Wiplash

I've had my share of wipe outs. I've hit my head on a lot of things. I've fallen in very creative and unfortunate ways. Three times I've been in car accidents where the vehicle was written off. I have scars on my body that have no known cause. I have scars with known cause, but the explanation makes no sense.

And yet very few major injuries.

No concussions.*

No severed appendages.

Very few broken bones.

No whiplash.

It amazes me that those last four lines are true. I don't know how I've made it this far without having spent more time in the hospital. This is especially true of those days when I was learning to drive a whole new class of vehicles that you can't just "shift" into drive.

Learning to drive standard was a lot of fun, but it rattled my brain around something fierce. Some youth would ask to go for a ride in the Eurovan, while I was mastering the nuances of a clutch, because it was the closest thing to a carnival ride in our town. Perhaps I should have charged admission, or at least enough to cover the gas, but I was driving anyway.

The day after I bought the van I wanted to drive it to church. But I was nervous. I didn't want to stall in front of everyone in the parking lot. At the grocery store everyone was anonymous. On the highway it didn't matter I'd never see them again. But at church, I knew these people and they knew me. I was hoping to spare myself some embarrassment.

So I practiced.

In the driveway.

Back and forth. Back and forth: wearing ruts in the dirt and taking years of life off the clutch.

My parents driveway isn't long, but long enough to get comfortably in first gear before slamming on the breaks. Then I'd throw it into reverse and find my way, literally, backwards to the start. I'm sure I put a good twelve kilometers** on the odometer.

For 45 minutes or so I was working at this trying to get to the point where I could roll through the church parking lot smoothly. I din't care so much what happened on the open road, but I wanted everything to be elegant in that parking lot.

Clutch in. Clutch out. Clutch in. Clutch out. Clutch in. Clutch out.

The van lurching, rolling, stuttering, jerking every which way. And my head right along with it. Now, my cranium has impressive girth. So there is considerable mass sitting atop my neck. And numerous laws of physics at play. Adding to that, my hair was much longer at the time--carrying momentum, and adding effect if nothing else.  Yes, my hair was whipping back and forth.  It's a wonder I didn't sustain any injury as I was bouncing around.  This was what I imagined riding a mechanical bull to be like. The Eurovan was my giant, blue, made in Germany, mechanical bull.

After all that it was time to leave for church. It was time to see what the outcomes of my practicing would be.

It wasn't pretty.

It wasn't smooth.

You'd think I hadn't practiced at all. I guess that's the outcome of never getting to second gear.

I was in the wrong gear as I attempted to hop the curb into the parking lot.*** The van then, mostly because of the wrong gear thing, began to shake violently and I was certain and explosion was immanent.

Fortunately, no explosion.

But there was a whole lot of head turning.

Eventually my driving skills improved. The headaches went away.  I rarely turn heads in a parking lot anymore.


*at least not that I know of

**I'm sure it was more like .12 but much of my memory may have been skewed by rattling.

***The entry into that church's parking lot is like the entry into any parking lot, in that if travelling the right speed you barely notice the bump. However, if you're not travelling the right speed, let's say because you're in the wrong gear and made poor estimations of how much time your much-heavier-than-you're-used-to vehicle needs to slow down, you may in fact find that "small barely noticeable bump" have an affect on the van much like a mogul would on a downhill skier. The van never went air born, but it certainly hopped.

9 Years of Eurovan Love

I cleaned out the inside of my '93 VW Eurovan this weekend.

It was long overdue.

There was dirt, sand, and raisin boxes all over the floor.

But I didn't just clean the floor. I got out the armor-all wipes and wiped down the dash, and any surface that looked the slightest bit dirty. I used over 15 wipes. I cleaned the glove box, taking out every last item and evaluating whether or not the glove box was the best home for it. Then I put back only what belonged.

Then I changed the air freshener.

Now the van looks and smells wonderful.

Well, at least on the inside.

Makiah calls it "the dirty van."

I don't know how that started. I'd love for it to stop.

As I was cleaning out the van, I found the original transfer papers from the purchase.

And that's when I  realized that in a few days I'll be celebrating* nine years of Eurovan ownership.

Nine years...that's incredible.

Well, it's been nine incredible years anyways.

I began to think about all the wonderful memories I have from the past nine years, and the van is featured in most of them. The best example being that I proposed to Sheena in the van. Now I'm really wondering if those memories would be so sweet if it weren't for my good friend Eileen.**

What is more, Sheena and I will probably be saying our last goodbyes to our transportation friend within the next year. Her life is nearing it's end. At least she is becoming too aged to meet all of our transportation needs.

I wish there were some farm, perhaps with sheep, where she could live out the rest of her days frolicking in fields with other Eurovans. Oh how the Eileen loves to go off road. To my knowledge no such farm exists, leaving us uncertain of her future.

I feel that to celebrate the old girl in a manner that is truly fitting, I should share with you some of the stories that play out so vividly in my memory.

Those will come in time.

All I say for now is that I still remember sitting in the Toyota Tercel outside a closed tire shop, my dad in the seat next to me, we had just test driven the van and I had to make a decision: to buy or not to buy.

I had been working for Canada Post for a year and a half. In that time I had saved up enough money, but this would wipe out my savings. Did I want to take the plunge? It was the most incredible vehicle I had ever been in. And I hadn't even driven it yet because I didn't know how.

The Eurovan is a six speed manual, with a hidden reverse. I didn't want to grind the crap out of it and then say: "No thanks. I'll keep looking."

After ten long minutes in that parking lot I had made a decision. We went back to the guy's house. He was very surprised to see us again. I don't think he expected to be selling his van that day. But he did.

We signed a bunch of papers and that was it: I had purchased the Eurovan.

My dad drove it the two hours home while I drove the Tercel.  The Tercel had been my primary form of transportation since the summer of '99. It had taken me far, and had left me stranded far too. The Tercel and I never boned. I had memories but they were nothing special--unless you count the time my friend Brad and I had to push it across Crossfield, Alberta.

During the drive my dad and I chatted back and fort on walkie-talkies.  I remember that we were each eating an apple while driving up the Malahat. When I got down to the core I had to manually roll the passenger window down before throwing it out. This was awkward, uncomfortable, and very dangerous given the speeds we were traveling. I was not going to miss that.

My dad delighted in showing off how one finger rolled down the passenger window of the vehicle he was driving. Oh how I was moving up in the world.

My standard education would begin latter that day. It was a rough first week. I'll tell you more about that next time.



*I say celebrating, but this will be the first time I've ever marked the occasion. The past 8 anniversaries have come and gone without any sort of fan fare.

**Eileen is, of course, the name of the Eurovan. Our relationship had progressed several years before a truly fitting name was found. Perhaps one day I'll tell you how that came to be.