Chapter 17

After a short, 200-foot drive in the van, the explorers arrived at a car dealership, Izydorczak Honda. As they walked toward the dealer, they noticed a payphone with a big green “GT” sign on top of it.

“Can you help me explain GT to our non-Helmintoller viewers?” asked Billy, filming the payphone.

“I was GT’s president from 2011-2016 and drove for them from 1985 to a few months after my presidency ended, when I switched to Uber. I think I can help you out.” said Melissa.

“I also did a year with them, back in 2010-2011, before I quit when I got a new job and didn’t have time anymore.” said David.

Billy turned her camera to Melissa. “Hi, I’m Melissa Murphy, former president of Great Transport. I drove for them from 1985 to 2016 and served as president from 2011 to a few months before I finished my 31-year career with them. Basically, GT was a forerunner of Uber in many ways. In the mid-1960s, a college student named Edward Medley had an idea for his fellow students to help the community and make a little extra money. Due to technical and legal reasons, he couldn’t set it up until 1973. Back in the days of Izzy, it worked with pay phones. You’d call a marked number on a pay phone, and it would broadcast a type of radio signal that you had to have a special type of receiver in your car to pick up. The GT drivers had these receivers, which had LED screens on them, and when someone needed a ride and you were within 2-3 miles, it would light up the number of the payphone. So, if someone were at this payphone, it would light up IY-58. Nowadays, it works with GPS, like Uber and Lyft and things like that.”

“Sounds confusing. Always had a lot of respect for the early GT drivers.” said David.

“We had to drive around the city and area for a few months as part of training to get used to where everything was, and we kept maps – paper maps – on top of our dashboards.” said Melissa.

“How was the pay? I want to drive for GT in a year or two.” asked Billy.

“Usually about 60-70 cents a mile when I started, about $1.50, maybe a bit less, now. It was luck of the draw on what car you got, though they all had to meet certain safety standards. If you wanted a luxury car or an exotic, it might be 3 to 5 times more.” said Melissa.

“What was the most expensive thing you could get driven in?” asked Billy.

“Follow me.” said Melissa.

 The explorers walked across the street, and then about a block over, to find a brick building with numerous supercars in the parking lot that had decayed to the point of undrivability. The destroyed Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Porsches, Aston Martins, and several other niche-branded cars were covered in decades of mud, pollen, and moss. Most of the tires were deflated, and some of the windows had broken. Melissa walked over to a Porsche 959, so thoroughly decayed that it couldn’t be determined what color it had originally been. A broken front passenger side window meant that the interior was in similarly wretched shape.

“This Porsche 959 cost $300,000 when we got it back in 1986. I actually drove it several times. A ride in it would set you back 25 bucks a mile.” said Melissa.

“Was it in general circulation, so one might get really lucky and get a ride in it at the cost of a normal car?” asked Billy.

“No, it was exclusive, you had to book it.” said Melissa.

“25 bucks a mile. Did you get a lot of customers? Also, what about the other supercars, how much did they cost per mile?” asked Billy.

“We had appointments booked up solid, 8 am – 8 pm, non-stop from October of ’86 through to January ‘87, then it calmed down a bit. We ended up paying for the car by January 1^st, then we knocked the price down to 10 bucks a mile. Most of the car enthusiasts in the area got to it when it was 25, before January 1^st, so we weren’t slammed at 10. Most of our other supercars were in the 7 to 10-dollar range per mile. I personally usually drove the supercars on Mondays, which were one of my days off. I think the schedule they had me on was every third Monday, 2 pm – 8 pm.” said Melissa.

Billy turned on the camera to film Melissa again. “What was that like, driving people around in supercars?”

“I enjoyed it. They gave us our car assignments ahead of time and swapped us out every two hours. Most of the people took the standard five-minute, one mile ride so I was meeting new people every five minutes. Most were younger men or boys, between about 10 and 40. The kids and the hardcore enthusiasts were my favorite. They were always so happy. As for the drives themselves, we had a route we were supposed to take, we’d go up the road, make a left, down the avenue a few blocks, turn by the black glass apartment, make a left, down the road, down to the next avenue over, another left and finally back. If someone booked a 15-minute ride, I’d usually take them out on the interstate. On the standard 5-minute rides, I’d only get to 45, 50 miles per hour, but if someone booked a 15 or more-minute ride, I’d take them out on the interstate and punch it.” said Melissa.

“What’s the longest ride you ever took someone on?” asked Billy.

“We had a limit of 30 minutes per ride. One guy paid $150 for a 30-minute ride in the 959, the Monday before the volcano. We got a good 10 miles out on the interstate, up to 140 mph. Younger man, about 21 years old.” said Melissa.

“You never got pulled over?” asked Billy.

“The left-most lane was a ‘high-performance’ lane, no speed limit once you got 2 miles out of the city.” said Melissa. 

All but Megan walked into the building, entering a semi-circular room, about 20 feet long at its midpoint, with windows along all its exterior walls. Most of the windows were broken, and ducting was hanging down from the ceiling, which, other than its joists, had completely came out. Moss and grass covered parts of the oak wood floor, which was buckled and warped.

On the outer side of the room, there were 27 chairs arranged; two rows of 10 each facing one another, with the remaining 7’s backs against the outer wall. Against the wall, to the left side of the row of 7 chairs, were the remains of two bookshelves lying on the floor; some of the books and magazines had fallen outside the building, into the grass, and the bookshelves themselves looked termite eaten.

The explorers looked at this side of the room first. The pile of books primarily consisted of 1980s car magazines; Road and Track, Motor Trend, Car and Driver, and some even Billy had never heard of.

“Wait a minute, ‘How to Test-Drive Exotic Cars’? Never thought I’d see a book called that.” said David.

“Let me see that.” said Billy, opening the book. “Copyright 1980 claimed until April 30, 2000. After that date, this book is in the public domain.”

“Mmm, 20 years of copyright, seems reasonable for a book like this.” said Melissa.

“My dad had this book as a kid. He test-drove everything. There was this one exotic car dealer where they normally wouldn’t even let you touch the cars unless you were wealthy, because they had this manager who had a chip on his shoulder. They had stuff that they wouldn’t have even had here. My dad went there 16 times to test-drive or ride in something unsuccessfully. Then, the 17^th time, the manager wasn’t there, turns out he was out for a year. The man shows up and test-drives 5 cars including a Ferrari 288 GTO. This was in July of 1985, by the way. He was 23.” said Billy.

“Wow, he sounds like a persistent person.” said David.

“He told me, never give up on your dreams. He wouldn’t go to a car dealership 17 times now like that, but he did end up getting a good job as an automotive journalist, before becoming a Volkswagen specialist. It’s almost scary what that man can do if he puts his mind to it.” said Billy.

“I’d love to meet him, he raised you right.” said Melissa.

“Thank you, he’s a great man.” said Billy.

“Anything you’ve wanted to test drive?” asked David.

“Actually, I’ve test driven every current Honda except the current generation Odyssey.” said Billy.

“Well, you’ll have a full list soon.” said Melissa.  

“Thanks for wishing me luck – Oh, you’re going to let me drive your van?” asked Billy, realizing the meaning of Melissa’s words.

“Yes, once we finish our exploring, you can drive us home once we get out of Izzy.” said Melissa.

“You’re kidding, right?” asked Billy.

“No, I’m serious. You’re more than welcome to drive my van.” said Melissa.

“What if I wreck it?” asked Billy.

“I have 8 airbags to take care of us. But seriously, if I’m in the car, my insurance will cover it.” said Melissa.

Billy was so excited, he nearly tripped on a December 1985 Car and Driver as he walked away from the bookshelves to the other side of the room. The inner side of the room had a tall counter that concealed a Commander Dostim Plus and a red cloth office chair covered in bird droppings. Underneath the counter, near the foot area, was a generator. Billy looked at the case, covered in fine dirt, closer and found that a red LED was still on. He moved the mouse, but nothing happened.

Finding a power button on the keyboard, he pressed it, and the computer’s fans whirred to life, followed by a screen that said “DostimOS”.

“THIS COMPUTER FREAKING WORKS!” shouted Billy.

Melissa almost said, “Turn that off”, but remembered that the computer was on a generator. She and David walked over as it finished booting to an operating system largely resembling a first-generation Macintosh, but in full color.

“Why is there a generator on this computer?” asked Billy.

“They always told us that it was in case of a power grid interruption from volcanic ash, like if there was a minor earthquake or eruption.” said Melissa.

“They would have never guessed it would go 33 years without being used.” said Billy.

There were three folders on the desktop: CARSCHED, DRIVERS, MAINTENA, and “FINANCIA”.

“The names are shortened because the OSs of the time could only do 8 letter file names.” said Billy.

Billy clicked on the “CARSCHED” folder, then on a file called “POR959~1”. It was a spreadsheet file, last modified 03/28/87 8:02 pm. It opened to a sheet with a date/time, driver, driver birth date, customer, and customer callback number. The first entries were dated October 4, 1986; the first line said 8:00 am, Driver 1906, April 27, 1958, Randy Watson, 2-961-492-3308.

“What’s your driver number?” asked Billy.

“2844.” said Melissa.

“I see that guy you were talking about. 2:10 – 2:40 pm, March 23, 1987. Does anyone know a John Durso?” asked Billy.

“Haven’t seen him since ’87.” said Melissa.

“What was with the driver birth dates?” asked David.

“The minimum age to be a driver was 21, but a few people wanted their driver to be older, like 25 or 30.” said Melissa.

Billy scrolled the page down. The week following the volcano had at least 100 people booked, and there were pages for booking all the way out to September 30, 1987, though the last booking was on September 5.

“When did this place reopen? I’d be pretty peeved if I were one of those people who had a supercar ride canceled.” said Billy.

“Sadly, it took a while. We had a temporary location with a limited selection of cars in October, so 7 months later. We reopened at our new permanent location in June of ’88 and held our grand opening on July 30^th of that year.” said Melissa.

“And the funny thing is that my dad told me that they opened as close to that dealership manager’s house as they legally could, like a half mile or something. Was that coincidence or intentional?” asked Billy.

“If it’s who I’m thinking of, we did it on purpose. I wasn’t involved in that decision, though. That came from the big boss, Mr. Messenbaugh, himself.” said Melissa.

“Did you work there, and how long?” asked Billy.

“Yes, until 1992 when I had my first child, and didn’t have time anymore.” said Melissa.

Billy looked at Melissa’s driver profile and a financial statement from 1986.

“This place made over 4½ million dollars in 1986? Holy guacamole.” said Billy.

“Yeah, this place was always full.” said Melissa.

“I’m thinking we should turn off the computer before we use up all the power in the generator and go look at that Mongolian restaurant across the street. I’ve heard that place is nuts.” said Billy.

“Everybody ready to go?” asked Melissa.

“Yeah, and I think I ate at that restaurant once, wouldn’t remember it though.” said David.

The explorers left the car center as a tear came to Billy’s eye.

“All those cars, just rotting away. All those cars that brought thousands of people joy.” said Billy.

The restaurant, called simply “Buuz Grill” – evidenced by its label scar, as all nine letters had fallen off – was designed to look like a giant Mongolian yurt, complete with a fabric motif on its desert sand-colored exterior. The exterior was overgrown, save for the entrance, although the building appeared to have no windows. The parking lot was about 10 percent full.

“I think I’m going to try this one out.” said Megan.

All the explorers went inside, finding a large room, filled with tables and chairs, underneath a 20-foot-high ceiling. A fine dust, consisting mostly of flaked-off ceiling material, covered the tables. Many of the tables still had plates on them, the food having rotted to nothing long ago. The floor was made of copper colored stone, and the walls were covered in a large, intricately painted mural that looked somewhat Asian; the explorers could only assume that it was Mongolian as well.

“Wow, they really went far with the realism. Was this a trendy restaurant?” asked Megan.

“It was quite popular, and believe it or not, open for many years before the volcano, I think since the ‘60s. After the volcano, it re-opened in Wheatley.” said Melissa.

“I’ve never heard of Buuz Grill, and I go to Wheatley a lot. Must have closed.” said Megan.

“Changed its name to Mongo Grill back in the early ‘90s, and eventually merged with Genghis Grill about 2001 or so. So, if you’ve been to the big Genghis Grill in Wheatley, that’s the old location of Buuz Grill.” said Melissa.

“This place still reminds me of a Genghis Grill.” said Billy.

Billy picked up one of the menus left behind on a table. There were only a few items on the menu, none of which included vegetables. “Big Buuz Buffet Bowl, 4 bucks. Man, I would stuff myself so much at that price.”

“I guess you don’t need a big menu at a buffet. Most people got a buffet bowl and called it a day.” said Melissa.

Billy continued down to the drinks section. “They had airag here too. Why doesn’t that surprise me? And they also had alcohol-free airag.” said Billy.

“I’ve never had this airag stuff.” said Megan.

“Fermented horse milk. It’s an acquired taste.” said Billy.

“I wonder why there’s no vegetables on the menu. I mean, I hate vegetables, but I’m surprised.” asked Billy.

“Traditional Mongolian cuisine doesn’t have many vegetables because their climate doesn’t allow for much vegetable farming. As I understand it, it gets to below 0 in the winter there for months on end and then up to 100 degrees in the summer.” said Melissa.

“That’s about right.” said Billy.

The explorers walked into an alcove of the building, where the buffet had been. There was a hole in the roof directly above it. The stickers that showed what had been in the serving troughs were still there, beef, sirloin steak, mutton, lamb, goat, chevon, camel, pork, bacon, Harbin sausage, and even yak. A black, ash-like substance covered every serving trough; bird droppings covered the glass shield and surrounding areas. Spices, which had deteriorated to stale powder, were in troughs next to the meat. There was no area for vegetables. Megan got a whiff of the smell of rotten meat and stale spices and left.

“Wait a minute, who would eat yak?” asked David.

“Why don’t the Mongolian restaurants nowadays have some of these meats?” asked Billy.

“Yak is quite good, at least in my experience, sort of like low-fat beef that’s a little sweeter. But some of those meats were expensive and hard to get, especially after Nelson International Meats scaled down their operations after the ‘90s. It just wasn’t profitable. You can still get yak and camel in some places, but they won’t always have it and it’ll be expensive.” said Melissa.

“Sad that the most unique ideas end up watering themselves down or closing.” said Billy.

“Well, it’s probably good that they don’t sell those meats as often. Yak and camel don’t sit right with me.” said Megan.

Next up was the ovens that the meats would be cooked on. The explorers recognized the large, table-like oven, but the jugs – each about two feet tall, on a small counter – were new to all but Melissa. A large barrel, filled with stones about the size of a fist, was next to the jugs, and a fire pit was next to the barrel.

“What’s with the rocks?” asked David.

“That’s a type of traditional Mongolian barbecue, called Khorkhog or something like that. They put the stones over a fire to get them hot, then they put the hot stones into the jugs with water and meat. At the time, this was the only restaurant in all of Helmintoller to serve it.” said Melissa.

“Sounds inefficient, but I suppose it works better in Mongolia.” said Billy.

“You’d always have a few people standing and watching as they cooked the khorkhog. I remember being 8 years old, standing in this very spot, standing on my tiptoes, so mesmerized by the cooking process. A couple helped hold me up so I could see better.” said Melissa.

“That’s so nice of them. Any more good stories involving this place?” said Billy.

“I remember, when I started working at the supercar place, I was driving some probably 50-year-old guy in a Bentley Turbo R, and they’d brought in some Buuz in a cup and snuck it into the car. While we were driving, he got it out and started eating. I hit the gas, and the food got all over him and the interior of the new car. I hear him scream out the S word, look over and see him covered in meat chunks with his hands up. I was new and wasn’t expecting the car to accelerate so suddenly, but needless to say it’s a bad idea to bring food on a supercar ride.” said Melissa.