Community to Go

I bought my 1977 Volkswagen van in January and fulfilled a dream of freedom on the road.  Her name is Meg and she is free range egg-yolk yellow with a converted already-popped top.  She is an over height on the ferries but I can stand up tall inside.  In a good wind we sail and weave on the freeway.   Driving in her I imagine myself a turtle with my home on my back.  I was seven years old when she was made, still building forts with blankets and dining room sets, struggling with long division and enjoying the frivolity of childhood.  This van brings out that frivolity in me—perhaps it is the playtime proportions.  At night I stick the curtains on their Velcro tabs and settle into a bed as comfy as the one at home.  I have often thought that my van has a face, the headlights they eyes, the spare tire the nose, and the bumper the smile.  The horn even sounds chirpy.  I have formed bonds with my other vehicles, but Meg invites a committed type relationship.

I think it must be the club.  The VW Club.  With my purchase I was automatically initiated-no sacrifice, no demeaning initiation rights.  I wonder what it is?  Why this vehicle? Saab has no such club.  Mercedes?  Uh uh.  Fellow VW owners are quick with a wave or peace sign, the latter greeting being my personal favorite as I never got a chance to experience the 60’s firsthand.  Conversations start, stories abound about driving in the winter in the prairies without heat (of course).  Hitchhikers are hopeful when they see my coming, and in a parking lot the VW’s gather together.  Owners of those new, aerodynamic, air-conditioned, heated vans couldn’t possibly comprehend the deep bond we have with our vans, the kind that comes with a little bit of suffering.  I installed a stereo and we were set for the road.

next