It was easier to shift than the finicky transmission on the 1946 Jeep CJ-2A that I, my sister and my cousins all learned to drive at our grandpa’s old hunting ranch, but at least that Willys had some power and a smaller turning circle. It’s not an easy car to drive by today’s standards (or possibly 1969 standards). I smiled back through the sweat and growing fatigue, and gave the briefest of waves in order to get the hand back on the forward-canted, thin-rimmed steering wheel. People stopped, stared, pointed, hollered and generally wished us well as we made our way around Ann Arbor. It even harkens from the same year as the Summer of Love. I in my mustache and “Bigfoot Lives” hat, and my son in his “Paw Patrol” pajamas, puttering around in this iconic cream-on-orange hippie-mobile. One thing’s for sure: the scenery wouldn’t pass by too quickly to appreciate. And we were pretty toasty in there it would be quite the challenge to pilot this vehicle packed to the brim with tourists trying to navigate the Alps, the Rockies or, hell, even the steeper parts of Haight Street. With just myself and my son, Wollie, behind me in a car seat, the rear-mounted 1.5-liter boxer-four and its whopping 53 horsepower struggled to push us down Plymouth Road. This thing seats nine, if some passengers are willing to share the longer lap belts, but I can’t imagine what a loaded Bus would feel like from behind the wheel. For a while, I even had the windshield panes tilted up and open until I took a large insect to the face. Trying to remain cool, I had the windows open while I drove. There’s no air conditioning, but the little flange on the ceiling that directs in air from under the roof lip is supposed to either send it toward the front passengers or toward the rear. I’d have liked to, though, as it was warm in the cabin. There’s no way I was going to even attempt to open the big fabric sunroof cover. The pieces that aren’t supposed to move rattled instead. Many of the moving parts squeaked, especially the steering wheel and gear shifter. The linkage for reverse is difficult to find, but I learned how to massage the shifter into the correct position. I was warned it’s not watertight, and I’m glad the forecast for my next day with this 21-window Microbus was mostly clear. Mostly, we just fawned over this piece of history, despite its faults.Īnd there were some issues with this otherwise gorgeous relic. This included how the windshield opens, how the air vents in from the roof, and how one must manually remove the wipers from their resting position before turning them on, lest they break. The delivery driver - who seemed just as excited as I was - showed me around, pointing out the quirks of this old vehicle. I felt like a child, giddy with excitement as though waking up on my birthday. I’d always wanted to drive one, and Volkswagen had brought this beautiful Bus out from its collection for me to enjoy for a day. I couldn’t help but agree with my vocal admirer - and there are plenty more out there on a warm summer day - but at the moment I was busy just steering this thing, trying to keep it from veering into anything that might mar its collector-quality appearance. “It’s so cute!” a woman yelled from her bike as we passed her through an intersection, the 1967 Volkswagen Type 2 Samba’s air-cooled engine working as hard as it could to maintain a knackering 40-ish mph.
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