Finally... My First Volvo

The fascination began way back in early 1976.

I'm not sure when they started running, but I began to notice commercials for a car from Sweden called the Volvo. In these commercials, they touted the car's safety, by doing things like driving them off of a waterfall and then starting the car up and driving ashore. The only other European imports I had familiarity with were Volkswagens, Mercedes Benz and Porsches (I come from a racing family and we had a good relationship with Brumo's Porsche in Jacksonville). These Volvos weren't much to look at, they were boxy and lacked the refined aerodynamics I had come to expect with some imports, even at age 13. Still, they attracted me.
My friend Shean Toney's father bought a 245GL wagon that year, and finally I had the opportunity to ride in one. It was different to say the least. My mother had an early seventies Delta 88, and my father a brand new Grand Prix. For being smaller than both, the Volvo seemed solid. From that point on, I knew my first car would be a Volvo.

It wasn't. My first car ended up being a 1975 AMC Pacer X (the silver sport model, if you can imagine that), followed by a 1976 Peugeot 504 wagon. Because fate had placed me on the lower rungs of the economics ladder during the eighties, a Volvo would never enter the picture. I went through Datsuns, Toyotas, Fords and Chevies, but not a single Swede in the lot.

When this year arrived, though, I guess I snapped. I was doggedly determined to at last have a Volvo. What I had in mind was a diesel wagon, and in my mind I always pictured it being blue-gray. Didn't matter the year. Just a diesel wagon. Well, a diesel, though any Volvo would do. Again, it was not to be.

The car I spent most of this year with was Enid, my 1986 Chevy Celebrity Eurosport. Not a bad car, a little big for my taste but she ran fine up to the point where she didn't; her transmission bought the farm in early September and thus the car had to be scrapped. I got $25, which I converted into a telescope (another blog). The unexpected death of Enid meant a search for another car was a necessity, especially with my return north.

That's when my first Volvo finally entered my life.

This car appeared on Craigslist for the incredible sum of $350. It was actually one of the Volvo models I was most interested in as a teenager, a 264GL (I had wanted a 262 originally, but the Bertone styling came with a heftier price tag. Besides, even then I knew I'd be carrying things, though at that time I was sure it'd be stuff like keyboards, guitars and amps). This one is a 1978, and you'd think for that price I'd be getting a clunker. Externally, she is pretty rough. But, she only has 45300 miles on the odometer; mechanically, she is extremely sound.

Here's the story. This is only a two owner car. The first owner bought her in the spring of 1978, a mature woman. As the old saw goes, she literally drove the car only for shopping and local running about. Sometime in the mid eighties, she backed into a garage and damaged the rear and hatch. The car was only run intermittently after that and finally parked around 1991. There it sat until this year when the owner, now in her eighties, donated it to the Salvation Army. They restored the car enough to make it sellable. Its next owner purchased her in September, but due to a family emergency had to return west where the motor vehicle laws are more stringent, so the car had to be sold yet again. That's when I found her.

The years of sitting idle have taken their toll on this car. The finish is faded, the metallic sea green pitted and chipping in spots. There is rust in a few places, and of course the aforementioned rear end damage. The interior was left to deteriorate as well, the seats torn in numerous places. On Sunday one of the hood hinges broke due to it seizing and rust. Still, mechanically, she runs. The engine sounds good, strong, and there are plenty of horses still under the hood. The transmission fluid does need to be drained and the filter replaced. But aside from cosmetics, this car has plenty of potential. In short, I have a new hobby; restoring my car.

"Inga" (a good Nordic name for a car from Gothenburg), my first Volvo, arrived 28 years late. Like me, she's a little rough for wear. And like me, she still has plenty of miles to go.

My first Volvo. I'm happy.

A Rescuer Learns

I've never been truly alone. I've been surrounded by people my whole life, coming first from a large family (middle child of seven), then going into a marriage at age twenty and following that with another. No real alone time. The closest I came was while I was in basic training for the Army, and even then I was surrounded by a couple hundred guys, eight to a room.

In short, I've never really been a bachelor.

Right now, I am, sort of.

So far, it has allowed me to ruminate on things I have done, and seem to continue to do. One thing, in particular, is a fondness for fixing things, or caring for things that have been put aside, unloved and/or discarded. Most of my computers fall into that category, including the Macintosh G3 that I am writing this on. Even my recently acquired Volvo is a discard, a donation to the local Salvation Army and in need of some major body work (though it runs beautifully, and the subject of a future blog). I suppose that my place is caring when others don't. To me, there is still plenty of use in these items, they are not bad and in fact are quite nice, to me at least. This makes me a rescuer, plain and simple, a badge I wear with pride.

And it is a badge that carries a price, for I am that way about many of my relationships as well. It's not enough for me to just be a friend. I have to be a doctor, a lawyer, a confidant, a therapist. I try to be a fixer, a healer, even when it is not necessary. Is this wrong?

Sometimes. Sometimes, all people need is someone to listen to them, to talk to, to not be talked to (or at). I'm good at that, don't get me wrong. I'm a listener. The problem, though, has been that I can't just listen... I have to pretend to be an oracle, which I clearly am not. The lessons I've learned in this life have been shaped strictly by my experiences, from my viewpoint, and let's face it, I am clearly not like anyone else; none of us are, really.

It's taken me being alone and dealing with myself, my own demons, to realize that I do not have the answers. I can be a friend, an ear and a consoler. But I am not an oracle... I am just a man. And a man with flaws. You see, my rescuing was an attempt to hide the fact that I have emptiness and pain, and rescuing others allowed me to help myself by helping others. Only I wasn't.

As I look at the things I've rescued, the truth comes out; sometimes, not everything can be rescued. Who really needed rescuing, this whole time, was me.

The Lost Art Of Walking

(Written on the morning of 6 October...)

I'm a little beat right now but I'll write this anyway as it is still sharply implanted in my mind.
We here in the west take a strange view on things that other cultures simply look upon as common place. One of the saws I heard over and over again was "everybody has a car." Okay, granted, many of us in the west do. The truth is that human powered transportation is still the predominate form of travel on this planet.
Human powered transportation translates into bicycling or walking. Today, let's focus on walking, the oldest form of locomotion that humans have. This week, I decided to undertake this for of travel mainly out of necessity, due to the fact that my 20 year old car died a few weeks back. In order to adapt to this mode of transportation, certain lifestyle changes had to be made. First was finding a place to live that would be central not only to my job but to common immenities like markets and bus lines for those times that I would need to travel further. For those of us who have had the pleasure of living in New England, one of the first things you notice about those smaller towns is the fact that everything is centralized. Keep in mind when most of these towns were built, a time when most people would be getting around by foot. Litchfield, Connecticut is a good example, but even here in Florida some small towns and cities such as St. Augustine also reflect this. Today, thanks to suburban sprawl, we are often miles from even basic necessities; this lifestyle doesn't work in that setting, obviously.
Next was a change of habits, namely my sleep schedule. I would need to get as much sleep as possible to be in good enough form to walk. Seven to eight hours are preferable. Got six last night, and the lactic acid build up that I didn't sleep off is making its presence known this morning.
Finally, dietary changes. No, this isn't to lose weight. But one thing I learned in my youth was that it was very hard to walk any distance when I had eaten too much. Seriously, you end up feeling pretty bad.
A few additional things that I've learned this morning -
1. Everything is within walking distance - Plan accordingly and give yourself plenty of time. This is transportation, not a race. Which brings me to...
2. This IS transportation, not exercise - You'll get the exercise anyway by doing this, but if you are going to be walking to work, you need to pace yourself. Your work is your goal, not losing an additional 5 pounds this month.
3. Walk into traffic - This seems counterintuitive, but some of us out there seem to derive perverse pleasure in making pedestrians targets to such things as a small order of fries aimed at the head (been there). You need to see what is coming, whether it is airborne fast food or a tractor trailer losing control.
4. The destination is the goal, not what's behind you - as in life, it is pointless to keep looking behind you while you are walking to work or anywhere else. Keep your eye on the goal, but...
5. Be aware of your surroundings - Keep your head level and be alert. You're not in one of those shiney metal boxes whizzing along the roads, you are truly a soft target.

It took me thirty minutes to walk this today. I'm a little beat, but I did it. I figure that if the Lakota, the Masai and millions of other people can do it, so can I. Besides, in a tip of the hat to point #2, I could use the exercise.