05 November 2018
This photograph was taken in 1985. Not sure exactly when, but undoubtedly a weekday and about thirty minutes after high school let out.
Our friend Johanna set up with her Canon as my buddy Jack and I flew his mom’s Super Beetle off the Crest Street “launchpad” in Chula Vista to get this shot. The launchpad was a flat spot in the middle of a steep hill that would send you airborne, if taken at proper speed. That’s my arm sticking from the window.
This isn’t nearly as safe as it looks, by the way. Thanks to the Beetle’s soft, drum brakes, Jack had to start pumping the pedal before touchdown to stop in front of the lighted intersection at the bottom of that hill.
Sadly, this Volkswagen would be rolled over and totaled by another one of our hard-driving friends in an epic of his own. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t the only automobile our group wrecked. We were hard on cars and had no idea how terrifying it was for our folks. At least they didn’t know the half of what was actually happening.
The authorities have since made this a 4-way stop and ruined the fun. But not before we got our turns. Many.
We’d fly any car anyone would let us drive out of sight for more than a few minutes.
My dad’s station wagon never went all wheels up because it weighed too much, but at least we could count on sparks off the frame as it bottomed the shocks. Mom had a little Chevy that got all four off, but, thanks to front wheel drive and a solid rear axle, the car would nose-dive and send its rear end sliding and skipping under heavy braking. We drove Jack’s dad’s International Harvester Travelall off it, once. It didn’t get high, but its metric ton of mass on bias-ply tires made stopping in front of the intersection impossible, so it had to be timed with a green to prevent a wreck. We never felt like doing that one again.
A couple years after this, I was trying to impress a date. I reminded her to buckle up and accelerated toward the launchpad. The police cruiser approaching the intersection came into view just in enough time to scrub a little speed with the e-brake (no brake lights), but I still caught small air. Directly in front of him. So, he lit me up and pulled me over on Telegraph Canyon Road, below. We talked. He gave me advice how to improve my life and, somehow, I got off with a warning. I hardly ever did, so it was a nice break.
We’d take other kids and their cars out there to fly, but would always insist on driving. Personally, I never rode shotgun off Crest with anyone but Jack because he was good at handling a lot of things at once and had a touch for the landing. No wonder, then, he would become a Navy pilot and accrue over 8,000 flight hours in his career. He’d eventually go to fly over oceans, deserts and in combat, but I flew with him his first few seconds–in a Super Beetle over Chula Vista.
–Michael Lane
