The flight of the Volkswagon

[teach1st]

I've spent my day here in Florida hitting the online surf cameras along the East coast, monitoring the waves and conditions. Miami had the only consistantly rideable surf, and any surf in Miami is a big deal. Surf in Miami is relatively rare; large surf is an event. The TV raincoat people have remarked about the stupidity of those trying to surf in near-hurricane conditions, and it might seem stupid to anybody who has never surfed. To an experienced surfer, it's a calculated risk, usually well worth it. Iit is true, however, that many surfers are just kids, inexperienced and foolhardy.

Which reminds me of my adolescent days in Miami during a period of years when hurricane conditions occurred more frequently than they have in the past twenty years.

A hurricane was approaching (I have no idea which one, or if it ever actually landed). I had long, wild hair, a surfboard, a freaky and poorly maintained purple Volkswagon bug named Heidi, and absolutely no sense of what constitutes real danger. Being an adolescent and a stoner to boot, I was invincible. I'm guessing now that the winds were gusting to about 40 or 50 mph and I know the rain was hitting like needles when my friend, Howie, called and suggested going surfing. Well, why the hell not? I strapped my board on top of Heidi, picked up Howie and his board at the corner near his house (his parents forbade him to go surfing that day, so he snuck out) and off we went, into the teeth of the storm we hoped would provide us with an often-denied-in-Miami surfing thrill.

Miami is like most Florida communities in that there are causeways from the mainland to the beach islands. Our route that day took us over a rather steep drawbridge. Howie and I were busy passing a joint of ratweed among us and grooving to a Mountain tape (yes, it was an eight-track) and I wasn't paying much attention to the road - until it became obvious that Heidi was airborne. Airborne! We were flying. No wheels on the road. Apparently, the wind under the surfboards as we approached the apex of the drawbridge provided enough lift to cancel the contract Heidi had with gravity. I was stoned and oblivious to any danger that flying in a Volkswagon might present. I laughed and stupidly turned the steering wheel back and forth like a child pretending to drive a car, an act which prompted Howie to look out the window. Howie was not amused. He freaked out.

We did land perfectly, although we swerved some after the landing. I have no idea how long we were airborne. The flight of the Volkswagon resides perfectly in our memories, though, more than thirty years later. Leslie West of Mountain belting out the words to Nantucket Sleigh Ride. The joint falling to the floor of the Heidi, right next to the gearshift. The steering wheel going back and forth with absolutely no effect on Heidi's path. Howie's screams and my laughing. I stopped the car on the shoulder of the causeway once we made it off the bridge and we sat there for a long time, music playing, joint smoldering, but not speaking at all. All we could do was look at each other and shake.

Neither of us remember if we actually went surfing that day. We don't even remember arriving at the beach. We have no clue if Howie got in trouble on our return. All that we remember from that day is that we had piloted a flying purple Volkswagon in a hurricane and lived.

[liberalmuse]

1. LMAO!!!

That is hilarious! Thanks for sharing.

[Waverley_Hills_Hiker]

2. I love it! This is EXCELLENT!...great story...

too cool !