letters to the editor

talking about how strong a Land Rover is, that its age was
actually a benefit because it was so easy to fix, and that it would
carry us the length of Africa and back. Before I realized it, we
had plans to meet over the weekend. Andrew thought that I had
gone soft in the head. What did we know about cars? We were
city folk. We were editors, for God’s sake! I rarely drove, had no
idea how to drive a stick shift, and had never put my head under
the hood of a car.
Oh, but it was love at first sight. My eyes glazed over, my
heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful—classic Land Rover
green with a white tropical roof. Andrew was smitten, too. The
Land Rover cupid drilled us both through the heart with a
hypoid-filled arrow. We leaped at Scotty’s suggestion that we
take it for a test drive, but we lost courage when he mentioned
the need to double-clutch into second gear. Double-clutch?
Instead, Scotty did the honors, while we piled into the front seat
next to him.
I sat in the middle, with my legs draped over Andrew. Scotty
started her up. She purred. He put her in gear and we were off.
He demonstrated double clutching, low range, and high range.
Andrew listened to Scotty intently, but it all flowed over me - I
was simply trying to control my excitement. What the heck was
that smell? It was an aphrodisiac. You know exactly what I’m
talking about. It’s about as far from that new car smell as you
can get. It’s the lovely aroma of hypoid and lightly fried Lucas
electrics.
Scotty operated his own Land Rover repair shop, so we
made an offer for the Series II that included mechanic lessons,
spare parts, and a roof rack. For the next three months, we
tackled one major maintenance job each week. But something
wasn’t quite right. Scotty addressed almost all his comments
about mechanics to Andrew, leaving me as note-taker. I half
expected to be asked to make coffee. I know cars have long
been the domain of men, but I was damned if I was going to be
passenger on this adventure. Put simply, Scotty was going to
shift gears, double clutch himself, so to speak, and teach me. To
his credit, he made the adjustment without grinding gears.
Soon enough, my nails were as black with grease as
Andrew’s. Over the ensuing weeks, Scotty gave me a crash
course in Land Rover repair, including how to change the
exhaust-manifold gasket (how cool was that!), adjust the
brakes, and replace the generator with a marine alternator.
I skinned my knuckles removing stubborn bolts, covered myself
in oil, and sported an array of unsightly bruises.
Meanwhile, Scotty advised us on the tools, spares, and
equipment we would need on our journey, everything from
spanners and ratchet sets to rear axles (a potential field
weakness on Series Rovers, we discovered) and high-lift jacks.
As the list of our equipment grew longer and longer,
it became clear that we were facing a serious space problem.
The roof rack was off limits—we planned to pitch our tent up
there as protection from both animals and people—leaving no
room for our 10 jerrycans or second spare wheel.
The inside of our 88” was already full. We had built two
large, lockable wooden boxes to fit snugly inside the back of the
Land Rover. The boxes held our food and medical supplies,
clothes, camera equipment, laptop, and key spare parts. We
had smaller plastic storage bins with tight-fitting lids stacked
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