Sunday, February 22, 2009

Road Karma(nn Ghia)


I wasn't lost in space, but I'm glad Greg thought I was.
For over five years my '73 Volkswagen has been my travel companion.  Countless trips to Central Oregonia and sporadic roundabouts to the coast of Norcalia and the VW has never quit. That's why my gut sank when the gas pedal went lifeless and we coasted into a desolate rest stop at 10:00 PM on a recent trip to Portlandia. 
Shit. Stranded right? If you've never driven a Volkswagen before, there's a few things you should know. You NEVER leave home without a toolkit and extra oil... NEVER. If you do, your car will break down. Murphy's Law. Second, if you do have a toolkit, the problem can usually be fixed.
Poking and prodding around the engine looking for the culprit of my bum pedal, I was having little luck as I've only begun embarking on the challenge of learning how my 4-cylinder German engine works and building mechanical competency.
After close to half an hour of tinkering, I had nothing to show for my work but hands slick and darkened with oil. 
Then Greg rolled into the rest stop for what would be the longest piss break of his life.
For an hour we pulled fuel lines, tightened clamps and scraped corroded points trying to solve the riddle. Finally, I caught an inconspicuous metal pin lying behind the battery at the same time Greg's face took an disconcerting look as he eyed the empty hole in the fuel pump.
Cursing German's uncanny ability to place nuts and bolts in the most awkward of locations, we finally pulled the pump free and made the reparation. 
Voila. The Ghia sprung to life.
With nothing but a few dimes, half-drank coffee and some old toothpicks, I told Greg I had nothing to offer but good karma. 
"Dude... we fixed your car," he said as he approached me for an oily high-five. "Now get to Portlandia."
I can't help but wonder the chances are that someone would help another for an hour on a a late Sunday evening. Greg would have easily been home by the time we finished reparations. The way he put it is, "if you were in outer space, I couldn't just leave you there." 
Perhaps all who drive VWs are in fact lost in space, and maybe that's why no matter where you are there's individuals like Greg around to get you back in orbit.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

It hardly rained last Thursday

The Cascadia weather is always a topic of conversation. Sitting in a cafe, "it's freezing today," or "god I hate the rain" bounce around the dim lit environment. People come to Oregon and fall into a somber state, dragging their feet through puddles.
Truth is, it hadn't rained for a week and for some it was almost overbearing standing under a cold shower fully clothed while beating a cookie sheat to recreate that last great thunderstorm. Raised in Pacific Northwest, the odd climatical patterns sweeping past Juan de Fuca and bombarding the Cascardes are a thing of the norm, and most certainly enjoyable.
In a world evermore standard, the sporadic rainshowers amidst a bluebird day are a welcome change. A change I can believe in. Caught in a hailstorm in boardshorts and a tie-dye tanktop is a remembered moment. Walking to class in reefs on a clear day is not.
There is a sense of apology to be felt for those who stuggle to adapt to Cascadias eclectic weather. The ability to rearrange one's perception of ideal weather from standard sun to sudden storms is not an easy task. To truly appreciate the cascadia frontier, however, respect for the elements who stand atop the ladder of hierarchy is necessary.