Pity poor Siegfried the Wonder Bug.
The suspense over who won the US presidential election-still undecided as of this writing-is just killing him.
Faithful readers of this space will recall some of the tales of adventure and derring-do of my 1973 Volkswagen Beetle (OGJ, July 16, 1990, p. 17; Oct. 15, 1990, p. 19; and Apr. 4, 1994, p. 23).
A survivor
Siegfried is well past 320,000 miles now (the cumulative total is uncertain due to an inexplicable 2-year balk in the odometer during mid-1980s commuting in Los Angeles). After coming on the scene as the first new car of a penniless new graduate of journalism school, he has survived 3 tumultuous decades of change in automotive taste, even coming full circle to see his kind reborn and win the masses over again.
Siegfried himself is born again, getting his second complete facelift in as many decades (see photo). He has even survived being driven in recent years exclusively by a male teenager on the wild and unforgiving byways of Houston; weathered a fender-bender that put a small crease in his shiny new fa
Siegfried has even managed to overcome nasty bouts of dyspepsia brought on by a few unwitting encounters with gasohol. And he's pretty confident he can choke down whatever new "clean" fuels refiners are obliged to develop in the years to come-a heady challenge, as the special report that begins on p. 56 illustrates.
Given his advanced years, however, Siegfried has been temporarily idled while he awaits his second heart-uh, engine, that is-transplant. The first engine lasted over 200,000 miles with nary a cough or sputter. Then one day leaded gasoline went the way of disco, leisure suits, and personal accountability, and that first engine soon thereafter gave up the ghost. Coincidence? I think not.
Still, he waits patiently for that snazzy new performance engine from a Mexican VW factory. But he just won't come out from under that car cover right now. Why?
The lurking fear
For all that he has stoically endured, the prospect of an Al Gore presidency has the poor little guy quaking in his pistons.
One would think such stoicism would be accompanied by an apolitical nature. "But," said Siegfried, his valves chattering with fear, "this Gorey guy wants to do away with fossil fuels altogether-he even calls the internal combustion engine 'the No. 1 enemy of mankind.' What's next? A call for a pogrom against all vehicles without politically correct energy sources?"
"Never fear, mein schatz," I reassured him. "Maybe we can get you converted over to run on all those piled-up ballot chads."
I won't repeat his response. You know what they say about Germans and a sense of humor.
