I Remember a Superbug Called Herbie

This post about a bug and kombi graveyard from the inspiring tinagray.me has made me remember a little Mustard yellow 1600 Superbug Volkswagon that I grew up with. Dad bought it in 1973 and it was sold to a 'yuppie' businessman in Sydney. I think it was about 1989. A few tears were shed that day. We called it Herbie.

I remember how you used to run on the smell of an oily rag. When we arrived home mom would stop you abruptly and then wait for the slosh sound of the petrol in the tank and say you’re good for a little while yet.

I remember how we used to ride on the ‘running board’ as we went down the driveway. Gripping on tightly as we bumped over the uneven rocky ground. It probably wouldn't be allowed today.
I remember how we all used to pile into you to go to the pool on a 40+ day in Perth and how your metal seatbelts used to get unbelievably hot like a scorching hot coal taken straight out of a furnace.
I remember how mom always used to squeeze as many people as possible into you. I swear you could stretch somehow.

I remember in the days before seatbelts were compulsory, my best friend and I would sit in the little compartment at the back and how the scratchy, hot, fuzzy material would give me an itchy rash.

I remember that distinctive putt.. putt.. putt.. of the volksie engine. I always knew when mom was coming to pick me up from the pool or a friend's house.
I remember the holiday to Kalbarri when we took you. Strapped surfboards to the roof and had the Beach Boys Greatest Hits blaring out.

I remember when mom would rev your engine at the lights and all the young hoons would look across and giggle and scoff. Then you would take off like a rocket and leave them for dead (or was that mom doing that...)

I remember you were more than a car to us kids. You were a friend.