Car of the Moment-III

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the cars that catch my attention.  This week, I've been lusting after the second-most widely produced car of all time, the Volkswagen Beetle.  Like any car guy worth his salt, I recognize the Bug's influence as the car that put Germany and much of Europe on wheels after World War II.  While it started out as a project spearheaded by Hitler's Third Reich (and in fact the early prototypes were used as military vehicles), after the war, the design was resuscitated by its designer, Ferdinand Porsche (yes, that Porsche) and the factory began churning out the ugly little things and people bought them up.  My favorite era of the Beetle goes up until 1963, during which a full-length fabric sunroof could be ordered, commonly called the Ragtop.

Last December, my mom and I were pulling through the Ford dealership near our home, window-shopping for the new Mustangs, when both our eyes lighted on a 1962 Beetle Ragtop in seafoam green and white.  The price was right for a ragtop Beetle in the kind of shape it was in, a reasonable $5000.  Instantly, my mind began racing through my options; I could trade in my car, apply for a loan through the bank, and drive up to school in my Beetle instead of the old Bimmer.  My mom, reading my thoughts, said, "GMP, you have to get this car!  This car is so cool!"  My mom doesn't care much for cars, except her Mustang, so hearing her geeking out about the car as much as I was seemed to be a sign.

The rest of the day, as we finished our Christmas shopping, we revisited the idea of the car every five minutes.  She'd brainstorm an idea: maybe my dad could buy it for me as a gift since he'd never bought me a car as he had the other kids.  Perhaps she could buy it and loan it to me for the semester so I could have a really cool car for dates and such.  Maybe they could cosign on the loan so I could get a lower interest rate. Both of our minds raced, and every few minutes, we'd catch each others' eyes and start smiling over the coolness of it.

I decided later that night to go visit my new friend.  I inquired about it and the salesman told me it had been sold about 30 minutes prior to my visit.  You could have cut the despair in my soul with a knife, haha.  I called my mom and she answered with, "It's sold, isn't it?"  We laughed at the luck of it, grateful at least that the decision had been made for me.

Since then, I've been a bit obsessed with finding my ideal raggy.  If I didn't think I'd feel like a total goober, it might look something like Herbie...

...but something like this mild custom would fit the bill just right as well.  Ah, someday.

Photos from thesamba.com, Volks World, and ridelust.com