Ready to Bugout

Labor Day weekend is a special time of year. School is back in session and the fall foliage display is just around the corner. For local classic Volkswagen owners, it signifies a time to pilgrimage to the semi-annual BugOut VW car show in Manassas.

For a VW nut like me, the BugOut is air-cooled bliss. Events include drag racing, slalom racing, a car show, swap meets and the Miss BugOut contest. I especially like the swap meets as they remind me of eBay come to life. One man’s junk truly is another man’s treasure.

The BugOut is more than a car show. It is a venue for people to share ideas, tips and stories. To some, it’s a place to find and perpetuate their teenage nostalgia.

Twelve years before I was born, my grandfather took my then-16-year-old mom to a car dealership in Sandusky, Ohio. For $350, my mom was the proud owner of a used green 1957 VW Bug. In
the excitement of getting her teenage freedom in the form of wheels, she purposely forgot to tell her dad she couldn’t drive a stick shift.

“See you at home,” he said to her, and sped off leaving her to face the dreaded clutch all by herself. Although she made it home in one piece, I can’t help but think of the sore neck and headache she must have had as she jerked her new car in and out of first gear, stalled, stalled again and got honked at by impatient passing motorists. Poor mom.

Fortunately, my mom didn’t want me to have the same experience. She gave me plenty of practice driving circles around the block in a stick leading up to my driver’s test. I still feel very comfortable making right-hand turns.

As my 16th birthday grew near, I learned that I too would be the recipient of wheeled teenage freedom. Ecstasy turned to agony when my dream of a Porsche or Ferrari was dashed by the
announcement that I was getting the neighbor’s 1972 bright yellow Super Beetle. Trust me when I say, there wasn’t anything super about it. My parents only spent $500 on it and it showed — rust, dents, leaks, strange odors. The entire car would shake like a wet dog between 45 and 50 mph.

On the way home from school once, my muffler shot off the back of my car with an embarrassingly loud bang. I had to pull over and run into a busy intersection to retrieve it, to the snickers of onlookers. I learned it isn’t wise to pick up a muffler with your bare hands seconds after it was attached to a running car. Ah, to be 16 again.

The yellow Super Beetle didn’t last long. Another driver plowed into it and sent my first car to auto heaven. I eventually found and fell in love with another VW, a baby blue 1961 Bug. It was superior to the 1972 model in every way. It didn’t shake uncontrollably at 45 mph, and had a reasonably tightened down muffler. All the things I was looking for.

I’ve owned the ’61 more than half my life. It’s been from California to Virginia and painted more than a few colors (currently a lovely candy Brandywine red). I’ve never tried to see how many fraternity pledges I could fit in it. I’ve never driven it faster than 60 mph. I once locked myself inside and had to kick the front windshield out to get free. I now feel empathy for sardines.

Still, it never ceases to amaze me how many positive reactions I get while driving my car. Smiles always abound. Little kids wave as I putter by. Older folks give a peace sign faster than a Jimi Hendrix guitar solo. Unfortunately, I’ve had other hand gestures given to me once or twice. Not everyone can appreciate a proud VW owner wanting to enjoy the journey just a little longer.

The Volkswagen Beetle has been an icon in automotive history for generations. Ever since soldiers brought them home to the United States from Germany after World War II, the Beetle has been motoring along American roads and into our hearts. If you have ever owned a classic VW or ever wondered what makes them so special to the millions of VW owners, I encourage you to attend the BugOut. If you see a Brandywine red 1961 Bug, come and say hello. I’ll be the guy with the huge smile on his face.

Eric Slovak is a contributing writer for the News & Messenger.