By Dawne Belloise
“I think it may be time for you to let Ruby give up the ghost,” my friend said of the ‘72 VW bug I had sunk over $4k into over various and continuous mechanical ailments. There she sat in her red splendor, dead again by the side of the road. A glorified lawn mower, how hard can it be to find someone who knows what they’re doing to work on her? Beyond foolish adoration and the somewhat disturbing humanization of a machine, Ruby represents an era, an entire hippie generation of mobility and freedom, a lifestyle choice and philosophy. However, similarly to that love generation’s dream, sometimes Ruby just didn’t get as far down the road as I had hoped.
The young man from the towing company carefully cranked the car onto the enormous truck bed, “My grandmother has one of these VWs,” he offered sympathetically. I had located yet another mechanic, this one of vintage 60s himself but who didn’t laugh when I told him I had an unconscious love bug. The new guru VeeDub doctor, cigarette perpetually dangling from his lip, was sitting behind an absurdly cluttered desk in an even more congested shop with grease permeating everything including the gnarly but friendly dogs. I took this as a positive sign. The guy had more work than he could handle. He must be good. Cars and projects were lined up like planes waiting for take off. Ruby had been moved up to next in line for departure.
The guru’s head was buried in the small engine compartment, “Girl, who’s been working on this?” He seemed completely amused, “The choke’s been disconnected and she’s running way too rich … no wonder. And look at these plugs … they’re black. And she’s got electrical problems,” he growled, “who’s been chopping at these wires?” The tone of his voice made me feel like the idiot bad mommy. Nevertheless, the good news was that he found the engine to be excellent with exceptional compression. That was all I needed. Ruby was strong headed, still kicking and downright refusing to give me a reason to kick her to the curb. I was in love again. I envisioned sunny days of back road mountain adventures. People honking and flashing the peace sign at my little red space turtle as we rambled together into wild uncharted restaurants, bars and roadside attractions. Ruby beckoned fun, freedom and an imagined simplification of a gossamer lifestyle when an entire generation felt they could conquer the world with peace, love, and flower power. I was ready to relive my Summer of Love and I was finally cashing in on one of those promised flashbacks … Ruby winked at me as a voice within sang, “We are stardust, we are golden …” My carefree inner hippie chick swayed to perceived sitar music while the out-of-body entranced adult handed over her Mastercard to the VeeDub Guru with the same fervency of a fool rushing back into a revitalized, dysfunctional, torrid love affair.
Dawne Belloise is a freelance writer, photographer, wanderer and singer living in a tiny cottage on an alley at the end of the road in paradise. Email: dbelloise@gmail.com
