Your Worst Winter Story: The Hippie Plow

Your Worst Winter Story: The Hippie Plow
The VW Snowplow
Our Worst Winter Story series continues this week with a heartwarming tale of a dad who tried to turn his VW bus into a snowplow. It goes about as well as you'd expect. Read on and laugh.

Got a story you'd like to submit? You can send us your tale of winter wackness to [email protected]. Stories that run will be in consideration for a prize at the end of the series.

See also:
Your Worst Winter Story: The Snow Fairy

The story:

And so the story goes: The year was 1982, and about 25 inches of snow had fallen in Minnesota prior to this adventurous day. While winds -- ranging from 50 to 80 mph -- took over, and while most snuggled next to a fireplace, my father began to build a contraption that he felt was sure to get our family out of the mile-long driveway at our rented hobby farm (which we got evicted from seven years later because my teenage brother had an unforeseen party, which his band, the Eviction Committee, was later named after).

My father, whose beard was more than one foot long, started up his late-1960s Volkswagen Bus, which once had "Nixon is Here, the End is Near" spray-painted on the rear, and let it heat up. Meanwhile, he pulled two giant wood doors from the barn, and began attaching them to the front of the van. Using his favorite things to attach the doors, chicken wire and rope, he fastened them as tight as he could.

At this point, the family had put on our hand-me-down 1970s snowmobile suits and patch on top of patch of under-layers, and stood on the porch to enjoy the spectacle. After he cleared out a path, shaking the icicles from his beard, he began to rev the engine like it was a day at the Golden Spike Speedway. Our half wolf/half German Shepard dog, which used to babysit me while my parents worked in the garden, lay down next to me on the porch, ready to watch. The anticipation was more exciting than David Blaine about to electrocute himself.

The Volkswagen's tires began to roar with fury, and the white van looked as though it was about to fly like Falcor from The NeverEnding Story. Off he went, soaring down the road, heading toward the mile-long driveway. There was a "poof" as a cloud of white powdery snow flew into the air, the barn doors cracked onto the snow, and the Volkswagen slightly lifted from the ground.

Was he alive? Of course he was. This was just an average day on the farm. Guess it was time to tie the bed frame to the back and try a new course of action.

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