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Show THE ZEPHYR AUGUST 1990 PAGE 26 BAD CAR-M- A two decades of disaster with volkswagons by Jim Stiles Lata last week, after the July Zephyr had been safely placed on local newsstands aftar and the subscription papers had been unsafely deposited at the mercy of the U.S. Postal Service, I loaded up my 1973 Volkswagen Squaraback with a pack and a cooler and headed south for my cabin In San Juan County for a taw days of rest and recuperation. Five miles south of town, the oil light flickered on and stayed on, I ahut off the motor and pulled to the side of the road. I wearily opened the door and walked to the back of my VW (where the engine Is). While no mechanic, I was Instantly able to efiagnoae the problem when I noted a trail of on emanating from beneath my vehicle and heading back to town. Not drops of oU---a stream of ok. I bent over and burned my hands on the hot pavement and saw the last of three quarts of PennzoN 30W dripping from an apparently blown front seal. I stood up, noted the heat and the blistering sun, and said something like, "Well dam. It's a shame that my car Just blew up out hers on the highway In 100 degree plus temperatures. I guess 111 have to Ibid another way to amuse myself on this brilliant afternoon. A lie. After Id exhausted myself screaming vile, unrepeatable vulgarities and kicking the fenders, I determined that I needed to get back to Moab. I dumped In two more quarts of oil, started the engine and the light went off. I traveled two miles and the light came back on. Two miles. Two quarts. I could already envision a future conversation from a prospective buyer? "What kind of mileage does she get? about thirty miles per gallon. "Well, uh, gas-wi"What do you mean? "She uses a little oil. "How much? "Oh... .about four miles to the gallon. se, I had stepped outside to yell at my VW when Mike walked over. "I've discovered whafa making that noise," he said. He pointed a finger toward the station. The toothless night attendant had a soup spoon In his mouth. He was massaging his bars gums with the spoon. As he massaged, he went: "Aaargh, aaargh, aarrrgh. Mika called him the "Gnaw-man-." "This place Is dagustlng, Mike said. "Weve got to get out of here. After several fruitless long dstance calla, which I charged to my parents' phone, my friend Tynes agreed to come get us. I had hesitated to call him because he was studying for law school finals, but I was desperate. (Later, when he flunked out of law school, Tynes held me personally roaponsMe and has succeeded In making me feel guilty for almost twenty years.) Tynes arrived that night Because his Subaru was too small to tow the Squareback, my parents had (Increcflbty) agreed to lend him their Bulck. As he fitted the tow bar from the truck, Tynes said, "Sony Im so late, but your mother's crazy. I asked him what he meant "Your mother's crazy. Before she let me rent a tow bar or take the Bulck, she made me pick up all the dead flies In the house. "All the dead what? "Never mind, Tynes growled. "Hand me that wrench. (After this nightmare was over, my mother Insisted that Tvnea was crazy.) With some difficulty, we attached the tow bar to the Squareback and then to the Bulck. We were ready to leave finally, once and for all. We looked back at the station. an had apparently lost his spoon. His mouth was pressed against a strip of aluminum molding around a window pane on the lube bay door. He was looking out as we were looking In. He was going: "Aaaaarmgh, aaarrrgh.... "Im gonna be sick, groaned Mike. Tynes punched the gas, and we roared away. Gnaw-Gnaw-m- "Of oil!? "Im willing to negotiate on the price. should have sold that piece of Junk the moment I got home, but I couldn't After all, we'd been through so much together. John Beckman rebuilt the engine and In a month, the VW was on the road again. I could not possibly see the pain and heartbreak that lay ahead. True, much of It was of my own doing. True, I fld have a tendency to use my vehicle. True, I drove It to Alaska and back over 2500 squareback as a miles of washboard dirt and gravel roads. When the cylinders rattled themselves loose from the case and oil leaks developed from every seal, and the car lost power and sounded as If It might very well explode at any minute, my friends said I had no one to blame but myself. Knowing that I could not honestly blame the mechanic, but convinced that I was without fault as well, I blamed the car Itself. It was Irrational, of course, to fault an Inanimate object (they claimed), but at times, I knew the Squareback was testing my patience... even the limits of my physical endurance. In fact the VW tested me severely on my first trip to Moab In January 1973. It was one of the coldest winters on record, and as I left Grand Canyon, that morning the heater quit working. I got colder and colder and when I dropped off Blue Hill Into the Moab Valley, I was engulfed by a freezing fog. The Inside of my windshield frosted up and I had to scrape as I drove. When I reached Moab, I bought two cans of stemo at Walker Drug, placed them on the floor mat beneath my legs and lit them. A blue flame danced between my knees, but I had no fear of catching fire. Later, my mechanic explained that the heater tubes had fallen off, "probably on the Alaska Highway he grinned. Mechanics, I thought, really should not try to be funny. I shut off the engine again and this time I coasted all the way to the Main Street I begged two more quarts of oil and limped my defunct car to Locust Lane and the carport The next day, Richard Dennis, a mechanic of remarkable skill, stopped by to assess the situation. But even with his extraordinary talents, It was hopeless. "I'm never liked this car anyway, I shrugged. sorry, he said. I never did like that car....! loved It And I hated It It was a classic lovehate I Broiler, where 1 relationship. As I stood In my doorway, watching my little blue Volkswagen Squareback leak the remainder of the transfused oil all over the concrete, I remembered other Volkswagons that I'd owned over the years and recalled the same dichotomy of emotion. The first car to ever fall me completely was also a VW Squareback. I was going to college (occasionally) In Kentucky, and a friend of mine and I decided to go to Florida for a 10 hour drive. We left Louisville In the weekend. It was only 600 miles the early evening and were deep Into South Georgia, when the engine suddenly made a In the middle of hideous clanging noise and the oil light came on. We pulled off nowhere at two oclock In the morning. The car was obviously stone-dea- d, aebed up, finished. I stepped to the edge of the Interstate and stuck out my thumb. Remarkably, the first car pulled over and a kindly man named Stormy Knight gave me a ride to the next Interchange and a gas station. He was the last friendly face I saw for almost 24 hours. Stormy deposited me In front of a Chevron station at the Cordele, Georgia exit The night attendant, a wiry old man with no teeth eyed me suspiciously and arranged for a tow truck to retrieve my VW. The cost of the town turned out to be every cent I had less a dollar (they wanted to show compassion). While I polntlessly haggled over the tow charge, another man, about four feet tall and also toothless, (What was this dental hygiene problem In South Georgia?) took me aside and told me hed "tow me all the way to Orlando for a two dollar bill. I explained that I needed to be towed north back to Kentucky, but he was Insistent I finally got the wrecker who pulled the car and my buddy, Mike Price (who had been patiently waiting on the highway) back to the station. Mike and laatlna comer of the lube bay staring at this bizarre group of Georgia crackers staring back at us. As the sun began to rise, we had expected to be on the beach at Daytona, frolicking with co-eInstead we found ourselves In the company of toothless men In overalls. an In those wee morning hours, I had repeatedy heard a strange noise that sounded like a man gurgling. Standng In the lube bay I heard It again and again aarrgh, arrgh, aarrgh- - but couldn't find the source. Later, when Mike and the squareback arrived, he heard It too and was Just as baffled. one-way...ea- slly -75 ds. seml-hum- four-wheel-dr- ive When I finally decided to sell my first VW.lt had lost much of Its panache. One day while at a Job Interview, my young husky pup ate the front seat Mukluk had been confined to the back seat for much of the last three months and had finally expressed her and seat stuffing be good for her? displeasure. Still, I wondered, could all that naugha-hk- le The drivers side was caved In from an unfortunate Incident In Los Angeles In January. Oil leaked so badly that my landlord asked me to place a pan under It at night "so as not to stain the concrete driveway. I ran an ad In the paper and said It "needs work. Now I knew what "needs work meant when Id seen the euphemism In print a thousand times or more. I asked $375 and got $350. The buyer wanted to ask me a lot of questions. lAok, I said, "the reason I'm selling It for $375 Is because It has problems. Take It or leave It He took It, and as I watched him sputter up Third Street, I swore Id never buy another Volkswagen as long as I lived. A year later I bought a VW Bus. I had the engine rebuilt three times. It drove me |
