full-time job. If people focused on driving the way they should, they'd get out of their car dripping in sweat."

Next I spoke with Todd Empey, vice-president of store operations for Future Shop. (He drives an Acura with built-in Bluetooth, and likes it.) Short of an integrated car, Empey considered an installed hands-free device the best solution - Future Shop is now selling thousands a week, at $200 and up. "There are some very good systems," he said.

Then Empey went silent. The Jawbone had fallen out of my ear - I retrieved it, but accidentally hung up when I pushed it back in my ear. The Noise Assassin had struck again.

My hands-free journey was at an end. I had tested or inspected each major device category. At the top of the stack was the Bluetooth-integrated car. Next came installed devices like the Bury system, which also allow true hands-free. In distant third were the speaker boxes - despite the charging hassles, they do allow you to respond to calls hands-free. In fourth place were the Bluetooth headsets - they will meet the letter of the law, but you get tired of having them stuck in your ear, and the ShamWow guy effect is inescapable. The wired headset is the down-and-dirty solution.

Bottom line: If you're the kind of person who puts a tarpaulin over your house instead of getting in the roofers, go with the wire. If you need a new car, get one with Bluetooth integration. As for myself, I'm just one lottery win away from a Mercedes E-350 and hands-free nirvana. In the meantime, I will tough it out with a visor-mount Bluetooth box.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Mercedes E-350 4-Matic

Base Price: $62,900 plus freight, licence fees and taxes

German luxury sedan with state of the art digital systems. Hands-free phone, plus advanced safety features

The Good

• Best hands-free solution, and you get a beautiful German sedan wrapped around it
• Safety systems reduce distractions
• Contacts from your phone pop on dash-mounted screen

The Bad

• You’ll spend a few hours (or days) figuring out how everything works
• The price