Chapter 2
The Sportsmobile

In August of 1963, just eight weeks after they met, the couple got married at the local courthouse in Peggy's hometown of Hackettstown, New Jersey. They traveled to England briefly to meet Ron's mum and sister, and then turned around and headed back to a new life in the States. From there, the newlyweds took their first road trip together. They bought an old Rambler station wagon and hit the road, traveling south of the border to San Miguel de Allende in central Mexico. San Miguel was a small cobble-stoned oasis snuggled deep in the mountains of Guanajuato. Diego Rivera and Freda Kahlo had hung out there. It was home to a community of American expatriates, artists and writers, and the site of a famous art school, the Instituto de Allende. The moment they arrived, they knew they didn't want to leave. It was such a magical and alluring place. The living was inexpensive and relaxing, a perfect place to retire. That was surely a fantasy that suited them both, but Peggy was pregnant and expecting in July. She didn't know she was going to have twins until it happened. In the meantime, the couple stayed as long as they could, enjoying the Shangri-la they had discovered.
By most standards, San Miguel was primitive, but it was romantic and charming, and life there made it easy to dream about what you genuinely wanted and what you could have. Ron and Peggy were both no-frills individuals who didn't mind roughing it. On the drive down, they had camped along the way, and once they had crossed into Mexico, they afforded themselves the luxury of a cheap hotel here and there. They were happy to make sacrifices in order to save money. Ron's pension wasn't much, but it provided them with the opportunity for time and freedom, as long as they stayed on a budget. There was a popular travel guide coming out at the time: Fodor's Mexico on $5 a Day. That was the blueprint. They knew that having children would make it a lot harder, but it was a challenge they both accepted and agreed upon. They were committed to making it work, whatever it took.
They were reluctant to leave Mexico, but all good honeymoons must end eventually. The twins popped out on American soil, and Julie was born the following summer. Four years later in 1968, it was quite a different picture. They were now a family of five, and Ron and Peggy decided it was time for a trip back to San Miguel. We made the journey in our first VW van. For Amy and me, the experience wasn't completely new; we'd had a taste of Mexico from the womb, and it always felt familiar and nourishing to be there. That original VW was a used clunker. It looked cute and fun, like a toy, with sixteen windows and a small pop-up roof and full-sized tent that attached to the side. It housed all of us comfortably. Slowly and clumsily, the funny old van chugged and rattled down the interstates and the bumpy roads, carrying us to Mexico and back, eventually, at its own lackadaisical pace. Overall, it was a successful trip regardless of the unexpected mishaps and detours. We had a wonderful summer, and in 1970 we returned again in our second used VW. We were growing bigger and heavier with more stuff to haul along, but we made the pilgrimage, staying on course and slowly but surely arriving at our distant destination happy and together.
We spent the whole summer in San Miguel, then turned around, and drove back to New Jersey in time to begin our first year of school. That second VW broke down more than once along the way too. It was all part of the adventure. We learned to take the good with the bad and have a memorable time regardless of the inevitable ups and downs of life on the road. It was obvious, however, that the family was going to need a newer, stronger vehicle if they insisted on keeping up the lifestyle. Ron and Peggy loved all the features of the VW camper; there was no question it was the vehicle that suited them best, but they still hadn't found one they could totally rely on. Finally, they dedicated themselves to save up for a brand-new model. It would take two more years.
Gradually and through much trial and error, the family was perfecting the art of camping and traveling comfortably. The three of us kids stretched out in back for the long drives. We pulled into KOA campsites for a short rest, unpacked the van, popped up the roof, stayed a few days, then moved on to the next state and the next one. There was plenty of room for everybody. It took a week or so to make the long drive to Mexico, but we had the whole summer to relax and make ourselves at home in San Miguel once we arrived. We found an ideal little house located on the grounds of the Instituto that we rented for practically nothing. Dad took his painting classes; he even got paid to teach one or two to earn a few extra pesos. The following year, our second van wasn't up for the long trip back to Mexico and we stayed in the States. We did manage a drive down to Florida at Christmas, but the car was running poorly. We sold it as soon as we made it back home, and in the meantime, we bought an old Volvo to get us through the rest of the winter. It was weird being without a van for a while—like a turtle without its shell. The Volkswagen camper had become our family identity, regardless of whichever one we owned or drove. You definitely grow attached to it; you feel homesick without it. You long for its comfort and familiarity, its maternal warmth and assurance. It wouldn’t be long, however, before we had another one.
By the late spring of 1972, Ron and Peggy had enough money to buy their dream model. It was ordered from Germany and delivered to Baltimore in May. They purchased the brand-new VW bus for $3,600 cash. It was light blue. It wasn't a camper yet; it was just a basic bus with two bench seats in back. Ron immediately drove it out to a factory in Indiana, where it was converted into what they called a Sportsmobile. The conversion took a couple weeks. The center bench seat was removed and the back seat was turned into a folding sofabed. The pop-up roof was installed, which pushed straight up, creating a loft bed big enough for two. That's where Amy and I slept. Julie was still young and tiny enough to fit into a hammock that clasped across the driver and passenger seats, and Mom and Dad took the sofabed downstairs. It was similar to what we had been used to, but the engine was much stronger. It was a brand-new vehicle with a blank odometer and its whole life ahead of it. We couldn’t wait to see what it could do! The side tent fit it perfectly, and we could sleep in there when it rained or when we wanted more space to really stretch out and make ourselves at home. The tent was tall enough to stand up in. When we’d stay anywhere for a few days or more, we unloaded all our stuff into the big tent, laid out our sleeping bags, and used it as a kind of family room. Otherwise, we all slept in the van for brief stops when we had to get on the road early the next day.
Many times we drove at night. The sofabed was laid out and us kids slept sideways across it like three pigs in a blanket. Mom and Dad could put on more miles after we were asleep and all calmed down. They shared a thermos of coffee and took turns driving, even switching places in mid-flight on a couple occasions—without stopping to pull over. That was a fancy trick they always bragged about. It was better to keep the gentle lull of the engine purring and steady into the night, which prevented any of us from waking up and having to go to the bathroom. It was a neat experience to open our eyes to a fresh new part of America every morning, still humming along, the first rays of light peeking over the horizon. The scenery had completely changed overnight. What a way to start the day! The weather got warmer the farther south we went. We pulled into the next new campsite and Mom and Dad set everything up as soon as we arrived. Us kids went out and explored while they arranged our little homestead. We had all day to run around and do as we pleased. We met other kids, played outdoors, and were free to have as much fun as we wanted. Our parents didn’t care what we did. It was safe; it was never boring. It was summer camp on wheels. We didn't know how lucky we were, how much freedom we had. For us, it was a normal life, to keep seeing new places and meeting new people, and then moving onward to somewhere new.
Soon enough, we were on the road again and full steam ahead. Once we got going, we rarely stopped for meals. Peggy climbed in back when Ron was driving and prepared our mid-flight meal. We had egg salad sandwiches and Hi-C and cookies, a picnic on wheels. After lunch, Mom packed everything back up and we kept speeding along. We progressed from state to state at a good steady pace through Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, Arkansas, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. When we finally crossed the border into Mexico, it was suddenly a completely different world, but we got used to the culture shock gradually, and we started to remember how Mexico was, and it felt exciting and familiar again the deeper we entered.
The brand-new van was already logging some big miles. It was a lot faster and peppier than the previous VWs, but the new car seemed to be experiencing some peculiar electrical problems. A fuse burned out—and then another one. After we picked up the Sportsmobile in Indiana, I told my parents that I was getting shocked sitting in the car. It happened when we pulled into a rest stop for a break. Mom told me it was static electricity. But then Dad thought he felt something too. They ignored it and got back on the road. Pretty soon everybody started experiencing strange fuzzy sensations. Something was definitely wrong. Every time we stopped, it happened again. It was an invisible mystery, but it was definitely real. Finally, we had to go to a garage and have the weird problem investigated. Amy and I started freaking out, and when they let us out of the car, we didn't want to get back in. We were stranded in the sticks of Kentucky for a few days, and eventually someone was able to figure out the cause of the problem. We were all a little jumpy after that and afraid to touch anything metal. Mom told us to keep our tennis shoes on. "Why do we have to keep our tennis shoes on?" She said, "Just in case." Somehow that advice was not reassuring, but eventually things got back to normal and we were on our way again.
That problem was soon forgotten when Ron started noticing that the new van was consuming an awful lot of motor oil. It was gulping it up like lemonade. Every time we pulled into a filling station, the attendant checked the oil, and it always needed another quart or two. That couldn't be normal, and it definitely wasn't. Ron stuck his head under the car and tried to find a leak. Where was it all going? He was getting annoyed, "This is a brand-new car, for Christ's sake!" Half-way to Mexico, a thousand miles from home, loaded up with all the kids and everything else, this wasn't supposed to be happening. The whole point of having bought the new car was to not have to worry about stupid crap like this anymore, he complained to Mom. Well, what do you expect from a VW? It became an emergency that could no longer be ignored. In Tupelo, we visited the birthplace of Elvis and we had lunch in a nearby park. Afterwards, Mom and Dad had a serious talk about what to do next. The car had problems that weren’t going away. They could turn around and drive it all the way back to the dealer. They deserved that much. It was under warranty. For all their troubles, they could take this lemon—now converted into a Sports-lemon, back to Baltimore. Hell, all the way back to Germany! That was what they should have done. That is what most people would have done. That was the reasonable—albeit inconvenient thing to do. But that is NOT what they did. That would have changed the course of history forever. That would have permanently erased the entire beginning, middle, and end of this entire story. It was obviously Peg’s decision. Ron had little say in the matter, and we all remember the look on her face. She was pissed, but she was determined. “Get in the car!” she snapped. We looked at Dad. We hesitated. We were scared. She said, “Get in the goddamn car right now!” and we loaded up again. Then we drove onward and outward and we kept going just like we always had, and never looked back.
And that, as they say…has made all the difference.

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