Our family '67 VW Bug

We had a lot of stories about that '67 Bug. One time we were on I-45 heading home and a Toyota Corolla pulled up alongside us with some suspicious-looking characters and glared at us as we zoomed along. They sped up to pass us and we sped up. Then they sped up. Mind you this is two old cars without much muscle when they were new. We floored it and were going as fast as traffic would allow, keeping them from cutting in, when suddenly they dropped back precipitously. We looked back to see them pulled over with smoke coming from under the hood: They had blown the head gasket! We laughed our heads off.

Once I was driving in the subdivision in my '67 bug when a rabbit crossed the road. I aimed behind him but he changed his mind at the last minute. He went between the front wheels and just cleared the back wheel. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw he hadn't completely cleared my bumper and his tail was laying in the road! I took it home to substantiate my story.

Another time in that famous '67 bug I was passing a truck when I discovered a dog in the middle of the road, running alongside the truck, nipping at his hubcaps. With no time to react, I rolled him under the car but between the wheels. When I came by on the way home at the end of the day, he was at his usual place by the mailbox, but he declined to chase me.

Our neighborhood dog, Bullet, used to chase me every day on the way to work. I maneuvered to the right spot on the road and surprised him with a monstrous splash from a roadside puddle just before he ran into an empty trashcan. He earned because he never hit that trashcan again.

Then there was the time I took my daughter and some of her friends and cousins to the Galveston Beach, a three hour drive South of us. We crammed her and seven of her closest friends into the Bug and away we went. We had a great time.

Once when our oldest, the daughter, was just a baby we went on one of our weekend visits to Tulsa: I'd get off work Friday at 4:15 pm and we'd head out on the 10-12 hour drive. We'd come back Sunday. This particular time I got as far as Atoka, a normal gas stop. Seeing as how there was still a quarter-tank of gas left, even though it was close to midnight, I decided to use up some more before I stopped for gas. It soon became midnight, the gas gage was on "R" and there wasn't much sign of life on the road.

I was getting worried, in the middle of nowhere with a wife and young baby and nearly out of gas. Did I say it was a little cool, too? Figuring that 60 mph was the optimum speed/mpg reading, we cruised along as we surveyed the road-map. We picked the biggest nearest dot on the map: Holdenville OK. They would have an all-night gas station. We left US 69-75, and proceeded to Holdenville. The sidewalks were rolled up, the town looked deserted.

What, ho? What light breaks through yonder blanket of darkness? It is the city hall/police station and there are cars outside. I heaved to, rushed inside and asked if anyone as any gas I could have. No, they said, but they were "purty shure" there was an all-night truck-stop in Wewoka. I only had to drive to the first stop sign, turn left, take state highway... Well, you get the picture.

In no time we were lost in the black hills of Oklahoma, past midnight, with nary a sign of civilization, save an occasional farm light on a distant (black) hill. Wewoka was a memory of the past. Up on the road ahead appeared a simple clap-board building with a chat driveway and two Deep Rock gas pumps. Lit by a single bare bulb, it stood lonely next to a darkened country house with a car pulled asleep next to it in the shadows. Eureka! I pulled over, went up to the porch and knocked on the door.

A sleepy voice called from the dark, "Whattayouwant?" "I want some gas," I said plaintively. "How much?" he responded, warily. "Well, all of it," I announced impatiently. There was a stirring from the inside and a figure emerged cautiously from within the dark house and a man's voice apologized by saying, "I have some buddies who wake me up for $2 worth of gas." Parked by the "regular" pump, I proudly announced, "Fill her up with regular." Looking over his shoulder I could see the bottom of the near-empty gas tank: I was operating on fumes and the drops of gas collecting in the dents on the bottom of the tank! When the pump finished dinging, the little vane in the clear globe finished whirling around and the man hung up the nozzle, I had taken on 10.6 gallons. Now, if you don't know, a Bug holds 10.8 gallons. I was happy to pay a premium price of 32 cents a gallon at this point. Happily refueled and lucky to have no need for the facilities, off we went.