HOW NOT TO BUY A VOLKESWAGON BUS

An excerpt from the book

'How Not To Buy A Volkswagen Bus' by Nick Vatterott

Apparently Tracy had taken off just before I had gotten to the garage the first time. I swear, if I was born ten minutes earlier, I would have never missed, or be late for anything in my life. Tracy was on a “short little errand”, to probably the only store in town. The only task now was to kill time. I grabbed my bike and decided to do a little riding inside the state park. I turned down an old path, long since overgrown with weeds and grass. The trail ended near what seemed to be a recreation area of some sort, some time ago. A relic of a picnic table was surrounding by weeds measuring in height taller than the table itself. A swing set whose swings had long since abandoned the area, now shifted it’s duties from supplying fond childhood memories, to rusting and collecting bird shit. A giant corroded crowbar leaned against the remains of a slide that looked like it had been beaten with a corroded crowbar. I leaned my bike against a tree that was used as post for a now faded sign. As the need for whatever information was on that sign dissipated so had the sign itself. I waded through the grasses, stepped up on the picnic table’s seat, plopped down on it’s top and just waited. There were five or six of these big weird ass bugs flying around the area. One of the smaller ones landed on my arm. I looked at it and thought, “Aww look, a baby weird ass bug.” The thing then bit me, and I swatted it down. It landed on the table next to a dirt caked glass jar. I looked at my enemy and pondered: do I let it live or take it’s life? Action movies have taught me that either he will one day return the favor by saving my life, or be my demise while uttering the phrase, "You should have killed me when you had the chance!" I placed the jar over him while I decided his fate. I noticed a weedless area just past the slide. I stood on top of the picnic table to see a giant round rusted disk, seemingly the main cog of a merry-go-round. Except it was upside down, and had many of its hand rails (the tiny banisters that four years hold on to for dear life) lying in a pile next to the round disk. Next to that were four bar-b-q pits. Except they were in pieces as well, four grills sat on top of each other right next to four posts in a pile next to four of the actual ‘pits’ themselves, clumsily stacked, all rusting into one solid object. It was as if merry-go-round and bar-b-q pits had all been neatly disassembled at one point. I hopped down from the table and took a step through the tall grass. My foot crashed into a pile of rusted chains. I looked down and to the right of the chains were several seats perfect for riding a swing set. Maybe these rides were never assembled at all. Perhaps this was a work in process, an idea started with gusto, and abandoned when the project became inconvenient. Not sure why, I bet at the time this would have been one of the main attractions of Veneta, Oregon. This could have been the thing that really put this town on the map.

COME VISIT VENETA,
NOW WITH SWING SET!

I wondered if the construction of the play area had been finished, if this place would have turned into something so forgotten. Ideas are common to everyone, but fewer have what it takes to see an idea through to it’s completion. Anyone can have inspiration, it’s what we do with that inspiration that separates us from what we are, from what we could be. I stepped back to the table and turned the glass prison over to let my infant attacker go. Its just too disheartening to see things meet their demise before ever getting a chance to exist.