In my Element

EL PASO — Our cars are a little bit like lovers and a little bit like calendars. They remind us of the very best and worst memories of our lives. We still carry tender feelings for some of them and spit out “good riddance” when reminded of others. The older we get, our cars help us remember when and where things happened. “Oh yeah, I remember that trip from Albuquerque to Las Cruces, all six of us in the Pinto station wagon. Crazy.” “That’s the exact parking place I coasted into when the engine fell out of the bug. That’s right. It fell out.”

Do you remember getting your driver’s license for the first time?  That little card signified that the state trusted you to get behind the steering wheel of a two thousand pound vehicle and go the speed limit. And if the state trusted you, eventually your parents had to, whether you deserved it or not.  It was as much of a rite of passage into adulthood as a quinceañera or a bar mitzvah. I got my license at 15 and drove several family cars for years.

In my Element. (Raymundo Aguirre/Borderzine.com)

Then, there was that very first car, your own. Mine was a 1959 Fiat that cost $200 in 1967 and my boss co-signed a loan from the credit union so I could buy it. Another marker of independence.  Unfortunately, my father stripped the gears on my fragile Fiat on one of his visits to New Mexico, and loaned me money to buy a “more reliable” car, a VW beetle.

I have never bought a new car. Ever. There is a litany, maybe a symphony, of the cars I have owned after the first two. There was the Datsun pickup, the MGB convertible, the Toyota Corolla, the Pinto station wagon, the VW station wagon, Aunt Thelma’s Chevy, another VW bug,  the green Ford truck I still have the keys to, and maybe a couple I have forgotten. Each has its story of coming into my life and going out of it, the places I went driving and the people I went with. I remember sleeping in the bed of the Datsun truck with my dog Titus on a deserted stretch of New Mexico highway until the morning when someone stopped to help me. In Blythe, California in 110 degree heat, I was in a phone booth calling AAA when a guy banged on the door asking me if that was my VW from New Mexico up the road a bit. But that’s another blog.

My sunshine orange and pop-top VW camper van. (Courtesy of Chery Howard)

For the past twenty years or so, I have owned VW pop-top camper vans, five of them in fact.  The first one, a sunshine orange, called to me from a used car lot on north Fourth Street in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I was intrigued by the ingeniousness of the design and the lure of the open road. This was a car that took you camping with the tent, cook stove, picnic table and cooler right inside. Thus began a camping frenzy unknown since my own childhood. I took my kids to northern New Mexico, to México, to Navajo country, to Balmorhea and the Pedernales.

We were on our way to a two-week camping trip in Baja when the van caught on fire, and we were left unscathed on the side of the road with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Well, to be honest, a head of lettuce and a bikini swimsuit survived, but nothing else. I swore off air-cooled motors, but not VW camper vans, so the next one I bought was a water-cooled 1984 from an elderly couple in Las Cruces who were having increasingly difficulty popping the top and parking without power steering.  And, just so you know, if these babies even had air conditioning, you could never get to speeds above 45 mph.

It actually caught on fire. (Courtesy of Cheryl Howard)

A couple of months ago, I watched my last one leave the premises because I had become that elderly person who could no longer navigate the behemoth and had no camping partner. My daughter’s VW aficionado friend put it on some website and, within a day I had an offer from a young man in California. My former student and friend Patrick tried to help me get it started the day the rig was arriving to pick it up. We failed and Patrick towed me bravely with only a hint of brakes to the UTEP parking lot where I told the driver we would meet him. The van had to be winched into place. I paid extra for the driver’s time and owe Patrick cookies for life. It was a sad day, but I hoped the van would be restored to its original beauty and find a loving home.

So, for now, I am in my Element. My next vehicle will probably be a city bus.

At UTEP. (Courtesy of Cheryl Howard)