Van of terror

We Rugglets experienced a variety of vehicles of varying levels of class and volume. The earliest I remember are the White Chrysler Le Baron and the tan 1977 Buick Estate Wagon (red vinyl interior? You bet! More stories on it later, I'm sure). They are both deserving of their own posts - I'm looking at you, Andy, with the various throttle fun you had.

But we outgrew our big-pimpin' wagon. There are only so many people you can fit in a 7-seat car before it starts getting unsafe. So we upgraded to the 1985 blue Ford Econoline van - our Mormon Assault Vehicle. It was blue on the outside, and possibly blue-er on the inside. It had the V8 to make the Mustang drivers jealous. 5.0? Please. 351 all the way!

There was all sorts of genuine fun and madness ensuing constantly. Vacations were downright roomy! Well, if you don't need legroom. We are tall folks - what vehicle short of a limo or luxury car has rear legroom for 6-footers? But we could have a spot open on each row to at least provide elbow room. Mom and Dad probably won't like hearing this, but we could alternate who would lay on the floor and who was on the seats. You grab your old-school music-playing implement of choice, lay down, and rock out! Or read.

Once - I think after Andy had already left home, Craig and I sat in the back row on the way to Tim and Joann's making various projectiles out of some weird wax to shoot out of my blowgun (Thanks, Uncle Tim). We were going for highest pain quotient for the future twin hunting we had planned. We made slugs, and hollow-points, and the more traditional ogive (normal bullet shape). Then, I would have Craig pull up the leg of his shorts and shoot him in the thigh to gauge his reaction and get his feedback. In the end, the projectiles may have been a bit heavy, limiting the range, but they did their work as the twins can attest.

The van never embarrassed me like the wagon. Not that I remember, anyway. That being said, it occasionally sputtered and backfired. The backfires were dramatic as the exhaust developed some crack or something. People in the hood would duck and wonder who bought the light cannon on the black market for Mud Alley use. Andy figured out how to make it backfire on command. It was quite impressive. I remember him doing that in Pecan Grove as we were passing people - awesome.

That exhaust crack had another upshot: we could hear and feel Mom approaching home from a LONG way away. The frequency of the trembling would tell you how fast she was going - and we could literally feel her slow to turn off Mennonite Rd onto Powerline, and slow again to turn onto Mourning Dove. By the time she turned into the driveway, we were bouncing along the floor (where we tended to lie to watch TV for some reason). Except usually we would use the advance warning to do the chores Mom would assign before leaving home. There weren't many chores we couldn't accomplish in her last mile home.

Craig and Mike Lowe didn't believe us that you could feel our van approach. Once though, Craig (brother) and I were at the Lowe's after some activity at the Crane's/Thayne's. When the Blue Whale rumbled down the road and it made every piece of furniture in their full-foundation home tremble and sway - the higher the furniture, the more the swaying - and they had incredulous looks on their faces as they looked outside to see our MAV approach the complex.

I never drove that monster - but I'm not sad. I am a tiny car person in the end. It is weird. I have long realized it is weird that I like small cars in light of me being Texan, but I never realized until just now that it is counter to my automotive experiences in my youth. Maybe it is for me like leftovers for Andy. I think it is for purely nerdy physics reasoning, but I have to wonder. Anyway - that was a good one. Until it started sucking more than was worth trying to fix and we got rid of it. But it was good till then.

Except for the single-digit gas mileage. There is a little hole in the ozone that I think belongs to us...