This episode also features an original poem “When hurricanes come to die”
"You bought what?!" I spluttered into my beer, a little bit louder than the ambience of the pub. A couple of regulars glanced my way.
"A purple dune buggy—for two dollars," Aaron said, nonplussed.
"So what are you going to do with it?" That was Mike, wondering where this was actually going.
Mike's a lot more practical than the rest of us.
It was a late 1990s Friday night in St. John's, Newfoundland on the very eastern edge of Canada. As usual, our group of friends, including Aaron, Mike, and I, had gathered at our favourite watering hole, The Duke of Duckworth. As with most of our gatherings, the conversations would range from hatching plans for global conquest to medieval songs. Tonight we sat around as Aaron explained his plan for the purple dune buggy.
Aaron is a juggler, street performer, and, back then, a student doctor-in-waiting. Every Christmas, he put together a show for the children at the hospital, and this year was set to be spectacular. The rare and magnificent sight, he said, of a purple dune buggy from which he would juggle fire would naturally envelop the kids in a blanket of supreme happiness and joy.
"Of course... there is one problem..." Aaron sheepishly admitted.
There was always "one problem" in these plans.
"I need to rescue the dune buggy and take it to the farm in St. Philip's so I can get it ready."
"You have seen it, right?" Mike asked.
Mike is sometimes too smart about these stories. I could tell he was a bit more skeptical than I, who was drunkenly envisioning riding the buggy down Water Street.
"I mean, I haven't looked at it in detail. It's in the corner of the garage. We should be able to drive it back to the farm. It's only a couple of kilometres. You lads in? Tomorrow?"
Let’s go fetch the buggy!
The next day dawned bright and clear with blue skies carrying only the hint of a breeze. It was one of those rare summer days in Newfoundland whose memories tended to last for a lifetime. I was desperately sipping water so I could see through the hangover, but Aaron was in a light and happy mood as we drove to the garage in his car, Puff the Chevette.
Puff the Chevette was one of a kind around town. It had been painted with a dragon down one side, the older Republic of Newfoundland flag on the top, several sayings from literary and musical masterpieces on the side and back, and more besides. Mike was following in his parents' station wagon.
What the garage owners thought of the three of us arriving with Puff, obviously hungover and in search of the abandoned dune buggy, I will never know. It was only then that we realized that Aaron’s estimation of the dune buggy’s abilities had been slightly overstated, to say the least.
The purple dune buggy lay before us, rusted, corroded, and half-buried in the ground. The many Newfoundland winters that it had witnessed had taken their toll. Despite all this it was indeed a brilliant purple, magnificent, and most certainly a dune buggy. After some hesitation, we set about digging it up and trying to reclaim it into some sort of working mechanical shape. Eventually, the wheels were freed, the steering wheel was unhooked from its lethargic slumber, and we started to work on the brakes.
By this point, it was obvious to all of us that the buggy would not be leaving that garage on its own steam. Aaron, of course, was not without a plan.
“I brought some rope with me, so what do you boys think of attaching it to a car, and then we can tow it to the farm? I think we can get this beast into neutral.”
“Sure. I guess that might work,” Mike grunted from the back of the buggy. “But I don’t think I’ll attach it to my parents' car.”
Mike really was wise beyond his years.
“Sure, sure, we can attach it to Puff. It’ll be no problem; it’s just a short, flat drive all the way to the farm. Dups, do you think you can drive the buggy as I tow it? It won’t be a big deal.”
I nodded enthusiastically. Driving the towed buggy didn’t require my non-existent driving license. I suppose it wasn't the time to bring up the fact that I had actually crashed my dad's car into a palm tree while trying to learn at age thirteen.
We moved the buggy into place behind Puff and attached it with a sturdy rope. Aaron reviewed the situation one last time.
“Okay, so here’s the plan. I’m going to drive Puff. Dups, you’re going to be attached; you’ve got a good bit of length in that rope. Mike, you’re going to drive behind us and make sure people don’t try to pass us. I’m going to go pretty slow, but if there’s a problem, both of you just wave your hands; I’ll be keeping an eye on you guys in the mirror. Dups, if there's a problem just slow down using the hand-brake. Remember, just wave your arms, and I’ll stop.”
With that, we set off.
What could possibly go wrong?
It really was a beautiful day in Newfoundland, one of those days that cried for music and fresh air. Aaron obliged by playing the music loud from within Puff. The steering on the buggy was stiff but workable, and after we got going, I looked back at Mike and gave him a thumbs-up, and Aaron waved back. All was good. I could even now picture the look of joy on the faces of the children when Aaron came a-juggling in this vehicle.
If you've ever been to Newfoundland, especially the Avalon Peninsula, you might note that the land is not what you would call flat. If you've ever met Newfoundlanders, you might also note that sometimes certain descriptions can be understated. For instance, small hills appear flat after a while compared to the really big ones. Also, “a couple of kilometres” is a wonderful euphemism for “it won’t be more than twenty or thirty minutes and you don’t need to keep the dinner warm; I’ll be there shortly.” Despite knowing all this, I was blissfully daydreaming behind Aaron’s car, correcting course as necessary and listening to the music streaming to me from in front.
Aaron was bopping away to the music, also lost in his thoughts, when we hit one of those “unassuming” hills that he had forgotten about.
At this rather steep hill, I realized that perhaps we had done too good a job of lubricating the wheels of the buggy. The dune buggy was gaining on Puff. This winding hill seemed to be nowhere near an end.
No matter, I thought, we had planned for this situation!
I gently pulled on the hand-brake.
No. No. That didn’t slow the dune buggy down.
I pulled harder on the hand-brake.
Crack.
The entire hand-brake broke off the buggy and now lay in my hand. The buggy gained speed.
Oops.
By now, Puff’s rear bumper was looming large, and Aaron hadn’t noticed yet. I threw up my hands in despair, one hand holding high the broken hand-brake, and started waving like a madman. Aaron, however, was lost in whatever he was listening to. Behind me, I could hear Mike speeding up and honking.
With a crash in my future and seemingly no oncoming traffic, I pulled out into the opposite lane and started to pass Puff the Chevette. Within seconds, I was side by side with Aaron, who looked over to see the car he was towing passing him with me yelling and waving. A look of incredulous panic passed across his eyes as he slammed on Puff's brakes, bringing both it and the towed buggy to a screeching halt. The dune buggy and I went in one direction, Puff and Aaron in another. Mike slammed his car to a stop and ran towards the two of us.
Seconds later, a truck rounded the corner in front, slowed down to see three cars stopped in the opposite lane, gave a friendly, if a little confused, wave and smile, and passed on by.
The three of us, Aaron, Mike, and I, looked at the scene of destruction before us. Puff the Chevette and the purple dune buggy were splayed out across the road, tied to each other, the dune buggy out front. We looked at each other and burst into fits of laughter at the catastrophe we had just avoided and the ridiculousness of the entire situation.
The story, as they say, is not much more in the telling.
We examined both vehicles and were surprised to find that the only thing that had happened was that the corroded axle of the buggy had been bent. The front wheels were now spread in opposite directions. Aaron’s farm was—for real this time—just a few more kilometres and on relatively flat ground with few turns, which was a good thing as the buggy had all the turning grace of a waddling penguin.
The purple dune buggy did indeed ride again. Aaron spent more than a year fixing it after the mishap on its maiden voyage, and it was used to please crowds at a juggling show.
So what happened to the rest of us? Aaron made it to the ranks of the medical profession and continues to bring joy to all with his juggling. Mike went on to a fine career as a chemist, a writer, and an entrepreneur, lauded by his friends and peers for his calm knowledge in the face of sheer stupidity.
And me? Well, that’s another story, but I will never quite forget that first experience driving in Newfoundland or anywhere in Canada for that matter. I will never forget Aaron’s face as an engine-less, brake-less purple dune buggy raced its master, Puff, and almost won.
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