Jumbo & Papa Smurf

The month before I moved to Aptos I had a yard sale during which Rita and I attracted folks with homemade healthy muffins. Whether folks bought the twenty-five cent book or the $50 piece of furniture we asked them if they’d like a muffin with that. Nearly everyone said yes – and at the end of the day we had sold more than fifty dollars worth of low-sugar blueberry muffins along with $600 or so worth of “one man’s trash”. That day I also sold my first piece of art. It was a piece from my art therapy collection and depicted three black circles filled in with yellow. Simple but pretty cool. The fellow who bought it, John Strahan, was also an artist. A photographer. When he asked me how much the piece was, I said I didn’t know. He told me that artists should never underestimate their artwork and should stand firmly behind its “value”. He said that if one’s art speaks to someone else, nearly any price is a steal. John paid $100 for my piece then returned later to give me one of his shots. A black and white scene from a part of under-construction midtown Sacramento. He asked that I hang it in my new home, which I did, and it’s been there ever since.

The proceeds from that sale burnt through my pocket and that night I bought a replacement VW Vanagon for $1000. My first Vanagon, a 1985 acquired from an enthusiast in Auburn (I think?) died as I drove home from the 2007 running of the Silver State 50-Miler. It was cruising along nicely until Donner Pass when it started sputtering. The dashboard gauges didn’t provide any indication that it was on the fritz so when it stopped accelerating and suddenly overheated I was very surprised. The van, named Jumbo (say, “Yum-bo”) by Rita was breathing hard and the prognosis wasn’t good. The moment turned into many hours and an eventual rescue by Rita. Yes, she drove all the way from Sacramento to Donner Pass to scoop up her stranded boyfriend. And the next day did it again as we attempted to retrieve Jumbo who seemed content to sit on the side of the road with a “don’t tow me” note in the window. We eventually did have to tow it. Initially using Rita’s AAA free 50 mile tow which got it to Roseville. Then I had to pay to tow it a second time which cost me exactly the same amount of money I had won two days prior while killing time, pre-race, in Reno, NV. When all was said and done I sold it for half of what I paid for it ($500) to a butch Midtown couple who planned to make it biodiesel. Cool. Two years later I started receiving collection notices for unpaid parking tickets. Seemed that the ladies neglected to register the vehicle in their name and parked it illegally for a fair span of time. I cleared it up but still think this was very lame of them. Biodiesel or not.

My replacement Vanagon looked ridiculous. The kid who had it apparently decided that the stock blue/grey color wasn’t for him so he spray painted directly over it with, in my opinion, a rather hideous shade of blue. Like a smurf. To liven things up he gave it an eyeballed black racing stripe. From a distance it looked like it had possibly scraped up against something and accidentally got that mark. Though externally it was an aesthetic mess, internally it was in pretty good shape per my new Mechanic at Black Rock Auto in Sacramento. The owner of Black Rock could have raked me and I would have let him. I knew how old Vanagons aged and expected to pay upwards of $500 or so to work out some of the kinks. But he insisted that it looked “pretty good” and a coolant flush and oil change would square it away. Sure, over the next two years I needed some additional service on it. Some done at Black Rock Auto and some at the Old Volks Home in Soquel, CA (near Santa Cruz). But hey, such is normal with Vanagons. That ugly van was the best vehicular investment I’ve ever made. And yes, it too had a name. Rita christened this one “Papa Smurf” for obvious reasons.

Besides being the greatest business vehicle in that he hauled loads of stuff countless times for my store, Papa Smurf had his name in lights for a spell. Per usual, Fleet Feet Sports Aptos was constantly being hit up by local advertising agencies to take part in shopping center ads, newspaper coupons, etc. Since I never was convinced that print ads drew business in our store, I always told the reps in advance that they needn’t waste their time on me. In the meantime I had made mention in a few of my email newsletters that if ever any of my customers saw my beater blue van (Papa Smurf) in the parking lot, it meant I was in the store and happy to help them get fit, even if it was outside of business hours. A few took me up on this. The most memorable being an 11:30 pm fitting of a customer leaving town the next day who remembered what my newsletter said. I was happy to help…but I digress. Anyhow, the shopping center’s advertising agency received my typical response – but when the actual ad was published it inadvertently featured Fleet Feet. Or, at least it featured what had become a local symbol of Fleet Feet. Papa Smurf. The Rancho Del Mar shopping center had taken a beautiful photo of their newly constructed concrete sign, situated on the parking island between Fleet Feet Sports and the Aptos Coffee Roasting Company. The sign was prominent in the photo, but so was my van. Many customers came in my store and mentioned that they’d seen my hooptie in print. Advertising without advertising. That’s cool. Papa Smurf represented Fleet Feet Sports in Aptos. But not everyone was a fan.

Twice Papa took one on the chin for being who he was. He didn’t care how he looked. He just plugged away and got me from A to Z without issue. I never washed him and he didn’t mind. I never locked him and he kept thieves at bay. He enjoyed working for the sake of working. Just like his owner. A few times customers would comment on his lack of visual appeal. Within his earshot they exclaimed that I needed a nicer car. In fact, it went something like this – “Wow Tom, your van really has seen better days. You really oughtta get yourself a new ride.” I hushed them then and I hush them still. That van was motivated to do good and had character. We should all be able to describe ourselves in such a way. Unfortunately, some non-believers felt stronger than others.

Papa Smurf was violated one night. A night I choose to refrain from gathering all the gory details. The end result was a shattered back window and an apple-sized rock sitting on the blue shag within. I assumed that the vandalism was a one-time incident resulting from drunk knuckleheads drinking too much at the nearby shady bar poorly named The Mediterranean. But a month later when I noticed more of the same rocks alongside the van, all scarred with blue paint, I knew that someone was out to bring harm upon Papa Smurf. Evil doers for sure. Papa held off this second attack pretty well. The shots to the driver window only chipped the glass, and the door dents were unnoticeable. The side mirror, however, wasn’t as lucky and shattered within its casing. I assume that the 7 years of bad luck that come with breaking a mirror will be directed to the rock throwers rather than to the car owner. It’s only logical.

When I took the job offer in North Carolina to work for the Specialty Retail Development Company (SRDC) within Fleet Feet, Inc., I had to quickly figure out Papa’s future. I brought him to the Van Café (formerly Volk’s Café) in Santa Cruz and worked with Peter. Peter said he’d like to take my money, but this .old ’85 simply wasn’t worth fixing. In fact, he was surprised how well it had done under the circumstances. He agreed that I had a “good one”, but also advised me to unload it rather than drive it cross country when I moved. I was bummed but not surprised. I appreciated his honesty wholeheartedly and was bummed I wouldn’t have a chance to work more with Peter and the Van Café. On my way home I got Papa smogged. He passed. Then two days later he started sputtering on the freeway. I u-turned and managed to barely drive him home solely in third gear. I parked him in front of my house, placed an ad on Craigslist, and sold him for my asking price to the first fellow who looked at him – John Orehek of German Motorwerks in the Monterey Bay area. A few days later John sent me a few photos of an upgraded Papa. New bumper, new window, and apparently some new guts to keep him happy on the freeway again. I only regret that I forgot to take off my license plate rim noting my finishing of the Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run. But what the hell, Papa still has a piece of me just like I will always carry with me a piece of him.

The cool thing also was that since I had Jumbo I’d been using its middle seat as a “couch” in my apartment. When I sold Papa, I sold him with Jumbo’s middle seat. That John is a lucky guy to have such good juju in a VW Van, and vice versa.