I picked her up the spring of 1979 and fell in love with her. She was a country girl. She wasn't what you would call beautiful. In fact, she was probably what you would call a step below plain. She was not upper class, she was poverty...and she was cheap. But she had soul and for a mere one hundred dollars, she was all mine.A 1970 Volkswagen Beetle in what may have been a hunter green at one time but was by then more rust than green. She was a semi-automatic, the metal plate still attached to the hood of the engine in the back. For those of you who don't know what a semi-automatic is, you still shift the gears manually as if you are driving a standard but there is no clutch. Cyril, my stepfather, drove her home and taught me how to drive her. He decided that if I could drive her, there was not a vehicle out there that I would not be able to handle. When driving down the road, I was unable to sneak up on anyone. She sounded as if she needed winding as I drove her and her timing was off so while stopped at a light, I would have her in neutral with my left foot on the brake, the right on the gas. It did take a certain amount of talent to drive her. I would fill her tank with a five dollar bill and we'd go miles and miles for two weeks.
The trunk was so rusted that you could not use it for what it was intended (the spare tire was suspended by bungee cords). Anything and everything was loaded into the back seat making shopping, camping and passengers all real challenges.
Because she was only a little four cylinder whose timing was off the beam, going up hills was a definite challenge. Down on the other hand was a breeze. My best friend and I would go out to her sister's just about every weekend. The village of Attica is only about 35 miles from here, not a long trip at all. But to my little Bug, it could have been hundreds. There are hills that must be conquered in order to get there. These hills are not large to the average vehicle. I found that if I were to speed down hill first, I'd just about make it up the next hill. Of course, it would help if my passenger(s) and I would lean forward. It's really best not to ask.
On one particular trip, an eighteen wheeler was traveling behind me, poor devil. The hills where coming up and I did not want to hold this poor driver up, his vehicle would have just as much trouble as mine. Waving frantically to get him to go around did absolutely nothing. I have always felt that he stayed behind me because, deep in his heart, didn't think the little engine could. But her engine would say, "I know I can, I know I can".
Camping was the top form of entertainment back then, second only to drinking, whether it was a holiday weekend, bluegrass festival or just for the sake of camping. It was my little green Bug that would get us there. The backseat was piled high with a tent, case of beer, bedding, case of beer, food, case of beer, cooking utensils, case of beer, suitcase, and a pouch of whatever for shots (bet you thought I was going to say a case of beer). And off we'd go. She'd get us there and back regardless of the distance.
She took me to some great concerts along with a friend or two. Once I had her loaded to the max. The concert was The Allman Brothers Band and there was eight of us in her. The backseat of the 1970 Beetle would hold two people comfortably. Behind the backseat and the engine was storage which was large enough to hold a suitcase but not much else. On this particular trip, we packed three in front and five in back. I now know how an overstuffed phone booth felt like.
The smallest of our group was stuffed in the storage way in the back. She would lift an arm on occasion to let us know she was alright. In the back seat sat three friends with the fourth laying across the other three. And in the front with me sat my brother and his girlfriend on his lap. Along our little group went, down the thruway to downtown and the Aud. I learned a valuable lesson that night. One should never have anyone on a lap in the front seat of a standard. Every bump we hit, my brother's friend would bounce and hit the gear shift. Although she never complained, I can't help thinking how uncomfortable that was. It's hard to believe to this day that we drove to the Aud most of the way in neutral and managed to make it in one piece.
With my Bug, I took my younger siblings to places they may not have otherwise been able to go. I'd yell for Midge, the family collie, asking if you'd like a ride and in she'd go, taking up the entire back seat, head out of one window and tail out the other, not giving a care where we were going as long as she got to go with me. The Bug and I went on shopping trips and out drinking with friends. My favorite nights out were the mornings after when my stepfather would enter the kitchen, hair on end and announce that I was in early the night before since the hood was cool to the touch when he got home (at four am). I can still see Mom and I laughing later because he'd forgotten the engine was in the back and he was feeling the trunk. I had arrived at home only five minutes before he did.
Our relationship ended with summer, her timing having melted together. But it was the greatest summer. I couldn't bear to watch as Cy towed her away, my Dad's arm around my shoulder and my Mom rolling her eyes behind me as the tears flowed down my cheeks. That little green and rust Bug gave me my independence and over 30 years later, I still mourn the loss of my first love and the joys of that summer so long ago.
The smallest of our group was stuffed in the storage way in the back. She would lift an arm on occasion to let us know she was alright. In the back seat sat three friends with the fourth laying across the other three. And in the front with me sat my brother and his girlfriend on his lap. Along our little group went, down the thruway to downtown and the Aud. I learned a valuable lesson that night. One should never have anyone on a lap in the front seat of a standard. Every bump we hit, my brother's friend would bounce and hit the gear shift. Although she never complained, I can't help thinking how uncomfortable that was. It's hard to believe to this day that we drove to the Aud most of the way in neutral and managed to make it in one piece.
With my Bug, I took my younger siblings to places they may not have otherwise been able to go. I'd yell for Midge, the family collie, asking if you'd like a ride and in she'd go, taking up the entire back seat, head out of one window and tail out the other, not giving a care where we were going as long as she got to go with me. The Bug and I went on shopping trips and out drinking with friends. My favorite nights out were the mornings after when my stepfather would enter the kitchen, hair on end and announce that I was in early the night before since the hood was cool to the touch when he got home (at four am). I can still see Mom and I laughing later because he'd forgotten the engine was in the back and he was feeling the trunk. I had arrived at home only five minutes before he did.
Our relationship ended with summer, her timing having melted together. But it was the greatest summer. I couldn't bear to watch as Cy towed her away, my Dad's arm around my shoulder and my Mom rolling her eyes behind me as the tears flowed down my cheeks. That little green and rust Bug gave me my independence and over 30 years later, I still mourn the loss of my first love and the joys of that summer so long ago.
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