letters to the editor

We had every intention of babying her, but we were going to use Africa to
exhibit what she could do.
The weekend with the Land Rover club filled us with confidence and
knowledge. The guys kept telling us that we’d never encounter roads as bad
or as treacherous as the ones we had just conquered. They repeated what
Scotty had said during our first conversation: “This car will get you across
Africa and back.” On our final evening, encamped on a dry lakebed at 9,000
feet, the club members built a huge bonfire. With a great deal of ceremony,
they presented Andrew with a Land Rover cap that had been passed from one
owner to another over the years. And to me they gave a pick axe, lauding me
as one tough bird for planning such a trip. Now toughness is not something
I have ever been accused of, but I suppose they weren’t used to having a
woman along. Their wives and girlfriends wanted nothing to do with their
smelly, noisy Land Rovers.
Returning to San Francisco, we finalized our plans. Using
giant Michelin maps of Africa, we traced a route that would take us on a giant
S-curve through the continent, working our way from Morocco through the
Sahara into West Africa. From there, we would head east, through the jungles
of the Congo to Kenya and Tanzania, before turning south again toward Cape
Town and South Africa. We had obtained all the necessary paperwork,
bought all the supplies. All that remained was to put our Land Rover on a
ship for London.
For the last time, I checked our nine-page, single-spaced list of supplies
and equipment. Then we drove our girl down to the docks. Waving goodbye,
I felt almost sick (It’s a car, for God’s sake, not a child!). If I had known
that we would be stuck in a minefield within a few short weeks, I would
probably have never let her go.
To be continued...
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