There comes a time in everyone’s life when you find yourself actually being quiet. Sadly, it doesn’t happen nearly often enough for most of us, what with all of the noise and distractions we find ourselves surrounded by at any given point in a day.
Parental responsibilities, jobs, the demands that life places upon us, all conspire to keep our minds and souls occupied and barricaded from our inner selves. However, every now and then a small miracle does take place; we find ourselves inside a moment within a day where we are at peace just long enough to allow our minds to roam free – visiting the past, peering into the future or just existing in the moment. Whenever this happens to me, I find myself thinking about times in my life when I was the happiest. Invariably I think about the summer of ’84.
I remember the summer of 1984 like it was yesterday. I was living in Virginia Beach. It was the first time I had ever spent a summer away from home on my own. I was working at one of the oldest hotels in existence, called the Avamere. It was an East Coast oceanic landmark with a rich history.
The Avamere was one of a handful of remaining vintage hotels on the East Coast, and it was one of the first ones ever built. Sadly, The Avamere was sold and torn down only a few years after my stay there, but my memories of that time are as fresh as ever. If I close my eyes I can be there in an instant. http://www.vbgov.com/sites/libraries/history/hotels_avamere.html
The summer of ’84 was the summer when I fell in love for the very first time. It was the first time I can recall feeling totally comfortable within my own skin. I felt more alive and more like myself than at any other time in my life up to that point, and maybe even up until now. I had so many friends then, and we all had such a wonderful time living and working together at The Avamere. Memories like that would come to sustain me in darker times that would follow, and I am eternally grateful to have had that experience to look back upon. Ironically, pleasant past memories are the fuel for our present. They serve to propel us into a future which is almost always uncertain. Such memories are a Godsend and I have several such memories. But if I were to be honest I would have to say that I have not had enough good memories. I am not really complaining mind you, but I need to say that in order to give meaningful context to what I am about to tell you next.
My father died from cancer in 1990.
My dad had lived a very hard life. Having divorced my mom many years earlier, dad always struggled to get on his feet. Dad did the very best he could to be the best single father he could be, but alcoholism can sabotage the noblest of efforts of the best of men. My father was no exception.
Alcoholism held a firm grip on my father for most of his teenage years and throughout much of his adult life, but with the help of God and AA, my father beat that illness in the mid-80′s and lived the fullest of lives in the very short time he had remaining. For you see, no sooner had my father beaten alcoholism than cancer stepped in to fill its place.
My father fought his illness with all he had, but succumbed to the cancer in 1990 at the age of 54. I was 26 at the time, and a man by most estimations. However, I just was not ready for my dads death. I was not ready to be without him. His death hit me very hard and I struggled to regain my footing. I would eventually come to terms with his passing, as anyone who faces a loss like this usually does, but even now that period in my life is not one I look back on with much joy. It was a sad and painful time. So, you can imagine my despair when, in 1999, I learned that my mother was diagnosed with the same illness that had killed my father almost ten years earlier.
My brother and I were visiting our beloved mother one particular Autumn weekend during the fall of 1999. She had invited us to come visit her in the country, and as always my brother and I were eager to make the trip. We loved spending time together.
Since my brother an I were only an hour up the road, visiting our mom was a ritual that we enjoyed often. Little did we know at the time, however, that on this particular occasion our mother had a secretive reason for the family getting together. This was not going to be an easy visit. Like the summer of ’84, that day in 1999 is a day I remember as though it were yesterday. That was the day my mother told us she had inoperable lung cancer.
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When my father died in 1990, I was adrift. Having graduated from the University of Virginia in 1985, I was far from being the model graduate, yuppy-like businessman. From 1985 to 1990 I bounced from job to job, never finding much meaning in what I did for work. I just was not able to find a niche for myself.
With the passing of my father in 1990, I decided that my best chance for success was back in Charlottesville Virginia. So I chose to move from Richmond back to the town in which I spent four years of my life. It was not easy at first. I actually had to live in my beat up Dodge Colt for a few months, sleeping in it during the nighttime and doing yard work out of it during the day to make ends meet. Luckily, this was a short period of time, and surprisingly I remember it with fondness. I was living by faith and I was surviving!
Eventually, I got a “real” job at a local automobile detail shop, learning a wonderful skill that would come to serve me well in the years ahead. It was during that time that I developed a love for cars. I made enough money to support myself working at that shop, eventually going into business for myself. I located a cheap apartment to live in and I settled down, more or less, for what would turn out to be a decade! Thus, began my life in Charlottesville Virginia. It was a period that would last from 1990 to the year 2000.
It was during the year of 2000 that I decided to quit my business. I wanted to move home to be with mom to help her deal with her medical challenge. I wanted to do this. I was ready to do this. I knew mom would need the help and I wanted to be there. Of course, mom initially insisted that she did not need my help, but I remembered what my dad had gone through with his battle with cancer. I knew how hard his illness was on him and how hard it was likely to be for my mom. I remembered how I so very much wanted to help my dad when he was sick, but I was prevented from doing so by his second wife. Now I had an opportunity to help my mom, and this time I was not going to be denied. So, home I went.
The four years I spent with mom were good years. I won’t tell you things were easy. They were damn hard, and eventually damn sad. Cancer is a brutal beast, and in my moms case it went from her lungs to her brain and finally spread to her bones. When she died, she had 18 tumors in her brain. How my mom managed to stay lucid for all but a few days of her life is a testament to her strength, her courage and her vast intellect. I will never forget that time in my life. As I type this I shake my head. No one should have to go through that. No family should have to endure it.
With the passing of my mom came the inevitable minutia of handling her affairs. She had left my brother and I a nice nest egg, and under normal circumstances I would have invested every last penny, but these were not normal circumstances. I was grieving her passing, yes. Nothing unusual about that, per se. Yet it was the past four years of my life, yea, in fact it was the past 40 years of my life that I was mourning.
Did I fail to mention that when I was two years old I was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis?
Most of my life I have managed the illness very well, thanks in no small part to my fathers goading. My dad inspired me, pushed me, to pick up a barbell when I was but 14 years of age. I began strength training with a vengeance. I was consumed with getting stronger and healthier. Years of power-lifting and bodybuilding had slowed the progression of my illness significantly and improved the overall quality of my life considerably. Year in and year out I was exceeding the prognosis and expectations of my doctors and medical science. By the time I was 20, I had a very muscular and strong physique, most of which I still possess to this day.
Still, at the age of 40 I had my concerns. What did the future hold for me? How long would I be here? How long could I stay ahead of this disease? It had been taking its toll on me recently. Caring for my mom also had taken its toll. I could feel it, and I just felt like I could take nothing for granted at that point in my life. So, I made a decision then that I am glad I made. I decided then and there that I needed more memories. I needed better memories. I needed good memories. Surprisingly, I found those memories in the shape of a car: a Deep Blue Pearl Volkswagen R32.
My fascination with Volkswagens actually began in 2003, when my mom decided she needed a new car. Hers had more or less died. At the same time, her illness had advanced to the point that she was not feeling well enough to endure the rigors of an all day shopping spree. Thus, it fell on me to do it for her. So, one Saturday I went car shopping for my mom. Naturally, I looked at several makes and models, but one stood out amongst all the cars I had evaluated: a green VW GTI hatchback.
I test drove the car and was instantly in love with it. I loved how it handled, how it accelerated, how quiet it was, how utilitarian it was. In short, I loved everything about it. The car felt like it was going to be perfect for getting my mom to and from the doctors offices. Of course, we needed something economical as well and the GTI just fit the bill. So, that was the car she ended up with and it indeed served us swimmingly.
During the time mom and I used her GTI, I immersed myself in the object of my fascination, which at the time was this new car that I was chauffeuring mom around in. I started to learn all I could about VW’s. I visited local VW dealerships, read manuals, studied web sites, test drove other models etc. Of course, this only fueled my passion for VW’s. I was hooked (Ironically, at the time I was too naive to know that VW had a reputation for being terribly unreliable, especially with certain year models. As it turns out, we must have really lucked out with moms car, because we had not one problem with it. But I digress).
So, fast forward to 2004. Our mom had just left us. My brother and I were, in reality, orphans. I cannot begin to tell you what a desperate feeling that was for us both, and maybe that feeling contributed to my decision at the time. Alas, I made the choice to travel!
Since my brother had no car we decided that he would take the GTI and that I would use part of my inheritance to get another vehicle to do my traveling in. Of course, I had no idea where I was going to go, only that I was going to go somewhere, anywhere, to allow myself time to think, feel and exhale. I needed to be able to breath again.
Deciding on a vehicle for my travels was going to be the easy part. I new it had to be a VW and I was pretty sure it would be the model that one of the sales people at the dealership had talked to me about: it was an all-wheel drive, 250 HP hatchback called an R32, of which there would only be 5000 from which to choose. The only decision left make was what color to settle on, for there were no options other than its color.
The dealership told me that it was not sure when it would get the first R32 into their showroom, but I was told that they would let me know as soon as one arrived. The call eventually came of course, and I drove to the dealership in order to test drive this car.
The R32 at the dealership was Silver. It was beautiful, I must admit. The car drove incredibly and was very fast. It was a true sports car and I loved it, but I just did not get that certain feeling you get when you know something is right. Moreover, the dealership was not budging on the price. So, I told them no thank you. They tried to tell me that I might not see another R32 at their dealership any time soon, but I was not swayed. It just did not feel right. I decided to take my chances.
I need to pause briefly and mention a friend of mine. His name is Blue. Blue was a cat. But not just any cat. Blue was a purebred Birman that had managed to end up at the animal shelter where my mom had been working for nearly 14 years, almost as a hobby. She had access to the sweetest little animals on earth on a daily basis. She met and fell in love with Blue instantly. Mom suspected that I would love Blue as well, and she knew that Blue would love me, too. So, she set Blue aside for my 39th birthday present.
One day in September of 2001, mom called me and asked me to come see her at work. She said she wanted to introduce me to someone special. I could barely contain myself. I love animals, and I really loved visiting my mom at the animal shelter. Whenever mom told me that she wanted to “introduce” me to someone, I knew I was in for a treat, I just did not realize how big of a treat it would be. Suffice it to say that when I met Blue my life changed for the better. It was a perfect match. Mom had Blue in her arms when I walked through the door and she held him out to me. Blue turned to me, stared at me with those sky blue eyes of his, reached out his huge paws, latched onto my neck and hugged me with every ounce of strength he had, not using a single claw. He actually hugged me! We bonded immediately. We were best friends from that day forward. Next to being the best mom a boy could ever have, Blue was the most wonderful gift my mom had ever given me.
Mom lived so far out into the country that after she quit her job at the shelter we rarely ventured into town much, accept for doctor visits and such. Visitors to moms place were even more sparse than our trips to town, so mom and I lived a fairly isolated life out in the country. It was quite idyllic, really, but since we had so little contact with the outside world Blue was my social life. We did everything together and he followed me around like a little boy with a bad case of hero worship. I could not have been prouder of Blue had he been my own child. I guess in a manner of speaking Blue was my child in the truest sense. I really loved him as much as my own life.
On one warm summer night, in 2003, Blue was tragically killed. I did not find out about it until the next morning around 10 AM. Losing Blue crushed me. I realize that to most people reading this Blue was just an animal, but I cannot tell you how hard his death was on me. I will not even attempt to try. Suffice it to say that it took a couple of years to come to terms with his death. Losing Blue was actually harder than losing my mother. I just was not prepared for it. Yet, Blue’s life managed to carry on in me in ways I could not have predicted at the time.
Around March 2004 I received another call from the local VW dealership. They informed me that another R32 was arriving at their dealership in a few days and they wanted to know if I wanted to look at it. I asked them what color it was. “Blue”, the salesman said
“I’ll take it!”, I said.
Just like that. There was no need to see it. No need to drive it. There was no haggling. When he said the word “Blue”, I just knew what to do, and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I have never once regretted it.
I went to the dealership on the day the car arrived, and when I saw it I nearly cried. It was the most beautiful car I had ever seen in my life. Even though I knew I was looking at a mere material possession, I could not help but feel as though this car would be an integral part of a period in my life that I would remember for the rest of my days.
As I drove off the lot with Blue, my R32, I had no plans other than to get home safely. Beyond that I had no idea how my life would unfold in the ensuing months and years.
I never once envisioned that there would be a web site that would bare the name of my most trusted companion, http://bluestravels.com I never knew that I would travel as much as I would end up traveling, and I never knew that each leg of my journey would be chronicled on that very web site. I never knew that two years later my R32 would be rear-ended, and that as a result of this accident I would have to sell it. I never knew that I would end up ultimately replacing that R32 with a 1993 Volvo sedan that would bore me to tears. And I most certainly had no way of knowing that a mere three years later, on April 10th 2007, the home I would be living in at the time would be burned to the ground by a neighbor and that I would be homeless again. Nor did I have any idea that I would eventually be telling my story to an automobile publication called Autoweek. How could I know any of this at the time?
All I knew was that it was March. It was Spring, 2004. There was not a cloud in the sky. I was driving in the very last gift my mother would ever give me : a car, and that car’s name was Blue. I was breathing again, and I could now devote my myself to creating some special memories that I would look back on with fondness in years to come. I would look back on these memories and smile, and my smile would be as wide open as the blue sky.
Thanks Mom. Thanks Blue. I will see you guys again.
Timothy
Postscript:
Initially I wrote this essay in an effort to win a chance to drive an Audi R8 for the day. My essay was to include details about where I would go, what I would do with the R8 if given the opportunity, what sort of vehicles I had in my garage that would make the R8 feel right at home etc. And the more I thought about, the more I felt an essay just about the Audi R8 would not be enough for me. The last seven years of my life have been far too interesting. My relationship to performance cars, my love for driving, my appreciation for German engineering…all of that transcends my fascination with just one vehicle, even one as incredible as the Audi R8 Supercar.
That said, if I did have a chance to drive the Audi R8 for just one 12 hour period, I suppose I would tour the Blue Ridge Mountains for the entire day. I would then head to Wintergreen Ski Resort, have lunch at The Blue Ridge Pig and cap the day off with a trip through the hillsides of horse country in Albemarle County, VA.. Then, as the day came to a close, I would think to myself, “Wouldn’t it be far more interesting to have the Jet Blue Audi R8 for an entire year? Wouldn’t it be a much richer experience to be sponsored by Audi of America and travel all across the United States keeping an online journal of my experiences along the way? I could travel from the East Coast to the West Coast and then northward to British Columbia, checking out as many gyms, pit stops and bed and breakfasts as I could find. I could use my web site to talk to America about the Audi R8 and what it is like to drive it, and Audi could create an entire ad campaign around the experience.”
Now THAT sounds a lot more interesting, doesn’t it?
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