The Chartreuse Microbus

I ‘m not real sure how the lyrics of a C.W. McCall song came about to describe our shit brown 1992 Ford Aerostar. It happened somewhere in my teen years when we were still cruising around in this beast, chasing guys in Mustangs down Hwy 157 and drag racing her down Main St.

Back in the early 90’s my grandmother and great-grandfather decided that they needed to purchase brand new matching vans for our company business. Throughout the years the vans got passed around within the family and basically just became one single van in my memory. The best memories come from when my mom drove the Aerostar. We went EVERYWHERE in that thing. She would haul my brother and I, and half the neighborhood across the state or anywhere else we desired to venture. During the summer we would load up on lunch breaks and go to Linton, Brazil, basically anywhere with a Dairy Queen, or if we were feeling really adventurous she would take us down to Southern Indiana on various road trips. We would basically drive from town to town in search of sought after beanie babies; you know the ones that were kept in the glass cases that no one thought they could afford. I actually remember purchasing the purple Princess Di beanie baby in Corydon, Indiana on our way to go spelunking in Squire Boone country. Mom would also load up all our friends and take us to the old drive in movie theatre on 67. Whichever one of my friends was dating my brother at the time got to sit in the “back seat”, and because of this, the seating arrangements altered about every other weekend.

No seating arrangement could possibly be more entertaining than the one we had on our way to Kings Island one summer. My brother and I each got to take a friend, so she and I started out in the back while he and his friend got the bucket seats. We were just sitting back there minding our own business, munching on some Cheetos and listening to K-Ci and JoJo, when my step dad suddenly takes a sharp turn. Just as she was chasing her Cheetos with some Mountain Dew, one of the bucket seats comes out of the floor and flies back into our seat, causing her to regurgitate her food all over the poor kid’s hair.

Unfortunately, the Aerostar was retired about 10 years ago, when on one of those 1,500 trips to Dairy Queen she decides to peter out right in the middle of the damn drive thru. She had to be pushed by random strangers while my mom and sister looked on in shame. It was the end of the road for the chartreuse microbus.