gas, air, & spark
August 12, 2020
notes
In May 2019, Dan and I drove our 1976 VW Bus, Clyde, out to Utah. Thinking ahead, we had our good friend (and Uphill employee number one) Oliver caravanning with us in case anything happened. This was by far the longest we had driven Clyde and to our surprise he made it there without a single problem.
We were driving to The Bacchanalia - our celebration of partnership — both in life and in business. After three days of fantastic food, people, weather and partying, we packed Clyde up and headed out Sunday morning for a short drive on a beautiful day, landing eventually at a campsite by a river. This was the beginning of our slow, meandering journey back to Seattle, that was to be filled with hikes & wineries, and rest - a mini-honeymoon of sorts. We drove out of the campsite at 8am on Monday morning. Oh, no wait - we drove 100 feet from our campsite and then Clyde stalled. Flash forward a terrifying 8 foot rope tow from Oliver down the highway to the only mechanic in the whole state of Montana that knew anything about VW buses (somehow only 1.4 miles away in the tiny town of Divide), followed by hour after hour of trying and failing to diagnose the problem.
It should have been easy. Vehicles like this need three things — GAS, AIR, & SPARK. Just as it was approaching 5pm and I was approaching the point of giving up all hope and figuring out just how expensive a tow to Seattle would be, the mechanic technically got Clyde working. I say technically, because although we could start him, what we would later find was that if we weren’t actively accelerating, he’d die.
But it was good enough for us. read: good enough for people who have no other choice. So we booked it.
In May 2019, Dan and I drove our 1976 VW Bus, Clyde, out to Utah. Thinking ahead, we had our good friend (and Uphill employee number one) Oliver caravanning with us in case anything happened. This was by far the longest we had driven Clyde and to our surprise he made it there without a single problem.
We were driving to The Bacchanalia - our celebration of partnership — both in life and in business. After three days of fantastic food, people, weather and partying, we packed Clyde up and headed out Sunday morning for a short drive on a beautiful day, landing eventually at a campsite by a river. This was the beginning of our slow, meandering journey back to Seattle, that was to be filled with hikes & wineries, and rest - a mini-honeymoon of sorts. We drove out of the campsite at 8am on Monday morning. Oh, no wait - we drove 100 feet from our campsite and then Clyde stalled. Flash forward a terrifying 8 foot rope tow from Oliver down the highway to the only mechanic in the whole state of Montana that knew anything about VW buses (somehow only 1.4 miles away in the tiny town of Divide), followed by hour after hour of trying and failing to diagnose the problem.
It should have been easy. Vehicles like this need three things — GAS, AIR, & SPARK. Just as it was approaching 5pm and I was approaching the point of giving up all hope and figuring out just how expensive a tow to Seattle would be, the mechanic technically got Clyde working. I say technically, because although we could start him, what we would later find was that if we weren’t actively accelerating, he’d die.
But it was good enough for us. read: good enough for people who have no other choice. So we booked it.
By the way, did I mention that poor Oliver was still with us? We got as far as we could until the sun set that first day only having to perform the ‘Gas Maneuver’ once. Oh, the ‘Gas Maneuver’? When we’d pull off the Interstate for gas, Dan would flip Clyde into neutral, keep his right foot on the gas to rev the engine, while simultaneously braking with left foot. I say maneuver because as I mentioned before, Clyde only worked if we were accelerating. This meant any slowing down was accompanied by restarting the engine. And if you have never driven a 1976-era car please note the lack of power steering as well and the manual transmission makes this last sentence even harder to pull off than it may sound. Pulling off the freeway meant holding tight, and me yelling at Dan if the coast was clear so we could cruise through the one stop sign or so to get to the station.
Luckily Clyde started the next day (same problem though) and we of course decided that instead of our luxurious trip, we were driving straight back the rest of the way. And to date, that’s the closest thing we've gotten to a honeymoon. Seems kinda fitting for our life if I’m being honest. We’ve spent most our our relationship doing things that shouldn’t work, but out of stubbornness and luck, even when everything is breaking down around us, we figure out how to keep going forward. The result is always different than expected, but also more fitting and interesting than I could have devised.
Clyde teaches us all a good lesson. We talk about how we’re such “complicated beings” but I think that’s wrong. I think we just need gas, air, & spark as well. Even if these things are a little different for each of us. Over the past six months at least I’ve developed a better relationship with what it is for me. Without so many distractions you may have begun to see what has been working for you and what hasn’t. Even when something looks fine from the outside — just because there’s movement— it doesn’t mean it’s working.
I’m not sure any of us are too complicated. Although we are very proficient at complicating things. What happens when you look at your essentials. What is your gas? air? spark? That combination that’s uniquely you. Write them down. Set a calendar reminder to ask you every day if you did them? And look back. How were the days you did vs did not do them? Track that sh*t.
We were able to take Clyde into the mechanic almost immediately. When she said “I can’t believe you drove this from Ballard” (a neighborhood of Seattle ~2 miles way), we paused then said “don’t you mean from UTAH?!” Clyde never should have made it 2 miles, let alone 1,000.
And you could read this as a story of a little engine that could. But let me take a different point. We put many systems in place that shouldn’t even get off the ground and yet they do. Then we figure out ways to sustain them for longer than we should. But at some point it will come down. The signs just keep getting louder until we can’t ignore them any longer, try as we might. And ain’t the world in a big ol’ roar right now. Just because it “technically works” doesn’t mean it’s working. Look under that hood of yours and see what’s up. Decide what you can go in and (improve) before you end up stranded in the middle of nowhere on your faux-honeymoon without the luck of a mechanic nearby.
By the way, did I mention that poor Oliver was still with us? We got as far as we could until the sun set that first day only having to perform the ‘Gas Maneuver’ once. Oh, the ‘Gas Maneuver’? When we’d pull off the Interstate for gas, Dan would flip Clyde into neutral, keep his right foot on the gas to rev the engine, while simultaneously braking with left foot. I say maneuver because as I mentioned before, Clyde only worked if we were accelerating. This meant any slowing down was accompanied by restarting the engine. And if you have never driven a 1976-era car please note the lack of power steering as well and the manual transmission makes this last sentence even harder to pull off than it may sound. Pulling off the freeway meant holding tight, and me yelling at Dan if the coast was clear so we could cruise through the one stop sign or so to get to the station.
Luckily Clyde started the next day (same problem though) and we of course decided that instead of our luxurious trip, we were driving straight back the rest of the way. And to date, that’s the closest thing we've gotten to a honeymoon. Seems kinda fitting for our life if I’m being honest. We’ve spent most our our relationship doing things that shouldn’t work, but out of stubbornness and luck, even when everything is breaking down around us, we figure out how to keep going forward. The result is always different than expected, but also more fitting and interesting than I could have devised.
Clyde teaches us all a good lesson. We talk about how we’re such “complicated beings” but I think that’s wrong. I think we just need gas, air, & spark as well. Even if these things are a little different for each of us. Over the past six months at least I’ve developed a better relationship with what it is for me. Without so many distractions you may have begun to see what has been working for you and what hasn’t. Even when something looks fine from the outside — just because there’s movement— it doesn’t mean it’s working.
I’m not sure any of us are too complicated. Although we are very proficient at complicating things. What happens when you look at your essentials. What is your gas? air? spark? That combination that’s uniquely you. Write them down. Set a calendar reminder to ask you every day if you did them? And look back. How were the days you did vs did not do them? Track that sh*t.
We were able to take Clyde into the mechanic almost immediately. When she said “I can’t believe you drove this from Ballard” (a neighborhood of Seattle ~2 miles way), we paused then said “don’t you mean from UTAH?!” Clyde never should have made it 2 miles, let alone 1,000.
And you could read this as a story of a little engine that could. But let me take a different point. We put many systems in place that shouldn’t even get off the ground and yet they do. Then we figure out ways to sustain them for longer than we should. But at some point it will come down. The signs just keep getting louder until we can’t ignore them any longer, try as we might. And ain’t the world in a big ol’ roar right now. Just because it “technically works” doesn’t mean it’s working. Look under that hood of yours and see what’s up. Decide what you can go in and (improve) before you end up stranded in the middle of nowhere on your faux-honeymoon without the luck of a mechanic nearby.
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gas, air, & spark
August 12, 2020
notes
In May 2019, Dan and I drove our 1976 VW Bus, Clyde, out to Utah. Thinking ahead, we had our good friend (and Uphill employee number one) Oliver caravanning with us in case anything happened. This was by far the longest we had driven Clyde and to our surprise he made it there without a single problem.
We were driving to The Bacchanalia - our celebration of partnership — both in life and in business. After three days of fantastic food, people, weather and partying, we packed Clyde up and headed out Sunday morning for a short drive on a beautiful day, landing eventually at a campsite by a river. This was the beginning of our slow, meandering journey back to Seattle, that was to be filled with hikes & wineries, and rest - a mini-honeymoon of sorts. We drove out of the campsite at 8am on Monday morning. Oh, no wait - we drove 100 feet from our campsite and then Clyde stalled. Flash forward a terrifying 8 foot rope tow from Oliver down the highway to the only mechanic in the whole state of Montana that knew anything about VW buses (somehow only 1.4 miles away in the tiny town of Divide), followed by hour after hour of trying and failing to diagnose the problem.
It should have been easy. Vehicles like this need three things — GAS, AIR, & SPARK. Just as it was approaching 5pm and I was approaching the point of giving up all hope and figuring out just how expensive a tow to Seattle would be, the mechanic technically got Clyde working. I say technically, because although we could start him, what we would later find was that if we weren’t actively accelerating, he’d die.
But it was good enough for us. read: good enough for people who have no other choice. So we booked it.
By the way, did I mention that poor Oliver was still with us? We got as far as we could until the sun set that first day only having to perform the ‘Gas Maneuver’ once. Oh, the ‘Gas Maneuver’? When we’d pull off the Interstate for gas, Dan would flip Clyde into neutral, keep his right foot on the gas to rev the engine, while simultaneously braking with left foot. I say maneuver because as I mentioned before, Clyde only worked if we were accelerating. This meant any slowing down was accompanied by restarting the engine. And if you have never driven a 1976-era car please note the lack of power steering as well and the manual transmission makes this last sentence even harder to pull off than it may sound. Pulling off the freeway meant holding tight, and me yelling at Dan if the coast was clear so we could cruise through the one stop sign or so to get to the station.
Luckily Clyde started the next day (same problem though) and we of course decided that instead of our luxurious trip, we were driving straight back the rest of the way. And to date, that’s the closest thing we've gotten to a honeymoon. Seems kinda fitting for our life if I’m being honest. We’ve spent most our our relationship doing things that shouldn’t work, but out of stubbornness and luck, even when everything is breaking down around us, we figure out how to keep going forward. The result is always different than expected, but also more fitting and interesting than I could have devised.
Clyde teaches us all a good lesson. We talk about how we’re such “complicated beings” but I think that’s wrong. I think we just need gas, air, & spark as well. Even if these things are a little different for each of us. Over the past six months at least I’ve developed a better relationship with what it is for me. Without so many distractions you may have begun to see what has been working for you and what hasn’t. Even when something looks fine from the outside — just because there’s movement— it doesn’t mean it’s working.
I’m not sure any of us are too complicated. Although we are very proficient at complicating things. What happens when you look at your essentials. What is your gas? air? spark? That combination that’s uniquely you. Write them down. Set a calendar reminder to ask you every day if you did them? And look back. How were the days you did vs did not do them? Track that sh*t.
We were able to take Clyde into the mechanic almost immediately. When she said “I can’t believe you drove this from Ballard” (a neighborhood of Seattle ~2 miles way), we paused then said “don’t you mean from UTAH?!” Clyde never should have made it 2 miles, let alone 1,000.
And you could read this as a story of a little engine that could. But let me take a different point. We put many systems in place that shouldn’t even get off the ground and yet they do. Then we figure out ways to sustain them for longer than we should. But at some point it will come down. The signs just keep getting louder until we can’t ignore them any longer, try as we might. And ain’t the world in a big ol’ roar right now. Just because it “technically works” doesn’t mean it’s working. Look under that hood of yours and see what’s up. Decide what you can go in and (improve) before you end up stranded in the middle of nowhere on your faux-honeymoon without the luck of a mechanic nearby.
By the way, did I mention that poor Oliver was still with us? We got as far as we could until the sun set that first day only having to perform the ‘Gas Maneuver’ once. Oh, the ‘Gas Maneuver’? When we’d pull off the Interstate for gas, Dan would flip Clyde into neutral, keep his right foot on the gas to rev the engine, while simultaneously braking with left foot. I say maneuver because as I mentioned before, Clyde only worked if we were accelerating. This meant any slowing down was accompanied by restarting the engine. And if you have never driven a 1976-era car please note the lack of power steering as well and the manual transmission makes this last sentence even harder to pull off than it may sound. Pulling off the freeway meant holding tight, and me yelling at Dan if the coast was clear so we could cruise through the one stop sign or so to get to the station.
Luckily Clyde started the next day (same problem though) and we of course decided that instead of our luxurious trip, we were driving straight back the rest of the way. And to date, that’s the closest thing we've gotten to a honeymoon. Seems kinda fitting for our life if I’m being honest. We’ve spent most our our relationship doing things that shouldn’t work, but out of stubbornness and luck, even when everything is breaking down around us, we figure out how to keep going forward. The result is always different than expected, but also more fitting and interesting than I could have devised.
Clyde teaches us all a good lesson. We talk about how we’re such “complicated beings” but I think that’s wrong. I think we just need gas, air, & spark as well. Even if these things are a little different for each of us. Over the past six months at least I’ve developed a better relationship with what it is for me. Without so many distractions you may have begun to see what has been working for you and what hasn’t. Even when something looks fine from the outside — just because there’s movement— it doesn’t mean it’s working.
I’m not sure any of us are too complicated. Although we are very proficient at complicating things. What happens when you look at your essentials. What is your gas? air? spark? That combination that’s uniquely you. Write them down. Set a calendar reminder to ask you every day if you did them? And look back. How were the days you did vs did not do them? Track that sh*t.
We were able to take Clyde into the mechanic almost immediately. When she said “I can’t believe you drove this from Ballard” (a neighborhood of Seattle ~2 miles way), we paused then said “don’t you mean from UTAH?!” Clyde never should have made it 2 miles, let alone 1,000.
And you could read this as a story of a little engine that could. But let me take a different point. We put many systems in place that shouldn’t even get off the ground and yet they do. Then we figure out ways to sustain them for longer than we should. But at some point it will come down. The signs just keep getting louder until we can’t ignore them any longer, try as we might. And ain’t the world in a big ol’ roar right now. Just because it “technically works” doesn’t mean it’s working. Look under that hood of yours and see what’s up. Decide what you can go in and (improve) before you end up stranded in the middle of nowhere on your faux-honeymoon without the luck of a mechanic nearby.