From Swedespeed:
http://forums.swedespeed.com/showth...ning-thing-you-have-encountered-while-driving
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(Lengthy post - my forte!)
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(written July 2004)
Volvo - An Amazon Story.
It was a dark and stormy night… - oops, wrong story, that was a ’54 Taunus sedan.
It was calm and sunny but cold on that Sunday morning after Thanksgiving 1976 and US80 through the central Alabama bayous was quiet save a few truckers dodging I-20 detours and a white 1967 Volvo station wagon trundling back to Texas with grinning newly-weds up front and a preschooler in back wrapped in a comforter with her teddy.
The ’67 122S estate car came to me in the strangest of coincidences. A year earlier, I had given my ’62 122S 4-door sedan to the paperboy for his 16th birthday as he and both sisters had fallen in love with the car after using it to complete drivers’ Ed. I was piloting the first VW Dasher sold in Lawton but at the time was filling up my wife’s ’68 Cutlass at Ft. Sill while she waited impatiently at the wheel. The 5-gallon maximum was still in effect from the first embargo fiasco and the joint was jumping with long lines to the pumps plus a wait to pay out. As I returned to the Oldsmobile what should be pulling up but this Amazon Kombi complete with a screaming infant and over-heated parents. The sergeant saluted briskly as if raising his arm would chase the torrid Oklahoma summer. My wife sensed immediately what was about to transpire and pulsed the twin Smittys with a lengthy stab at the pedal pretending to keep the ac pumping. Fifteen minutes later five humans and two automobiles began life anew.
It was a done deal that weekend. My ex took the Dasher, the house and the money while I swapped the Cutlass plus $100 for the Volvo then traded my medal-laden army uniform for Levis and loafers. This would not be the last time. Ten years hence, I would again demonstrate emotional immaturity at a very high level and bond with yet another old Volvo at the expense of a long-term marriage.
US80 was a Hoover-era route with 9’ lanes, 4” center stripe and 8 inches of dead grass run-off cascading in descent 35 feet to frozen earth. Visibility was endless and the perfectly tuned B18 purred at 85 while my pretty passenger poured coffee and exposed carefully wrapped biscuits made from hog fat by my mother-in-law. Life was good.
Suddenly my beautiful bride shrieked and pointed ahead. I immediately recognized the object in our lane hurdling toward us at mach two. The dual wheels were still attached to the axle and had spin-stabilized after breaking loose from the approaching 18-wheeler. This assembly appeared identical to the one stolen from my Korean DMZ-based nuclear weapons van while I slept, frozen to my cot, just inches away.
The Volvo’s flawless bumper and grille absorbed the impact as the truck roared by with its clueless driver. With the wagon loaded to max I was running 40/36 in the ZX’s which made the 16+” steering wheel turn easily but gave little control at 80 mph. The car headed for the bayou so I braked and steered left. The two wheels on the pavement caught traction and we shot across the road directly in front of an eastbound Plymouth Aster.
The Volvo rotated 180 degrees in all three directions while airborne. At somewhere near 70 mph in reverse this Swedish projectile impacted terra firma roof-first causing every window to explode tiny cubes of glass outward and spewing toys, tools, luggage, and eighty pounds of frozen steaks about the Alabama countryside. We were unhurt.
Hanging in her seatbelt, my wife replaced the lid on the half-full thermos (visualize that!) then slid out the side window as the girl exited the comforter and gently placed the teddy on the headliner. The engine was at high idle but running fine. I shut everything down then crawled along the roof and out the hatch bringing the bear and his friend with me.
The odor of gasoline prompted me to assemble the family a safe distance from the wreck. Wrapped in blankets we wept, prayed and sang to the empty highway then dined on the rescued biscuits and coffee. We heard the crunch of tires on frozen grass – the Plymouth.
The driver had seen the spiraling Volvo in his mirrors, stopped in Lowndesboro to call the Highway Patrol then returned to count the dead at Streety Creek. I climbed the steep slope and approached the man as the Trooper arrived with the truck driver. The officer took in the scene, stared at the crushed Volvo then asked if anyone was still alive. I had not noticed that the chilly survivors were motionless under the mound of blankets.
The Hayneville town rescue ambulance made the scene with a wrecker in tow. Once the Trooper was convinced we were just fine he asked volunteers to rescue the cargo. As we filled the ambulance with Lego and Green Eggs and Ham, I noticed my wife chatting endlessly with the Plymouth driver. They had graduated from the same high school class in Columbus, Georgia. As the rescue squad headed for Hayneville to store our goodies we wrapped up the accident report then stuffed six people and the teddy into the Plymouth for the return trip to Columbus. The Volvo was towed to Demopolis, still rolling! The truck driver gave us his last $20 bill.
Normalcy returned to Texas in 1977 as we sold the ’76 Pinto and bulked up the Volvo fleet with another ’67 122S wagon (from Switzerland), a ’68 142 (mint), a nearly perfect ’68 1800S, a one-owner ’66 122S 4-door sedan (‘Lil Ben) and a dumpy ’66 122S wagon which found new life two years later in the hands of Volvo lover in Hawaii.
While summer vacationing in Columbus in 1982 we visited Robert Ingram of Smiths Station, Alabama. Driving the Old River Road in Ben (the only Volvo with ac), we arrived late to find the humans had gone to church and left some twenty old Volvos unguarded in the Alabama forest. Having previously chatted with Robert about pulling parts from his stash I felt comfortable bundling up a 122 temp gauge (ether tube and all) plus two perfect hand brake guards. Ransacking an open PV444 trunk, my wife shrieked with delight. Could it be!? We opened the .50 caliber ammo can. It was! We had packed some Volvo spares for the 1976 wedding trip and now here they were 100 miles from Streety Creek! Giddy and guiltless, we took it all and left a $20 bill in the mailbox.
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The first week of July 2004 dumped 10” of rain on central Texas but two weeks later the grass is dying in my wife’s front yard. To avoid water spotting her Toyota I’ll move it to the side street before cranking up the sprinklers. There are no Volvos to move.
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George Dill
