| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 23, 2019 |
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A difficult happening
My Super Beetle
by HarryT
I loved my 1971 red, VW Super Beetle convertible. It was a whole two inches longer than the standard Beetle. The ride was smoother because it had Macpherson struts and coil springs. The standard Beetles were equipped with torsion bars, one could feel every bump. It was gas efficient, and most important girls loved it. I told them it was a German sports car. Sometimes, however, when surrounded by larger cars and hulking trucks, I wondered if my feeling was similar to that of beetle bugs when large humans came looming nearby.
Anyway, one bright summer day, I was tooling along Dundee Road, enjoying the green of the forest preservers when I smelled something strange. An acrid tang penetrated my nostrils. I wondered if some thoughtless person was burning rubber tires. All at once smoke began to rise near the rear of my Super Beetle. I watched in amazement as black puffs of smoke rose, as if from a chugging locomotive, billowing about the interior of my car. Suddenly, the engine died. I was thrown into the steering wheel, the car stood immobile in the middle of the road. Drivers shaking their fists, pulled around me, yelling unkind words.
Luckily, I was near a gas station. Two nice fellas stopped and pushed me into the station. I explained my problem to the attendant. He smiled and said, “Yeah, that happens with some of these foreign cars, their electrical wiring is not up to par." He allowed me to leave the VW overnight. I had it towed and rewired. The dealer apologized profusely, saying the car must have slipped through inspection. The wiring was replaced at no charge. My wife and I enjoyed the Super Beetle convertible until our children came along. Now, I drive a station wagon.
An Automobile Story writing prompt entry
I loved my 1971 red, VW Super Beetle convertible. It was a whole two inches longer than the standard Beetle. The ride was smoother because it had Macpherson struts and coil springs. The standard Beetles were equipped with torsion bars, one could feel every bump. It was gas efficient, and most important girls loved it. I told them it was a German sports car. Sometimes, however, when surrounded by larger cars and hulking trucks, I wondered if my feeling was similar to that of beetle bugs when large humans came looming nearby.
Anyway, one bright summer day, I was tooling along Dundee Road, enjoying the green of the forest preservers when I smelled something strange. An acrid tang penetrated my nostrils. I wondered if some thoughtless person was burning rubber tires. All at once smoke began to rise near the rear of my Super Beetle. I watched in amazement as black puffs of smoke rose, as if from a chugging locomotive, billowing about the interior of my car. Suddenly, the engine died. I was thrown into the steering wheel, the car stood immobile in the middle of the road. Drivers shaking their fists, pulled around me, yelling unkind words.
Luckily, I was near a gas station. Two nice fellas stopped and pushed me into the station. I explained my problem to the attendant. He smiled and said, “Yeah, that happens with some of these foreign cars, their electrical wiring is not up to par." He allowed me to leave the VW overnight. I had it towed and rewired. The dealer apologized profusely, saying the car must have slipped through inspection. The wiring was replaced at no charge. My wife and I enjoyed the Super Beetle convertible until our children came along. Now, I drive a station wagon.
Anyway, one bright summer day, I was tooling along Dundee Road, enjoying the green of the forest preservers when I smelled something strange. An acrid tang penetrated my nostrils. I wondered if some thoughtless person was burning rubber tires. All at once smoke began to rise near the rear of my Super Beetle. I watched in amazement as black puffs of smoke rose, as if from a chugging locomotive, billowing about the interior of my car. Suddenly, the engine died. I was thrown into the steering wheel, the car stood immobile in the middle of the road. Drivers shaking their fists, pulled around me, yelling unkind words.
Luckily, I was near a gas station. Two nice fellas stopped and pushed me into the station. I explained my problem to the attendant. He smiled and said, “Yeah, that happens with some of these foreign cars, their electrical wiring is not up to par." He allowed me to leave the VW overnight. I had it towed and rewired. The dealer apologized profusely, saying the car must have slipped through inspection. The wiring was replaced at no charge. My wife and I enjoyed the Super Beetle convertible until our children came along. Now, I drive a station wagon.
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Writing Prompt Write a story of up to 300 words (no poems) including something to do with an automobile. Fact or fiction, but a car must be mentioned somehow in your story. |
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