Macho Man

[Victoria]

Nanuq, what do you know of the sufferings of Vicki Sue Robinson, of Blue Suede Schubert, of Disco Tex and his Sex-O-Letts?

Maybe it took them years to bust out their one-hit wonder only for a Mozart aficionado to dismiss their musical efforts as bubble-gumminess!

...

Of course, that is NOT my real reply. Your post and the words behind it are sublime.

Whilst I don't judge mechanical breakdowns as character, it cannot be denied that one always remembers most that which was ornery, and made you WORK to use it. When great care and tradition went into its making, it'll always be perfect.

Thanks for the insight, Nanook of the North!

[Nanuq]

Whilst I don't judge mechanical breakdowns as character, it cannot be denied that one always remembers most that which was ornery, and made you WORK to use it. When great care and tradition went into its making, it'll always be perfect.

Here's a favorite piece by Matthew Parris:

Love is a Land-Rover

In Africa they sell cars differently. That was my experience as a student, selling a Land Rover from a campsite in Nairobi. Four friends and I had driven from England. We needed money to fly home.

So, after washing and polishing Stanley, we put him up for sale. Then we waited by our tents. But our sales pitch failed. The truck had been pampered, we were suggesting; Stanley had hardly seen a pothole.

It would have been unwise, surely, to mention the accident in northern Cameroon? We had left the road and jumped a gully while I was on the roof. Launched, rocket-like through the air, I had landed (to the amazement of tribeswomen labouring in the fields) by a tree, dislocating both my shoulders (relocated by swinging from a branch). Otherwise no damage. The women sang. Stanley and occupants seemed unhurt, though all received a hell of a wallop and my companions' heads left four neat dents in the roof. The dents we beat out in Nairobi.

Stanley was presented as "pristine". Pristine? But our inquirers asked "What can this thing do?" African truck-hunters would cluck as we emphasised Stanley's cosseted history. "But has it been tried? Where have you driven it? How steep will it climb? How strong is it?"

So we learnt the techniques of African persuasion. "This vehicle has been everywhere," we would say. "It has been driven across the whole of Europe, crossed the sea in a boat to Morocco, and traversed the Algerian Sahara. Neither the intense heat, nor the deep sand, nor the great rocks in the road could stop it. Tamanrasset was easily reached. The Hogar mountains in southern Algeria were surmounted without difficulty. Many times we were stuck in the soft sand, but always this truck triumphed. Niger, where roads hardly exist, was no problem. Nigeria - the heat and dust were incredible - was crossed in two days."

Eyes would grow wide as we recounted the thrills and spills. "In Cameroon this car survived a terrible accident! We left the road, flew across a gully - all four wheels in the air -" (this was true) "and hit the ground so hard all the windows fell out (this was partly true). "In the Central African Republic the mud was knee-deep. No problem. In Zaire the roads were like rivers. Monkeys climbed on to the roof, and, once, a snake . . ." (this was not true) " . . . and in Rwanda we gave a lift to 12 people, all crammed in and on the rooftop. In Tanzania we passed among lions: there is nothing this Land-Rover has not seen. We drove it up the lower slopes of Kilimanjaro. "And now - look! Strong, tested, ready. Such endurance!"

We stopped short of pointing out that even the original, excellent engine oil, which had brought us all the way from England, came, unchanged, with the vehicle.

As the tale of abuse and endurance unfolded, prospective buyers, seized with a desire to own this paragon themselves, would up their offers. Sadly, none could afford our price. We had to sell Stanley to the white manager of the Coca-Cola bottling plant, who spotted (as we had not) that the chassis was cracked. He had it welded.

His was the more scientific approach, but is the African attitude not preferable? Born there, I must have soaked it in myself, for now I have my own Land-Rover, a lady of a certain age. Although it makes no sense, I cannot bear to part with her. With every scrape she surmounts, I prize her more.

Registered in Sleaford, Lincolnshire, in 1959, she is an early Series II (headlamps close together but overhead valve and the "new" body design which more or less survives to this day). I bought her after the 1979 general election.

A battered old truck is classless, excellent for MPs: as acceptable on council estates as up gravel drives. Mine is a petrol-engined long wheelbase "cab & canopy", dark green, registration NTL 703. There are no seatbelts, moss is growing in the windows, the dashboard has rusted through, but she just keeps going. She has accompanied me twice to the Sahara (once across the atrocious tracks of the Tassili N'Ajer mountains), many times to Europe, once (with loudspeakers) through a general election, and innumerable times down the M1. She has pulled caravans and horse-boxes, transported straw for my llamas and flagstones for my drive. In bad winters in Derbyshire she has come to the rescue.

Nor was it all rough-stuff: she has visited The Finings, John and Norma Major's Huntingdonshire home (though the detectives had to assist me in a push-start; it complicates the cheery departing wave to a former Prime Minister). Polished, she has collected the Foreign Minister of the Western Sahara's Polisario Front at Heathrow. All this without any serious failure, ever.

There have been ailments of course, but she and I got through them. When the starter motor conked out, I started the engine with a crank for months. My lost key has been replaced, too - though for a season I remedied its lack by coupling two wires under the bonnet. One door rusted away; the new one flies open, to the alarm of passengers. Once, 14 of us fitted in for a trip to the pub, Nick climbing over the roof on the way home, hanging over the windscreen, leering at me upside down and denting the roof amusingly. The bumper is twisted where Jon scraped a wall while I was teaching him to drive. The other day a wire behind the dashboard combusted so we stopped in a cloud of smoke and ripped it out. I never did find out what the wire was for. The mileometer hasn't worked since 1981, the speedometer hunts the mark, the interior light is defunct and there never was a heater. Nor is she lockable, though for six years I would leave her unattended all week at Derby station.

Like a person, such a machine only grows stronger with age; like a person, you never think she will die. Unlike a person, a Land Rover is capable of returning affection. But in recent years intimations of mortality have multiplied.

For five years my mechanic has told me that there was a limit to the welding possible on a rusting chassis. Before setting out for Spain this Easter I asked him to look her over. He said it would cost up to

[Victoria]

I wish my heart and pen could sing with the poetry of Mr. Parris' wisdom.

Savouring every word, I do however realise I'm just a practical, unromantic European who wishes for as pristine a possible mechanism, rather than the dings of a talisman.

Oh, not all the time. "Dag-Olav", my beloved Swedish auto, rests peacefully in in my garage, to ride again one day. I'm just about to buy a minty new German ride, but I tell you, I still love that old cantakerous Swede, with the knowing love of a child bride.

And I wear watches whose decades count in 4 or 5, when I'm in special need of comfort.

@Nanuq: Does it really! Love it, thanks!

[Nanuq]

I hear ya. And the pain/pleasure goes on... last night I accidentally tore the back bumper off my Rover.

It was an accident, I tell you! An accident!! I just got a little too close to a tree....

How is it the English word "character" comes from the Greek word "to scratch"?

[solchitlins]

I love spoting a vintage Omega or Rolex. My family owns a restaurant so I nottice watches from time to time.

I remember my Dads friend showing us his new flashy Porsche and he was wearing a cheap Seiko quartz.

[Nanuq]

If he bought the Porsche as a babe magnet, I can see that. If he bought it for its capabilities and engineering, then it's only a matter of time (ahem) until he's into mechanical watches too.

[Richard Tracy]

I think many of us do this unconsciously, which is not always a judgment, but an attempt to categorize

not the type of person, but their taste in or dept of knowledge of watches in general.

Many people, most, I would venture to say have little interest in watches beyond time keeping,..

however I still can't help but to feel a bit of disappointment when I see a watch that at first glance

could be a classy or rare piece, turns out to be a legal clone, i.e. Invictah or any of the Swiss sounding

copies that I seem to have grown a strong distaste for.

Which I

[Toadtorrent]

I love Mountain Hardwear camping gear.

Awesome...almost all my stuff is Hardwear. We give Hardwear gear away for Christmas...nothing brings a tear to my eye like Gore-Tex Proshell.

Nice to see some real design stuff on this board instead of just Armani and Montblanc. HAH.

[Nanuq]

Awesome...almost all my stuff is Hardwear. We give Hardwear gear away for Christmas...nothing brings a tear to my eye like Gore-Tex Proshell.

Nice to see some real design stuff on this board instead of just Armani and Montblanc. HAH.

@Toad old buddy old pal old chum... how do I get on your Christmas list?

My 4-season MH tent is just amazing. You can stake that puppy down and weather out a hurricane!

I picked the old MH Dryloft King Tut bag and put in the zipper extender so I have room inside for my morning clothes. It's conservatively rated to -20F but I've been toasty and happy at -40F.

Bombproof stuff! Have you tried Moonstone Gore parkas?