Would our aging Land Rover (known as Jeremy) stand us a round trip of 3000km from Joburg to the coast during the December holidays? Of course it would, we decided. Indeed, all went swimmingly until we reached Salem, near Grahamstown, where a wicked witch appeared out of nowhere and cut our engine.
As it started again immediately, and as I am severely technically challenged, we proceeded gingerly to our first destination - Kenton-on-Sea - offering libations to the God of Ancient Things for a safe arrival.
After a weekend of R&R, the game of "Hunt the Mechanic" began.The only garage in Kenton didn't "have the equipment" to diagnose Jeremy's malady, but I was directed to an auto-electrician in nearby Port Alfred, to which we repaired - with intermittent stops - only to find that he had taken some "me time" during the busiest part of the year. Ah, the Eastern Cape.
A workshop nearby, however, admitted Jeremy to intensive care and released him back to me the next day, with an invoice that said "All faults linked to engine relays." I should have known.
GOOD HELP IS HARD TO FIND
All went well on our return journey until just outside Kenton, when we were again brought to an ignominious halt.It was by then too late to return to Port Alfred. Our next destination, Plettenberg Bay, beckoned, and this leg of the journey went as well as could be expected. We made regular stops, on which we pretended to be admiring the scenery or stretching the dog's legs.
On arrival in Plett, we started another game of Hunt the Mechanic.
Someone at the visitors' information bureau pointed me in the direction of Piet, who said he only dealt with "old cars and old women" - but no diagnostics.
So off we went to seek out his recommendation, James.
After hearing my story, James said stoically: "I'm sorry, I can't help you on Monday or Tuesday or, come to think of it, Wednesday, Thursday or Friday - just look at all this", and he waved disconsolately at a variety of vehicles about the yard.
"But," he brightened momentarily, "try Luigi in the industrial area."
A-ONE, A-TWO, A-THREE
It was there that we unearthed Sophia, who, after peering anxiously under several cars in search of her husband, pronounced that "he musta gone into town".
"Besta you wait here because when he comma back and speak to customers, he forgetta to phone you."Eventually, Luigi hove into view, switched on his laptop and showed me a terrifying electrical diagram, which I presumed was Jeremy's innards.
"I see number a-one, a-two, a-three, a-five and a-six," he reported excitedly, "but where ees a-four?"
I had to admit I really didn't know.After some action involving cleaning fluid and insulation tape, I was presented with a minuscule bill and we exited with Luigi's good wishes and a laconic: "I justa hope every-ting is now alright" - a wish I fervently shared.
What lay ahead, we wondered?
One-thousand five-hundred kilometres of trouble-free motoring later, we eased onto our driveway in Johannesburg, patted Jeremy on his cylinder head and drank a final libation to the Real God of Ancient Things - Luigi!
"The Notebook" is about chance meetings and unforgettable encounters people have had on their travels. Send us your story - no more than 400 words - and, if published, you'll receive R500. Mail travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za with the word Notebook in the subject line...