Driving Me Crazy #1

      I have always had a complicated relationship with cars. Because I have a new single coming out May 1st, I thought I'd share a few driving and car stories. The song is "Driving Me Crazy."
      The first car that I owned was a 1960 black VW bug. Having been raised a girl in the 50s and 60s, in a very conservative household. I knew absolutely nothing about cars except how to drive them. This car had no gas gauge. Instead, it had a switch on the floor to access an extra one gallon tank. Ironically, I bought the car in 1973 just before the first gas crisis in the US. We could only buy gas on odd or even days depending on your license plate number. One other thing that girls weren't taught back then was practical math. I never had any idea how much gas was in my tank and didn't realize that I could track my gas mileage mathematically, so I was always running out - usually late at night getting high on some back roads. I'm amazed that my dad, who always came and angrily rescued me, never taught me that simple equation.
      Flash forward another year... I was hanging out with Paul Cavanaugh, who I would later marry. We were on our way to a Dead show in Hartford, Connecticut when the car broke down. We had dropped acid earlier figuring that we'd arrive as we were starting to take off. Now, a little concerned, we pulled over and waited. Eventually, two state troopers came by. One was a German immigrant who had worked in the VW factory in Germany. Now these vehicles were his beloved hobby. He asked me if I had checked the water in the battery. Now remember, I knew absolutely nothing about cars. I looked at him incredulously and replied, "No, this car doesn't have a battery, it runs on gas." He sputtered a bit, ranted in German then lifted up the back seat to reveal a large battery. He went to the back, checked the engine and saw a shredded belt on the flywheel. He actually drove to his house, got another belt and repaired my car right on the side of the road, continuing a stream of angry German that I probably was better off not understanding.
I thanked him profusely and waited for them to drive away, but they insisted that we go first. Uh-oh, now I had to explain that the car only started with a jump. I sheepishly asked them to help push. His face was redder than I'd ever seen as he screamed at me finally threatening to throw me in jail if he ever saw me and my car again. VWs were his passion, and I was disrespecting this classic car.
      As we drove away, both a bit shaken, we decided to skip the show and just head home. We got off the next exit, headed back the way we came and broke down right across the way from the first break down. It only took a minute to decide to abandon the car and hitchhike home. Luckily, we got a ride almost immediately. I later found out that the German cop paid the towing and storage fees and took the car home. Meanwhile, Paul insisted that we go to a movie instead of the concert. Tripping my brains out, Blazing Saddles might just be the worst movie I've ever seen. And, I ended up really missing that car.

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