When I was going through college, I was lucky enough to have
very supportive parents. Although I
worked hard to pay for my own tuition, my folks helped out by pitching in for
other costs; the greatest of which was transportation. Growing up on an island in Alaska, getting
back and forth to college during summer break wasn’t exactly easy.
I remember the summer after my sophomore year; my father
helped me buy an old Volkswagen Rabbit.
It was baby blue and had a bashed-in driver’s side door. I had that door wired shut with bungee cords
and duct tape, knowing full well that it could fly open at any moment while driving
down the island roads. Growing tired of
slipping in through the passenger side door every time I needed to go for a ride,
I convinced my father to help me look for a replacement for the car’s damaged appendage. We found just the ticket at a
local junk yard. Soon, I was parading
down Tongass Avenue in downtown Ketchikan sporting a baby blue Rabbit with a brand
new, shiny red door. Dang, I was cool.
As the summer months wore on, eventually plans were made for
my annual exodus back to school. My
college buddy, Nick, had decided to fly up to Ketchikan for a little fishing. He and I had the brilliant notion of sticking
that Volkswagen on the ferry boat, and driving it through British Columbia all
the way from Prince Rupert to our apartment in Moscow, Idaho. We knew this would be an epic journey of two
young men braving the wild highways of western Canada, armed with our summer
earnings, a baby blue Rabbit with a red door, and a penchant for
nightlife. What could possibly go wrong?
Just before we departed the island, my Dad came rolling up
our driveway, grinning ear to ear about the “deal” he had just made on a couple
of used tires for the Rabbit. He slapped
those puppies on the front of the car and sent us on our way with a hug and a
hearty wave. We loaded onto the Alaska
State Ferry just prior to midnight, and six hours later, we were hell-on-wheels,
blazing our way East out of Prince Rupert, B.C. at a brisk fifty-seven
miles-per-hour.
The first incident happened early in the afternoon. The road from Prince Rupert to Prince George
did go through a handful of towns, but for the most part it was as devoid of
civilization as one could get on a highway. Surrounded by a thick wall of forest, many miles from any sort of village, the car suddenly started to shake violently. We pulled over to the side of the road in the middle of
nowhere. Between the two of us, we had a
combined total of three years worth of a college education. It took our collective brain power several
minutes to identify a large bulge protruding from the left front tire. The tire hadn’t popped, but rather, it had
simply developed a pimple.
After unloading onto the side of the road a semester’s worth
of luggage, musical instruments, file folders, books, stereo equipment, a
mini-fridge, and other such college necessities, we accessed the spare tire
well. A passing motorist offered his
words of wisdom, “Must be water inside the tire to make it bulge like
that.” Whether that was the culprit or
not, I’ll never know, but soon, I had reloaded the Rabbit and hopped back in
through the red door. We were back on
the road, baby, and nothing was stopping us now.
Except for the other front tire…
We had to be about seventy miles from Prince George when
other tire blew. It was a full blown
popping sound that jarred us from our intercontinental highway trance. Soon, after successfully maneuvering again to
the side of the tree-lined road, Nick and I realized that, just maybe, we
shouldn’t have buried the bulging tire below all of our gear. While again unpacking the contents of the
Rabbit, we began to question the “deal” that my father had gotten on those two
tires.
Any speed below thirty was bearable. If the speedometer approached thirty-five,
the bulging tire caused the vehicle to quake with volcanic force. We limped for hours on the side of the road,
hazard lights on, rattling away toward the hope of reaching Prince George in
one piece. Semi-trucks and massive RV’s
blew past us like we were standing still.
Even the deer in the forest seemed to travel at a quicker pace.
It took a little longer than expected, but the next morning
we were back in business with two brand new tires and a renewed sense of two
young men, footloose and free, heading south down the central part of British
Columbia. After a night of frivolity in
Kelowna, we had only one more day’s worth of driving en route to our
destination at the University of Idaho.
Exhausted, drastically over-budgeted, and ready for our little adventure to
come to a close, we again hit the highway for the final stretch.
The late model Dodge pickup sporting four Canadian cowboys
came flying up on our tail in the blink of an eye. Either frustrated with my chosen speed of
travel, or incensed by the Alaskan license plate that was displayed on my rear
bumper, the Cowboys revved their truck within inches of the blue Rabbit’s
tail. Upon seeing the blatant disregard
for safety and courtesy, my good pal, Nick, made a rash decision. His arm flew out the passenger window and a
glorious hand sign involving one of his fingers made its presence known to the truck
that followed close behind.
Luckily, I had just gassed up the Rabbit just several
minutes prior. They followed us for
miles; slamming fists into palms, snarling and giving every indication that,
given the chance, the Cowboys would turn us into ground beef. Clinging to the steering wheel, our very
lives in the balance; I drove that baby blue Rabbit with the red door without
pause, hoping to heck that one of the rear tires wouldn’t pop before our Cowboy
friends ran out of steam. Either they
reached their destination, ran low on gas, or simply gave up pursuit;
eventually the Dodge pickup exited the highway and left us alone on the single
lane, winding highway. A mild victory
for the college boys!!
Never was I so glad to see the announcement of the
approaching United States border line.
We high-fived across the front of the Rabbit as we pulled into one of
the lines at the US Customs office. I
rolled down my window and was greeted by a gruff agent asking for our
documentation. Whether it was the blue
car with the red door, the cargo that stacked to the roof, or the bloodshot
eyes of two college aged kids; the U.S. Customs Agent ordered us to pull ahead
and step out of the vehicle.
Nick and I waited for hours inside a small cubicle. They had to be convinced that they would find
drugs, or anything else of the criminal nature.
The border patrol officials tore into that Rabbit as if they were trying
to defuse a nuclear weapon. Eventually,
we were told that we were free to go.
Stepping outside of the cubicle, we found the Rabbit surrounded by all
of our belongings strewn about on the pavement.
The interior of the vehicle had been strip-searched. The carpeted underbelly of the dashboard had
been yanked out of place, leaving exposed wires to dangle to the
floorboard.
Once more, Nick and I repacked the Volkswagen while feeling violated
by our own government. We hadn’t had a
decent night’s sleep in days, our stomachs were empty as we hadn’t risked
pulling over for food, and our emotional state teetered just south of
fragile.
We did eventually make it
safely to our destination that evening.
You would have never thought that a college apartment complex would seem
such magnificent a sight.
The baby blue Volkswagen Rabbit with the red door comes back
to life in the soon to be released Tsunami
Warning. The second book in the Jim
and Kram mystery series will be available for download on August 1st,
2015.
You can download Jim and Kram’s first adventure, Mink Island, at the following link:
Mink Island - Amazon
Mink Island - Amazon
