Soon, I got to the point where I could compression start that thing with less than five feet of reverse roll. Many people wouldn’t put up with that kind of disfunctionality in their car. Me? I could relate. My car was a lot like my body. It didn’t work like it should. So, in both cases, I learned to deal with what God had given me and make the best of it.

Both my car and my body have surprising resilience, despite bad genetics and poor design. Sometimes a positive would make up for a flaw. Despite all the risk taking in the Volkswagon it saved my life on at least one occasion. During a period of deep depression I decided to end it all. I understood that it was very difficult to get out of a submersed car, so I figured that drowning should be the suicide mehod I should undertake.

I drove to Wenberg Park on Lake Goodwin and down to the boat ramp. It was a rainy winter day and the park was empty of visitors. I sat alone in the Bug on the rain-slicked ramp, my windshield wipers squeaking across the window. Wind gusted, pushing frothing white capped waves across the expanses of the lake. Rain pelted down in a tin staccato on the roof. I figured it was the perfect weather for ending my life.

Finally, I mustered the nerve to proceed. I threw the car in neutral and released the emergency brake. The bug gained momentum as I plunged toward the lake. I successfully fought back the urge to chicken out and to slam on the brakes at the last second, and the car slammed into the water with a jarring thud. I expected to, at any moment, sink beneath the rocking waves, but, though several minutes passed, the car still rested atop the water. The back wheels, though half submerged, still resting on the concrete ramp.

Eventually, giving up any hope of sinking and drowning, I threw the bug into reverse and slowly backed my way out of the lake. Later I was to discover that VW bugs have a reputation for floating due to the airtight panel on the bottom. This discovery, although ill-timed, I later considered to be rather fortuitous.

The sand pits off of I-5 were the site of more than a few escapades…some of which involved the Volkswagon. It was a piece of land owned by the Tulalip Indian tribe. When the 116th street on and off ramps were built, quite a bit of earth was pulled out of this piece of property for construction purposes. As a consequence, the place was a miniature badlands of pits, hills, and trails. Vegetation had sprouted up in portions of the property so that it varied from washboard flatland to tree covered hillsides. Occasionally adventurous motorcyclists and off-roaders would venture into this little slice of wilderness. Other times, locals who wanted to avoid a garbage fee at the local dump would substitute this piece of property as their own personal dumping ground. More than a few abandoned cars of off-roaders, who’s cars couldn’t hack it, lay hidden in the overgrowth.

Once, a couple long-time friends of mine- Shawn Mrowiec and Rich Jensen accompanied me as I pulled the Volkswagon off the road and barreled down a steep incline to jounce across the rippled earth.

Before long I was barreling along overgrown trails with Steve and Rich hanging off the top of the bug. Vines, branches, and brambles snapped at the car and my two roof top guests. The sun roof was open and Rich kept insisting on grabbing onto the window’s edge.

"Hang on to something else," I yelled to him through the sunroof. "It’ll snap off."

Rich was hanging on for dear life. He wasn’t about to let go of his best possible purchase. I could see the whole sunroof mechanism began to bend so, angry, I grabbed a hold and rolled it shut. Then I veered off into a bunch of bushes.

Moments later, I heard a yell and glanced out the back. I had gone under a tree limb and Rich had been swept off, and was tangled up in the bushes behind me. Steve had the brains and had slid off to the side of the car to stand on the running board. I stopped the car and Rich had a few choice words for me as he extricated himself from the morass of brush he was lodged in.

Shortly thereafter the three of us laughed it off and we promptly left the brush and got the VW stuck in some deep sand. After creating a few Mojave-sized dust storms with my back wheels, I gave up on the idea of powering my way out. Volkswagon bugs aren’t exactly renowned for their raw torque. Finally we had the idea of letting some air out of our back tires. This seemed to do the trick and we managed to flap our way out of the pits and to the nearest gas station for a fresh charge of compressed air.

Another time I went exploring a few logging trails on the reservation with my friend Max, his brother Jason and a group of his video-auteur friends. They took footage of us sliding down a cliff side in the bug, and for good measure Max and Jason were hanging out of the sunroof, so that if something went wrong and we rolled over, they wouldn’t have to worry about any pesky medical bills- because they’d be dead by the time we reached the bottom.