I’ve owned three Volkswagon Beetles, two 69’s and a 70, and my Mom had a 67’ when I was a teenager. They had the most temperamental clutches, and they were gutless wonders, but they did get me from point A to B. The first 69’ I owned, I drove 100+miles every day when I commuted to Beauty College, and work after school. In eleven months I put over 36,000 miles on it. Then I totaled it, driving too fast, losing control and going up an embankment on the lefthand side of a two lane country road. I went through a barbed wire fence, one of the fence posts went through the windshield, straight for my head, I could hear in whistle past my right ear while the car rolled three times ,and landed on the drivers side. The impact spun me around in the seat, even though I was belted in, the key broke off on my wrist, and I couldn’t hear for about a minute, like I’d been in an explosion. Then I heard the radio blaring, “ You’re Mama Can’t Dance and You’re Daddy Don’t Rock and Roll”. The engine was still running and I had a full tank of gas that was pouring all over the dry field I landed in. I couldn’t turn off the engine, because the key had broken off.
I managed to climb out the passenger door that was facing up at the sky. Aside from big bruise all across my back from the steering wheel and some minor cuts on my face the only real injury I had was a broken big toe on my left foot, probably from trying to gear down when I realized I was losing control,and my left shoe was nowhere to be found. The rear window had popped out in one, unbroken piece from the fence post that went through the windshield. Years later this injury to my left foot progressed to arthritis in that hip, probably from the joint being jammed during the impact, at least thats what my doctor theorized.
The accident happened less than a mile away from home, and there was a young couple picnicing on the side of the road. They gave me a ride home, where Mom, who was hanging out the laundry began shrieking when she saw me, then proceeded to berate me for driving too fast. Then she and my stepfather drove me the 45 miles to the hospital for x-rays and for the doctor to tape up my broken toe. I was 19 years old.
Volkswagons don’t hold any fond memories for me. But they were dependable and inexpensive cars to own. Good times, huh.
Eddie[this post was last edited: 7/24/2019-23:37]