Beetle Breakdown and an Unexpected Sighting of Boulder's Log Lady

I drove my lightning bug green 2000 Beetle to work the other day, and the damndest thing happened. I stopped off at a coffee shop around the corner on my way in, and when I jumped back in the car it started, and immediately died. Not giving it a second thought, I fired it up again, and two seconds later it died. Not suspecting anything, I went through this sequence a couple more times before I noticed a peculiar flashing light on my dash.


Thumbing through the owner’s manual, I quickly discovered that this warning light was informing me that the ‘Immobilizer’ had engaged and the car was, well… immobilized. In other words I was screwed.

I walked the quarter mile to my office and frantically searched the web for a quick fix, a workaround, some little trick to reset the bugger and get me on the road. I found a couple of sure-fire solutions, naturally none of them worked. I was instructed to disconnect the battery for a full half hour, another one specified turning the key to the on position for 45 minutes, and a couple of other ploys in between. One offered that I should pound the dash repeatedly, something that I had already tried prior to abandoning the car in search of my blog based epiphany.

Later, I was to discover that the whole problem was a sensor (transponder) in my stupid key that had failed. Naturally I didn’t have a spare key with me, so I had to catch a bus home.

It was on this unplanned use of the public transit system that I sighted a legendary resident of Boulder County, Colorado; The Log Lady. I Never really paid much attention to the stories, simply dismissed this rumored being as nothing more than some homeless woman, a curious bag lady, nothing more. Every city’s got transients, and surely this was no different.

Nope, she’s the real deal. The bus crawled to a stop at my destination, the Park and Ride in Nederland, and she waddled past my seat near the front of the bus. Cradled in her arms like a newborn, was a two foot long pine log.  It was a fine log, having a perfectly symmetrical pattern and an obvious point of pride for this middle-aged woman.

She seemed preoccupied with her log while departing, until the bus driver broke the silence by kindly wishing her that the log would burn nicely for her that evening. She didn’t say anything in response, but didn’t have to. Her eyes betrayed the distain she felt, piercing black beetle eyes behind her tortoise shelled spectacles.