I woke mid day, groggy and thinking of Boo. I dove into different VW books and went online searching for information that matched his condition. I found little to nothing, so I decided to perform a major tune-up in hopes of solving Boo’s problem.

It wasn’t but two days after we returned home that the VW mechanic from Grants Pass called to make sure I made it home. I told him we did and that I was getting ready to change the oil and adjust the valves. Hearing this he sent me a diagram that explained how to crank the flywheel in order to adjust the valves properly.

After changing the oil and adjusting the valves, starting points and idle, I replaced the oil in the oil filter, fuel lines and coil.

I started the engine and it sounded great idling, but would shake violently when I’d put it in gear and try to move. With all of the changes and checks that failed to deliver I went with my gut. I was itching to take off the fuel pump. It was just a hunch, but I believed this was where the fuel was being restricted.

I took the fuel pump off and found the problem staring me in the face; the fuel rod was bent and the plastic housing that holds the rod inline was cracked and chipped.

I took the bent and broken parts to a place that is fading in digital America, a specialty store for air-cooled Volkswagens where questions, concerns and the purchasing of parts are handled in person. I walked up to the counter holding the parts with clenched fists then laid the bent fuel rod, fuel pump and plastic sheath on the counter palms down.

The store clerk picked up the fuel rod, squinted, cocked his head and said,

“That’s to long.” He then turned around and walked to a shelf picked up a part and walked back to the counter and handed me a rod.

“This is what you need.”

“Can you tell if the fuel pump is damaged?” I asked.

He picked up the fuel pump walked outside, put it up to his ear and turned it over three or four times.

“Yeah, it’s still good, I can hear suction in there.”

I bought a fuel rod, plastic sleeve and gasket along with light bulbs and sockets for the dials and a rubber chrome window blade for the left window.

After installing the new sleeve and fuel rod Boo started up and drove as if he had just rolled off a factory assembly line. We drove up hills, on highways, and through the city. To ensure he continued to drive well I replaced the gear oil, breaks, packed and replaced the front bearings, then finished it all up with a wash and a wax.

There is something about driving Boo that helps me to relax. For me, driving an obsolete car in a tech obsessed society is a strange escape from the modern world.

He’s not the type of car you can just jump into and take off. It takes a bit of time to warm him up. His small engine keeps me from speeding and weaving in and out of traffic and has made me more conscious of the thing that people don’t have enough of; time.

When it’s hot outside I roll the window down or open a little glass triangle that swings horizontal in front of the standard window. When it’s cold out I pull a lever arm next to the emergency break that lets hot air in the cab from the heater box. Put it all together and you have functional simplicity at it’s best.

One day I was driving down the highway and a rock shot up from underneath a truck and hit my front windshield creating a crack in the shape of a small webbed circle.

A cracked windshield means little to most men, but to me it was a tale connected to bottles. It’s said a drunk Frenchman dropped a flask of whisky wrapped in cellophane. Upon impact the cellophane safely contained the sharp shards of glass. The epiphany turned into what today is known as safety glass, which was first developed by bottle baron Libbey and Owens.

Owens understood the importance of flat glass and its need due to the popularization and affordability of the automobile. Understanding the demand he perfected a machine that made more than flat glass for houses, but automotive safety glass for Ford’s Model A, making the company LOF (Libbey Owens Ford).

I was driving Boo back from Seattle on Interstate 5 when I felt his peddle flutter and a strong smell of gasoline. I looked out the rearview mirror and saw giant yellow and orange flames coming out of Boo’s engine. I took my foot off the gas peddle, coasted into the shoulder, lifted the emergency break, grabbed the fire extinguisher, ran around back and popped the hood to putout the fire.

A man pulled over and stopped in front of Boo. He got out of his truck and walked towards me while talking on his phone. I walked toward him as he yelled over the cars whizzing by,

“I GOT THE FIRE DEPARTMENT ON THE LINE.”

“OH, THANK YOU.” I replied, “BUT THEY DON’T NEED TO COME, I PUT OUT THE FIRE.”

“WHAT?” exclaimed the man.

“I PUT OUT THE FIRE.”

“HE SAYS THAT THE FIRE IS OUT…OKAY. SHE WANTS TO TALK WITH YOU,” then handed me the phone.

“HELLO?”

“Yes, a man called in about a car on fire,” said the dispatcher.

“YES, THAT WAS MY CAR.”

“Is it still on fire?”

“NO, I PUT IT OUT WITH A FIRE EXTINGUISHER.”

“So your car is not on fire anymore?”

“CORRECT, MY CAR IS NOT ON FIRE.” I then hung-up and handed the man his phone.

We walked to the back of Boo where the engine sat smoldering with the hood up.

“MAN, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU PUT THAT OUT. I SAW THAT FLAME SHOOT OUT AT LEAST 30 FEET. I THOUGHT FOR SURE YOUR CAR WAS A GONNER.”

“30 FEET!” I replied.

“HELL, IT DOESN’T LOOK AS BAD AS I THOUGHT IT WOULD,” said the man.

“YEAH, I SMELLED FUEL THEN SAW THE FLAME OUT OF MY REARVIEW MIRROR. I TURNED THE IGNITION OFF AND COASTED OFF THE HIGHWAY, GRABBED MY FIRE EXTINGUISHER AND PUT IT OUT.

We exchanged a few more words before saying our goodbyes.

About 30 minutes later a fire truck pulled up and I explained to the Chief that I told the dispatcher I had put it out.

“YEAH,” he yelled, “WE DECIDED TO COME OUT AND MAKE SURE BECAUSE CAR FIRES ARE RARELY PUT OUT AND BY THE TIME WE GET ON SCENE THEY ARE NOTHING BUT A HOT PILE OF METAL.”

The firemen all got out and walked around Boo, then got back in their large red fire truck and drove away. As the tow truck driver was loading Boo the sun was setting in the west and when we reached my house to unload Boo a happy moon was rising over the hill in the east.

The next couple months were a tedious bore. In short, my insurance company paid for the damages to Boo, with exception to the carburetor because it was what caused the fire. Though Boo is now fixed he is the type of car that will never be without problems or care. He has taught me a lot, not only about cars but people. I still see cars as machines that are supposed to work for humans, but like many things that surround us, we internalize them turning something like an automobile into much more than a machine, but a complex extension of our self.

Just last week my wife and I drove Boo into the city and parked in a garage. When we returned I found that Boo’s battery was dead due to a slow electrical drain. As I pushed Boo towards a downward slope to jump-start the engine an older man seeing me enthusiastically asked if he could help. I accepted and as we pushed Boo I jumped in while rolling down the decline and away from the elderly man who I saw grinning ear to ear in my rearview mirror. I put Boo in gear, popped the clutch, turned the key and just like that…we were gone.

The post A Bug Named Boo (Part 4) appeared first on Modern Fossils.

By: Holland McGraw

As the sun was setting Boo’s pedal was fluttering. He would grow weak and just before puttering out regain strength and continue to roll down the highway. It was on the outskirts of Portland I stopped at an auto parts store and purchased a fire extinguisher. I wanted to ensure we did not meet the same fate as the man Texan and his red bug.

I had been anticipating Portland’s numerous narrow bridges and highway over passes that leapfrog over rivers and other bridges with little room for vehicles in distress. The first overpass I had to overcome reaches up into the sky as if it’s the beginning of a rollercoaster. I charged pressing the peddle to the floor in an effort to gain speed and momentum. At 60miles per hour Boo began to shake. At 70 he was shaking, rattling and making a sound WOOB…WOOOB…WOOOB…WOOOOB…

As Boo climbed the overpass he began to struggle and his engine skipped like a prop airplane in distress…Brrrrp….Brrrrrp….Brrrrrrp. With modern cars passing by at high rates of speed I felt like a jockey ridding a mule in the Kentucky Derby.

Reaching the crest of the overpass Boo floated over its rounded top as if we were silently gliding over the city of Portland with its glowing lights that reflected from the rivers below. The victory was short lived as we headed down Boo stalled. In angst I turned the key and pumped the gas and got Boo to turnover. To no avail I soon found myself on the narrow shoulder of an over pass.

Boo barely fit between the white line and concrete wall that keeps cars and things from falling below. The constant wind from automobiles and commercial trucks caused Boo to waver like a blade of prairie grass in the afternoon breeze.

I got out, went around back and lifted the hood. Again, the clear fuel filter had little fuel in it. There is something causing fuel restriction I thought. I sat on the curb and waited. I then got the starter fluid from the passenger seat, took the oil filter off and sprayed the fluid into the carburetor. I then ran to the front and turned the ignition….VRRROOOMMM said Boo shaking and rattling. I put the oil filter back on, let Boo idle a bit, waited for an opening as cars whizzed by and when I saw space…we were gone.

Down the overpass, over the bridges and across the Washington State line a feeling of tranquility set over me as I hugged the slow lane. It was just before the town of Castle Rock that Boo died. The gas gage dial was in the red marked with an R for reserve. It made me wonder if Boo was suffering from his recurring condition, or if the gas dial was inaccurate. I called roadside assistance and after a bit a tow truck arrived.

He was a young heavyset rosy-cheeked guy. A country kid with dark features, cowboy boots and dressed in overalls. I told the driver, “My bug more than likely just needs gas. I just bought it and I’m not sure how accurate the gauge is.”

He loaded Boo and drove me a few miles down the road to a gas station. I told him he should wait to see if I could get him started before leaving.

I filled up and turned the key. Boo came to life and the tow driver raised his hand to say goodbye. I didn’t get more than a mile down the road when Boo died. With every unanswered turn of the key my vision of driving Boo home and into my driveway began to fade. Again I called roadside assistants who told me that this would be my last service call. I assured them it was the only one I would need, as they would have to tow me home, a distance that was just under my 200-mile limit.

An hour later the same young man who towed me to the gas station was now towing me home. We got to talking and he told me he went to school and was certified as a diesel mechanic, but was unable to find work. He now filled his days and nights as a salaried tow truck driver for a wage that I cannot remember, but seemed criminal after hearing the number of hours he had to work. He drove both day and night at the ring of his phone and slept in shifts except for his two days off where he slept most of the 48 hours.

He explained the differences of a diesel engine compared to a gasoline engine.

“A diesel engine gets better mileage, requires less maintenance and lasts longer than a car that uses regular gasoline.”

“What’s the down side?” I asked.

“Well, the parts for a diesel engine can be twice as much compared to a petrol engine. Consumer vehicles, well heck a lot of people getting a new car every couple years, so diesel engine wouldn’t do’em any good.”

With all of the buzz in the media about a need for Americans to go to trade schools so they can become mechanics or nurses among other professions that are deemed useful in today’s economy, there I sat next to a certified diesel mechanic who made a living as a tow truck driver.

“Funny, I got my Masters in Library Science because of all the jobs that were said to be in that field. When I graduated the only job I found was as a transcriptionist. I worked next to a guy who was a registered nurse that couldn’t find a job in the field. When he did find a job as a nurse, he had to re-enlist in the Navy to get it.”

“Man oh man,” he said. “You always hear those nursing commercials, man oh man. Don’t stop talking to me, it keeps me awake.” So I told him some of the greatest stories that have never been told.

“Did you know that the modern bottle and light bulb are related?“

“No I didn’t, how’s that?”

“In the later part of the 19^th Century Thomas Edison had a contract with Corning Glass to make light bulbs. Well the workers at Corning went on strike and Libbey Glass House was hired to make the light bulbs. Libbey, the owner of Libbey Glass put a man named, Michael Owens, in charge of production. Well, Owens, seeing the light bulb making process had an idea, he created a small machine to simplify the work and speedup the process. He named the machine, “The Dummy.”

“Why did they name it, “The Dummy?” asked the driver.

“Because, “The Dummy” took the skill out of making the light bulb and enabled Libbey to hire les-skilled labor at a lower wage while at the same time increasing the production of light bulbs.”

“Dang, less for more, that’s profit right there,” said the driver.

“You’re right,” I replied. “Have you ever seen a cartoon where a character gets an idea and a light bulb goes off above its head?” I asked.

“Sure, I love Looney Tunes.”

“Well, “The Dummy,” gave Libbey an idea. It showed him that by implementing new technology to replace workers and increasing production, he could make more than profit…he could monopolize an industry.

With, “The Dummy” in mind, Libby created a separate business Toledo Glass Works for one reason: to make machines for the exploitation of glass. It was there that Michael Owens created the automatic bottle machine that enabled Libby to monopolize the glass industry.”

“How did they monopolize it?”

“Well, the automatic bottle machine was the key. After creating the automatic bottle machine, Libbey created another business, Owens Bottle Company, which had the ability to create and sell bottles at a price lower than their competitors. They then leased the automatic bottle machines out to different bottle companies only to later purchase the majority or controlling stock in those same companies.”

“So they were able to do all that with a bottle machine…huh?” Said the driver.

“Did you know that our war with Japan in WWII could be explained with a bottle?”

“No,” said the driver.

“Well, it can. In Japan they used a bottle that is referred to as a Ramune bottle; but the true name of the Ramune bottle is a Codd Bottle. It is named after the inventor, Hiram Codd, who is English; but I believe the bottle best represents the country Japan.”

“Why would an English bottle represent Japan?”

“Well, you see, the Codd Bottle is different than any other bottle you’ve ever seen. It’s designed around a marble, which is used as a seal that can be broken and resealed over and over…sigh…and over again. The United States stopped using the Codd Bottle in the 1930’s.”

The driver asked, “Well, why did they stop using it?”

“There were a couple reasons. The first reason is it was difficult to sterilize. The second reason is kids were breaking the bottles to get the marble out instead of redeeming them. So, little by little beverage companies replaced their Codd Bottles with bottles that use bottle caps.

Interesting thing about Japan is they didn’t have the luxury to solely use the crown cork cap and toss bottle cap because steel is expensive and Japan is a small island with few natural resources. They needed something that could be reused over and over again.

So, the use of the Codd Bottle in Japan helps us to understand their expansion in the 30’s into other countries for natural resources, which turned into what we know today as World War II.

But you know what the really interesting thing about World War II was?

“Well all of the battles and stuff?” exclaimed the driver.

“Yeah, well there is that, but another interesting fact about World War II is it is where the United States first began using disposable bottles, which was the beginning of disposable packaging in the US. With the defeat of Japan the Codd Bottle not only remained in Japan, it evolved.”

“What do you mean by it evolving?”

“It changed from a glass top that was difficult to sterilize to a plastic top where the top could be taken off the bottle, the bottle cleaned and replaced.

But do you want to know what is even more amazing than that?”

“Sure, What.”

“Well, remember how I told you kids in the US would break Codd Bottles to play with the marbles?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“Well, the playing of marbles in Japan started at the same time as the use of the Codd bottle in Japan. Kids in Japan were breaking bottles to play with the marbles just like the kids in the US. So, in the end, regardless of how different we look we’re all the same. The Codd Bottle taught us that.”

Talk and tales of bottles, bottle caps and other things considered trivial, simple, nothingness went on until about 4:00AM. The driver let out a yawn as we rolled up to my house. As he unloaded Boo in the driveway, I told him he could use the bathroom and sleep on my sofa if he needed to take a powernap.

“Thanks,” he replied, “but I need to head back. I enjoyed the bottle talk.”

As he pulled out of the driveway a hot sun was rising over a hill in the East. Boo sat in the driveway as I walked in the house and crawled in bed with my wife and dogs where I fell into a deep sleep.

To be continued.

The post A Bug Named Boo (Part 3) appeared first on Modern Fossils.

By: Holland McGraw

Americans are mad about automobiles. Many believe the car they drive is a reflection of them selves, others see it as a means of transportation. One day, I was watching cars from the inside of a bus and noticed jacked up Monster Trucks made to explore desolate places and sports cars designed to travel at high speeds, stuck in traffic. Automakers have fooled people into working for machines through illusions of grandeur and success when all the while it is the machine that is supposed to work for people.

Henry Ford is known as the man who popularized the automobile by making it affordable for the common man to purchase. He added neither frills nor illusions of individuality with the Model T stating, “Any customer can have a car painted any color that he wants so long as it is black.” It was the Dodge brothers who made the American car a status symbol. They built cars that were souped-up and slick, with a little of this and a little of that, at twice the cost of Ford’s Model T.

Fast forward more than a hundred years and you get a modern car that practically drives itself with radio’s, TV’s, computers and maintenance costs that will keep you working the rest of your days.

Refusing to modernize I traveled back in time and purchased a 1972 VW Beetle while in California on a 2014 photo tour with my wife Alisha and three dogs. An automobile built to be affordable, yet simple enough for the driver to be the mechanic. This was the beginning of my transformation to both driver and mechanic. As a measure of good luck I named my bug Boo; a nickname I used to call my Boxer who recently passed.

As I began my drive back to Seattle I immediately realized the complexities of driving an older vehicle on a modern road. It’s not that the roads are any different, if anything they have gotten better. The problem is that the superior performance of modern vehicles give drivers the ability to accelerate, stop, and maneuver while talking on the phone, drinking a coffee in one hand and steering with the other; all at a speed of 80 miles per hour.

Boo the Beetle tends to shake and rattle as if he is about to get a treat when the speedometer hits 65. I came to the realization that the Volkswagen beetle is a car that takes two hands two feet and all of your senses to drive amongst the swarms of shiny plastic cars that franticly swerve, stop and accelerate on a dime.

Driving back to Seattle, Washington from San Diego I stopped to say goodby to my sister and her family in Orange County. After a short visit they followed me out. As I started up Boo, he quickly puttered out not once, but four times. I looked up over the steering wheel at my sister holding the hands of her two children; she raised her eyebrows and flashed worried crooked smile. On the 5the turn Boo came to life rattling and shaking.

“It was just a little flooded?”

I yelled out the window…

and just like that we were gone.

Driving North through LA on the ever changing 405 freeway I couldn’t help but think about the construction workers who have spent a lifetime working on a highway that never seems to be finished. My father first drove I-405 in 1963 when it was a brand-new and simple 4 lane highway. Today the Los Angeles I 405 expands and contracts between 4 and 6 lanes, but I have no doubt that this concrete monster will continue to grow well into the future.

The 405 turned into the I-5 and it was around the second Los Angeles aqueduct, where a large pipe runs down the side of a mountain that I felt Boo begin to falter under the gas peddle. Fearing the inevitable I steered Boo out of traffic and onto the side of the road where he died.

Looking up at the aqueduct I couldn’t help but think of the stories, scandals and wealth that revolved around the water that rushes down from the Owens Valley Reservoir to feed the ever-growing city of Los Angeles. The movie China Town staring Jack Nicholson is a great movie about water and the history of Los Angeles.

I called Alisha who was just ahead of me and let her know where I was; I could only hear every third word she said over the LA traffic.

“HELLO…HELLO…BOO BROKE DOWN.”

“WHAT?”

“BOO BROKE DOWN.”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, WHERE ARE YOU?”

“CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?”

“WHAT?”

“I’M ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD ACROSS FROM THE LA AQUEDUCT.”

“WHERE?”

“NEXT TO THE GIANT MOUNTAIN WHERE THE BIG PIPE COMES DOWN.”

OKAY.

“I’LL CALL YOU WHEN I GET OFF THE HIGHWAY.”

“WHAT?”

I opened Boo’s hood and nosied around in the engine compartment like a detective searching for a clue, but didn’t see any clear signs of a problem. I did notice the fuel filter didn’t have any fuel in it…hmm maybe the engine was being starved of fuel. But what did I know and to make things worse Volkswagen Beetles don’t come with heat gauges, so there is no definite way to tell if Boo is stalling because it’s over heating.

Not long after I coasted off the highway a designated city tow truck tasked with the job of towing cars off the highway in order to keep the traffic moving stopped and asked me what the problem was.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR CAR?”

“I DON’T KNOW, I WAS DRIVING ALONG AND IT JUST STALLED ON ME?”

“WHAT?”

“IT WONT START?”

“OKAY, I’LL TOW YOU TO THE NEAREST SERVICE STATION.”

“OKAY.”

After hooking Boo up the driver jumped inside the cab.

“Nice bug, what year is it?”

“Thanks, it’s a 72.”

“I used to have one like that when I lived in Mexico.”

“Was it made in Mexico?”

“I can’t remember, but it looked just like that.”

The driver unloaded Boo and I at the nearest gas station. About 5 minutes after I had been dropped off, Boo miraculously came back to life at the turn of a key. I called Alisha to let her know that everything was working fine, then hopped back on the highway and headed north on the I-5 where I began my ascent into the Tehachapi Mountains. As Boo climbed, his peddle began to falter. I nursed him along as we went forward and fell back between the cars and commercial trucks. My anxiety soared as I steered the wheel, worked the pedals, shifted gears and jockeyed signals in an ever delicate manner to ensure we didn’t come to a stop.

After climbing the mountains steep slope Boo once again died at the top of California’s notorious grapevine. I called Alisha who had been driving ahead and told her where I was. It was really beautiful at the top, I couldn’t think of a nicer place to break down.

The highway was in a ravine between these two large golden hills that were dotted with green arid shrubs and trees. Having crossed an invisible line that is considered the start of Northern California I was now in what I have always seen as Steinbeck country. I can’t help but visualize the characters from his books walking over the golden hills that sparkle in the warm sunlight, or resting in the shade of an elm tree.

I called road service and they sent a tow truck to pick me up. I also found a mechanics shop in Bakersfield over the phone who was hesitant to look at Boo due to the technology differences between a 72 Beetle and a modern car.

“Hello, I have a ’72 beetle that has broken down and I need you to take a look at it.”

The mechanic replied, “Gees, we normally don’t work on those.”

“Really, well, can you recommend a place in town?”

“No, unfortunately I don’t know of any.”

Feeling trapped I asked, “Well can’t you at least take a look at it, I mean you guys are highly recommended on the AAA website.”

“Well, I guess we can check it out,” said the mechanic, “but we’ll be closed by the time you get down here. Just park it outside our fence and I’ll look at it in the morning.“

The tow truck driver was a nice young man. Prior to driving a tow truck he was a photographer for a studio at the mall in Bakersfield.

“You’re a photographer,” I exclaimed. “My wife and I are photographers, we’re just heading home from our West Coast Tour. “

“Yeah, I used to photograph kids and families. Our packages were ridiculous. I was working on commission and the way our packages were setup, it was difficult for me to make a living. When the recession hit the studio went under and now I’m doing this.”

I could here in his voice that he was frustrated about how things had turned out. He’d given his all to something that hadn’t given back.

“Sorry to hear that. Photography is a tough business. My wife and I work constantly just to make ends meet. It’s frustrating; most people don’t see the costs and time involved. But you know if you really like photography you could still do it. You could start a small business on the side and do a few photo shoots here and there…or just photograph for yourself. You drive around to different places all day, put your camera in your cab. I bet you could capture some really cool stuff on the road.“

“Yeah, my girlfriend and I have been talking about doing something like that. We live just up that road on the other side of the hill.” He stretched out his arm and pointed with his index finger to an area that was visually stunning. Covered with long golden wheat like grass on top of round hills that were dotted with trees and shrubs.

We continued talking on the descent into Bakersfield as the sun began to set. The mechanics shop was located in an area that I’d describe as sketchy, but figured I’d ask the tow truck drivers opinion since I wasn’t from the area.

“So what kind of an neighborhood is this?”

“Mmmm…not a good one,” he replied.

The auto repair shop gate was locked, so Boo was unloaded to the adjacent parking lot of a stab and grab type market. Opening the cab door of the truck was like opening an oven door. I jumped out into the heat and looked around. The driver lowered Boo and drove away. There was an uncomfortable feeling as people pulled into the parking lot and stared at Boo and I. I walked over to Alisha’s car and told her,

“You guys can get a hotel room tonight, I’m going to sleep in the car. I don’t think Boo will be here in the morning if we leave him.”

Alisha had a worried look on her face. “Well, wait a second,” I told her, “let me see if I can get him to start.”

I turned the key and got nothing. I cranked it again and again and again and again…then like magic…Boo turned over. I looked at Alisha with a huge grin as he shaked and rattled.

“Lets get back on the road, I’ll follow you,” I yelled.

Within minutes we were back on the road driving north. As the golden sun was falling below the earth we cut through California’s central valley that is surrounded by giant brown hills that look like baked loaves of bread and a billion stars that speckle the night sky.

To be continued…

The post A Bug Named Boo (Part 1) appeared first on Modern Fossils.