In the summer of 1984, Sean McNamara and his friend Steve were too broke to fly home. Determined to extend their summer European joyride into the winter, the duo inherited a navy blue rust bucket they nicknamed “Underdog.” Backfiring and bursting into flames at inopportune times, Underdog trucked them all across the Swiss Alps as they bunny-hopped ski towns, staying just ahead of federal pursuers tracking their car. Below recounts their first encounter with the jalopy.

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At the edge of town a young blonde-haired woman hailed us and asked if we were Americans. Her name was Paula, from Sand Point, Idaho. After hearing our story, she told us she had a ’72 Audi sedan that her ex-boyfriend, a South African dentist now in London, had given her. She said it wasn’t working. The cops had been hassling her about it—it was abandoned on the street— and if it wasn’t moved, there would be trouble. If we fixed it, Paula said, it was ours.

We found dangling plugs under the hood, loose valve covers, and balls of electrical spaghetti. A rusty exhaust pipe dangled just above the tidy Austrian pavement. After straightening everything out, we found, to our astonishment, that the thing actually started. It didn’t run so well, but it ran. The brakes were good, tires fair. It was navy blue.

We found a tape deck in the trunk, which we wired directly to the battery. We even found three cassettes: Elvis Costello, Eric Clapton, and Gloria Gaynor. We named our godsend Underdog, after the cartoon-character air freshener hanging from the mirror. Then we bid our benefactress a hearty danke and headed up the Arlberg Pass.

Every now and then Underdog would backfire like a howitzer and startle passersby and fellow motorists, but no matter: we were in the Alps. Never fear! Underdog is here!

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Read more in Issue 7, out now.