Date: Fri, 08 Dec 1995 16:36:00 -0800 (PST)
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From: "Maher, Steve (SD-MS)" <SMAHER@PO2.GI.COM>
Subject: V6anagon/Route 66: Day 4, Home at last /L
V6anagon/Route 66: Day 4
Got up in Albuquerque, checked the V6anagon over as the sun swam somewhere
below the horizon. Right front tire seems to be wearing a little more--
better get that alignment pronto when I get home. But now I have 800
miles to drive, one day to do it in, and a vague memory from years
past, of totalling two different cars while driving when sleepy. Came
out of each crash with no injuries, to self or others; but third time
could be the charm. Let's not find out. Can't do much Route-66ing
today.
Drive thru Gallup is uneventful. After half an hour, cautiously push
the speed up to 70, and the V6anagon responds like it's been doing it
all its life, which maybe it has. No sign of any wheel shimmy, even as
I asked myself sternly if I wasn't maybe indulging in a little selective
feeling based on wishful thinking. Better enjoy it while it lasts--
although my '69 bus is the only car I've ever known to cure its own
ills (inoperative horn, squeaky speedo) with no touch from a human,
I would be silly to expect this to last, this far from home.
After years of driving breadloaves, I'd forgotten how much fun it was
to pass Toyotas while going up hills. And the V6anagon seems solid and
reliable (in my fertile imagination, anyway)-- able to take abuse and
keep right on keepin' on. A very different experience from my usual VW
karma. Course, if the engine goes boom ten minutes from now, or the
left front tire or whatever, I'll be left with egg on my face. Won't
be the first time.
We climb and climb out of Albuquerque and Gallup. The V6anagon handles
it beautifully at 65-70 in fourth. I had a Ford E300 van with a 302 V8
in Colorado, that couldn't do that. Stop for fuel in Continental Divide,
NM, where the curio shop owner bemoans the unseasonably warm weather
and complete lack of percipitation. I commiserate, while secretly thanking
the Powers That Be for keeping the route clear until I can get thru. It's
around 32F, but the Volvo heater keeps things warm, except my tootsies.
But after 5 years living in Minneapolis and points north, I know this
isn't bad... if your feet feel cold, it's OK. It's when you can't feel
them at all, that you should worry, and we haven't reached that stage--
probably won't, since the sun is coming up. I pick up more 66 souvenirs
for my son (6), plus a plaque very appropriate to my single-parent
status, and push on.
V6anagon is running easily now-- only 20# needed on the accelerator
instead of 30#. We go by a spectacular hot-air balloon launch about
30 miles west of Albuquerque-- 30 or 40 balloons clustered together,
just off the ground. A large,red mesa is just behind them, and many
are throwing shadows on it-- an awesome sight. Naturally, my camera
is inop-- only mechanical failure I've had in the trip. This isn't
"The" launch I've seen in postcards, anyway (can you say, Sour Grapes?).
The Albq Balloon Festival attracts hundreds of balloons-- this is only
maybe 40.
Gallup is a small, pretty town nestled in the high mountains of NM,
but I don't stop to look-see. Next stop, the Meteor Crater just past
Winslow, AZ (you didn't really think I was going to completely forego
ALL sightseeing, did you?
It's impressive-- according to the literature at the visitor's center,
a big rock, mostly made of iron, half the length of a football field,
fell from the sky about 50K years ago. 2% of it vaporized (ablated,
for you rocketry types) as it sliced thru the atmosphere, and the rest
made a crater about a mile across and half a mile deep. They say the
impact dissipated the energy of a 35-megaton nuke-- all from a big rock
going really fast when a planet got in its way.
Last thing mentioned in the brochure about this event that happened
about 50,000 years ago, is that such massive collisions are extremely
rare, happening (on average) only once about every... uh... 50,000 years.
With a quick glance at the sky, I beat a hasty retreat in the direction
of Flagstaff.
Fill up in Flagstaff, a nice, mostly modern looking town in a beautifully
forested part of AZ (Arizona has forests? You betcha). Waste an hour
looking for a hobby shop that carries Nyrods (I find out later that these
are too flimsy for accelerator cables anyway), then call Rusty VanBondo
as per his kind invitation. Two hours later, roll thru Phoenix and stop
to chat. No problem with recognition this time-- he looks just like his
drawings in the NEATO newsletter. He hides his skepticism at the V6anagon's
heart transplant, checks over the van with compliments and encouragement
as I stand by with fatherly pride (even though all I did was buy the
damned thing from the PO who did all the work), breaks out chips and pop,
and we feast while observing his VW Shrine. I express regrets over not
meeting his charming wife Cherry Van Bondo, but approve heartily the
sticker in the rear window of the single cab he's driving, which says
simply, "TOO SLOW? TOO BAD!", and say sayonara. Or maybe Auf Wiedersehen,
out of consideration for what we both drive. Or maybe Later, Dude... out
of consideration to what's in the back of my bus.
South past Casa Grande as darkness falls, hang a right on I-8, and point
the V6anagon at San Diego. I already feel sleepy-- hey, it's only six
o'clock, and I still have 350 miles to go! Between the seats is an ice
chest full of Coke, and it looks like I'll need it. Only remaining worries
(aside from things that might go boom in the night-- none did), are finding
gas stations open on a late Sunday night in the wasteland between Phoenix
and the ocean, and staying concious enough to keep the V6anagon from
becoming part of the landscape, along with its driver.
An interminable time of shaking my head, bouncing around in the seat,
slapping myself, driving with my head out the window in the 70 mph wind
blast... plus one interlude west of Yuma, high in the mountains where I
find a surprise inspection point of the Border Patrol. This wakes me up
instantly, in time to stutter through inquiries of why the van has Texas
plates (well, one plate. Thank God they weren't curious about the shiny
marks around the screws holding it on, or the complete lack of stickers),
while it has various Missouri stickers on the windshield. While staring
blankly at him (my best Dumb look), I notice that his buddy is sliding
under the V6anagon, checking for unauthorized passengers or strange
botanical collections, I guess. The buddy slides out, and the officer
says I can go. I don't argue, but book on toward the coast.
Arrive in San Diego without running anyone off the road, at about
midnight, feeling like a zombie. For the first time I shut down the
V6anagon without a checkover, grab the first items that come to hand
from the back, stumble into the condo, and fall into bed. Finally able
to watch the world spin before my eyes without fear, the last few moments
as I fade out bring the brief thought...
"Joel, change the stats, please..."
Steve Maher smaher@gi.com '80 V6anagon, no longer "soon"
'71 VW Transporter, FS
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