That Bug is a reflection of the history, values and evolution of our resort community. 

Back in the mid-1980s, Janet and Butch were ski bums. They had working-class jobs and an unreliable vehicle. I was in the same boat, but I had a much cooler car. We both lived in a condo project that was built in the 1960s.

We would bump into each other in the parking lot on cold days while we were trying to seduce our cars to start. 

My car, a 1967 Saab station wagon, was from Sweden. It had front-wheel drive and was good in snow. It desperately needed a new battery; I desperately wanted new skis. I could only afford one, so the choice was simple. Below-zero days would find me walking around the project, cables in hand, looking for a jump-start. I described my weak battery as, “another Saab story.” But that said, when the Saab would run it was a gal magnet. 

The gal magnet quality was something I coveted back then, since my last girlfriend had dumped me when she demanded we sit down to discuss “priorities,” but I wanted to wait until I was done watching re-runs of “The Three Stooges.”

Butch didn’t have to concern himself with a cool car — he was married. That was a good thing because Butch drove a  Ford Escort. Though the Escort was more likely to start, it had low clearance and rear-wheel drive. It did have a back window defroster which served to warm your hands when you were pushing it out of a snow bank.

Janet and Butch grew up in southern Colorado. Her parents were acquainted with the dangers of driving their marginal car in winter conditions. It was during that time period when Janet’s dad gave her gave her a restored 10-year-old, pumpkin orange, VW Beetle with good tires and a payment plan.

The life of that Bug reflects some of what’s best of our community.

Over the years, Butch, Janet and I (sort of) have became more legit.

They started a family, embarked on successful careers and moved from a condo to a house. I did likewise with the exception of the “family” and “successful” part. I did find legal work and a gal (now wife) who thinks wrinkles and poor spelling are sexy. 

The VW Bug, once their only reliable transportation, became a third vehicle that was mostly lent out to neighbors whose cars were in the shop. Butch was tempted to sell it to free up space in the driveway, but by then his wife and kids considered it a part of the family. Sitting in Butch’s driveway surrounded by vehicles 20 years newer, it was a reflection of older times and emblematic of where they were and how far they’ve come.

Jon Novotny never saw that orange VW Bug. He was athletic, intelligent and as blind as Stevie Wonder. He was one of the best sightless Nordic skiers in the world. He lived locally but competed all over the nation. I would occasionally guide him in both his training and races.

In the mid 1990s Jon was diagnosed with cancer, which eventually caused his death and near financial ruin. His situation caused the Summit Emergency Medical Fund to be formed. This was an organization that raised money for the locals in need.

There was a yearly fundraiser that supported that amazing organization. Locals and businesses were generous in their donations and musicians donated their time to perform. There was a live and silent auction.

Janet and Butch decided to donate the 1974 Bug.

I was the MC.

During the live auction I was taking bids for items ranging from bodywork, dinners, lodging and vacation packages.

The Bug was not the most expensive item, but it did garner some spirited bidding. Doc PJ had no interest in buying a car but he bid on it anyway to get the price up. His last bid was $1,800 and then the room got so quiet I could hear a ball of sweat rolling down my back. 

PJ bought a Bug he did not want. That was 35 years ago; the Bug still sits in front of his house. It has aged but, maybe once a year, still runs.

The years have faded and aged that Bug. It sits in front of an old garage and wood pile and has become both a tourist attraction and local landmark. 

It is not uncommon to see folks taking photos, touching the faded paint or even setting up easels across the street to paint.

What they see is an artifact from a half-century ago. What I see is a wreck that embodies the quirky history and kindness of Summit County.