The gift of a van just keeps on giving tasks

A few months back, I was gifted with a Van.
Not your average garden variety van, but a solid acre of blue painted 1995 GMC Vandura. It’s the 8-cylinder model, but reached the end of its useful life when the odometer creept toward the 300,000 mile mark. Impressive, when you consider that is more than the distance to the moon, at a fraction of the cost.
Without plans for any lunar exploration in the immediate future, I figured that the van still had a few useful miles left, and rather than take it to the scrapyard, my employer just signed it over to me. That was when the fun began.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been dreading that bane of Maine existence, the valid inspection sticker. When a vehicle is too old or appears to be capable of dropping parts of itself all over the Maine roads, inspection stations tend to get out not only the fine toothed comb, but in the case of this particular vehicle, a full tunneling electron microscope. The list of thing that need to be repaired or replaced reads like a bible.
After figuring out a dodge for that (that I’ll save for a future column after seeing if it actually works) I began to think about vans and all things van-ish. What possible things could I need to make the vehicle a true representation of what I want to be on the roads? Would going all “Mad Max” on the van be in bad taste?
After chatting for a few minutes with my friend Roxy, an experienced van owner around these parts, she gave me a good chunk of the lowdown on what to expect. “Vans are expensive. I put TWO engines in mine last year; It’s just like owning a boat, a hole in the water you throw money in.” She has had her '79 VW Bus for a few years, and uses it as an alternative to late-night travel if she’s had a few too many. She has one of the few models that didn’t come with a stove, a plus since “I’d probably burn the thing down.”
She did bring up the old adage about vans rockin’ and declining to knock, but drew the line there. I suppose it would be OK to stand outside the van and cheer and clap.
That advice leads to all manner and sort of major and minor purchases for the van. Do you know how hard it is to find a WORKING 8-track player in this town? Pawnshops and secondhand stores won’t touch them. They will sit on the shelf until the shelf rots from trying to hold them up. E-Bay has a few, but their working status is unknown. Too risky, but the joys of true quadraphonic sound an a van rolling down the road in a Maine summer is hard to beat.
I found a service that will convert stuff over, but I’ll still have to find some working 8-tracks. No yard sale will escape my glare for the rest of the summer.
Then, I have to find a local tattoo artist who might not be too ham-handed with an airbrush. Nothing beats a good Blue Oyster Cult album cover art on the side of your van, with the possible exception of some of Boris Valejo’s cover art. Google him if you doubt me.
Where in the name of all that is holy can I find lime green or desert rust shag carpet in this city? I think they outlawed most of that stuff in the seventies, and the only possible place left to find it is the deepest part of the ocean or some EPA Superfund site. Classy interiors are the hardest part of an old van like this one.
There is the whole couch issue, for the back, But I’ll have to buy one of those new. I have a hard time trusting anything on the sidewalks of this city, as it most likely has bedbugs or some kind of generic funk that would put my sneakers to shame.
Can’t forget the sewn up from and old red-check tablecloth curtain for behind the driver. Fuzzy dice are still available. That’s a plus, at least I won’t break the bank trying to find those.
Then, there is the whole CB radio issue, also known as the original redneck cellphone. Also can’t forget the whip antennae which whaps every car around you unless you tie it down right.
Roxy was right, this whole van thing is expensive, but the price must be paid. The days of Summer 2010 are waning short, and I’ve miles of beaches yet to hit this year. Van-equipping is turning into the scavenger hunt that is almost unwinnable, but those items are out there, I just have to find them.
Now I understand how Ahab was “tasked” by the whale.

 (Bob Higgins is a regular contributor to The Portland Daily Sun.)