Jen & Gertie
Model:
1976 Super Beetle Convertible
Name:
I was looking for a German name, and I thought my great-grandmother’s name was Gertrude. Turned out it was Mathilda. I didn’t find out until later.
Color:
She was blue, and when this paint job is totally gone, I’m going to take her back to her original color.
Mileage:
When I got her, she had 93,000. She’s rolled over, and I had to take a picture because it was huge. Now she’s at 1,700.
Motors:
I know it’s been rebuilt. I don’t know if it’s the original.
Owned since:
2009
Owners:
I bought her from a guy who fixes them up and resells them. He told me the man who owned it had passed away, but the family couldn’t bring themselves to sell it right away. So she sat in the yard for four years. When they were ready to part with it, they called him and I bought her.
Location:
Texas
Favorite driving song:
“Carry On” by Pat Green. A Texas artist singing about the open road, top down and cruising.
I love rebuilding carburetors. That’s my jam right there. I like taking it apart—it’s like a puzzle. There are pieces that you’re taking out and cleaning and then making sure you’re putting it all back together. I guess it feels almost like surgery without hurting anybody. I love that. I keep a carburetor on hand so I can play with it whenever I feel like it. I take it apart and put it back together. It comes in handy, too, because I had a perfectly functioning carburetor I was able to sell to someone that really needed it. It made me feel proud.
I grew up with Volkswagens. My dad was a naval mechanic, and we always had a Volkswagen at home—a Squareback, I think three Bugs, a Rabbit, so maybe five while I was growing up. The blue Bug was stolen by some hippies. They crashed it and trashed it. I have pictures of the Bug after they found it, along with their mug shots. For some reason I’ve held on to them.
I got this for my birthday. I love gerber daisies, then the tattoo artist did some natives. My dad’s side of the family is Irish. I shortened the Irish proverb He who travels has tales to tell to “Travelers have tales.”
That was our bonding thing—the Volkswagens. His car was always in tip-top shape, and he did teach me the basics: how to change the brakes, change the oil, check your fluids, those types of things. I had that basic knowledge. And then with Gertie’s new mechanic, a friend of mine, he’ll let me go to his shop and work on her with him. He showed me how to adjust my valves, we changed out the brakes to disc brakes in the front, and we did the distributor.
Growing up around Bugs, I always wanted one, and when I was in high school, I wanted a pink one with leopard interior. That didn’t happen, but that’s all right. Gertie will do and she’s great. She’s a diva. Everyone says, “Oh, she’s so pretty.” And I say, “Don’t say that too loud—it will go to her head.”
My little diva car. She does not like to sit. I’ve learned that too—don’t let her sit. When she’s driving right, it is amazing. It’s like a sense of freedom, particularly if you’re in the Hill Country here in Texas, that back-road driving is just amazing. It makes me feel so good to get her out, especially when people are giving you shakas or peace signs or honking. My friend says everyone’s got a Volkswagen story, and it’s true! People stop and tell me, “I remember when we were all like smooshed in the back and even behind the back seat . . .” All I can picture are those little mini clown cars.
I was once out in the sticks at a car show and wanted a margarita. They didn’t have margaritas. So I drove to the next town over to go through the drive-through. On our way back, there were vultures in the middle of the road. I was honking the horn, and they would not move. I started slowing down, and one finally flew off, but the other one waited until the last minute and flew right into Gertie. The bird hit the front, broke the antenna, and took out my side mirror. I had the top down and my friend’s son in the back seat, and I’m just glad the bird didn’t end up in the back seat. That would have been horrible. She has a nick from where the antenna bent back, hit the car, and then was hanging on by a thread.
On the way to the Austin VW Harvest show last year, Gertie’s clutch cable came loose on the highway. I was going from first to third because I couldn’t get her into second, so I limped home that day. When we got home, it wasn’t the clutch cable that needed to be tightened, we found out that her throttle cable was only held by a thread. I’m a hands-on person, so my friend asks, “Do you want to switch it out?” I’m like, “Yeah.” Taking it apart is easy, but putting it back together is a different ball of wax. I don’t know what I did, but I pulled on something and disconnected something in the engine. It was an easy fix, but if you don’t know, you don’t know. So now I know next time, don’t go in there and pull on random cables thinking you know what you’re doing.
I always say it’s not rocket science. It can seem like it when you’re in the thick of it and your car is not functioning right and you’re panicking because you’re thinking of newer cars and how expensive it is to fix them or how complicated they are because they’re all computerized now. But these are so simple, and the parts aren’t that expensive. It’s just getting in there and kind of like diving in and figuring it out.
The way she is right now is pretty much how she looked when I got her, but I have been doing mechanical improvements. Gertie still has the original horsehair seats. When I first got her, I would be driving down the road with all of this horsehair flying out. My friend said, “Take some spray adhesive and spray it in there to keep it all together,” so that worked. Then I read somewhere—don’t let anyone heavy sit on the back seat above the battery, because it could cause a fire, especially if you have horsehair. So no one is sitting in the back anymore. And one day, I was driving and all of a sudden I saw the window moving out of the bracket. So now I’m like, don’t open those windows. Just leave it alone. I try to buy original parts first, and then used. I found a salvage yard in Houston and drove all the way there just for a window piece for Gertie.
I found the plate, and I know it’s someone’s name, but she was a frickin’ lemon when I got her, hence Pinche Limon. That sums it up perfectly.
I think for me it’s the emotional bond that I’ve built with that particular brand of car through my whole life. Gertie and I have always had a love-hate relationship. It’s just something you feel with your car. It’s funny because I’ve never named any of my cars until I got Gertie. I won’t let anybody touch her outside of my friend, her mechanic. I’m very picky about who drives my car. I don’t let a lot of people drive my car.
I feel like the Volkswagen community is a big deal, and I always tell other ladies in the club, it’s important for these little girls to see us and think, That’s badass. I want people to see women in their cars. I often wonder if women are intimidated to come around? There’s a perception that it is a male-dominated community. I encourage other women to come out. During International Women’s History Month, I organized a wine-tasting drive. Guys can come along, but they can’t drive cars. The guys were supportive of it. It’s important for women to see us out there driving our cars and being at the forefront of the cruises. The guys will be like, “Jen, are you going to take the lead?” I’m like, “Hell yeah, I’ll take the lead.”
These cars are recognizable. The cars now, I hate to say it, look cookie-cutter. I’m looking at all these newer cars, and I can’t even tell you what make or model they are. I think people appreciate the old-school. And people are keeping it alive. She just brings me joy. I love her.
