(This article was broadcast on WVPE, our local NPR station, on 16 June 2010.)
A Small Camper For A Small World
It’s my brother-in-law’s fault, really. About 7 years ago his wife was given a camper by her parents, who had received it from Grandpa Joe, for whom the camper was dubbed “Joe’s Van”. Their love for that camper was so infectious that we ended up acquiring one the following year. And we became just as smitten with our Volkswagen.
That’s right: we’re the proud owners of a VW camper van, often called a hippie bus, that iconic counter-culture vehicle associated with Woodstock, the anti-Vietnam movement and The Grateful Dead. Although all of that pre-dates our bus, ours is a direct descendant and is regarded as such by young people who treat it with a certain reverence when we drive by. There’s no two ways about it: when we’re driving our bus, we’re cool. Behind the wheel I’m not just a driver, I’m a bus pilot. And so, as the world marks the 60th anniversary of the introduction of the VW bus, I offer you this short primer and a few observations about life over the front wheel.
Unlike American automakers who redesign their products every few years, Volkswagen took 40 years to complete three design cycles for the vehicle officially known as a Transporter. The earliest and best known is called a Splittie by VW connoisseurs, produced through the 1950’s and ‘60’s, named for the vertical post that bisects the windshield. It’s the blue vehicle on the left on “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” album cover. It’s Fillmore in the movie “Cars”. These beauties have become rare with age, thus increasing the monetary value for those vehicles in good or restorable condition. Then came the Bay of the ‘70’s, named for its new single-piece curved windshield; this is the yellow bus that figures prominently in the recent movie “Little Miss Sunshine”, or what the Libyan terrorists drove in “Back To The Future”. These are also disappearing but again are highly prized. Time has yet to bestow upon our ‘80’s vintage Vanagon such an affectionate moniker: it’s just a bus for now, but time changes all things. The Vanagon might be the last model to be called a “bus”, as the ‘90’s brought the Eurovan, a vehicle so close in performance and appearance to a Ford or Chrysler minivan that, well, it’s not a bus anymore; it’s a van.
Buses, like their famous little brother, the Beetle, were originally built to be inexpensive to drive and maintain. It was true of Splitties and Bays, but by the time Vanagons rolled along the VW philosophy no longer held do-it-yourself mechanics in such high esteem. While I enjoy doing my own work on my bus, the parts aren’t cheap, and some are getting scarce.
Fortunately, we belong to a group of bus pilots that, like any good rehabilitation program, comforts and supports its members when the inevitable malfunction occurs. The group, called Buses By The Beach, is a dual-purpose organization that provides a social network for a small sampling of some of the best people in the world and raises funds for The Phoenix Society for Burn Survivors. Twice a year we converge on Grand Rapids, MI from all over the Midwest and Canada to swap stories, maintenance tips, and sometimes buses, as we raise money and awareness for those trying to re-enter society after treatment for often profound burn damage. We’ve seen buses towed to these events just so the owners could attend, make new friends and contribute to a great cause.
Bus pilots, who put up with heatless winter drives, lackluster performance, and fear of dents from overweight junebugs, do indeed receive something in return for their troubles. Unlike American motorhomes, a bus deliberately denies you some of the creature comforts, forcing you to step out and experience new people and places. There’s no such thing as a bus pilot without a story, one who has seen amazing things up in the mountains, down in the Keys, or back in the engine compartment.
