The Tail End of Tinseltown (Dec'08 #18)

In '80, my buddy Rudie and I decided it was time. Time to try our hand at the big time, time to put our dreams on sale. Time to move to LA. At the time, we shared possession of a 1969 VW panel van (see pic). The "VW" emblem had fallen off the front long ago and any sign it had ever been attached to the dark metallc blue finish had log faded...so when curious admirers asked what kind of van it was, I always said "a Porsche."
Near everything we owned was packed on board, leaving enough room for a double mattress and box springs, suspended from the central internal frame. Truly a motel on wheels. This was the final leg of a month long oddessy that began in Fort Myers, FL...ran northward thru the Kentucky Derby, Ohio's Bowling Green State University, North to Canada and back to the hometown of Lewisburg, OH. We had a lot of people to see!
But finally, after a month of catching up we were ready. Rudie, me and our kitten "King Horse" headed westward, with big dreams and big smiles. This was it, the great "move" we had spoke of since college.
Dropped off a friend in Boulder, CO, and stayed at a hippie shack on the side of a mountain for a few days (Boulder may be the real city of dreams) and headed out for the final leg. Swung thru Vegas, and stopped for a few hours to see what squandering money was like. And now the last stretch....next stop, the city of angels.
Of course, this is where fate intervenes.
We had just crossed the CA state line and were crusing through the mountain deserts on interstate 15. I was marvelling at thunderstorms on the southern horizon, so tiny in the distance. Speed dropped a bit on one of the inclines, so I downshifted. The old VW 4 cyl did not like that choice one bit. The van lurched and lost speed immediately. Fortunately, we had just passed a rest stop, and I was able to coast backward, roll off the interstate by way of the on ramp, and get the vehicle into a parking spot. The thing was dead. the starter would click, but the engine would not turn over. This was ominously serious. Stranded in the CA desert.
That's when we met Chuck. He was returning to LA from vacationing at his parents in Idaho, and was about out of gas money. Trip planning aside, don't know where the story might have led if we had not met. Certainly not as interesting. The three of us decided to go to Baker, about 20 mi SW and get a tow bar. We hopped in his '70 Camaro and were off.
Baker, as I remember, is a rather non-descript, sweaty desert town. We did not have too much trouble finding the local U-haul, but we did have indigestion at the $150 rental/ $500 deposit fee for the towbar. Long before a credit card glimmered in my eye, that would put too big a dent in the available funds. To consider other options, we went to a local tavern right next to where we got off rt. 15 to nurse a few brews. On overhearing our towbar dilemma, one of the bar's regulars - a one legged man - popped up and said "I've got a rope!" Sure, that method of transport would be frowned on by the Highway Patrol, but the risk seemed minor compared to the cash crunch.
We drove back to the rest stop, rope in hand, making the illegal "U" turn to get back on the SW bound side. Secured rope to car and van and headed down the on ramp, back to the highway. I was at the wheel of the van, King Horse clinging curiously to my leg. After about a mile, I noticed we were on a downhill stretch that seemed to go for awhile, so I flagged Chuck over. We would untie the rope for now, and let the van coast until we needed more tow. The next 20 minutes were perhaps some of the most amusing of my life. The van started coasting. 10...15...20 mph. acceleration continued 30...40...at 50 I merged out of the median and back on the highway. 60...70...by now, I was passing semi trucks in the left lane, still coasting with gravity as engine. I made exit at Baker, rolled up the exit ramp, gradually slowing, rolled thru the stop sign and into the tavern parking lot about 200 ft away, never again using the rope!
With the van secured by the tavern owners permission, we headed off to LA with Chuck. He managed an Anheuser-Busch beer can warehouse and promised he could give Rudie and I at least a couple week's work, an offer we were more than thankful for. In LA, we were able to get the towbar rented at a much more reasonable rate, Chuck took us back out to get the van. In a bad omen, King Horse was gone, even though we had left food, water and a liter pan in the van...the slightly opened window must have been just enough to enable his escape. Towed the van back to LA and got it to a shop, only to find out it had sucked a valve through the cylinder wall - repairs estimated at $ 1,800. Crap
Chuck lived in a converted garage rental with another roomate, and we stayed there with him a few nights, but the landlord told him "no way". Chuck was nice enough to take us 'round LA and hollywood...we went body surfing in the Pacific, walked Hollywood Blvd - but reality ws starting to impinge as cash dwindled. Pretty hard to find a job when you have no phone and your address is the broken down van in the beer can warehouse parking lot. It's true - nobody walks in LA
I sold most stuff to survive...the vinyl stockpile bought me another week...but when it came down to it, I turned tail and headed back to familiar territory. Rudy opted to stay, claiming it was the best place he'd ever been - yet wound up back in OH as well in a few months. Our friendship shattered, I saw him one last time DJing a club...