1969 Chevy Corvair Monza – The Story Continues: Leaving my husband, surviving the DMV, and dying on Orchard Road

I moved out of the US in 2006 and every summer since, I have experienced the phenomenon of ‘expat woman migration’ in which large numbers of expat women vanish for the summer months and I sit twiddling my thumbs waiting for fall.

This summer, having finally become the wiser, I planned a migration of my own—and booked my flight ticket to the US a full three weeks before MHH’s. This was a big deal for one of us.

‘MHH, how would you feel if I went to the US a few days before you?’

‘Sure, that’s fine, honey.’

‘Are you sure? Because I don’t have to go early. It might be nice to travel together.’

‘It’s really okay.’

‘Okay…you know, if I went a week and a half before, I could be there for my niece’s birthday…’

‘Yeah, that’s fine.’

‘Really?! You would be fine for that long without me?!’

‘You might not remember this, but I actually used to live on my own before we met.’

‘Yeah, I guess…you know if I went three weeks before, I could go do this thing with my sister…’

‘Potato Woman, just go.’

So after filling the freezer with pre-cooked meals and reminding him at least five times to water the plants, I went.

My 1969 Corvair, licensed and ready for summer driving

Getting the Corvair out of storage and licensed was my first order of business. My brother-in-law John took me down to the DMV, a very generous gesture as anyone who has ever been to the DMV or DOL will know.

Here is what I learned from this experience: it is pointless trying to register a car if you don’t actually have the car with you; it is difficult starting a car when the battery is not connected; a wretchedly busy DMV is vastly improved by entertaining brother-in-laws and nice employees. 

Since the Corvair had been sitting for a while, I had Rick (Fobes Automotive) check it over, and he said it was good to go. A couple days later I had it back at Rick's for a new fuel float, but he had that fixed in short order.

One day as I was cruising into town, the Yellow Bomb decided to die at a red light. I turned the key—nothing. I turned the key and pumped the gas as Rick taught me—nothing. The light turned green. The guy behind me honked, and I got out of my car.

‘THE LIGHT’S GREEN,’ he mouthed, making wild pointing gestures at the light.

‘MY CAR DIED,’ I mouthed back, pointing at my car and drawing my finger across my throat.

‘OH.’ Getting the point, he maneuvered around me while I tried the key once again.

To my surprise, the engine chugged to life, so I gunned it around the corner into the Gem Stop parking lot before it could change its mind about running. It is there that I sat concentrating really hard about what one does when one needs a phone but doesn’t have one. I concluded that I would need to Interact with Real People.

Inside the Gem Stop, after doing some Interacting, a customer offered to loan me his phone. No one answered at home. No one answered in my dad’s office. I returned the phone.

The cashier offered me use of the store phone, a clunky device sprouting Wires and Cords, and as these mysterious strings were rather short and restrictive, the guy had to stand holding the Phone Base and dial for me while I leaned over the counter to reach the Phone Receiver.

Dad finally answered and gave me some advice. The cashier wished me luck as he stashed the stringy phone back under the counter.

In the end, I replaced the battery.

Here is what I learned from this experience: when your mechanic recommends getting a new battery, you should not wait for the current one to die; Les Schwab batteries do not fit 1969 Chevy Corvair Monza battery boxes; Car Quest batteries do fit, they install for free, and they know that Corvairs have rear engines; having a mobile phone is useful, but Interacting with Real People is really not too bad.

Coming up: MHH comes to the US and we go driving! 

1969 Chevy Corvair Monza

This is the story of the Yellow Bomb:

MHH and I have often talked of how convenient it would be to have a car in the US when we visit my family, and every visit seemed to reopen the discussion. After several years of circling the subject and a zillion internet searches, we finally settled on a beautiful creamy yellow, all original, 1969 Chevy Corvair Monza with just over 13,000 original miles.

We bought it sight-unseen, hoping we could trust the pictures and the word of the seller. My parents were highly skeptical, as were others, but when did that ever stop us?

We parted with our money in July 2010, and shortly thereafter the car was transported from Long Island to Idaho. Several weeks after the arrival of the car, it was determined that the title sent from New York had been lost in the mail/wrongly-addressed/mislaid by the elderly owner (we will probably never know which). It is my sage advice that you never do anything that would necessitate procuring a duplicate title, namely losing the original title, as it is a giant pain in the behind to both buyer and seller. Five months later, the duplicate title arrived and the car was officially ours.

Technically the car is mine, but that's a small detail I hardly ever mention.

Me and my yellow bomb

I first met my car when I visited the States in November 2010. My dad, whose carport it had been occupying since July, dubbed it 'the yellow bomb', a not-so-subtle reference to the car color as well as dad's opinion that we had bought an old junker. Physically it was gorgeous, but in truth it was running a bit roughly, or not really at all, so we took it over to local Corvair mechanic Rick Fobes of Fobes Automotive.  He gave me and my dad a tour of his shop, and I left my car for repair. He rebuilt the carburetor, gave it a tune-up, and had a friend and Corvair expert check it out.

Turns out that our gamble had paid off. Everything checked out as factory original--from the spare tire to the headrests and everything in between. We had acquired a very fine example of a wonderful American classic!

The rebuilt carburetor turned the little Yellow Bomb into a whole new car--I think even dad started coming around to it. Unfortunately I had to leave the US before I had a chance to try it out. After I left and the repairs were finished, the car went into a storage unit for the winter, mom and dad got their carport back, and MHH and I started planning our first road trip.

And that is the story of our Yellow Bomb.

A little help to get started

On the lift at Rick's for inspection

A shop full of cool cars

Summer 2011 road trip coming soon!

June Milestones, plus a little May and July

June is a month of weddings. My grandparents, parents, and sister all got married in June. I, of course, had to be different and got married in May.  

My grandparents were married 63 years ago on June 13, 1948. They are still just as cute as they were on their wedding day.

Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic Trail Run, June 15-19

Man, it’s good to be in an Idaho summer!  I had almost forgotten what it feels like to be warm without being sticky. It’s just past nine in the evening right now.  The sun is low in the wide blue sky, the air is warm and still and sweet with the scent of farmland, and I have the house to myself for the night as my parents have gone away to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary.

A dear friend of my from Singers (you know who you are!) suggested I make blog updates about my summer in the US, and since she is wise and full of good ideas and advice, I’m going to do just that.  Here is my first story:

I arrived in the US on the evening of June 13th.  Early the morning of the 15th, my sister Emily, her husband John, and I tucked ourselves into their Xterra along with a mountain of camping and running gear and zipped across Idaho (highway 20 across Idaho is fantastic!), cut through Montana, and touched down 13 hours later in Dayton, Wyoming.