Late in the early winter of our first year as newlyweds, we bought a used Volkswagen bug from our landlord, who owned the local dealership, to replace the Ford which had been repaired a short time before. Although we were able to drive the rehabilitated vehicle, the Fairlane, from its first days, had major electrical problems. It, also, had limited gasoline milage and unlimited ongoing costs that grew rapidly. Mr. Ripley offered us a good exchange for turning the old black-and-white-four-door into a small, gray bug.
It was a real challenge learning how to drive a manual-shift car on the hills of Ithaca. On the way back from the dealer, a fellow graduate student sitting next to me, worked the handbrake while I managed the clutch and footbrake. It took several hours of gear-stripping before I could manage most of the streets in College Town. It was much easier along West Shore Drive.
Then came January 2 of 1959. The bug, we called “Fritz,” was located in a one-car garage at the bottom of a long driveway leading up a hill to the main highway. The garage was perpendicular to the driveway. The driveway was coated with thick ice, not uncommon in Ithaca for much of the year. We needed a running start to get up the hill to the road. We believed the only way to get the car into position would be to push it out, by hand, from the garage to the bottom of the driveway. After all, the bug did not weigh very much and would be easy to push and maneuver into a position for that running start.
This procedure worked for the first three feet or so. However, when the tires came in contact with the ice outside of the garage, the vehicle continued to move backwards. We had forgot about momentum.
Somehow, I was behind “Fritz” as his slightly turned steering wheel caused him to head rapidly toward an eight-foot drop-off beside the garage. I have never known how I jumped down that cliff to the ground below. Or how the steering wheel had been turned to exactly the right position to allow “Fritz” to be caught by his rear fender on the garage’s foundation and become suspended above me, instead of falling on top of me. There he remained, until a tow-truck hauled him back onto the driveway, and we made the needed running start to get to the main road. The adventure cost only $6.00 for the tow and the repair to the fender – much cheaper than would have been the payment for broken bones or worse!
A short time later, Karen and I were driving “Fritz” back to Ohio for a visit. We pulled into a rest-stop, along the New York Thruway, for a lunch break. Afterwards, as we were leaving, we noticed that the bug had a flat tire for the wheel which had been trapped by the concrete that had supported the corresponding fender in January. We managed to drive the vehicle into the service section of the rest-stop. A few moments later, a well-dressed gentleman with a thick German accent came up to us. He said: “I am from Volkswagen. Can I help you?” We explained the tire needed to be replaced and what we thought had been the cause for its collapse. He responded: “Och, the company does not replace tires. That is up to you. Auf Wiedersehen!” A VW engineer may be everywhere, but not necessarily with a free tire.