I have always loved older cars. My first car was a 1948 Plymouth. It turned out to be a very special car. I’ve been known to drag home an old car or truck… always the newest project… a vision of things that could be. Out of the dozens of vehicles that have darkened my driveway, my favorite has to be my 1972 Volkswagen Van.
I drove this jewel for several months. It had a character all its own. It ran like a sewing machine. I only had to put new tires on it to get it on the road. There was no heat, no air, the windshield wipers didn’t work and various other minor things needed attention, but it floated on the road like a cloud. I couldn’t help but smile while I drove it. People would point and wave at us and honk their horns. It was truly a joy to ride in. My wife and children didn’t share my enthusiasm.
The gas tank was the only real challenge to me. It was full of a lifetime of rust, gunk and debris. That was the challenge. In order to fix the problem, I would have to replace the tank… and to do this I would have to remove the motor. Plan B was to always be prepared to clean out the fuel port at the bottom of the tank. I liked plan B. I would feel the nudge of the engine starving for fuel. The motor would lose power and I would pull off of the road and ready my routine. I had three essential tools. They were a screwdriver, a small flashlight and a homemade wire rod… four if you include my eyeglasses. I always had these with me.
I worked out of town on one hot summer day. I did what I always say I won’t do again… I helped a good friend shingle his roof. The sun had turned my back a tender and painful crimson red. The air was thickening and I could see the black clouds in the distance. I knew it was time to head toward home.
Just as I got to the edge of town, the old familiar chug of the starving engine made its intentions made. I looked for a place to pull over. The crushed gravel drive wasn’t ideal, but would have to do. The wind was picking up and I knew I would have to hurry before the rains came. As I gathered my essential tools, my lower intestines reminded me of the Chinese food meal I had for lunch… usually not a good idea. As I started to crawl under the van, the wind brought the rain and a sense of urgency.
The gravel chewed its way into my burning flesh while the blowing rain spattered my glasses. I maneuvered around the hot exhaust pipe. I couldn’t see well through my glasses and the flashlight was useless in the rain. Only the lightning provided temporary assistance. After loosening the small clamp that held the gas line to the tank, I gently pulled the line to the side and fumbled for the wire rod. I cleared the gas tank and the familiar flow of gas ran down my hand and arm as I rushed to re-attach the fuel line. Oops… too slow. The wind blew the rain, the fuel line was hiding from me, my guts were screaming and the rocks were fighting with the free flowing gasoline to grind their way into my burning flesh.
I miraculously re-attached the fuel line and rolled my way out from under my beautiful project van. I stood by the driver’s door… my eyes, hair and mouth full of gasoline residue. The wind was raging, the rain was blowing sideways and the lightning was screaming across the sky. My back was on fire and my stomach was making its intentions made. It was now.
I gathered myself into the van and frantically pulled at my jeans to get them down. Not a pleasant thought, but I knew I was in trouble. There I was… A forty something year old man, stripped down naked except for a pair of white work socks. I was drenched with water and gas… sitting on a five gallon bucket in the middle of a thunder storm.
I managed to get home that afternoon. I had ample time to reflect on my experience. It truly was my own personal, perfect storm. My wife Kate asked me how my day went, and I told her it was eventful. I didn’t pause on my way to the computer. In a short five minutes I had my prized Volkswagen van listed for sale.
After a satisfying shower, I checked my listing and already had three responses. The next morning I arranged to meet a man and his son at the local mall. It was unmistakable…the look on the face of the seventeen year old. I thought only I was able to feel that way… and to look that way. He was wide eyed and full of enthusiasm.
I walked into the food court of the mall… my pocket full of money and a good feeling inside. I knew my van had found a good home. I waited for a ride while enjoying a beautiful plate of General Tso’s Chicken… a calculated risk. I smile and wave when I see an old Volkswagen Van on the road. I always remember the adventure… I will never forget my perfect storm.
Shannon R Killman
