EveryBus X

Click Here For EveryBus X Gallery Dinner’s done for everyone except the ants which have laid siege to Ganesh. Despite the best efforts of Raid (aerosol and bait traps), the little buggers continue tirelessly in their search for comestibles. Similarly, the revelers at EveryBus X continue to persevere in spite of the bands of rain which have made a slight dent in the otherwise perfect weather this weekend. For those immune to the insidious virus known as VW Bus Ownership, Everybus is an annual gathering of afflicted individuals in Hagan Stone Park, a 700+ acre county park just south of Greensboro, NC. Taking a stroll around the campground loop is like walking through an automotive museum. VW buses (officially known as Transporters) of every era are in abundance. Fully restored “splitties”, the split window version so commonly associated with the 60s generation, are parked in haphazard fashion beside of their not-so-restored stablemates. More common are the 70s variants, known as “bay windows” for their single-pane large windshield. Ganesh, my 1972 Adventurewagen, is one such beast. More refined are the accommodations afforded by the 80s contingent, represented by Westfalia Vanagons of various colors and conditions. While most of the buses are camper conversions of one sort or another (and there were MANY companies who threw their hats into this collective ring), there are a few standard passenger buses, such as the lime green bay owned by my next door neighbor Berry. She is making her Everybus debut and, indeed, her first outdoor camping experience, with her daughter, Cory and friend Claire, in tow. The two teens have been a constant source of amusement as they cope with an invasion of caterpillars into their tent, the wanderings of Annie – the one-eyed Shih Tzu and the never-ending search for one toiletry/bath item or another. On the other side of the “yard” is Zoo, a gentleman of 50+ years (a guess) who apparently is a regular to this event. He spent a portion of this morning recovering from the previous evening’s libations, which consisted of a fair amount of Tequila. Like just about everyone here, Zoo, who gained his name from his place of employment, is a convivial sort quite happy to strike up a conversation with a newbie. Friendliness seems to abound in this little enclave dedicated to VW buses, the Grateful Dead and Tie Dye everything. I’ve stopped by several camps to ask owners about their particular vehicles, inquiring about such things as solar panels, camper interiors, paint jobs, etc. The only strange vibe I picked up was from a guy a few doors down who owned a later model Adventurewagen. When I appeared at his window to ask about his bus he acted a bit like I had DEA tattooed on my forehead. He was polite enough, but I just had this feeling that he was about to engage in something that his mother would not have approved of… As far as illicit substances go, I have not witnessed anyone partaking, although it would be the height of naiveté to think that such an eclectic crowd was entirely populated with straight edge types. Officially, even alcoholic beverages are verboten at the park, but the “Red Cup” rule is considered sufficient deference to “the man”. Cory and Claire just stopped by to chat. Her phone was charging in Ganesh’s overloaded electrical outlet when it began ringing. Josh, her boyfriend, had apparently bumped the call button on his phone while bussing tables at work. A cacophony of unidentifiable background noise was the only thing which greeted her attempts to get his attention. Now back to our regularly scheduled program… “A beer in the hand is worth two in the fridge”, reads the cap on my bottle Magic Hat Circus Boy Hefeweizen. In this case, the fridge happens to be within arm’s reach of my seating position. While large motorhomes, which until the advent of $4.00 per gallon gas, were all the rage with the retiree set, have several legs up in the creature comfort department, the lowly VW camper features a coziness that cannot be duplicated. Granted, this quality was difficult to appreciate this morning when Wendy and I attempted to extricate ourselves from the sleeping quarters. After some contortions, we managed to tackle the affairs of the morning. Wendy’s arthritic flare up due to the barometric change did her no favors, but in fairly short order we managed to whip up a pot of coffee and some freeze-dried eggs. She enjoyed an even greater protein intake when she chomped down on a Pop-Tart which had recent been claimed by the aforementioned ants. Ah, life in the wild… That was hours ago. Now, darkness has settled upon Hagan Stone. From somewhere the sound of an acoustic guitar drifts in. In other quarters, the general bustle of items being stowed away in preparation for further rain takes center stage. A few tents away, Zoo’s rendition of “Plastic Jesus” is accompanied by the purr of an ancient air cooled powerplant. Life IS good.

In The Wilds Of Stoneville

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and I am freezing - morning springs anew at Dan River Campground in Stoneville, NC. Definitely a place for getting away from it all. The owner even gave me a slight admonishment to keep the speed down in the campground (I was running 15 and the speed limit is 10). Believe me, if you get caught speeding in a VW bus, you have really done something special. Numerous 5th wheels, motorhomes and the like await their owners to return once spring settles in for good. While there are a few hardy souls spending at least a portion of Easter weekend here, it is mostly deserted. I decided to make this trip as something of a shakedown for Ganesh; considering that at some point I want to take the Big Blue Bus for an extended roadtrip. So far, so good. The fridge has kept things nice and cold. The sleeping arrangements were quite satifactory and the engine has been running strong. I haven't dared to fire up the propane stove, yet; preferring to wait until the prospect of forest fires due to exploding microbuses has ebbed a bit. The neighbors are mostly retired boomers by the looks of things. Most everyone has kept to themselves; at most offering a wave and a "Hello!" while walking down the gravel drives. The gentleman next door, however, will get points for the "Weird Guy Of The Year" competition. I mulled over his rituals while carving into a campfired steak and turning pages in "The Wishing Well"; a Doctor Who novel (what else?) When he arrived last night, he sat in his truck for the better part of a half an hour before trading the comforts of the front seat for his proper lodgings. Later on, he returned to his truck and repeated the ceremony before driving the 300 feet to the bathhouse. Once there, he, you guessed it, waited about 15 minutes, then went inside. Once he took care of business, there was another round of front seat meditation before driving back to his trailer. I could understand an elderly gentleman not feeling up to making the trek to shake the dew off of the lilly, but this guy looks to be my age. Guess he just likes going out into the wilds of Stoneville to partake of his rich, Corinthian leather.

Katzenwagen!

Sometimes, despite your best intentions, things don't quite work out like you expect... For once I was going to be on time for something. No, I was going to be EARLY. Although I wasn't looking forward to three hours of education on the proper ways of eating (thanks to my physician), I had successfully navigated Ganesh through rush hour traffic and a stiff crosswind; making good time in the process. With only a couple of miles to go, there was nothing to do, but sit through umpteen PowerPoint slides extolling the virtues of portion control. The Lizard King was wrapping up "Roadhouse Blues" on the iPod when I felt something brush by my leg. A stray piece of trash picked up by the drafts which are part and parcel of a 36-year-old bus, nothing more. Keeping my eyes on the approaching offramp, I reached down to scoop up the offender. I expected paper...I got fur. My focus quickly turned to the floorboard and the large orange cat looking up at me with a rather bewildered air. Not panicked, as most felines are in moving vehicles. Disdainfully curious, I guess you'd call it. Deep within his cerebellum, somewhere between the impulse to eat and the need to stick his nose into anything that his butt would fit into, Morris sensed something was wrong...VERY wrong. The normally quiet confines of his occasional sleeping quarters had been turned into a roaring, vibrating (and drafty) place indeed. Some days it just doesn't pay to be a cat. Recovering from my initial shock, I burst into a fit of laughter. Who cares if I'm late for class? That would be nothing new. Besides, how often to you get to ride around town with a big orange cat in a 1972 VW bus? Thoroughly flummoxed by the turn of events and my reaction, Morris curled up in the aisle between the front seats and waited for the show to be over. As I turned the bus around and headed for home, the haunting sound of Poe filled the cabin... "Hey pretty, do you want to take a ride with me..." No. Definitely not. Just fill the water bowl, feed me and empty the litter box.

Rock On!

I always make a habit of christening each new vehicle of mine with a special song. Usually, I choose something from my all-time favorite band - The Dixie Dregs. With the arrival of Ganesh, the Big Blue Bus into my stable, I had another opportunity to engage in this little ritual. This time, however, the band was Def Leppard and the song was the first single from their soon-to-be-released album, "Songs From The Sparkle Lounge". The track is named "Nine Lives" and it POSITIVELY ROCKS! Check it out.

Turn Back!

As you've probably noticed, I've moved the "Escape" date back until February 29. No, not cold feet, although I must confess not taking the Appalachian Trail route as a first step has thrown my planning and direction into complete chaos. With that comes a certain wariness and a lot of second guessing. The reason for the delay is that Wendy needs a bit more TLC before she's ready for the rigors of a 6-month or so road trip to God knows where. At the moment, I've pulled out all of the windows and am in the process of repairing seals, rust, etc. Soon. Soon....

Wendy The Westy - Part 1

So, here's Wendy. She's a 1966 Volkswagen Camper. For the purist, the official designation would be Volkswagen Type 2 Kombi with SO-42 Westfalia camper conversion. Wendy started out life on May 25, 1966 as chassis number 236160780 at the VW factory in Hanover, West Germany. Shortly thereafter, she was delivered to Westfalia-Werke to have the camper equipment installed. Cabinets were added. A hole was cut in the roof for the pop-top. Grey linoleum was laid down in the cargo/living area and birch paneling was applied to the walls and roof. The final step was to place the keys in the hands of some lucky owner. VW had a number of destinations to which the final product could be delivered. One such port of call was known as the Tourist Delivery Program. Taking this route, the purchaser would book passage on the airline of their choice, bound for any number of European cities, to take delivery of their new vehicle. Buses were usually picked up in Hanover, but other arrangements could be made. The owner(s) would then spend the next several days, weeks or months traveling Europe via their new set of wheels. Once the holiday was through, they could either opt to sell the vehicle in Europe or for a couple of hundred bucks, have it shipped back home. Wendy was designated as a USA Tourist Delivery model. She was built to US safety specs with left-hand drive. As to what adventures her owners encountered while traveling Europe, I can't imagine. Unfortunately, the trail goes cold after she left the factory on June 30, 1966. Fast forward to 1998, when a certain road-weary camper turned up in the hands of a VW aficionado in Maryland. Wendy wore her age like Maggie Mae from the old Rod Stewart song. Rust in all of the usual places. While everything was pretty much intact, bondo patches testified to at least one rear-end incursion and one or more similar events in the front. Peeling paint and an rebuilt engine that had been pulled from another VW of some ilk completed the list. The new owner had purchased Wendy for the princely sum of $700 from a gentleman who had acquired the bus as part of a settlement for "debts owed" and had little need of a 32 year-old camper. For about five months, the new owner's determination was strong, then he came across a camper in slightly better shape and decided that his restoration funds would be better spent on the new arrival. Wendy sat for a few months while waiting for a new owner. When she didn't get any immediate offers, the decision was made to "part out" the bus. The camper interior was sold. Then the seats and jalousie windows made their way to another bus in need, along with the interior paneling. Lastly the bumpers and speedometer found new homes. Wendy was pretty much a metal shell with an engine. In 1999, the bus came to the attention of another VW fan from North Carolina who had exchanged several emails with the Maryland contingent on a Volkswagen listserv. He and his wife made the trek to Maryland and purchased the bus on the spot. It was during the trip back to North Carolina that she was dubbed "Wendy", since without windows, she provided a very "windy" ride indeed. Over the next several years, many of the items that had been sold off were replaced by the couple from NC. Wendy was a camper once again, making trips to Phish concerts and the like up and down the Eastern Seaboard. During one such trip, her owners where denied entry into Canada since VW buses seem to be as much a part of drug paraphenalia as bongs and rolling papers. In 2004, Wendy's owners were in the midst of a career change and could no longer justify putting money into the bus. In July of that year, she was listed on eBay where she caught my eye. I had wanted an old VW bus for as long as I could remember (sometimes I think I was born 20 years too late), so I made a bid just to see what would happen. Then came the final day of bidding. I was sitting at my desk at work, pretending to be about the company's business, all the while watching the price go up, up , up. At the last, I submitted an offer for $1750 which stuck. I was now the proud owner of a nearly 40 year-old rustwagon. Wendy (my girlfriend, not the bus) and I made the trip to Durham, NC on a sweltering July afternoon to take delivery. Upon arrival we were greeted by a bus with a few layers of peeling white paint and a floorboard which had been reconstructed with roofing tar and pieces of sheet metal. Fairly common condition for buses, actually. We chatted with the previous owner for awhile and completed the necessary paperwork. Finally, we were off to the license plate office to get tags for the ride back to Winston-Salem. Everything seemed to be going fine until I tried to back the bus out of the parking space at the license plate agency. I couldn't find reverse. The heat, which was stifling in the metal sweatbox, didn't help matters as I cursed with each failed attempt to find a solution. Wendy made several offers to help since she had driven a VW before, but male hard-headedness took control of my sense of hearing. I would have none of it. Of course, I knew the best way to handle the situation (yeah, right). Finally, I asked Wendy to hop behind the wheel while I pushed the bus out of the parking space. We made another stop at an Eckerd Drug Store to grab some cold drinks to replace the gallon or so of fluids lost in the Quest for Reverse. When I returned to the bus, Wendy proudly showed me how to get the bus in reverse. Show off! The trip back to Winston was fairly uneventful given that a steady stream of rain tested Wendy's underperforming windshield wipers and sudden gusts of wind from passing semis threatened to blow the camper off of the road. Once home, I began firing off messages to various VW websites in the hopes of learning more about the ins and outs of old buses. I spent an afternoon pulling out the camping interior to get an idea of what I was working with. Rust, naturally, made its appearance in more places than I could count. Before I could start any sort of minor cosmetic work, I needed someone to perform a bit of magic with an arc welder. That's when I met a gentleman who called himself Metalwizard...

Reflections On The Shakedown Hike

It's been a week since we returned from our 44 mile loop hike in the Smoky Mountains National Park. In that time, I've had a good, long time to analyze the reaction when the dreams of adventure meet the terra firma of reality; specifically where the adventure is the Appalachian Trail. I guess you could say I've experienced a failed thru-hike without having cast a shadow atop Springer Mountain. It wasn't the physical stress of hiking 7 to 13 mile days. It was difficult, yes, but I'm not kidding myself that the Bear Creek or Lakeshore Trais have anything on the ups and downs of the AT in Georgia (our largest elevation gain was 2000 feet on the Shakedown). It wasn't the blisters which, in spite of teflon liner socks, sprouted in wild abandon after Day 3. They were a surprise, however, since up to this point my trusty Merrill boots had delivered 15 mile days before this hike with nary a hotspot. It wasn't the lack of creature comforts, such as a comfortable bed, a daily shower and an plate of Szechuan waiting at camp. My hunger diminished drastically during the hike and I lost 15 pounds as a result. Eating became a ritual, a chore almost. And as for the lack of showers, well, I've heard it said that you don't notice others after being on the trail a few days. I certainly hope that is the case as my scent could have send grizzlies into premature hibernation. Still, I was not bothered by this. Hey, it's backpacking. It wasn't the isolation. Buddy typically hiked anywhere from 30 mins to and hour ahead of me. I enjoyed the solitude, though I can imagine those of a more social bent going nuckin futz. I returned to the office with a clearer mind than I have from much longer "vacations". The thing that put the nail in the hiking boot? Monotony - the one thing I wasn't expecting to be a problem. It's hard to imagine such a thing being an issue when surrounded by mountains exploding in the colorful riot of Fall. 15 years of anticipation laid waste by five days of slogging up one switchback, only to find yet another ridge to climb. The seemingly unending repetition of climb, descend, climb, descend. This was hardly my first backpacking trip, but certainly the longest. Many have suggested that the mental aspect of a thru-hike is the toughest obstacle to overcome. I agree wholeheartedly. Guess it was good to learn that lesson now, rather than on some ridgeline in the middle of February. I've beat myself up over it enough, though. Time to brush off my pride and work on Plan B. Plan B as in bus. I had planned to take my '66 VW camper on a cross-country road trip after the AT hike, something akin to William Least-Heat Moon's "Blue Highways" crossed with my Route 66/Pacific Coast trip back in 2000. No set destination. No set timeline. Just take in whatever unique opportunities I can find in towns large and small. I'm open to suggestions, so please drop me a line. In the meantime, I need to get Wendy (the bus) in some sort of reliable running condition. That could turn out to be a bigger challenge than any rock-strewn ascent!