Interstate sign always brings smile

Editor’s note: This column is being reprinted from Aug. 19, 2004. Jack did his fair share of camping. He had stories from his childhood, backpacking through Europe, his days as a parent of young children and times with his grandchildren. This is just one of those gems.

Plugging down Interstate 90, heading for home after two weeks of vacation, we passed the exit for Geneva on the Lake, east of Cleveland, and I found myself smiling.

The memories were much too strong.

It was 1979, I think, when we were taking the same route in a VW camper bus that we’d borrowed from my parents. They only owned the thing for a couple of years, and I think their children camped with it almost as much as they did.

We’d taken the Geneva on the Lake exit in search of a campground there and had stopped at a supermarket to get some supplies before heading on.

It was a horribly hot day, a classic August oven, and everyone was getting a little grouchy. By everyone, I mean my wife and I and our twins, who were at that point just 2 years old.

Doing anything with 2-year-old twins requires planning, maneuvering and logistics, even if it’s just a matter of going to the supermarket. So we unloaded a double-wide, collapsible stroller, plonked the girls into it and enjoyed the air-conditioning in the supermarket for about 20 minutes.

Then we loaded up the groceries, including things which were starting to melt in the heat, put the twins back into their car seats, collapsed the stroller and got ready to take off.

But when I turned the key, the engine wouldn’t start. There was plenty of juice, but the VW had an early version of fuel injection and the engine wasn’t getting enough gas. Opening the engine cover did no good because I didn’t have a clue what the heck I was looking for. The air-cooled VW engine looked as much like a sewing machine as it did a motor.

So there we were. It was about 6:30 p.m. It was hot and muggy. The 2-year-olds were getting fussy, and so were their parents.

We did the only thing we could think of. We took a walk. Actually, it was an attempt to keep the kids occupied while we talked about what to do next. Someone had suggested that VW fuel injectors were balky in hot weather, so we figured that letting the engine cool off wasn’t a bad idea either.

Still, when you’re as all-thumbs mechanically as I am and you’re a long drive from home and the ice cream’s melting, you’re not far from panicking.

Maybe that’s what prompted me to flag someone down. We’d walked about a block from the store when I spotted a VW bus. It wasn’t a camper, and it was a newer model. But VW owners are famous for doing their own service when they can. I figured the driver could help.

And boy did he help.

Before we knew it, the driver and his wife scooped us into their van, took us back to the parking lot and set to work.

They couldn’t start the thing either, but they weren’t willing to give up.

Next thing we knew, we were at their house and the driver was on the phone to a guy he knew who was a VW mechanic for a Cleveland dealership.

It was about half an hour later that we reassembled with the mechanic at the supermarket parking lot. The ice cream, as I recall, had already been consumed. And, sure enough, the fuel injection system had cooled off sufficiently so that the engine started.

There were thank yous all around as we headed down the road.

It was a long, long time ago. The twins are grown and living in Boston. The VW camper didn’t stay with the family more than another year, and I have no idea whatever became of the folks who were so kind to us that hot August afternoon.

But it still brings a smile to my face as I pass Geneva on the Lake.