Scenic City Volks Folks Articles

Shoot the Breeze - Love, Life and Good Roads

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 21:21:26 -0400

[b:832b02b163]Shoot the Breeze[/b:832b02b163]

[i:832b02b163]Love, Life and Good Roads[/i:832b02b163]

Boy, do I love a good road. The sound of the smooth pavement under your wheels is like a song with a familiar melody and ever-changing lyrics. Rolling along, you hum the tune instead of singing because you never know what the next word will be. And sometimes, when going down the road, the tune will change. Just when you think that the road will always be smooth, you hit a bump or a rock. You suddenly realize that the road isn't as smooth as you always thought it was. Maybe time has made the road brittle, causing several unseen pitfalls that jostle you out of your complacency and make you realize that the road is ever changing. Sometimes you have to turn off of the nice paved road and onto a gravel or dirt road. The ride is a lot less smooth, but you still push onward, knowing that the destination is just ahead.

Life is like a road. The smoother the road, the better the ride is. When there are no obstacles in your path, you might forget that there are any other roads than a good paved one. When the road changes to a less-smooth one, sometimes you are surprised by the sudden change. It's not that the new road is not worth traveling, it's just that an adjustment of mentality is in order. You hold the wheel a little tighter; take care to watch where you are going, and make necessary changes in your driving habits. Where you once took the road for granted, thinking that it would always be smooth, you now anticipate the bumps and turns, taking care to evaluate each one to make the ride smoother. Knowing that the smooth highway has now changed to a gravel side road, you learn to appreciate the former road, and yearn to be back on it, or somehow make the new road a little easier to drive.

Love is also like a road. When you are going along, laughing, loving and enjoying the ride, the song from the wheels is a song of romance. You know the tune and sometimes, even the words, because the road is familiar to you. You have been on that road for years and years, with no changes, no toll booths, and no potholes to make you think that the road might change. When it does change, the shock is sometimes more than you can handle. Here you have been, with your driving partner riding shotgun, maybe some smaller riders in the back seat, and suddenly the road changes. No bumps or alteration in the feel of the road to warn you, no yield or stop signs...the road just switches to an unpaved, maybe even unmarked path. You might stop and look for a map to show you where the new road will take you. Sometimes you find your way, sometimes you don't. When you don't, you need someone to show you the best way to go. You might need a team of workers to start mapping and paving the new road to make it a bit more drivable. And when you discover where you are going, how the road is going to feel, and where it will take you, everything comes back into perspective.

Smooth roads are better to drive on than rough roads. Rough roads cause more wear and tear on your vehicle and make the drive a bit less desirable. But you must drive on. You have somewhere to be and no change of road should keep you from getting to your destination. You tell your driving partners that if they stick with you, you will make the ride as comfortable as possible. You remind them of the final destination and how the ride there would be much more fun and the end more pleasing if you take the unpaved roads along with the paved ones. All will get you to where you are going, even if the ride is a little bit rough at times. You remind them of the roads that you have been on, tell them that you will work on making the new road a bit smoother and maybe even get back to the nice paved road. For now, all you can do is hold on a little tighter, avoid the bigger potholes, and make sure that all riders are safe in their seats.

Love, life, and good roads...one is the destination, one is what determines the condition of the road, and the other is how you get there. It's up to each driver and passenger to decide which is which. For me, life is the destination, love is the condition of the road, and a good road is my desired path. The road may turn rough at times, but I am determined to avoid the bigger obstacles and road hazards. I will strive to make my partner and passengers as comfortable as possible during the transition of the road. I promise to find a way to make the road smoother, even find a way to get back to the rolling highway where the tune from the wheels is a familiar song with the newly learned words rolling off my lips. Because this time, I will have learned the words and will sing it with all my heart, with all my soul, and with all my being. It will be a song of the love of a good road.

Till later,

GoBusGo!

[i:832b02b163](Written Monday, July 30, 2007)[/i:832b02b163]

Shoot the Breeze - Back Where I Belong

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 21:19:30 -0400

[b:2ae94cddbd]Shoot the Breeze[/b:2ae94cddbd]

[i:2ae94cddbd]Back Where I Belong[/i:2ae94cddbd]

Have you ever felt out of your element? How about feeling like you are out of your league? You started doing something and right in the middle of doing it, you realized that you shouldn't be doing what you are doing? It's like you know where you are and what you are doing and for the life of you, you can't figure out why you are doing it? I felt that way the other day while stepping out of my element and taking on the task of changing the oil on my '94 Golf.

Give me one of my bus' engines to change the oil on and I will probably be done in 30 minutes or less. I know just what size Allen head bit to use for the oil plug, I know where the oil filter is, and I know how much oil to put back in the engine. I know these things because of the experience I've had doing these things. It's not just about having knowledge either. Even the things that I had no experience in, such as changing out the rear wheel cylinders or replacing the output shaft seals on the transmission, I jumped in with hardly any trepidation about what I was about to do. Not with my Golf, though. No way. This is a beast that I am not familiar with.

Right from the start, I felt intimidated by the job. I had never done it before and I didn't expect how long it was going to take. I was learning about engines all over again. After getting the Golf's front end up a little so my big frame could fit under there, I found the oil plug. It was bigger than the plug on my buses and it was a hex-head bolt instead of an allen-head bolt. It only took me two tries before I picked the right size wrench and took the plug out. While the oil was draining, I studied the oil filter location and tried to figure out how to get it out. It comes out of the front of the engine at an angle and the bottom of the filter is barely an inch away from the front engine carrier. I figured what I was going to do and commenced trying to remove the filter. Because of where the filter was, I could only get a partial grip on it and that was not enough. I tried one of those "belt" type oil filter removal tools (a belt, on a stick that you wrap around the filter and succeed in only infuriating yourself because the belt keeps slipping...), one of those rubber jar lid removal devices, and even stuck a can koozie on the filter to try and get a grip. I think I developed arthritis in my hand before I finally decided that a tool was needed. I went to the parts store and came back home with a ratchet type oil filter wrench; the kind that slips on the end of the filter and you use the ratchet to make your life easier. Remember I said there was only about an inch between the bottom of the filter and the front engine carrier? With the tool and ratchet on the end of the filter, the space was reduced to a few millimeters. I had planned on just loosening the filter, remove the tool, and then unscrew the filter by hand. Is that what I did? No. I turned the ratchet more turns than I should have and the ratchet bottomed out on the top of the engine carrier. There was no way to switch the ratchet to tighten the filter back on. Arrrrgh! The only thing I could see to do was to hold the engine up with a jack stand and loosen the bolts from the engine carrier to the frame. So that's what I did. With the tool finally out of there and the new oil filter back on, I tightened the engine carrier bolts, re-installed the oil plug (with new sealing ring) and filled the crankcase with oil. This job took about 3 hours, including the trip to the parts store.

You think that I would have learned my lesson about doing new and exciting things, but no, I was going to replace the fuel filter. OK, put hose crimps on the fuel line on either end of the filter, take out the old, put in the new...sounds easy, huh? A fuel injected system is under constant pressure, even after the engine is turned off. In order to work on any part of the fuel line, that pressure must be released or more gas than necessary will spew out of said line. The service manual said to take out the fuel pump relay, run the engine for a few seconds to release the pressure, and then proceed with the filter replacement. So that's what I did. I then went under the rear of the Golf to find the fuel filter. There it was, being held in place by a bracket. The manual didn't go into much detail about how to remove the bracket to get to the fuel filter. I think it just said, "Remove bolts to bracket, remove bracket and filter". Not much help there. I finally figured it out on my own. After getting the bracket off, I looked at the filter. There was no way the hose crimps were going to work because the fuel line at the filter is hard, not soft rubber. So, I just removed the hose clamps and changed the filter. Total time for this job was about an hour, with half of that time being spent on trying to get the fuel filter bracket off.

So now I was ready to start the Golf up to check the oil pressure and to also check for any leaks, be it oil or gasoline. I had taken the negative battery cable off of the battery when I was working with the fuel lines (safety first!), so I put it back on. Every time I have to do that I cringe. I cringe because the horn honks every time that negative cable is put back on. You know, you're standing over the engine compartment, just a few feet above where the horn is located and when that cable goes back on, you nearly jump out of your shoes. After almost knocking myself out on the underside of the hood, I get in to start the Golf. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP...the car alarm goes off. I have to get out, put the key in the door's keyhole, then lock and unlock to disarm the alarm. I try again. The engine starts, but is hunting up and down at idle. What have I done? I check vacuum and fuel lines for any leaks. While my hand is running down the length of one hose, it breaks apart in my hand. Ok, so there is now a giant vacuum leak. I call Joe at Tri-State imports, order the hose, and then wait for UPS. A few days later, I get the part; put it on, and...no improvement. What the? Then I remember reading that these new-fangled cars are supposed to be smart, but not street smart. When the negative cable is unhooked from the battery and then put back on later, the car has to "learn" how to run again. This usually happens within the first minute or so of running. Although it didn't sound to smart to me, I tried it anyway. I took off the negative battery cable; put it back on (BEEP! WHACK! OUCH!), get in; turn the key, and...the engine purred like a kitten. Total time for this job: 3 days, including 2 days waiting for a part.

You know, I didn't even attempt at that time to replace the spark plugs I had bought. Just to get the plug wires off you need a special VW tool. Spark plugs 2 and 3 are located under the intake air manifold, just visible enough to wonder if a spark plug socket is going to fit in there without a little bit of angular ingenuity. I thought that I would give myself a few days to think about what I had done; why I had stepped out of my element to try something new; to rationalize the ease of paying someone else to work on this car. I wanted to learn something new. And I think I did learn something...I think I learned that learning something is a good thing. I learned that trying something new...no matter how intimidating or frustrating it may be...that is just what you need to keep things fresh, to keep you thinking and on your toes. And I learned that there are some things that, in the future, I will pay someone to do. I will see what those things are as time goes by. Air cooled? I think I got that. Water cooled? That's something I need to learn.

This whole experience reminded me why I like working on my old air-cooled engines. I know most of what I am doing. I am more comfortable in taking on difficult tasks because of familiarity. They are easier to work on because I know who they are and they know me. I am comfortable because I am where I belong. I am in my element.

Till later,
GoBusGo!

[i:2ae94cddbd](Written Wednesday, February 7, 2007)[/i:2ae94cddbd]

Shoot the Breeze - Navigations' Revelations

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Sun, 17 Sep 2006 23:01:36 -0400

(Written December 20, 2002)

Directions are a good thing. I would say that most of us would quickly get lost without them. If you need to know how to get somewhere, what do you do? Get directions, of course. Whether you get it from a map or from the clerk at the nearest Quickie Mart, you need directions. How else would you know where to go from where you were?

It's not good being lost. I remember on strange night in Florida many years ago when I felt the need to ask for directions. A friend and I had gone to Tampa to watch a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Several weird hours later, we were headed back home. Only, my friend, who was our transportation for the evening, got lost. It's pretty bad when you have an idea of where you are, but unsure of how to get to where you need to be, but it's worse when you have no idea of where you are, how you got there, and how to get home. We went down roads that looked promising only to end up at entrances to rock quarries or fertilizer plants. We finally stopped in the small town sometime around 2am. But we didn't stop because we were going to ask for directions. No, we stopped because of the line of cars ahead of us. There was a fight occurring up the road. From what I can remember, bottles were being tossed and people were running past us, and patrol cars were arriving to the scene. When someone slapped my friend's car while running past, he finally felt like we had seen enough and did a 3-point turn and got the heck out of Dodge. How did we get home? I can't remember, but I do know that we didn't stop anywhere to ask for directions.

The directions you get need to be accurate. A printed map would give you the most accuracy, but if you have to ask for directions, they should be given to you in such a manner as to minimize confusion when trying to remember them. If you are like me, you usually forget an important turn almost as soon as you walk out of the door! Then there are the locals who think it is funny to get an out-of-towner lost in their city. Ha, ha. Or there is the old timer who gives you directions in terms of local landmarks...

"Take a left at the old hickory tree that my Daddy planted back in 18 and 98, then go past Old
Man Jenkins' farm about two furlongs past the place where he buried old Bessie, his prize winning
mule, then right at the empty field where the old courthouse used to be...now there's an interesting story..."

He starts muttering something about fires and buckets of water and nothing about how to get you out of there. And you are still lost.

That's why maps are good. They mark out well established routes in an easy to read and publicized form. I don't know the history of maps, but surely they had to come to be because people had been somewhere before and didn't want to forget how to get there again. Also, they serve as a way to show those who have never ventured into the unknown before just how to get there. It's like advice given to prompt you to go the right direction. It's up to you to decide whether to follow them or not. If you do follow them, and find where you need to go, you usually don't need them the next time around.

Directions. They show you where you have been and where you are going. The same can be said about directions in your life. If you don't know where to go from where you are, get directions. Parents, teachers, friends, anyone who has been where you are headed can give you directions because most of them have been there before.

As of this writing, I have taken a new direction. I have left the world of the working man and have entered the taxing world of the Stay-at-Home Parent. How did I come to this place? I'm not sure, because I don't have a map for this trip. Did I get directions from those who have been here before? You bet I did. That doesn't exactly mean that I know where I am going. In fact, I'm drawing up the map as I go, charting the places that I have been and anticipating the turns ahead of me. I'm not alone. I have a wonderful navigator (Linda) and two reasons for this trip (my daughter Talia and my son, Trey) although the destination is known and the routes to take are unknown. The ultimate reason to take this trip is to give the map that we create to those who come behind us.

I'm standing at the crossroads, deciding which way to go. Which route is the best? I don't know, but I am about to find out.

Shoot the Breeze - Much Ado About Nothing

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Tue, 04 Jul 2006 20:00:39 -0400

(Originally written June 16, 2005)

As I sat down here to randomly move my fingers on this marvel of modern times to convey my thoughts into words (words that I wasn't quite sure of what they were or how to arrange them), it suddenly hit me like a beam of light shining through my eyes and into my skull, blinding me with the hard realization that I had no idea of what I was going to say. I thought I knew what I was going to discuss with you, but it was either too bland or too much to think about, I'm not sure which one. Anyway, it escaped this thick skull of mine and flew to wherever lost thoughts go to find themselves.

This doesn't happen to me all that often. I usually know what I am going to say when I sit down at the keyboard. This is because once an idea gets into my head, it bounces around in there like a ricocheting bullet; going from side to side with new angles of the same idea and growing in size and meaning. This could go on for as long as a month or just as little as a day or two. At any rate, the idea is in there long enough to become an organized and interesting story or collection of thoughts...thoughts that might only mean something to me. I would hope that others would make some sort of sense of my rambling words in the guise of an articulate article, but I rarely know how often or even when they do. I only have to wait and see what people say before I know if something hits home.

I suppose I could bore you with the specifics of my recent experiences with Oscar, my '78 Bus. He has always been a loud expeller of gasses. I always thought that he was louder than he should be, but Linda always said that he sounded cool that way. I had to agree, but something still wasn't right about being so loud. One day, I was up in Cleveland and pulled into a gas station to put some gas in Oscar. The gas prices were about $.10 higher than at the stations closer to my house, so I decided to put just enough to get me back to Ooltewah. I also had some octane booster that I was going to put in to give him a little oomph. The trouble is, though, I put the octane booster in before I put gas in, and as I said, I was only going to put a little bit in. So, a full bottle of octane booster with a little bit of gas was not the right combination, as I found out. I pulled out onto I-75 south to Ooltewah. After having gone only a mile or so, Oscar got really loud. "What the...?" I thought. Did my muffler fall off? It had happened to me once before, so the notion that it had happened again wouldn't have surprised me. When I got to Ooltewah to fill the rest of the way up, I looked back at the muffler to see what was up. The muffler was still there, but it wasn't connected to the connecting pipe between the muffler and the elbow of the crossover pipe. I can't say for sure that the high-octane boost contributed to the pipe failure, but that's what I think. There's no way that all that crusty rust had thinned the metal enough to just break at that point. No way.

A few days later, I bought an aftermarket muffler from Joe at Tri-State Imports and put that bad boy on. It took a little (a lot) of maneuvering, but I got it on and started it up. I don't know if the old muffler had been leaking for a long time or what, but the new one was much more quiet...quiet enough for me to notice the loud puff-puff-puffing coming from the header on cylinders 3 and 4. When I finally was able to get Oscar in the garage and start diagnosing and mainly troubleshooting, I discovered that the manifold on cylinder #3 was deteriorated at the place where it goes up into the head. It was time to find some new ones. And while I was at it, I decided to replace the heater boxes that were also rusty and leaking enough to not do the job they were created to do. So the shopping list at this point consisted of new or used manifolds, new heater boxes, and the new muffler (which was already bought). One heater control box needed a little welding to get it to work right, but the rest of the exhaust pipes were ok, they just needed a little sandblasting and repainting.

While up under Oscar, I also noticed that all 4 CV joint boots were cracked or almost all the way apart. I added those to the shopping list as well. Upon closer inspection of the CV joints themselves, I determined that the "next time" in the phrase, "These can last until the next time I replace the boots" had finally come. So the joints went on the list as well. I took my list to Joe and got all the parts I needed to get Oscar back on the road. I found some used-but-good exhaust manifolds and brand-new heater boxes at a swap meet. Long story short...Oscar now has new exhaust from the headers all the way to the muffler, new CV joints and boots, and a boost of self-confidence with the quieter sound of gas expelling from his posterior.
He is so quiet in fact, that I could now hear the low rumble coming from the front end, or back end, or some end somewhere. Worn wheel bearings? I think so. I have started a new shopping list.

So, if you look at it the way that I do, a $1.00 bottle of octane booster ended up causing me to replace nearly the entire exhaust system, the CV joints and boots, and now the front wheel bearings...all to the tune of about $700. That cost is apt to rise, for I have noticed that the upper ball joint on the driver's side has a ripped rubber boot and the others look about ready to go as well. Here we go again.

So now that I have bored you enough to nearly cause you to fall asleep, maybe I can think of something to write about. What ever it is, it's going to have to wait until next time. I'm done here.

Shoot the Breeze - A Time To Save

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Sun, 02 Apr 2006 16:55:19 -0400

(Written February-March of 2002)

Ms. Goodfried's foot steadily held even pressure on the accelerator, keeping her speed well under the posted speed of 65 mph. Her 1978 Super Beetle Cabriolet responded to the constant action of her foot and obeyed the command given. She had owned the car for as long as I could remember. And she drove it just as long. Sometimes I swear that her and the car were linked somehow by something I couldn't see. That's how she looked today...linked to her car and unlinked with me.

The left rear fender had a Frisbee-sized area of rust that seemed to snake out all around, every day seeming to look more and more like an amoebae. If it wasn't taken care of soon, it would only get worse and possibly even rust through. The canvas of the convertible top had numerous holes in it, either from wear and tear or some form of vandalism. The heater didn't work too well, the windows were nearly impossible to defog, and the seats weren't that comfortable. Mrs. Goodfried didn't seem to be bothered with these small details. She knew the engine was sound...it was happy as an engine could be. She thought the action of the valves opening and closing reminded her of how a heart operates. Isn't the engine the "heart" of the car anyway? This car's heart was strong, but something in the faint ticking of the tappets told her that time was slipping away on her beloved friend of the freeway.

"I found a shortcut today," she said as she peered over her imitation Oakley sunglasses. The way she pulled her head and sunglasses down to meet my eyes made her look years older than she really was.

"A shortcut to where?" I asked.

"From here to there." She said this as if I knew what she was talking about. I didn't, of course, and wouldn't unless she said more.

This time she didn't look away from the road as she said, "The drive from here to there is so full of variables that the actual travel time is bombarded with extra minutes and seconds. I want to cut out those variables. I want to keep those extra minutes, down to the last second."

"What variables?" I had to ask.

"Oh, you know. Traffic lights, Sunday drivers, roadwork, and the repetitious and religious devotion to a path well worn. I want to find a new way. A new way to go and a new way to drive to get there." Smug is what I would call the look on her face as she said that.

"What can you do about the things you listed, especially the traffic lights and the unforeseeable road crew, busy leaning on their shovels and pointing at something only they can see?" I remarked. I knew she had an answer...she had an answer to everything.

"Shortcuts," she said. "Shortcuts are the answer." Eventually she would get her point across in a manner I could understand, but for now, she made no sense to me.

"Elaborate, please," I pleaded in a voice not to give away my intense curiosity at what was spinning in that mind of hers.

"OK. Here's what I think. If you take another path, one that you don't normally take, or even think about for that matter, you change things that would have happened if you had taken your normal path. Do you see what I mean?"

Not really, I thought, but said nothing. She was biting her lip and I knew she had something very important to say. She reached into the glove box, got her pack of Marlboro 100's, and pushed in the cigarette lighter. The cigarette remained unlit in her mouth, looking like a really fat stick on an even fatter lollipop.

"Say, for instance, you turned right at a corner where you usually turn left. And as it turns out, there is a bad accident on the road where you would have turned like you always do. You saved yourself the time it would have taken you to get through the accident scene. And that time builds up every time you alter the course and 'change' the future, so to speak." The lighter popped out and she lit her cigarette.

"I think I see." I tried to make the answer look genuine, but I don't think she bought it. "Do you believe that this time builds up and you can somehow 'cash' it in to make yourself younger?"

"You know, I don't know what I believe. But maybe, if I cut a little time off of every drive, even by a few minutes, something like that could happen. Strange things happen in this world. Strange things happen every day." She negotiated a turn with one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand on the gearshift, and with smoke making her eyes squint so much that I thought she wasn't going to make the turn.

"Whoa, now, take it easy!" I said with a little apprehension in my voice.
She rounded the turn and slid into 3rd gear with the ease of a seasoned driver. "Right there, I just saved a few seconds," she said, and popped it into 4th. The little engine that could sounded like it was doing all it could from the rear of her VW.

Just a few more miles, I thought as I slowly gathered my stuff together. It really was nice of Ms. Goodfried to offer to take me home after class. I hadn't had the money or the initiative to look for a car for myself, so she took me home from time to time. Like when mom just couldn't get off of work to come get me. Or when Jake or Rueben had the chance to give girls from class rides to their homes and there just wasn't room for me...really there was, but it was obvious that there wasn't, if you know what I mean.

"You know," she said coolly. "Someday, the time I have saved could even give this old car of mine a few years back...make it young again." She said this with a far-off glaze in her eyes. "You'll see. I have to keep on saving as much time as possible. This car and I deserve it."

Was she just on the south side of loony here? I don't think so. I really did think that saving time wherever you could would give you more time, but not time that you could save like money in a vault or to collect like figurines. The time you saved would be used up with doing something else, with the extra time being all used up or just reverting to zero at the end of the day.

"Here we are," I heard her say through my thoughts and her puffs of smoke. "Remember what I said about getting back some time because I'm going to do it." We had already stopped in my driveway and she leaned over and took off her sunglasses so I could see her eyes and she could see mine. Hers looked intent. I couldn't tell you what mine looked like. "You should try it yourself. You're a good kid. You deserve extra time too."

I put my hand on the door handle. "Um...yes Ms. Goodfried, I'll keep that in mind." The door handle seemed to not want to budge, and I didn't want to break it. She leaned over and with a flick of the wrist, popped the handle and pushed open the door. She really knows this car, I thought.

"See you on Monday?" she asked almost hauntingly.

"See you on Monday." I said and turned around and walked to the front door. I didn't look back as she pulled out of the driveway and up the hill back to the highway. The sound her VW made as it climbed the hill made me think of a million chirping crickets being flogged by sadists.
"That poor car does need extra time," I said aloud to no one.

2

Some things I can't comprehend. Like the concept that she had placed in my mind about saving time and using it to make yourself younger. It just didn't seem possible or even sane to consider such a notion. I did have numerous questions, though, so I approached her on Monday after class. English was my favorite subject and having her teach it didn't used to make me nervous. It did today.

"Do you have something to ask me?" she said, gathering her papers together and putting them in her folder to take home. I wasn't riding with her today. Jake couldn't get that redhead from Science class to let him take her home. There was room for me. I almost was relieved.
"Yes, if you have the time."

"Go ahead." I could feel her eyes almost piercing into my brain, trying to decipher what I was going to say. Or maybe that was just some homegrown paranoia on my part.

"You say that you can save time by taking a shortcut or another way home that you have never taken before, right?"

"Right. That's what I said."

"OK. But what if the 'new' way you took you several miles out of your way to get to wherever you were going? Wouldn't that add more time to your trip than subtract?" I thought the question made sense, but couldn't be sure of what she was thinking.

"That's what you would think, isn't it? I can only give you my experience as an example." She had stacked her papers, gathered her folders and was ready to go.

"What is that experience?" I asked.

"By driving back and forth from home to work, each day taking a different way, I have managed to shave off several hours a week for the last five years. And the savings were a result of going each direction in a different way." She started walking to the door. I wasn't ready for her to leave just yet. There was something about her that was different. Something about her was different today from last Friday.

"What you saw the other day...when I was taking you home. I saved a few seconds on that turn that you were so worried about. Did you not feel that flash of electricity flow through your body as the seconds were shaved off the sideburns of time?" She smiled and actually shivered, perhaps from the memory of that moment.

"I felt nothing. Well, maybe except for a deep down concern for my life. You drive a little erratically."

She was about to put on her sunglasses when I suddenly realized what had changed about her. The little lines at the side of her eyes were gone. Not diminished. Not covered up. They were gone. And her hair...wasn't it a little bit grayer last week? Had these changes actually just happened or have they been happening all along and I just couldn't see it? Now I was ready to leave. Something weird was going on and I wanted away from it.
"I gotta go," I said as I turned away. She never answered my question, I thought.

"Have you tried it yet?" she asked as I quickened up my pace. "Have you saved any time?" I didn't reply as I ran the last few yards out the door to the waiting day and unanswered questions. Little did I know that they would be answered, if not how I expected, within the next few days.

3

I'm normally not the kind of person who freaks out too easily. Usually it takes something of extreme importance in my life or something that can't be explained to do that. But when I ran out of the doors of the school, with Jake impatiently waiting in his 'Cuda on my right, my eyes caught Ms. Goodfried's VW parked in the teacher's parking lot to the left. If something had happened to her, maybe the same thing has happened to her VW. I motioned for Jake to wait and headed over to her car. I almost expected something to be different just for that sole fact: I expected it.
I didn't need to get any closer to notice what I knew I would see. But I did get closer and I did see what I saw. That Frisbee-sized rust area on her car's left rear fender was now no larger than a quarter. This couldn't have been done by a body shop. Why would someone do such an incomplete rust repair job? I thought this but knew what was happening. The rust was getting smaller. And some of the holes in the canvas top were repaired as well. Only some? Don't ask me how it was happening, this is just what I saw. I had seen enough...enough to make me walk a little faster to Jake's car and hop in just as Ms. Goodfried walked out the school doors.

"What's up?" asked Jake as he pulled out of the parking lot. I sure didn't want to tell him what I thought I saw. If anyone would think I was crazy because of this, it would be Jake.

"Nothing. I just thought I saw something on Ms. Goodfried's car. It was nothing." The ride home was an uneventful one as we talked about girls, homework and other stuff. I was not going to discuss what was going on with Jake...saying something to him would be like announcing it over the school's intercom system...everyone would know about it before first period was over the next morning. I just kept it to myself. That was the smartest thing I did all school year.

4

Now, when I think about what happened over the next couple of days, it is like trying to see through a smoky mirror, one coated with nicotine stains like the one in Ms. Goodfried's VW. The memory is there, but surrounded by a fog, distorting the true image. Maybe because the events were just too weird for me to handle, too crazy to comprehend that I have pushed the memory back even further than the lessons I learned in school.

Ms. Goodfried was getting younger; that I was sure of. Even her car was getting younger. I can't explain how or why, but it had something to do with her insane babble about cutting corners to save time. On the next Friday, she cornered me in the hallway after class. I had been avoiding her for the past few days, and now I was trapped. I took one glance at her and saw changes. Her face was void of wrinkles. Her hair was long and youthful; none of that split-ends, thinning out and going gray going on here. I tried not to look too closely at her, so I fumbled with my backpack instead.

"I have found what I have been looking for", she said.

"And what is that?" I replied, now working the zipper on my backpack. I know what she found. She found her youth.

"Look at me closely. Don't just see what you think you see. See what you know you see." I looked up at her and saw. She was younger. I could imagine this was what she looked like when she was in a classroom like this one, not as the teacher, but as a student like me. Not just the hair and wrinkles...her eyes too. They were brighter, bluer than ever, yet something wasn't right. They were dark as well. Now I know what a crazy person looks like, I thought. It wasn't the hair or wrinkles or younger looking skin or body tone. It was in the eyes.

"Can this be for real?" I asked. I didn't want to believe it, but the truth was right there in front of me.

"I have something to show you," she said and headed for the door. She led me outside to the steps of the school and was literally skipping down several steps at a time. Her VW sat among several other cars in the teacher's parking lot. The paint was shiny and the convertible top was perfect. I knew this was what she wanted me to see.

"Now look at my little car. Isn't this wonderful?" It was perfect. No rust, no tears in the cloth top, no dents or dings, spotless interior...nothing was wrong. But everything was wrong. Wrong in that it just couldn't be.

"All right, who fixed up your car?" I asked knowing that no one had.

"Nobody. It just happens. Can I give you a ride home?" I couldn't lie to her. I didn't have a ride home. Anyway, I wanted to find out exactly what was going on, and if riding with her would give me answers, then so be it.

"Sure. I couldn't find one." I waited for her to open my door and hesitantly sat down when she did. Hopefully, this would be the last time I rode with her. How true...how true.

The interior was as perfect as the exterior. If someone had refurbished this, they had done an excellent job. Nowhere could I see signs of anything being replaced; carpet, upholstery, anything.

"It's unbelievable, is it not?" She fired up the engine and for just a second, I actually thought I heard the VW laugh as it roared to life. "How many miles would you guess that my little car has on its odometer?" She pulled out of the parking lot and sped towards (and sometimes away from) my home. Considering that it was a 1978 model...if the car had been driven an average of 10,000 miles per year, that would put it over the absurdly high amount of 240,000 miles! I caught myself looking over at the gauge area to see for myself.

"Yeah. That's what I thought too when I saw it," she said. I hadn't said anything, but the expression on my face probably said more than my answer would. It must have screamed, "Wow!" There was less than 15,000 miles tallied up. I know I saw more than that on there before. But what really made me think, "Wow!" was that I saw something else when I peeked at the dash. The odometer was going backwards. As crazy as it seems, for all I know, time was in reverse. I wasn't sure what would happen to me if I didn't get out of her car soon. But I wasn't ready just yet. I still hadn't gotten any answers.

"It's just like the day I bought it. I told you that I would get my car back." Something else about her had changed. Her driving had become better. I didn't fear for my life at every turn. She still cut corners and avoided heavy traffic. She still smoked her cigarettes and wore her sunglasses. But I almost felt like I could relax and stop being so jumpy. "I think that my little experiment is about to be over," she said as the miles went by and the odometer whirred in reverse. "I only have a small amount of time before I feel something big is going to happen. Something wonderful."

Just then she sped up to beat a red light. As her foot pushed down and the engine revved up, something happened that was not the something she was expecting. The jolt that she spoke of before was now pulsing through me like a bolt of lightning thrown by Zeus himself. I saw, if only for the fleetest of moments, a little sanity in her claims...a picture of her mind. I saw clocks and watches, hourglasses and sundials running at light speed in reverse. I saw me as a child, her as a child and the VW as a concept. And just like that the vision was gone.

"It happened just now, did you feel it? You must have." Did I feel it? Man, I was it! I was past, present and future all rolled up into a tightly knit ball of twine. And suddenly I had my answers. I didn't even have to ask. I knew what she knew. I felt what she felt. And most certainly, we both felt what the car felt. Crazy, I know. Maybe we both were a bit "touched by the gods" you could say, but at that moment that's just what we were. Crazy, man.

I didn't even say a word. The car drove on and the time went back and her smoke was filling the air...and I was silent. She asked if I was ok, she laughed and smiled then went back some more. My house came into view and I kept my mouth shut and my eyes open...my eyes that had seen the light. The only time I spoke was right before the door shut, with the window down and me seeing her eyes, those brightly dark eyes.

"Good-bye for now." This I said knowing what she would reply.

"No, good-bye." Her cigarette was out, her body was young, and her car was anew. There was no more time.

I never saw her again.

5

Now to say that I never saw her again would be a lie...I saw her everyday. Every time I heard the sound of a VW chugging along I saw her face. Whenever I used to see a convertible Beetle on the road, I would think that it was her. It doesn't happen much now. It used to happen more often. I used to look for her everyday. I needed to know what had become of her. And I needed her to know what had become of me.

After she pulled out of my driveway that day I stood there in awe of what had happened. I watched her drive off, keeping my eyes on her and her VW until she vanished from sight. What a feeling I had coursing through my mental and physical body. I knew that I felt something back there in her car. In fact, I was still tingling. Goose bumps permeated the entire surface of my being. The questions with no answers (at least answers that didn't sound crazy) wouldn't leave me alone. I knew the answers to some of them, like what it felt like to cut off the corners of time. Oh, I know what that felt like. What I needed was for her to be around, to see what years of time saving would eventually do to a person. I know what the results were on me; I didn't know what the final results were on her. I sort of felt that I wouldn't see her again, although I hoped I would. I mean, how would I know what would eventually happen to me? I didn't even know what happened to her yet.

I went back to school after that weekend with a heavy heart. Of course, there would have to be a substitute for Ms. Goodfried, as well there was. It didn't matter who it was; it just wasn't Ms. Goodfried. And of course there was to be an investigation into her disappearance. This is where I had no recourse in defending myself. After all, I was the last person to be seen with her. And she was the last real person I saw. Everyone else seemed to be made of molded plastic, loveless and unfeeling.

6

As I sit here writing this all down with Crayola Jumbo-Sized crayons (no, they don't let you have pens or pencils in here...those are sharp objects!), I have to relate to you something that the years couldn't erase, after the investigation and the hoopla concerning her disappearance had diminished. Yes, I finished high school and went on to college. I even graduated top of the class in Psychology. But what others didn't know is what I know (or would like to think) what happened to her. Bear with me here...I think that she saved time in every conceivable manner, to the point of vanishing from the world that we know and see. Somehow she disappeared into a gray area of time; an area that you or I can't see.

The investigation didn't go anywhere. Since there was no evidence that I did something to her, I was dropped off of their list pretty fast. The case just disappeared into the vault of unsolved mysteries, as far as they were concerned. There were still those who thought I had something to do with her vanishing. There were the looks that I saw, people staring at me. It was enough to drive one crazy.

Perhaps that is what drove me over the edge. I took what people thought of me in such a serious manner that I let it rule my life. I put on the fa�ade of someone of mental stability. But inside I was totally nuts. On the outside, I was this Psychology professor (yes, I even held that title, if only for a little while) with a few quirks, but on the inside, I was this little boy who just couldn't let go of the events that led to the Great Vanishing, as I like to call it. Pushing me further over the edge was the feeling of despair and frustration of cutting all of the corners, doing what she told me to do, saving a little time here and there, but never discovering where she had gone. If just for one minute I could have seen her, heard her voice or her puttering VW, I probably would have ended up different. But I didn't, and things ended up this way.

I tried and tried to find that place where she must have gone. My time cutting efforts were obviously not as good as hers had been. But she had several years of savings over mine. I just couldn't catch up with her, I guess. She was lost in the shadows of memory and time. A place of forgetfulness and fright; but a place of warmth and comfort as well. Where is this place, this gray area between the world we live in and the unknown? I don't know. Perhaps it is the place of the gods, a place where you can be whomever you want to be. I can only hope that she is driving her VW, with a cigarette in one hand and a ruling scepter in the other. The goddess Goodfried...what a concept. I don't know when I'll be able to find out though. This padded room they've got me in has no windows. No longer can I cut corners to be young again. I can only imagine the sights and sounds of the outside world, and the world outside of that one. I hope that she found what she was looking for. I hope she found her time.

Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - Gremlins Galore

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Sun, 18 Dec 2005 21:26:11 -0500

(Written October 23, 2002)

I chased off a Gremlin today. No, not the beautiful AMC vehicle of the same name. I mean the gremlin that wreaks havoc with mechanical objects. You know, like the one that gave Bugs Bunny such a hard time in the cartoons. I don't think I actually saw this gremlin. Most of the time, you don't catch gremlins in the act of sabotage...you just experience the aftermath. You never know when one is going to strike. When things are going smoothly and everything is working right, that's just about when the troubles start.

You see, Linda's Squareback was working perfectly a few weeks ago. But on her way up to the Circle Yer 'Wagens XVI VW show in October, the generator and brake warning lights came on. She and Cindy Lewis, who was driving her WaterBeetle "Tweetybug", were able to make it to the show grounds. Linda pulled into a spot in our camping area and that was that. Elsie (short for LC, or Little Car...as in "Mommy's Little Car") decided to take a rest. It looked like a normal breakdown, but I was skeptical. Nothing gave a hint that trouble was looming. It just started without warning. That's what made me think to check wire connections, fuses, relays, points, the position of the planets, seek a vision, etc...and also look for signs of sabotage. I discovered that the battery was dead. Linda had probably made it all the way from Maryville to Sevierville on just the battery's power. This made me look at the generator. No sign of any gremlins.

"Check the generator brushes." I hear this over my shoulder as I am peering into the engine compartment. Lane Miner, from Franklin, NC was standing behind me. Lane has a '73 Squareback as well. I take the generator brushes out...they were in need of replacing. Seeing as the swap meet wasn't going to be until the next day, I put the brushes back in and jump start the engine. It starts up, but still is sluggish and in essence, draining the battery down. Lane then shows me how to take a fingernail file and clean the armature that the brushes "brush" up against. The engine starts running like normal! That's when I smelled gas. Any gremlins yet?

I can tell that the smell isn't coming from the engine compartment, so I run to the front of the car and look underneath. In the Type III, the fuel filter's connected to the fuel pump, and the fuel pump's connected to the pressure regulator (and the head bone's connected to the neck bone). Gas is not just dripping out; it is really dripping out around the connection of the fuel filter. A few twists of the wrist with a screwdriver and the hose clamp is tightened a little more, and the drip stops. Shortly after purchasing Elsie, I had replaced every fuel hose and hose clamp in the front, so I know who tightened them...I did. But who had loosened this clamp, making the gasoline pour out? A gremlin?

The next day, I purchased a new set of generator brushes from Lee Dixon, a parts vendor and permanent fixture of the Circle Yer 'Wagens show series. With the new brushes in the generator, everything was as it should be...normal. After the show was over on Sunday, we headed home and experienced no problems at all. Monday morning was a different story, though. I had taken the day off and Linda was leaving to go to work. She comes running back in saying that the warning lights were on again and the engine was running badly. What gives? She rushes off to work in Oscar and I soon have the generator out of Elsie and am on the phone with AABCO, the gurus of starter, generator, and alternator rebuilds. I take it to them, and in a few days, I have a rebuilt generator. But before I could even install it, the gremlin attacks. It must have, because when I did install the generator, the same problems existed. Voltage regulator? I changed it, with still no change. Gremlins, indeed!

I take the generator back to AABCO, where Brother Mike shows me that the generator is working properly. So I take it back home, where I let it sit for a day before finding time to install it again. In that waiting period, the gremlin must have already left, because when I finally installed the generator, the engine fired up, the warning lights went out, and everything was back to normal. Things had been going wrong one by one, so I deduced that there must have been only one gremlin messing with my head. When did the gremlin give up on tormenting me with little setbacks and puzzling problems? I don't know. I'm just glad that he left. My only fear is that he jumped over to Sweetpea, because now I notice some of the same things happening all over again. Only on Sweetpea, the brake warning light is coming on when the brake is depressed and the headlights are on, but when the headlights are off, the parking lights, the brake warning light, and dash lights come on. This really confuses me, but I think that I am prepared for the next battle with this gremlin. I have watched his pattern of destruction and I hope to anticipate his next move. Does Raid work on gremlins?

Till later,
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - Almost Famous

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Mon, 10 Oct 2005 15:47:39 -0400

(Originally written December 20, 2002)

A few years ago, I was a nobody. At least in the eyes of those who didn't know me that well, and possibly by those who did. I didn't have something that I was known for. Some people have their high school football hero status; some are known by their successes in business or entertainment; and others have a certain attribute to them that everybody knows about. I had none of the above. Just your average Joe, holding a mediocre full-time job at a factory. No fame, no status, no problem.

Sure, I was and am happy. I now have a wonderful wife, a three year-old daughter, and a son on the way. But somewhere along the line, I picked up something else that made me achieve almost-famous status. I have something that I am known for. Something that makes total strangers come up to me and strike up a conversation. Have my great looks, my Adonis physique, or my genteel nature finally gotten the attention that they deserve? No, it is something that has nothing to do with me or my physical attributes. I have finally been come to be known as the "local VW aficionado" at my place of employment, with my non-VW friends, and even from Joe Blow from down the road. If a day goes by without someone mentioning to me about a VW they saw for sale/driving/parked on the side of the road, then my day just hasn't been complete. It wasn't always like this. I have a few thoughts about it...I may stray, but follow me into the abyss.

When I first got into VWs, most people "didn't get it". People would ask, "Why don't you get a real car?" They would say, "That thing will keep you broken down on the side of the road". Some were concerned about the atmospheric qualities of the vehicle's interior. "You are going to freeze/burn up in that thing", some would say. Just because some VWs heat doesn't work, and there is no air conditioning, that doesn't mean that I'll freeze in the winter or I'll suffer too bad from the summertime heat. I'll admit the cooling/heating system is not the best, but I deal with it.

"That thing is a deathtrap." A deathtrap? Far from it, in my opinion. I don't consider a vehicle to be a deathtrap if the person driving it is not talking on a cell phone while putting on makeup, reading a road map, forgetting to signal turns, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a pistol for the fits of road rage in the other. To do so, that's a deathtrap.

"You can't depend on it". And this comes from people who wouldn't associate with the mechanic at their local garage, let alone lift the hood to attempt a fix on their own. These same people would also chime in with, "A friend of a friend of mine used to own one and he had nothing but trouble". Well, pardon me if I don't take the advice of a twice-removed unknown acquaintance who doesn't even know me or my VWs. I don't drive them for their sakes. Only because I want to, no matter what others may think.

For instance, my bus, Oscar, has not had decent stereo in it since I bought it. I still drive Oscar. Not withstanding the fact that I have just bought a kickin' stereo with slammin' speakers and a 6-disc CD player to install for my own pleasure, the fact is that I have not held the scratchy, fuzzy receptive stereo with the broken tape player against him for the past two years. Even the Fastback still has stock AM radio. This has not been a deterrence from driving her.

I didn't get into VWs for my friends' or family's sakes. I did it for myself. I did it because of the feeling I get when I am in an aircooled VW. I did it because of the close connection between my soul and the aircooled spirit. I still do it because of the ease of maintenance. I do it to be different; to not be mainstream. I do it because I know that my oldest one, a 31 year-old VW, is of a better quality than most people's new vehicles...even with the rust holes. I do it for the love of the hobby. But even more, I do it just because.

And because I do it for those reasons, I have been branded. It's not something that I gave to myself. I don't go around with a swollen head and a puffy chest, showing the world that I, otherworldly-named VW King of the Universe, knows all, sees all. I just be myself and let others perceive what they will. I do welcome this brand and all the normalities and abnormalities that come with that brand. Now, people that know me can't help but mention VW when they see me. It's like "Talk Volkswagen with me!" is tattooed on my forehead.

Ok, so I'm not a high-powered businessman making deals to seal mine and my stockholder's futures. I'm not an actor on the screen, adored by many, hated by few. I'm not a doctor or lawyer or even a public servant. But I am a VW god to those that don't know any better. And to those that do, I am me...a VW owner in a world of my own and who is willing to share that world with you just for the asking.

So, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and ask.

Till later,
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - The Name Game

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Fri, 09 Sep 2005 21:10:38 -0400

(Originally written October 1, 2001)

I remember the first car I ever owned. It was a 1980 Pontiac Phoenix that I paid $500 for. It was a sun-faded blue, with midnight blue interior, and a sagging headliner that created mood lighting with the dome light. The air conditioning was actually cold when you when you wanted cold air. The rear was slightly raised, thanks to the Monroe air shocks, giving it "muscle car" looks. It was far from muscular...it had a good engine, a straight six cylinder, but it just wasn't powerful. The dark tinted windows added to the look, so dark that driving at night took some expertise. I personalized it with stickers and a Troll doll (don't ask) as well as a decent stereo with a homemade speaker box. It was my very first car, so it was special for that very reason. It wasn't a beautiful car, but it made me feel proud. I even replaced a head gasket when it blew...but when the transmission went out, I had to make some quick decisions. Although it was my first car and therefore special, I never even gave it a name.

So, I bought my next car, while the Phoenix was being repaired (for only $400!). I paid this guy $500 down payment, and $50 a week till I paid off the $1000 price tag of a 1980 Honda Civic Wagon. It was silver, with a roof rack and hatchback. I personalized it as well with Phish and Grateful Dead stickers and called it my own. I kept it when I finally sold the Phoenix (after the head gasket blew again!) and it became my daily driver. It wasn't as special as my first car, but it had it's own uniqueness. For instance, if I hit a really rough section of road, or say, I ran off the road, the front axle was designed to "pop" out of the transaxle. I was told this was to prevent the axle from breaking in such circumstances. The first time it happened, I just knew I was stranded by the side of the road. It was then that I discovered this feature by reading the owner's manual. How helpful! You would think that I would give this car a name, like "Pops" or something, but the thought of a name for it never crossed my mind.

My next car was actually a truck. A 1995 Nissan Extended Cab Pick-up had the pleasure of being my workhorse for over two summers of lawn mowing. It was green with graphics down both sides and a gray interior. The sticker craze carried over to this truck, too (Phish and Dead, yet again). I grew to love...well maybe it wasn't real love...let's just say the necessity of the truck persuaded me to develop a fondness for the thing. In this time period, I sold both the Pontiac and the Honda, each with aggravating problems inherited by the next owner. When my wife and I were looking for a brand new VW, the truck became a trade-in. I hated to trade it in, but it got me a 1998 Jetta (with more payments) in return. This truck, even with the attraction that was greater than the other two, still didn't win the privilege of a namesake.

Now, somewhere between the Nissan truck, and the Jetta, the VW addiction was just taking hold, forcing met to buy a 1979 Westfalia. The previous owner was very sentimental about the Westy, and was very reluctant to give it up, even though he was the one who informed me that he had it for sale! Really, one of the first things he did was to tell me her name. Before we took a good look, or even taken a test drive, he was telling me that the Westy's name was "Sweetpea". And you know I decided to leave it at that, mainly because it was green as a pea, and SWEET! Name a car? Never before had I done something of the sort. But I suppose that something had changed in the status of an owned vehicle in my mind. It was no longer viewed as just a means of transportation; it had become an extended member of the family. Therefore, it needed a name to identify itself, with attributes and "personalities" all it's own. Every one of my cars now has a name. Is this because they are all VWs and therefore, loved as a family member? Well...it could be. Besides "Sweetpea", there's my 1978 Bus, "Oscar", aptly named because he looks like a hot dog bun. There's "Molly", our 1971 Fastback, who received her name from my wife. I think she had a childhood dog with that name. And finally, there's "Moby, the White Whale", our 1993 Eurovan. Obviously, it is white, and big as a whale.

I did an online poll recently on the air-cooled newsgroup RAMVA (rec.autos.makers.vw.aircooled) to find out what name(s) people give their VWs and a specific reason why the name(s) were chosen. The responses were as varied as the people were themselves. Here are some of the responses I received:

"I picked 'Rauchen' because in German it means smoking. The first few times I made a long drive in my bug, it would smoke after I parked it...as for the sex of the bug, it is truly a male. It has resisted my every step to changing its behavior and is very set in its ways. It is sturdy, tough, rough around the edges and can be very cantankerous like its owner!"

"Poupon - Grey Poupon color of yellow."

"Delilah. When I got her, I was going through a state of mind in which I was holding a grudge against the opposite sex. Definitely a female: it was love at first sight, and we've broken up for extended periods of time, only to get back together in the end."

"Grimace. 1st reason...there just aren't a whole lot of appropriate names for a two tone purple beetle. 2nd reason...5 years of cash, sweat and tears to rebuild her. Believe me, there were more than a few days when a Grimace was all I could give the old girl."

If you give your VW a name, it is for reasons all your own. The reasons can range from the serious to the downright silly. It doesn't matter why, but something tells me that it is because you have developed a relationship, whether on a working level, or a personal level with your VW. To me, giving a car a name used to seem silly. Now it is more like my VW is a brother, a sister, or even a cranky old grandpa, and a name to identify each one just seems like the right thing to do. Now if I can only figure out why I have named just my VWs and not my other cars. I'm still not so sure why. Maybe it can be summed up in the words of reggae singer Bob Marley, "Could this be love?"

Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - Road Rules

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Tue, 16 Aug 2005 02:02:45 -0400

(Originally written November 18, 2001)

Road Rules

A Dodge Viper passed me today. It passed me on a double line in a 35-mph zone. It waited until the car ahead of me had made it's right-hand turn, then whipped around me and sped off seconds after I had turned on my '78 Bus' blinker to turn left. The guy couldn't wait a few seconds longer for me to be out of his way...there must have been a fire somewhere, I guess. If I had been turning right, it would have been a different story, but I was turning left, for crying out loud! The whole act of being passed was in itself not too much of an irritant. Well, maybe the way that several road rules were broken in the act might have made me a little irritated. But as I have said before, it almost makes me feel good to be passed by someone who is in much more of a hurry than I am. It reminds me of what I am driving. I am driving what I love.

Some people, in their haste, seem to lose the sense of concern for others on the road. They either don't care or are just not looking. Either way, it seems like a waste of time to try and save some time by driving like an idiot, disregarding rules and the safety of others and themselves. I'm not trying to lecture to anyone on the hazards of unsafe driving, speeding, improper lane changes, etc...I'm more or less just trying to make people aware of idiot drivers. I think it was the comedian Gallagher that once said, "Instead of police issuing tickets to idiot drivers, everyone should be issued those toy guns with the suction-cup bullets with flags on them that said "IDIOT". If a policeman should see any car with more than three IDIOT flags, they should immediately pull the car over." Too bad it's not as simple as that.

People seem to be following the 20 new rules of the highway I have just become aware of. Consider them the new code for road travel...

1. Turn signals will give away your next move. A real driver never uses them.

2. Under no circumstances should you leave a safe distance between you and the car in front of you, or the space will be filled in by somebody else putting you in an even more dangerous situation.

3. Crossing two or more lanes in a single lane-change is considered going with the flow.

4. Remember that the goal of every driver is to get there first, by whatever means necessary.

5. Never, ever come to a complete stop at a stop sign. No one expects it and it will inevitably result in you being rear-ended. If you want your insurance company to pay for a new rear bumper, come to a complete stop at all stop signs.

6. Never pass on the left when you can pass on the right. It's a good way to scare people entering the highway.

7. Speed limits are arbitrary figures, given only as suggestions and are apparently not enforceable during rush hour.

8. A right lane construction closure is just a game to see how many people can cut in line by passing you on the right as you sit in the left lane waiting for the same jerks to squeeze their way back in before hitting the orange construction barrels.

9. It is traditional to honk your horn at cars that don't move the instant the light changes.

10. The faster you drive through a red light, the smaller the chance you have of getting hit.

11. Red lights are to be taken as an advisory. For safety's sake, don't forget to look both ways when traversing the intersection.

12. The largest and/or fastest vehicle always has the right of way. The pickup truck with the gun rack and the bumper sticker saying, "Guns don't kill people. I do", ALWAYS has the right of way.

13. When you encounter a tailgater quickly stab the brake pedal with your left foot (while keeping your right on the gas) so as to notify him that you are aware of his presence. He will appreciate your concern for him.

14. If the traffic should come to a stop all of a sudden, make a mad dash to the nearest off ramp so as not to contribute to the jam up.

15. If the traffic is backed up on the freeway, drive your pickup across the grass/ ditch/ ravine next to the highway to get onto the access road - the steeper the grade which must be driven over, the better. +3 points if you have to shift into 4WD. +2 points if you have to squeeze through a break in a fence put up to keep people from illegally exiting the freeway at non-exits.

16. If a dump truck is parked on the shoulder, hit your brakes hard and slow to 40 mph on the highway. If a state trooper is parked there, out of his car, writing a ticket, slow to 30 mph. State troopers are very fast on foot and will chase your car and clamp on to the bumper.

17. If the pavement has been scarred in preparation for re-paving, slow to 35mph. Driving faster on this pavement will shred your tires in minutes.

18. If it is snowing hard and you can't see the lane lines, keep driving at the prevailing 70-75mph. Your car can "feel" the lines through the snow pack that way. If you have an SUV, add 10 mph because they have 4- wheel drive and can't spin out.

19. You don't have to yield for a blind person, because they can't see your license plate number.

20. When being passed don't make eye contact unless you have already re-loaded.

If you follow all of these rules to the best of your ability...make sure you stay away from me out there on the road. I, for one, would rather take my time and watch out for others, as well as myself, and be safe in my beloved VWs. I know that some people consider their cars just a means of transportation, but like most VW owners, it is known that your VW is more than that and should be treated accordingly. Some people may call me a lawbreaker for not following these new rules...so be it. Take me away, boys!

Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - A Junkie's Tale

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Fri, 15 Jul 2005 23:12:00 -0400

(Originally written July 21, 2001)

A Junkie's Tale

I will be the first to admit that I am an addict. A day cannot end without me getting a fix from one of the things that keep me feeling good. I am constantly on the search for the finest samples of what fuels my addiction. If the best isn't around, I opt for lower quality, only to be disgusted with myself when the real deal shows up. And the money I spend supporting this habit (although not running me into the ground), could rightly be used for a more worthy purpose...like food and shelter. I'm hopelessly addicted. I'm sick, I need help. I don't think there are support groups or specialists that deal with my sort of addiction. I mean, really, who could help someone deep in the throes of a VW addiction? I can hear the VWOA (Volkswagen Owners Anonymous) greeting right now..."My name is Travis and I am hopelessly addicted to Volkswagens".

I believe it started when I was young. In fact I was very young. I wasn't even born yet. My parents were users at one time or another. When they got married and started a family, they relied heavily upon their Split Window bus to move the extra load of two children and one (me) on the way. I don't know how long they owned it, but I never got to see that bus. I was somewhere swimming in a sea of amniotic fluid, surely getting the VW vibes from my mother as she rode in the Splittie. They supposedly sold it when the engine seized on them. If only Dad would have saved it for me. It sure would have made one heck of a graduation/wedding/whatever gift, wouldn't it?

In my later years, I suppose peer pressure had more of an influence on my addiction than heredity did. I saw more and more of my friends, family (and strangers) using, and finally gave in to the urges. What started out as only one here and there turned into a five-car habit. There's the '93 Eurovan, a '79 Westy, the '78 Bus, a '77 Beetle, and a '71 Fastback, each with their own addicting qualities. They have a hold on me. I knew that there would be some sort of hold from the beginning. That's why I started in the first place...for the thrill. What I didn't know was the severity that the addiction would grow on me, seeming to rule out major thought processes. I'm pretty sure that parts purchases aren't supposed to come before new clothes purchases, but somehow they do (I'm not talking about not taking care of family needs, only personal ones).

My daily fix can be derived from several different mediums. One of those is to see a Bug or Bus on the road. Knowing that the VW is being used (and perhaps loved) brings on the euphoria. Another way is by spending time inhaling the "VW scent" while inside one of my own VWs. Did Volkswagen somehow know that the "smell" would be a familiar and universal scent to those addicted to their product? Even years after owning a VW, some people still tell me that the smell brings on memories (visions?) of VW ownership. Also, I can get online and fill my brain with words of wisdom and pictures of other people's VWs to fill the need. Newsgroups on the Usenet newsreader such as rec.autos.makers.vw.aircooled (RAMVA) and rec.autos.makers.vw.watercooled (RAMVW) and others are full of knowledgeable VW owners who fill bandwidth space with technical advice, questions and pictures of VW projects and daily drivers. This is a junkie's paradise! Hours and hours can be spent catching a "buzz" there. You can also be virtually surrounded by others just as addicted as you...others even more so.

If you find yourself buying a VW just to save it from the scrap yard, you may be an addict. If you give more thought into naming your VW than in naming your firstborn, you just may be an addict. If you build a 4-car garage for the sole intention of using up every square inch for VWs and parts for those VWs, you may be an addict. And if you park your newer VWs outside to take the brunt of the ever changing and intolerant weather and park the "vintage" (meaning "rusty") VWs in the safety of the garage, there is a good possibility that you are an addict. Just go ahead and face it. There is really not much you can do about it.

I think it is a common "problem" among VW owners to share this addiction. I am certainly not alone. With the help of those afflicted with this sickness, we can hold each other up in the face of addiction, keep our hands on the wheel, and keep it between the yellow lines. Well, I think that this rambling session is over. I think I hear a faint voice calling from the garage. In fact, I hear several voices. Should I resist the sirens' song? Should I give in to the monkey on my back? Oh, one touch of metal, or just a sniff of the interior won't hurt. C'mon, just one...
Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - A Certain Pride

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Fri, 24 Jun 2005 20:21:29 -0400

Originally written October 20, 2000

Every car has a fan. No, not a car part with blades, but a devoted owner that treats it like one of the family. They tenderly care for it and treat it with respect. Eventually, a group of these fans get together and connect with similarities and naturally become a group. Whether formally or informally, some sort of meeting is held to expand those similarities and create new friendships. It could be just a get-together at a local restaurant, filling the parking lots with fine examples of your vehicle of choice, say, Volkswagens perhaps. It could be at a public park, again drawing attention to said vehicles. It could be on a drive, while the line of cars that stretch out behind you for at least a mile honk (and wave in a less than friendly wave), knowing how good it feels to be in a caravan, drawing attention to your vehicle yet again. I guess the feeling you get could be called pride.

I know I want people to look at my cars, and deep down inside, they want me to look at theirs. If you have spent any amount of time caring for and bringing back to life a dreamed after car and made it look nice, wouldn't you want people to notice? Of course you would! And lots of other people feel the same way. That's why there are car shows. What other way could people get to meet all sorts of different owners of cars like theirs? Lots of friends are met and made at shows, friends that last a lifetime, but the best thing about car shows is meeting all of the cars.

I have attended many car shows in the past 5 years of VW ownership. They have all been strictly VW or VW powered vehicles that are in the shows and judged for trophies. But there was one I remember that had a lot more, like it or not. It was at a Speedway in Farmington, NC. It was put on by a VW club, and had lots of VW parts vendors, and show cars. There was even � mile racing, mostly VW powered. But packed in behind the VW's was a sea of vehicles that didn't come close to having a rear-mounted, air-cooled engine, or even a VW symbol. The list of vehicles ranged from tricked out pick-up trucks to farm tractors in mint condition. I can tell you it was a different show than I expected.

Recently, I attended several car shows that weren't VW themed at all. In fact, the VW representation was a small fraction of the total cars present. They were mostly hot-rod versions of Detroit's finest, mixed in with stock beauties. I was made to feel welcome by most of the other car owners and even got into conversations about their vehicles. Even though our vehicle tastes and choices clashed, we still had things in common to make us more similar. One of those things was pride. They would tell me just about everything there was to know about their car. They were proud of their cars. Just like I am proud of mine. Even though the other car may not be a VW, if the restoration job (or even original condition) looks good, then they have something to be proud of. At another show, I was parked next to a 1982 Porsche 9-something or other. In conversation with the "owner", I noticed his enthusiasm for this vehicle was just short of euphoric. In deeper conversation, I discovered that he didn't even own the Porsche. It was from his grandfather's car lot! But nevertheless, his enthusiasm for a good-looking vehicle reminded me of my own feelings towards Volkswagens.

These experiences have made me re-think my position on my biased views for VW's. I will always think that a Volkswagen is the finest vehicle ever made. The Bus will always be my favorite. I will still drool at beautifully restored split-window Beetles. I will continue to be amazed at the various things people can do to a VW in the name of customizing, no matter how hideous. Nothing in that respect will change. But what will change is my attitude towards cars other than my own, especially the non-VW, an attitude which could also lead to a pre-conceived judgement on the owners themselves. For example, the notion that the redneck in his 4X4 Ford/Chevy/Dodge Behemoth is an uneducated, inbred and uncouth individual just may not be true. He very well could be just as proud of his means of transportation as I am of mine. It's just that he chooses to show his enthusiasm by the placement of rear-window-sized replicas of Rebel flags and shotguns, while I show mine by driving a little bit slower. Also, that guy in the Nissan 240 SX may not be the power-hungry sport-jock type that first impressions give. I'll bet he beams with joy when someone tells him that his car looks nice. And what this means is that I have something in common with both of them. We all share a certain (all together now!) pride that crosses all boundaries of vehicle makes and models, tastes and choices, stereotypes and prejudices.

The owner of the paint-chipped, ragged-out Pinto that is missing the front bumper and rear seat is more than likely to be just as proud of his vehicle as the owner of an immaculate 1952 Split-window Beetle. Keep that in mind the next time you hear, "Hey, nice car" from someone. Go on ahead and puff up. Feel proud and remember that the proud feeling is something that is shared. Share it by returning the compliment whenever and wherever appreciated.

Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - VW: Making Memories

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Thu, 12 May 2005 22:50:02 -0400

(Originally written January 7, 2001)

How many times has someone come up to you while you were out and about in your air-cooled VW and started up a conversation about their "good" times they had with their Beetle or Bus or Thing or Whatever? If your experiences are anything like mine, then it has happened many times. No other vehicle that I have owned has ever had the power to command such a resurgence of memories like the VW has. Then again, no other vehicle I have owned has had the personality of a VW. People tend to get attached to cars that they really like, so these little cars make you like them with their charms. They get a hold of your heart and (in my case) invade your thoughts at all times. The little car that started it all carries with it a trunk full of memories. So it is no wonder that now, generations later, the VW is still winning hearts all over. It's a car to make memories with. That's for sure.

The first VW that I can remember ever riding in was when I was in elementary school. I think I was 10. My Grandma drove us 30 miles each way to our two-room schoolhouse in a Ford Van converted into a mini-bus. I think there were at least 10-12 students riding together every day. But sometimes, that bus would break down, and other parents would have to drive us to school. One of the parents had a VW bus (it could have been a Vanagon, but I was 10, what did I know?) that we sometimes rode in. Now it was a little smaller than our regular bus, but we all fit in there with no problems. What really stuck out in my mind was the tan and orange color of the bus. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I didn't know it then, but that could have possibly been the seed planted in my mind for the VW insanity that came later in life.

The next one to "pop up" into my life was a Westfalia camper for sale in a used-car lot. By now, I had my license to drive, but no job, and no money. I had never before seen a bus with a camper package, complete with sink, stove, and pop-top! I just had to have one of these! Another memory I have is of my sister and her Orange '76 Beetle. She drove that car around (or did the car drive her around?) to more places than I can recollect. Many times she made the 500-mile trip from Florida to Tennessee to visit. I remember that it didn't have good heat and the windows were always fogged up. But I still wish I could have bought it from her...

Now, from my original experience with a VW to the time I actually got my own covered a span of about 18 years. 18 years of VW memories, but not of my VW. Now that I have my own VW's, the memories can now be of my own. And I am sure that there will be a lifetime of them before the rust builds up, the tires wear thin, and the engine gives out on our beloved memory maker, the VW.
Till later,

Travis

GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - Airless Air-Cooled

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Tue, 22 Feb 2005 22:39:04 -0500

(Originally written June 30, 2002)

Man, it is hot. The windows of my bus are all open and the fresh air vents are supposed to be blowing out air. The air coming into the interior should whip around and about my head and throughout the rest of the bus...and it would be if I was moving. Even though when it is blowing at a good pace, it is still hot air. But any wind feels better than no wind at all. Sure, it may feel good while I'm driving, but sitting still in traffic is just about to melt me alive. I can see the heat coming up in waves from the almost sticky asphalt. It almost looks like to stay in one place too long could lead to a melding of rubber and pavement...forever being one with the road, a permanent fixture on the freeway. Was it this hot last summer? I can't remember. The guy in the Saturn next to me is wiping the sweat from his face with his shirt, even as rivulets of sweat amble down my neck. Are my windows all the way open? Sure enough. It is still hot.

We have got to get moving soon. The guy on the radio says that it is only 87 degrees out there. I personally think that the radio man doesn't know what he is talking about. It has to be at least 300 degrees inside my bus. Poke me, I'm done! The radio man is sitting in an air-conditioned padded room getting his weather information from a sheet of paper handed to him. How could he possibly know how hot it is out here?

Now the guy who is slowly melting away in the car beside me seems to have flames coming off of him. It must be some trick of the heat, but I swear he has burst into flames. Spontaneous combustion could be a reality in this heat. Is it this hot in Hell? It can't be. If it was, I'm sure their phones would be ringing off the hook with central heating and air salesmen. Hello, is this the Underworld? Hot enough for ya? Well, I'm here to cool you down.

What was I thinking, making an air-cooled VW without the luxury of air-conditioning be my daily driver? I mean, surely there was another vehicle that would steal my heart just as well as my bus, and have the frigid amenity of A/C. Wouldn't a Jetta or Golf do just as well? And who says it has to be a Volkswagen at all? Well, first of all, I do. It is my vehicle of choice. And why air-cooled? Because I know how to repair most everything on my air-cooled Volkswagens. The water-cooled VWs just confuse me. Stick with what you know. And speaking of sticking with what you know, I know that my legs are sticking to my seat. We are not moving and the absence of moving air is stifling. To my right, just behind the Saturn with the crispy fried remnants of a man, is a woman in an Audi, windows up, hair blowing in the breeze of her A/C unit. I shouldn't hate her, should I? I answer that question by just looking away.

What's this? Are we moving? We are, but for how long? The air coming in the windows is still hot, but just the action of it moving across my face cools me down enough to stop my brain from cooking. The air is not only hot, but humid as well. Sweat runs into my left eye and instantly stings with an unrelenting pain of salt on a wound. How can I stand it? The line of cars ahead of me is coming to a stop; brake lights signal that the roasting is to start again. What in the world was I thinking, not having A/C, especially here in the South? This is where summer temperatures are not always measured in degrees, but in phrases such as, "It's so hot, you don't even have to cook the road kill."

We have stopped again. I don't know how much more of this I can stand. Just about the time I'm almost ready to curse myself and my bus, I see a motion to my left. This time, it is not a man on fire or a woman with a light cover of frost on her dash. It is a station wagon with at least six young children of varying ages packed inside. Their windows are down, so they obviously don't have air either. Sure, they are hot, but they are waving, jumping up in their seats, and giving me the "peace" sign. Before I start cursing my bus because of it's absence of air-conditioning, I cool down, suddenly realizing that this is why I drive an airless air-cooled VW. Forget the heat in summer, much less the cold in winter. I drive these cars because I love them, come hot or cold weather. And if I can make a car full of kids happy in an uncomfortable situation, then I know that I can continue to drive them. And even though we are sitting still, with no idea of when we will move again, I feel a cool, dry breeze whipping through my bus. It must have been the good vibes from the kids in the car that changed my attitude and made me truly air-cooled.
Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - Pass the Doans, Please

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Thu, 27 Jan 2005 09:48:34 -0500

(Originally written March 2002)

Do you remember things told to you when you were a child? Things like, "Study hard, your future depends on it" or "Make sure you eat all of your vegetables. They'll make you grow up big and strong." Some things were pounded into your brain as the gospel truth by parents trying to raise you properly. Other words of wisdom came from teachers, friends, preachers, or role models. The one thing that mattered to these people, at least in theory, was the betterment of yourself. One of my favorite sayings (I actually should have heeded this one) was "Sit up straight!"

In my elementary school, several times a year, experts would come and test the vision, depth-perception, color-blindness, posture, and whatever else they could think of to poke, prod or otherwise test us, the proverbial guinea pigs. I remember most of these little tests, but the one that sticks in my mind is the good posture test. According to the expert and the lecture given (complete with posters showing perfect posture) good posture would lead to a healthier life, would make one seem taller, and make you feel better. The sophisticated procedure consisted of having us stand with our backs up against the wall and then sliding a hand in the small of our backs to "measure" our posture. If their hand went between the wall and our backs relatively easy, then we were proclaimed "posture-perfect." I recall that the space behind my back was a little less than perfect, mainly because there was contact with the hand, my back, and the wall. In order to make my posture "perfect"; I had to arch my back until there was sufficient space back there for the ruling hand to pass. But there was pain involved. Arching my back in order to achieve the Perfect Posture Award felt more unnatural than the slack slump of being comfortable. Of course I tried over the course of my past 25 or so years to get the proper angle and alignment of my spine. Whenever I felt like I was slouching or stooping, I would straighten up and arch my back. But it was always with a twinge of pain and discomfort.

How does this tie into anything remotely close to Volkswagen? Let me tell you how. The seats in (my) vintage Volkswagens are made to either contribute to perfect posture or made to keep me in pain. I'm not knocking the seats, mind you. I am only stating that my back hurts while being subjected to the joy of sitting in them. Is that because the seats are made to make you sit up straight, therefore in the proper position? Or is it that they are poorly designed seats, putting the person sitting in them unneeded pain?

In my '79 Westy, the seats are way too uncomfortable. The way the steering wheel is positioned encourages me to slouch. After catching myself slouching, I sit up straight and tall, starting the dull ache in my lower back. The actual seat has lost it's padding, and I have placed an extra-thick padding under the seat cover, which in turn makes me sit higher, and a very long trip makes all feeling go out of my "hind quarters". I'm sure that if I took the time, money, and effort to remedy this situation, it would be a more comfortable drive. But I haven't and still drive it anyway.

My '78 Bus has seats that are a little bit more comfortable...but they have good padding in them. The seat backs are still just as straight and posture perfect as the '79's and sitting up straight again sends a dull ache into the low part of my back. I drive this bus everyday. And I usually end up slouching without really realizing it. But I still keep on driving it, regardless of the pain.

Outside of the '93 Eurovan (Creature of Comfort!), the '71 Fastback has got to have the most comfortable seats of them all. They have this angle to them that makes me feel as if I am in a recliner. The springs could have a little more padding between them and my posterior, but there is enough there to not really make a difference. The posture perfect features are still there (Sit up straight!) but not as much as in my other aircooled VWs. And this one still sees the road from time to time, mindless of any pain felt.

I don't think that it is the seats' fault. They are finely made. Posture perfect, I might add. My back hurts because it is forced to be in a position that it is not used to being in. I don't slouch, but then again, I don't always stand or sit up straight either. Elementary school fear-inducing, future-deciding tests didn't seem to make a difference. But vehicles that I choose to love and drive (and there's a lot of loving and driving going on here!) are doing what parents, teachers, doctors and yes, even strangers have failed to do...make me sit up straight! Even though my back hurts every time I have the urge to heed the words of wisdom of yesteryear, I continue to drive, love, and curse my VWs. It's for the betterment of myself.

Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - You Just Gotta Have Faith

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Mon, 20 Dec 2004 22:19:32 -0500

(Originally written August 1, 2000)

I have a restored faith in the reliability and performance of my '79 Westfalia. It seems that every time something goes wrong, it has always been something minor, something that can be fixed right there on the spot, providing that I have the parts to remedy the offending problem. From poorly gapped points, spark plug wires popping off, or shift-rod bushings falling out, my bus has always shocked me in how easy she is get back on the "road" to recovery. I have never really been much of a mechanic, at least not until I was "forced" to become one in order to keep my air-cooled beauties in good health.

Even the most well maintained vehicles will break down now and then. You never know where, and you can't even guess when, but there will be a time when something goes wrong with your car. If you are on top of things, you might have a premonition of things to come, say a grinding in the transaxle or a funny noise when you turn the wheel, which could set off alarms in your head. Those alarms mean that you should start saving for the fix that will be needed sooner or later.

It is the little things that I am talking about. The things that leave you stranded in the middle of nowhere, pulling your teeth out and cursing the VW factory and the people who made the stupid thing, only because you overlooked the one small thing that would put you back on the road. I have found that the problem hides itself for your first, let's say, 100 tries at finding it. Like the time I was headed for Johnson City, TN for a weekend of camping and relaxation. My bus suddenly developed a desire to take a rest. So without warning, she just quit. This was a short time after I had bought my Westy, which happened to be the first air-cooled car that I had ever owned. So, like other new vintage VW owners, I didn't know much about Volkswagens. Distributor what? Points you say? Anyway, I did have John Muir's Idiot guide with me, and it helped me a little. But it took a full day of me wondering and pulling and prodding and groaning before the problem arose. Apparently, there are these things called "points" in the distributor and they had slowly come loose and had closed shut. I wasn't getting any spark to the cylinders! After an adjustment, we were on our way.

It's a little thing called a spark plug wire. It carries a spark from the distributor to the spark plug. But when it is disconnected, the spark goes nowhere. Case in point: On our way to Seveirville, TN, "Sweetpea" started this awful bucking and spitting and complaining. Then she would settle down for awhile, then start back up again. When I finally pulled over, the problem eluded me again. I looked at the points, checked the distributor cap and rotor button, and they were fine. What had happened? In the process of checking the wires, I found that one of the wires had slowly wiggled its way off of the spark plug. I had the kind of wire that did take the screw-on tip, and it was in the end of the plug wire, so my question was how did the wire unscrew the tip and come off of the spark plug? Quickly fixed and back on the road once again.

It's a little thing called a bushing. A little piece of rubber or silicone or some other "man-made" material that takes the pressure and abuse of metal on metal. Like my shift rod bushing under the bus, near the transaxle. It is a relatively cheap piece of polymer that when not in place, will not let you shift from gear to gear. I found that out on Highway 64 going by the Ocoee River rafting area. Without warning, I couldn't go into 2nd or 4th or reverse gears. The shifter suddenly became loose and sloppy. I looked underneath and didn't see a problem. I took out the shifter and saw nothing important. The rod was a little too far forward, so I crawled underneath for another look. Aha! The rod was hanging onto the coupling by � of the bushing! Spare in hand, I quickly remedied the problem and was Blue Ridge Parkway bound!

It's a little thing called faith. Faith in that my bus will get me to any place that I desire. Faith in that if provided with the proper tools and parts, nothing can stop me from reaching my destination. Faith in the hopes that any major problem that arises will arise close to home. Faith in the fact that no matter how worried I might be to take my bus on long, arduous trips, she always seems to finish the trip with dignity, grace and the knowledge that I will have faith in her again and again. Now if only I could have faith in my starter not going bad...but then there's a spare under the seat!

Till later,

Travis

GoBusGo!

Shoot the Breeze - Love Inanimate

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Sun, 05 Dec 2004 23:42:27 -0500

(Originally written November 18, 2001)

Did you ever have a favorite toy as a child? Was it a teddy bear, missing an ear and an eye and most of its fur? You probably carried that bear everywhere. Was it a war embattled GI Joe or airline stewardess Barbie? Think back now. Was the attachment to this toy so great that just to be without it would be a crying offense? When this toy got hurt, did you not care for it? And when you lost it, would you not look everywhere until it was found? This toy was such a part of you that you looked at it as more than an inanimate object. It was alive, with feelings and emotions so real that you actually loved it.

I know I had several toys that I loved. There was a stuffed dog, a basset hound I think, that I could write on with washable ink. It wore a Sherlock Holmes type hat and vest, and I don't know why. I kept that dog close to me, even up until I went away to academy in the 9th grade. Now by that time, I didn't carry it around with me like I did when I was younger, but I did keep it on a shelf along with other toys that I just couldn't get rid of. In fact, it and most of my childhood toys are currently in a box either in my garage or closet. I still can't bring myself to get rid of them. I also had a plastic duck on wheels that rolled and "quacked" when I pushed a remote control button. Even when the remote stopped working, I still played with that duck.

Has this attachment to inanimate objects carried on into my adult life? You bet. Only now it is not toys...well, maybe toys, but just on a larger scale. I suppose you could call your beloved automobiles toys if you wanted. Big toys for big boys, as I've heard. I can say that I do love my toys. But then, there are lots of other things that I love. There's my wife, my daughter, my mom, brother and others. There's the sunrise over the ocean, the moonrise over the mountains, and the cooler days of autumn. There's my love of the satisfaction of a job well done, and the walk from my workplace door to the seat of my Bus. My wife, daughter and other humans can give back the love, but what about the rest of these, namely my VWs?

Can love exist between your VW and yourself? I know that it couldn't actually be love because a car can't give back love. Although sometimes it sure does feel that your VW is reciprocating your affections whenever it runs good, carries you from here to there without breaking down, or doesn't leak oil on your garage floor. It can tell you how it feels with the vocal chirping from the muffler, or the grumbling of a transaxle. I can't tell you exactly what it is that makes me love my VWs, but each one has their own way of making the attraction. The smell of the interior, the sound of the engine, and the absolute anti speed-demon mentality all contribute to the attraction. I love the way I feel when I'm sitting above other cars while driving in one of my Buses. I love the fact that I'm slower than the idiots trying to pass me on the double yellow line are. I love the curvaceous design of my Fastback in contrast to the "breadbox" look of my Westy, a look that I also love. While I know that there could never be love given back to me by my VWs, I love them just the same.

All right, I know what you're thinking...this guy is absolutely crazy. How can you have a love for something that a) can't give back love, and b) never will? I'll tell you how. When the feeling you get while in your VW is one of warmth, good vibes, and happiness...there is love. When someone waves at you for the sole reason that you are in your VW...there is love. And when you park in your driveway after the end of a long road trip with your engine sighing in relief, safe again at home, and you keep on feeling safe in your VW...that is love.

My favorite band Phish may have summed it up in a song called "Contact." The song is about a person's love for a vehicle. At one point, there is a specific reason given for the love between a car and it's owner. The lyrics go like this...

"...The tires are the things on your car that make contact with the road,
The car is the thing on the road that takes you back to your abode.

I woke up one morning in November and I realized I loved you.
It's not your headlights in front, your tailpipe or the skylight above you.
It's the way you cling to the road when the wind tries to shove you.
I'll never go driving away and come back home without you."

I think it is stated pretty plainly. The love is there because of the car's ability to stay the course and get the owner back home again. Isn't that what we all want from our VWs? To get us home again? They don't ask a whole lot from us...just a tune-up and an oil change from time to time perhaps, to show them our love. And as long as I own my VWs, there will be lots of love to go around.

Till later,
Travis
GoBusGo!

My Excellent VW Adventure - What Are The Odds?

zenph@comcast.net (Zen Hendricks) — Wed, 29 Sep 2004 23:03:00 -0400

My Excellent VW Adventure

"What Are The Odds?"

Now we all know that VW produced Twenty something million Beetles. That's a astronomical figure, but if you consider how much land there is in the world, the odds of looking down at any given time and seeing a Beetle part on the ground is still pretty low (unless of course you're in the back yard of a VW enthusiast). So what are the odds that you can have a break down going down a rural interstate and not only find a VW part laying on the side of the road where you stop, but then realizing that it's still usable and is the correct part for the year Beetle you are driving? Well, believe it or not, it happened to me once.

First let me go back a couple of months before this happened and give you the background on what brought me to a stop at this particular place. Our oldest kid had recently bought a 1998 New Beetle. He owed Joy and I a good bit of money from paying his insurance and such while he was between jobs. He didn't need two cars and couldn't afford insurance on both so he offered to let us take his 74 Super Beetle "Tommy" for payment. Now, we had bought the car for him several years earlier and about half the money spent on it over the years was ours. I had put in about 80% of the labor that had gone into taking it from a $250 junker to a pretty nice driver. But, in the whole scheme of things, it wasn't a bad deal for us. We'd get an extra car and it was worth a good bit more than he owed us. The deal worked for him and worked for us, so we ended up with an extra car sitting in the back yard. Not like we really needed an extra car back there; there were 15 or 20 already there. But, this one was roadworthy! When he brought it to us he told me that his "kewl" screw on aftermarket oil cap had fell off the other day and frayed the back side of the alternator belt. "You need to put a new one on it before you drive it much." It's funny how the tables turn on you sometimes . . . my son was giving me good sound advice that I was going to forget to heed.

Anyway, a couple of months pass. I hadn't even started the car. Joy and I decided we needed a weekend getaway. I figured if we had the car and was paying for insurance, we needed to drive it occasionally, so Thursday evening of that week I changed the oil, adjusted the valves, points, timing and brakes and we were set. Friday after work we grabbed a change of clothes, hopped in Tommy and headed north. We weren't sure where we were going. North on I-75 . . . OK, I guess we did know where we were going after all. Anyway, we had time to figure that out while we were headed there. Somewhere in the fog zone up north of Cleveland I remembered Justin told me the belt was frayed. I remembered it the instant the generator light came on. Now I NEVER go anywhere without a spare belt and at least a screwdriver and adjustable wrench . . . but I hadn't been driving this car until today, so guess what, I don't have spare belt and I don't have ANY tools. We did have a cell phone, and luckily, service, so I kicked it out of gear, turned the switch off and started coasting. There wasn't anyone behind us so I stayed on the road until we got down around 30 MPH and then got on the shoulder. At about 15 MPH, I decided to get all the way off the shoulder onto the grass. It looked like the Highway Department had been mulching brush on the side of the road and just as got off the pavement I flipped a limb or something up out of the mulch and it almost pole-vaulted the car! At the same time Joy and I both said "What was that? I didn't see anything!" We rolled another 75 yards or so and came to a stop. When I raised the decklid I found exactly what I expected. We had a broken generator belt.

We called Justin and left him a message on his cell phone and started trying to get in to touch with club members. Finally, I was able to track down Herb and Eldon. They were out looking a "Beetle Juice." No, not the spook from the movie, a sweet customized '66 Beetle that Herb ended up buying. They were going to go to the parts store and pick me up a belt and bring me some tools, but a minute later Justin called back. He had already bought a belt and was halfway to us. So, I've got a belt and tools coming and nothing to do for about 30 minutes so I decide I'm going to find out what we ran over. About half way back to where it happened I saw it. It was a big and chrome. Man, it must have buried completely in that mulch. I'd have to be blind to miss that. A little closer, I figure out what it is. A Bumper! Man, I can't believe I didn't see that! Still closer and . . . I've seen one of these before . . . it looks like a 68-73 Beetle bumper. What are the odds of that? You break down on the interstate in a Beetle and run over a bumper from a Beetle? I need to be playing the lottery tonight. The odds of winning it have got to be much better than this. A few steps away, I notice that it's not a 68-73 bumper, it's a 74-79 bumper! There isn't a cloud in the sky and I'm hundreds of miles from the ocean, but the odds of me being struck by lighting while I'm being attacked by a shark while I'm holding that winning lottery ticket have to be less than this! Think about it. How many miles of interstate are there? How many 73-79 Beetle front bumpers are there lying on the shoulder of those miles of interstate. Now what do you suppose the odds are that you would have a belt break at just the right moment in time to have you pull off onto the shoulder of the interstate and run over one of those bumpers . . . in a car that uses that bumper!?!

Now get this . . . when I get to it and look it over good, it's in pretty decent shape. It's got a couple of scuffed places on it from me running over it, but it's very usable. It was one of those things that was meant to be. I'm taking this puppy home with me! As I bend over to pick it up, I'm blown away. The odds of what I'm seeing are practically impossible. At least infinity to 1 . . . No, Infinity cubed times a million to One. Maybe more. Not only is this the correct bumper to fit my car and not only is it in pretty decent shape and not only did I chance upon it because of a belt breaking at just the right second . . . I'm still amazed at all that . . . But the kicker is that there is a bumper sticker on it that is identical to one I have on my bumper! WHAT ARE THE ODDS NOW?!?!!??!!!

Feeling like the luckiest guy on the face of the earth, I picked up the bumper, threw it across my shoulder and headed back towards Tommy. For a few moments I had a smile that must have been a mile wide. All the powers in the universe were with me. I am THE luckiest person that ever walked the face of the earth . . . and then it hit me. I couldn't help but bust out laughing at myself when I realized what had just happened. The thought rushed through my head and in an almost audible voice said . . . "You dumb@$$! That isn't just like your bumper! It IS your bumper!

When I got close to Tommy I asked Joy to step around front and confirm my suspisions. Yep. There were bumper brackets sticking out of the fenders . . . and noooooo bumper. The 74-79 bumpers are the heaviest ever put a Beetle by the factory. They bolt to heavy-duty shock absorbing brackets too. But there is only one M8 bolt on each side going through the face of the bumper to hold it to the brackets. I guess my bolts had fallen out and going down the interstate the wind was holding it in place. When I slowed down it let it fall off and I ran over it.

The next time you're in a caravan with me heading to a VW event and you hear someone "joke" that you need to stay way behind me and watch for falling parts, take 'em serious. And, please, stop and pick up any parts you find for me. I got my bumper back. I got my heater box back (but that's another story). But when Homer the SuperBus lost his oil plug going down I-59 I ended up having to use a borrowed lug bolt to plug the hole. But that's still another story. Until I have time to tell you about it, may all your VW Adventures be Excellent!

Shoot the Breeze - It Takes All Types

gobusgo@volksfolks.org (Travis Barefoot) — Wed, 29 Sep 2004 21:49:42 -0400

(Originally written August 23, 2000)

With all the different VWs ever made, air- and water-cooled, there is certainly one out there that is just your type. Whatever your taste may be, from a wildly tricked out custom Beetle, a "factory-fresh" bone-stock Bus, a full-blown race-ready Fastback, to a sleek and slender Passat, it all comes down to what I call selective attraction. You know what you like and that is that. And the reasons that people have for loving their certain type are as numerous as the Volkswagens themselves.

While I find all Volkswagens works of beauty and imaginative engineering, (Yes, even the Type 4!) I do have my own biases towards the ones that catch my eye. It can be any Volkswagen. I like them all. But there are certain criteria that the vehicle has to meet for me to give it a second look. For me, stock is the way to be. At VW shows that I attend, in my opinion, the best looking VW is the one that looks like it just rolled out of the factory doors. Although I have seen numerous custom Volkswagens that looked really cool and I actually liked, I happen to be under the impression that Volkswagen knew what they were doing when they made each vehicle the way they did. For this reason, I won't be chopping, lowering, or doing any type of customizing to a VW of mine anytime soon. (NOTE: customize not to be confused with accessorize).

That doesn't mean that customizing your VW is wrong, by no means, because it is your car and your choice. Do what you want. My 1977 Beetle might even get a mild case of the "Cal" look by the time I am done with it. And the only reason that it will is because it is a later model. I believe that the older models, especially a split-window, deserve saving back to original condition if at all possible. My theory is that there is a whole lot more of the later models than early models, so we can afford to lose more of them to the custom fanatic. (Here's where I symbolically step down from the soapbox.)

So, what is it about a Beetle, for example, that attracts such a large flock of faithful followers to literally fall in love with it? It could be the "cuteness" factor. It does look like a happy bug, with big, bright eyes and a shiny smile. It has a likeable personality all it's own. It also has a certain smell (not just Beetles either, they all have that smell), which to me could be the finest "new car" smell in the world. And a finely tuned VW engine has the sound of "fweem", which is more an experience than a sound. It's a lot like the sound George Jetson's flying car makes. Yeah, that's it, I can hear it now. It could also be an economical answer to someone looking for cheap transportation. It gets good gas mileage and the routine maintenance is a no-brainer. And as far as Beetles go, parts for them are available just about everywhere. But as much as I like them, they're not my favorite type.

Someone with the taste for a more sporty type might opt for a Karmann Ghia, or even a Fastback (not really that sporty!) with their less cute yet more stylish look. Although they are more streamlined and look nothing like a Beetle, the internal power is the same, a 4-cylinder, horizontally opposed air-cooled engine. So the sporty look is just that, an appearance that pleases the eyes. My Fastback, although bone-stock and a little rusty, looks like a vagabond from the Autobahn. It is not a "slow-poke" by any means, but with the factory fuel injection system still operating, and probably in need of an overhaul, it has it's limitations as far as trying to uphold the sporty image. As much as I like my Fastback, it's not my favorite type either.

Sticking with air-cooled theme, the Bus attracts a wide variety of fans that love it for each of their own reasons. For one, the ride is like no other. You sit higher than most vans on the road today, and the feeling of riding over the front wheels is quite an experience too. There is plenty of luggage space and room in the spacious passenger area to stretch out in (I'm beginning to sound like a VW ad now!) and the camper models give you the chance to camp in safety and comfort. They may not be the fastest of Volkswagens, but what they lack in takeoff (and hills!) they make up in style and character. My 1979 Westy, being a late model bus, has a bigger engine than earlier models, which really makes highway driving a little faster and pulling strength a little stronger. But the earlier models have a unique character too. They seem to be smaller and "cuter" with the same engine as the Beetle and therefore attractive to a yet another group of people. So...

...I have come to the conclusion that I am a bus person. Perhaps it's the "streamlined" body, with all the wind resistance of a highway-rolling loaf of bread that allures me. Or maybe it is the elation of having a long line of cars behind you while climbing steep hills, creeping along with the "NEVER GET BEHIND A VW BUS" sticker looming in the rear window screaming, "I told you so!" It might be that cab-forward, over-the-wheels, highway-in-your-face kind of driving with the "movie" in the over-sized windshield changing plots with the scenery. I don't know. I'm just attracted to them. Maybe it's love. Maybe it's an obsession. Maybe it's a love for an obsession. Who knows? They're just my type.

What's yours?

Till later,
Travis

GoBusGo!

My Excellent VW Adventure - Honk If Anything Falls Off

zenph@comcast.net (Zen Hendricks) — Wed, 29 Sep 2004 08:16:09 -0400

For those of you who missed the April club meeting, here's another installment in the continuing saga of Homer the SuperBus . . .

On Monday, April 12th, I went by Kyle's house to pick him up and give him a ride to the club meeting. When he got in the bus he had his big cardboard box with lots of duct tape on it and a few toys to give as door prizes. Well, I figured it was something for the show he was taking to the meeting to give Herb . . . he didn't say what it was, I didn't ask.

We pulled out on to Friendship road, crossed the ridge and headed down Cherokee Valley Road towards Ringgold. We were carrying on one of our usual conversations about some VW projects we had dreamed up . . . when all at once Kyle pointed to the side of the road and said, "remember this spot." I thought to myself, " . . . ummmm, OK ??? . . . " The conversation quickly returned to where it was and we got to the meeting, as usual for me, about 3 or 4 minutes late.

We had a good meeting discussing all the last minute details of our show which is now only a few short days away. When the meeting was over, Kyle reminded Herb that they had a special gift they wanted to
present to me. He picked up the box, brought it over and said, "open this first, then look in this envelope."

I cut through the half of roll of duct tape holding the box closed and as soon as I started opening it, I realized exactly what it was, where it came from and why Kyle had said, "Remember this spot."

And now, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story . . .

Several months ago, I went up to Herb's house one Sunday morning. On the way up Homer the Super Bus started to develop an exhaust leak. I left Herb's and went down to Kyle's to pick up a fuel gauge and install it in Homer (for those of you who don't know, I run out of gas at least 3 times a month). The exhaust leak was pretty bad by the time I reach Kyle's house. Kyle left to go look at a Beetle that was going to the crusher first thing the next morning. I got the fuel gauge installed and headed out to meet up with Kyle and see if there were any parts that could be salvaged from the soon to be crushed bug. Not long after I turned onto Cherokee Valley Road heading into Ringgold, Homer's passenger side heater box blew out. That's what it had to be. I didn't have the heater box to the heat tube connector installed on the driver's side. So when it got REALLY loud all at once, and pure exhaust started blowing out the defroster vents, along with trash, old insulation, and such, the only possible explanation is the inner J-tube in the passenger side heater box has blown a hole into the outer heat duct. Right? Couldn't possibly be anything else could it?

Anyway, I rode the rest of the way into Ringgold with the window down. It was cold that day. I bought the doors and pop-outs and a few other odds and ends off the Beetle. Before I left there, I crawled under Homer and unwired the lever to close off the heater box from the ductwork (I really need to fix those heater box control cables, but that's another story). Didn't help much. The exhaust was blowing into the ductwork so hard that it was blowing the flap opened. I'm still getting pure exhaust blowing through the defroster vents. It was a long, cold drive to LaFayette that afternoon.

Now, at home I have lots of heater boxes. I dug around and found one that look pretty good, hunted up some gaskets, crawled under Homer and exchanged my bad heater box for the good one. I got in and fired it up . . . ???? I couldn't figure out how I could possibly put another heater box on that had the exact same problem, but I had! No, it can't be that. It has to be something else. It has to. Well, by now it's dark and I don't have a light with me, so I just laid down on the ground and started feeling around the back side of the muffler for the hole . . . there has to be a hole in the muffler near the heater box . . . yeah, and it's blowing the exhaust so hard back at the heater box that it's getting in around the tin where the J-tube comes out. We are talking about 30 year old heater boxes here. That's the only explanation.

A few moments later, I found the hole. It's not on the passenger side though. It's on the driver side. And the hole is supposed to be there . . . it's SUPPOSED to have a heater box sticking in it, but it doesn't. OK, I have to go get a flashlight and see this. I knew that heater box was old, but I had no idea it was about to break off at the end . . . and I must have hooked up that heater box and just not remembered doing it.

Only when I shined the light up under the driver's side of my engine did it all come together. This is the engine we through together and into Homer at the Southeastern Bug Fair last September (again, that's another story). I my haste to get it installed in time to drive home I left a few things loose. I had already figured out the intake boots were loose and sucking air. I had already lost the drain plug going down I-59 heading to the Birmingham Bug Blast (again, that's another story). Now, I've had a heater box fall off. It's gone. Nowhere to be found. I just hope no one was following too close when it came off. Anyway, the exhaust port for the #3 cylinder points directly at the heat ductwork . . . it had to jump an open gap of about a foot, but it was a straight shot. Their had been nothing at all wrong with the passenger side.

The heater box that Kyle presented me with? Yep, you guessed it; it's the one I lost. Now that spot he told me to remember . . . yep, that right about where the leak turned into a blowout! I've looked for it every time I've been back down Cherokee Valley Road since then and never saw any sign of it. But a couple of weeks ago, Betty told Kyle she saw a VW heater box on the side of the road. His reaction was "yeah right" until about the third time she pointed it out he finally saw it. What was in the envelope he gave me? Pictures! There on the side of the Cherokee Valley Road, sitting up just like it's supposed to be installed, in plain site is Homer's long lost heater box. I guess I need to get one of those "Honk If Anything Falls Off" bumper stickers!

And now you know . . . the rest of the story.

On The Strip

VWBugz@gmail.com (Charlton Wiggins) — Mon, 27 Sep 2004 23:22:33 -0400

I grew up in Virginia, a city called Chesapeake that is situated in the southeastern most corner of the state. In fact North Carolina borders the city to the south and just a slim strip of real estate that Virginia Beach claims is all that separates the city from the Atlantic ocean. The closest church of Christ (which is where I attend) to us was thirty miles away in Virginia Beach. One Sunday in late winter when it was still rather chilly I drove my bug to church and after services my brother and three girls from church crowded into my bug and we headed for the strip to cruise some. Now my bug was not the best in the world what with its traditional rusted floor panels and open to the outside air ducts, but I was proud of it just the same. It had been raining earlier that morning and the strip was still wet when we arrived. Back in those days (late 70's) you could drive the strip rather speedily and as I headed up the strip I failed to notice that the water had pooled in one section of the road that was a dip. As I sped into the dip the water was actually higher than my floorboards and suddenly it was like thirty whales all blowing water into the air at the same time. I yelled, the girls shrieked and we were all suddenly sodden in our Sunday suits! To make matters worse my heater channels were barely putting out any heat. Well, everyone had a good laugh and we sped on down the strip. But the story doesn't end there. You'll recall I said it was still chilly out - well the temperature took a nose dive and it started snowing! Now as I said, my outside air ducts - you know the ones the little front window vents - was in a state of disrepair as I had been working on fixing them and basically they just weren't there and the outside air had uninhibited entry to the inside of the car which made matters worse what with the wet clothes we wore. Anyway, since there was a direct path to the exterior of the car via the front vents the snow falling was able to be sucked straight into the car and voila! it was snowing inside my 72 VW beetle!
Well, it was getting more and more miserable by the minute so I decided to drop the girls off at their houses and I drove all the way home to change too.
Now some twenty odd years later I still chuckle when I recall the day it snowed inside my bug!

by Charlton Wiggins
aka "Bugz"
This story taken from my VolksFolks web site:
[url]http://bugz.volksfolks.org/[/url]