Looking out my Backdoor: The little red VW bug fantasy

“Mom, are you having a mid-life crisis?” asked my daughter.

“I can’t have a mid-life crisis. I’m too old.”

“Last week a dog. This week a car. What are you thinking?”

It wasn’t really even my own idea. When I first moved to Mexico, I lived in Mazatlan, a large city with excellent public transportation. I soon realized I didn’t need a car. Buses and pulmonias and taxis were easy, cheap to use, and could get me anywhere I wanted to be.

It’s not the same here in Etzatlan, but I still manage, plus I don’t have the care and feeding of an automobile I’d seldom use anyway.

Blame Leo and Ariel. Ariel has enhanced and sold several older vehicles in the few years I’ve been here. He is exacting and persnickety. Anything he fixes is fixed! The little red VW Bug is late ’90s with new seats, a new engine, and, purrs like the fluttering of a Beetle’s wings. Ariel decided he wants to sell it and Leo, my gardener, decided I should buy it.

“If I buy a car,” I told Leo, “I would have the upkeep, care and feeding of the beast and could not afford the upkeep, care and feeding of the garden.”

“Oh,” said Leo, exiting, stage right.

An idea planted is an idea difficult to ignore.

That night, with my dog Lola in the passenger seat, her head sticking out the window, ears flapping in the breeze, we made a fantasy road trip. With my stack of maps, you know, the old-fashioned paper kind, in my lap, we drove through Mexico, crossed the border at Sonayta into Arizona.

From there we took the roads less-traveled, made our way over to California and up the coast to Washington and eventually over the mountains into Montana, all with frequent stops and stays. I don’t remember returning. I think I fell asleep.

In the morning I walked around the corner to talk with Ariel, sat in the car, fiddled with the controls, started the engine, opened the hood and the boot, pretended knowledge I don’t have.

“Maybe,” I said. “Let me talk to my kids.”

I raised Dee Dee and Ben to be more sensible than I am, less likely to make a snap decision. Surprisingly, both said they thought it might be a pretty decent deal for me. They had good suggestions. They both liked the aspect of being more independent. Suggested I make a list of pros and cons. Ben said to make sure the cramped space and using the standard transmission would not make my damaged leg hurt. And he asked, “Have you talked it over with Lola?”

So this afternoon Lola and I took a pretend trip through town. While we don’t have street lights, we have a proliferation of topes. A tope is a speed bump, high and wide. City driving plus speed bumps requires a lot of shifting up, down, back and forth. This is all imagination. I’m simply lifting my foot onto the imaginary clutch, pushing against imaginary pressure. After a few minutes, I felt a huge disappointment and minor pain.

In the morning I’ll go back over to see Ariel. I want to sit in the bug again, and push in the clutch a few times, maybe take it for a drive to Oconahua.

I’m leaning away from the cute little red bug, with a sigh of disappointment, knowing what care has been put into its restoration.

I’m leaning toward something with an automatic transmission. I’m not in a hurry. I don’t think a road trip is too wise for me at this time. Lola said she is willing to wait. She thinks a small pickup truck might be fine.

Mid-life crisis, indeed!

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].