I had a Honda like that just a few years ago. First turn the steering away from the bulb you were changing, then practically lie on the floor, reach up into the wheel well, through a hole and find the edges of the protective boot around the light. Use your fingernails to pry it open, then, blindly try to get the electrical socket off of the bulb. Once you had bled enough, and the car accepted your blood sacrifice, the socket would pop off and you could work on twisting the bulb loose. Did I mention you’re doing this whilst up to your elbow in the car? Your wrist is already locked into an unnatural position, so you’re twisting with just the force you can generate with your finger tips. Eventually the bulb comes loose and you bleed some more as the back of your hand hits a hidden edge. Carefully extract your mangled limb, clean the worst of the grime off of your fingers and grab the new bulb. You’d better hope you remeber exactly how to get back to the back of the light fitting because blindly poking around with a glass bulb will end poorly. Eventually you find the hole it fits in, and muttering a prayer to any god that happens to be listening, give it a twist. It spins but doesn’t lock. Keep trying with cramped and aching fingers until it finally slots in an locks. Silently weep as you realise you can’t find the cable anymore. Somehow rotate your wrist 180 degrees and feel it where it’s sprung just out of reach. Jam your arm in deeper and grab. You’ve got something! Now, carefully feel your way to the socket at the end. Be careful not to let go or it’ll spring away for another game of hide-and-seek. Carefully manouver the socket over the bulb and push it into place. Don’t twist or the bulb will come loose and you’re back to square one. Is it connected? There’s no way to tell except switching it on, and you’re still elbow deep in what could be a medeval torture pit. Decide to push on. Find the edges of the protective boot and fight it back into place. Extract arm. You’re not sure if it’s shaking from being so contorted or from blood loss, but you look at the sky and see the sun is dipping towards the horizon. You started what you thought would be a ten minute job in the mid afternoon. You realise you still have the other light to change and try not to give up all hope. Only the thought of your family waiting for your return keeps you going. Turn the steering wheel the other way, muster your remaining courage and plunge your other arm into the hungry depths of the maldesigned monstrosity to repeat the process, this time with your non-dominant hand. No matter how hard you try to stop them, curses that should by rights blister the paintwork slip from your lips. Finally the job is complete, and you get to admire the matching wounds on your arms by the light of you handywork. Retuen inside, mop up the worat of the blood and collpse in bed.
In many respects it was a well designed car with clever features, but that bit was atrocious.
I had a Honda like that just a few years ago. First turn the steering away from the bulb you were changing, then practically lie on the floor, reach up into the wheel well, through a hole and find the edges of the protective boot around the light. Use your fingernails to pry it open, then, blindly try to get the electrical socket off of the bulb. Once you had bled enough, and the car accepted your blood sacrifice, the socket would pop off and you could work on twisting the bulb loose. Did I mention you’re doing this whilst up to your elbow in the car? Your wrist is already locked into an unnatural position, so you’re twisting with just the force you can generate with your finger tips. Eventually the bulb comes loose and you bleed some more as the back of your hand hits a hidden edge. Carefully extract your mangled limb, clean the worst of the grime off of your fingers and grab the new bulb. You’d better hope you remeber exactly how to get back to the back of the light fitting because blindly poking around with a glass bulb will end poorly. Eventually you find the hole it fits in, and muttering a prayer to any god that happens to be listening, give it a twist. It spins but doesn’t lock. Keep trying with cramped and aching fingers until it finally slots in an locks. Silently weep as you realise you can’t find the cable anymore. Somehow rotate your wrist 180 degrees and feel it where it’s sprung just out of reach. Jam your arm in deeper and grab. You’ve got something! Now, carefully feel your way to the socket at the end. Be careful not to let go or it’ll spring away for another game of hide-and-seek. Carefully manouver the socket over the bulb and push it into place. Don’t twist or the bulb will come loose and you’re back to square one. Is it connected? There’s no way to tell except switching it on, and you’re still elbow deep in what could be a medeval torture pit. Decide to push on. Find the edges of the protective boot and fight it back into place. Extract arm. You’re not sure if it’s shaking from being so contorted or from blood loss, but you look at the sky and see the sun is dipping towards the horizon. You started what you thought would be a ten minute job in the mid afternoon. You realise you still have the other light to change and try not to give up all hope. Only the thought of your family waiting for your return keeps you going. Turn the steering wheel the other way, muster your remaining courage and plunge your other arm into the hungry depths of the maldesigned monstrosity to repeat the process, this time with your non-dominant hand. No matter how hard you try to stop them, curses that should by rights blister the paintwork slip from your lips. Finally the job is complete, and you get to admire the matching wounds on your arms by the light of you handywork. Retuen inside, mop up the worat of the blood and collpse in bed.
In many respects it was a well designed car with clever features, but that bit was atrocious.
This, but a VW Passat. Easier to just take the whole front end off to do a bulb change.