Date: Mon, 10 May 2004 13:18:32 -0700
Reply-To: Jeffrey Earl <jefferrata@YAHOO.COM>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: Jeffrey Earl <jefferrata@YAHOO.COM>
Subject: State of the List... State your ages!!!!!!!
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Age: 41
Some have said that I bought my Westy a few years ago
in the midst of a mid-life crisis, instead of a red
convertible. Pretty pathetic, if true.
It IS a diesel, so perhaps I'm simply psychologically
preparing myself for life in the slow lane ...
The first recollection I have of riding in a car was
as an infant in the back seat of a new blue '61
Beetle. This was in the days before child-safety seats
(or rear seat belts, or heaters), so the only
protection I had was the baby blanket in which I was
wrapped, against the cold Wisconsin winter.
Many years later, when my girlfriend totalled my '81
Toyota Tercel, I rode a Schwinn Varsity for several
months before buying a '67 right-hand-drive Austin
Mini which had been languishing in someone's front
yard for a number of years. The For Sale sign was so
sun-faded as to be nearly illegible. One time when the
rear main seal blew and I knew it would be out of
commission while I pulled the engine, I impulsively
bought a '78 Rabbit for $150.
While rallying around snowy suburban streets, the
Rabbit's PO had bashed a curb with a rear wheel and
badly bent the rim. I didn't really bother me, but
other motorists were inspired to leap from their cars
at stop lights and frantically rap on my window to
inform me that my rear wheel was wobbling and was in
imminent danger of becoming disconnected. Their
expressions did not improve when I shrugged and
replied that it always did that ...
I later developed a deep longing for a Scirocco I, and
when I learned it shared nearly everything with the
Rabbit but the chassis, I knew I must have one. It is
difficult to believe that famed Italian designer
Giorgio Giugiaro could have wrought both the
jelly-beanie Karmann-Ghia and the doorstop-wedge
Scirocco I, but there it is.
One day when arriving at work, a sharp sound came from
the engine compartment, and I determined that I had
snapped something the troubleshooting section referred
to as a "timing belt". Hmm. As evidence of what can be
accomplished by an unwitting (or dimwitted) kid with a
Haynes manual and a socket set, I proceeded over the
next three days to replace said timing belt with the
car rendered immobile in the back parking lot of the
mall in which I worked. I fired it up and, without so
much as a final tune-up, drove it for several more
years.
I don't recall how an '82 (?) Quantum Wagon came into
my possession, but it provided good service, often
garnering nearly 40 mpg while loaded down with two
passengers, a pair of mountain bikes, and a week's
worth of camping and climbing gear. On remote northern
logging roads, I often locked my bike to a tree, piled
my gear on the roof of the wagon, and slept in the
back. I still miss it.
Due to a lingering post-traumatic stress disorder, I
have refrained from listing here all the numerous
mechanical and spiritual catastrophes which resulted
from my years of Volkswagen ownership, but rest
assured their numbers are many. I swore I would never
again own (nor be owned by) a VW, and for 36 months I
stuck to my word. Then Fate made an unsignalled lane
change into my life as we were rudely cutoff in
traffic by an '83 diesel Westy, and through the
billows of smoke I could make out a For Sale sign in
the rear window. All hope was lost, and my wife could
only wring her hands and watch helplessly as I
innocently stumbled and fell into my VW relapse.
They say the first step in recovery is recognizing
that one has a problem. To them I reply that I've
never seen a problem that couldn't be solved by a bit
of Spam & eggs in the woods ...
Jeffrey Earl
1983 diesel Westfalia "Vanasazi"
www.vanthology.com
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