Big Pink - 1

March 13, 2010

Yes, while wearing the glasses you see up top there, I’mm afraid I did at one point in mmy life own a big pink bus. Oddly enough after getting to know this monstrosity for a little over a minute, I named her Big Pink. In relation to the biggest cargo van you can imagine or just about any size car, forget about a motorcycle, let’s just say there is no comparison where sighs is BIG. Hence the title of this little story.

I don’t care what qualities of vehicles we’re discussing here, (or I amm) when it comes to anything, the Big Pink bus of whose keys were formerly in mmy possession is an experience one never forgets.

I can’t remember the exact year but can hone it down to somewhere between 1972 to 1975. I didn’t own it very long, for lots of reasons. One because the thing was so huge. Another was I really didn’t have a need for it after the original purpose accomplished Big Pink was required. Mainly, I was a member of a twenty five person choir and its band. I be the drumms, band man; not one of the in tone singers.

After several months of meetings or rehearsals as a choir member, specifically The Fairfax Street Choir, I had sussed out the group as a whole needed transportation for at least one particular gig, if not more. I can’t remember if in fact a car was already in mmy possession at the time. For some reason I’mm thinking that I had either sold it or didn’t have one to begin with. I had moved to a new location; again.

I realise being without a vehicle is obviously unfathomable for a few of you, on the other hand from what I remember doing at the time, I didn’t really need one; at least until the Big Pink situation hit mme in the gosh pedal. I began searching newspapers to buy something to transport mostly women, a few deeper voiced men and their babes in arms tribal associates to any or all gigs within safe driving distances.

“Oh, looky here; amm I lucky or not? There’s a big bus for sale!” I said to mmy roommate Dick. Luck nonsense; it was a calamity. The thing after all was painted pink. Dick was a four year roommate who at the time we were only together as friends and roommates I’d say about a few months. There’s more than a few stories about Dick and me within those four years but I’ll save those for other times.

In any case it was our shared amazing house on Southwood Avenue in northern California where the bus purchase occurred. Dick drove mme to a residence in Tam Valley where the bus in question was to be inspected. With much fanfare Dick and I examined the monstrosity for about as long as it took. Yes, of course I did manage to kick at least two of the tires. They really didn’t have that much rubber on them.

I’ll always remember the model year of the thing because 1962 won’t leave mmy brain waves. Big Pink was a 62 passenger bus. She worked like one would think a gently used bus of that period would work. Stepping inside the thing was quite normal. It had three tall steps to climb after which one can then crawl to a fall into the driver’s seat.

That happened quite a few times. Not fall really but just glided mmy ass into the old and almost worn out seat. The black pseudo leather covering wasn’t in terrible condition. One could tell after the dozen or so years of everyday wherever it was in service passed; the seat issue was just one of those things that went the way of ‘almost gently used.’

A pink bus. OK. Key’s pleas? I asked the owner. He handed them to mme. I attempted to start up the thing. It didn’t start after the first turn. This would have been a good clue to most people looking for a dependable vehicle. I’mm more patient or even stupid one might say. I gave it another go and it didn’t. Not even a little chug sound or a blip on the dashboard to indicate that it at least had power. Power??

“OOOOOOH, that’s right, I forgot that I unhooked the battery cables the last time someone came to look at ‘er,” said the owner. “What’d you do THAT for?” I asked. “Well, there was a little issue with one back light not going off; I kind of pulled the plug so to speak,” he spoke. “I guess we’re in need of some kind of electrical power in order to test the thing, core wrecked?” Was mmy next inspection question.

Re: connecting the battery cables we walked the length of the bus, the rear end to check the aforementioned light which was supposed to be on forever. There was no back lights problem we could see. I summoned the owner back to be a third sober witness; he was. He had a questioned frown on his face quickly disappearing with a shrug of his shoulders. That was it. We continued to search for right on’s.

We stepped back into the bus to try igniting again. I crawled and fell into the drivers seat once more, turned the keys that were still in the ignition and Voila! The dashboard lights went on; but the bus again, didn’t start. It gave a little urrrrrrrr sound but nothing else. I tried once more to hear another urrrrrrrr, but no starting this thing. It had a choke I pulled out half way; tried ignite again. The go was still gone.

I started mmyself with a humm; then another longer hmmmm while looking around at the three or four dash dials and noticing there was no gas. The gas gauge needle was well past a low point of the big red E. I pointed this out to Mr. Owner. His eyes and mouth opened and said, “That’s right, last person came here said the same thing but didn’t like the colour of the bus anyway so that was that; we didn’t go any further and I guess I hadn’t put any gas in it either.” Oh goody.

I said apparently not, then asked if we could in fact get at least two or more gallons. By the looks and size of this thing, it may take at least a gallon to start this thing. He laughed and offered to drive Dick and me to the nearest gas station with HIS empty, plastic gas ‘can.’ Off we went; the easy part really. Driving there and back took about a half hour more. At least we’d know the thing had a few gallons of gas to play with in case it took more than one or two tries to start the revs.

I didn’t account for the lost gas when Mr. Owner dribbled more than a quart down the side of the bus. His old gas can had no spout. He inventively used a paper cup after cutting a hole about the size of a nickel in the bottom. He crunched the cup/funnel. It partly fit inside the not too accepting gas tank opening. We now had gas. Hmmmm.

For the third time climbing up the stair steps I felt like a new member of one of those work out gyms when stepping is just part of the hour or so exercise. Reaching the top landing I again crawled to fall into the driver’s seat with the same said, ass. I asked the owner if he had any incense. “Incense?” He wondered why. I already had ignition keys.

I said, “Before turning the key I’d like everyone to say a short prayer because this is as far as I’ll go before getting the next clue that buying this pink monstrosity in deed wasn’t meant to be. If this thing doesn’t start now, then thank you very much kind sir, I’mm outta heah. OK?”

With both eyes closed I turned the key. The engine urrrrrrr’ed again, sput, sput, sputtered; but didn’t start. I was encouraged though when almost at the same time Mr. Owner, Dick and I said, the gas lines were beginning their gallon fill; more choke and gas. I pumped the gas pedal thrice, opened the choke all the way this time and turned the key softly reciting something less religious and voila!! IT STARTED!!

Big Pink sputtered, coughed and threw up and out a big puff of exhaust fumes with a bang. It woke up the now barking guard horse next door. I pumped the gas (while in neutral) again and watched the dash board dials for more clues. Everything seemed to be copacetic. I pumped the gas intermittently as Big Pink growled. The engine sounded strong. Now for a test run, I said to Mr. Owner. Shall we?

By the way, although it was the size of a sixty two passenger bus, all the seats were apparently taken out; except for the driver’s seat of course. The rest of Big Pink’s inside was empty but filled with air and;

Just behind the drivers seat was one of those tiny camping trailer kitchen sink/countertop/stove combinations, a little refrigerator and that was it. Placed in place quite shabbily at that; meaning they were loose to the touch and would rattle so much.

Also part of the interior decor was a dirty mid-blue raggedy shaggy rug covering the entire floor which I imagined at this point was the rest of the seating and furniture combination. It’ll do for a small tribe on a picnic with balloons, a birthday cake and paper lunch bags.

OK, I can live with that, I said to Mr. Owner. I’ve got the best seat at least.

To Be Continued: