The Great Volkswagen Race

I was 19 when I bought my second Karmann Ghia. It was the best of the three Ghias I've owned. It was a 69 model and supposedly had a mere 54 hp engine but it was faster than any little car around Cedar Rapids, including the English sports cars. The salesman told me a young woman had driven it at college. The non-stock equalized header exhaust system made me doubt his story. Somebody had tinkered with this car and apparently they knew what they were doing.

My friend Joe and some of our co-workers rented a house together where they had some impressive parties. I arrived at one such party and parked my Ghia on the street behind Joe's VW Beetle. Joe was a pretty good bug mechanic and he had tweaked his car a bit, too.

Before I got to the door I was confronted on the porch by a couple of partiers who desired that I partake with them of their inebriant of choice. I did so. I then entered the house and ran into some co workers just inside the door. They, too offered me some kind of inebriant, which I had a taste of. I then asked where Joe was adn they directed me to the kitchen. Before I got to the kitchen I encountered more revelers with more inebriants and shared a little with them.

By the time I got to the kitchen I was beginning to feel a little bit of a buzz. The revelers in the kitchen handed me some new kind of inebriant while informing me that Joe had gone upstairs.

I didn't find Joe on the second floor but I found other people who offered me other kinds of inebriants and who told me that Joe had gone further upstairs. On the third floor, after sharing some more inebriants with the partiers there I was told that Joe was on the roof. I was directed to go through a bedroom, to climb out the window and up a shingled overhang to the flat roof above. I did so.

On the roof I found my friend Benny holding a bottle of El Toro tequila. I helped him reduce its contents then stood on wobbly legs to look for Joe. He saw me first.

"Howie!" "Joe!" "Howie!" "Joe!" We did one of our many stupid greetings routines. He was one of very few people I ever let call me Howie. It all began with our "Hello, Joe." "Howdy, Howie." greeting. I had to let him call me Howie or it wouldn't sound right.

Joe was sitting on the edge of the roof at the front of the building. I joined him and had some of whatever was being passed around. We looked down at the street and at our two Volkswagens parked across the street.

Suddenly Joe got very excited and animated. He had just had a wonderful, terrible idea. His idea was that we have a race. We would race down off the roof, through the house, out to the street, into our cars, drive to the nearest bar, drink one draft beer, then return to our cars to drive back to the party and race back up to the roof.

I do not remember my reaction to his suggestion. But I do remember that I agreed to the race.

Someone yelled Go! and Joe shot across the roof me with me right behind him. He slid down the shingles on his butt and hit the balcony. I didn't have any better idea so I did the same. He took a shortcut across the bed so I did the same. We sailed down the steps two or three at a time as I was a leggy 6' 2" and he was an even leggier 6' 4". Joe bellowed "Gangway!" or something like that and the crowd downstairs parted before us. We sailed out the door and off the porch ignoring the steps. I hauled it with everything I had and got to my Ghia at the same moment Joe got to his beetle.

Unfortunately, My car was locked and his was not, so he was firing up his engine and lurching off already by the time I was in my seat. But the Ghia fired right up and her tires squealed as she tore off after the bug. I caught up to Joe before the block was up, just in time to see him turn the wrong way up a one-way street. He was taking an illegal shortcut to the bar. I followed.

Joe parked, illegally of course, right in the bar's driveway. I had no choice but to park behind him. I shut off the engine and ran toward the bar door as Joe opened it. As I passed his car I heard the engine running. I could have stolen his keys or locked his door but I'm not a rat.

I entered the bar right on Joe's heels as he loudly and quickly demanded a beer because we were in a race. I said "make that two!" as Joe slammed a handful of change on the counter and I discovered a hole in my pocket where my wallet was supposed to be. The slide down the roof had shredded my pocket!

No time to worry about that now. I fished less than fifty cents out my pocket. Fortunately, that bar was selling thirty cent draft beer that night. Joe slammed his beer in about two big gulps and slammed his glass on the bar. I never could guzzle and had to just swallow as fast as I could. By the time I finished Joe was almost to his car.

I ran like hell and fired up the Ghia in time to see Joe turn a corner. I flew after him and caught up to him just as he got behind some slow-moving old-timer. Joe just floored it and passed the guy, so I had to do the same.

I stayed on Joe's tail because there was no way to safely pass him. We finally pulled in front of his house and bailed out, hauling ass toward the house. Cheers exploded from the roof of the party house which now contained about half of the guests. Joe stayed in front of me but I was right behind him, all the way back up the stairs. As we leaped back over the bed on the way to the roof I retreived my wallet, which had fallen there.

Back up on the roof we were both congratulated and back-slapped and handed all kinds of inebriants to celebrate. We also learned that when we first sailed out of the building, everyone downstairs wondered what Joe had done to me to make me chase him out of the house like that.

Joe won the race without question. I would not have broken half the laws he did, had he not done so first. And he was crazy enough to have passed me while I was being law-abiding and responsible. Anyway, it was more fun and exciting the way it worked out.

About a year later I was going into the Army and Nancy was so pregnant that she couldn't drive the Ghia. I traded it for an American car with more belly room.