Things of value

I am doing exactly what one is supposed to do in one's mid-40s: have a midlife crisis. So far, it's going very well.

Despite the relative freedom of being permitted to work from home most days, I found the constraints of a full time job awful, and the irritations and stupidity of a large organisation's bureaucracy increasingly unbearable. I am more and more aware of just how fleeting life is. And how hostile a normal modern professional life is to movement, health, and the time and calm for reflection and appreciation for beauty.

So I recently left my relatively well paid provincial government job for the scary world of freelancing, and uncertain, patchy income. Financially scary especially because I want to work on some more creative projects, and play in the garden and garage more.

In this time of navel-gazing I have never lost sight that I have so much to be thankful for. One of the most important is Rosie who makes every day happier. How many men are so lucky that they can devote their midlife turmoil entirely to pursuing vintage motorcycles and gardening, without any desire to wander? The last few months have been challenging for both of us, and not just because of me. But in that time Rosie has always been a refuge and support. She's also very easy on the eye, and far more career driven than I am. I'd be crazy not to try and keep her near for ever, and miraculously, she feels the same way.

This is an engagement ring. Appropriately, it is worth very little money, but it is from my mother's mother. The green stone is a simple synthetic spinel, with facet edges worn soft by the passage of many years. I photographed it on a hand-embroidered handkerchief made by a great aunt I never knew, in the late afternoon light streaming into our home.

Dellortos

Small motorcycle progress added to the Guzzi post (LINK), sorry for those who come here for flowers but this is just as pretty.

lost and found

A few days ago I saw a lone ginger kitten emerge briefly from the dusty grass next to a dirt road many kilometres from the nearest farmstead. I'm not sure what made me stop a hundred metres down the road and turn around to investigate. The last stray kitten I tried to rescue as a child was a terrified, un-tameable wild animal, spraying faeces everywhere whenever disturbed. Not an experience I'd care to repeat, especially inside my car with cloth upholstered seats, and sleeping bag and pillow on the back seat.

This little bedraggled mite had definitely been living rough for a while. Emaciated, filthy, patchy fur, tattered whiskers, scarred ears, and hosting more giant fleas than I've ever seen. But as I approached slowly, something unexpected happened. The purring started, and he came running over, rubbing up against my ankles. So into the car he went, and I set off with great trepidation. Apart from shedding flea eggs like sand, he only looked around with great curiosity at this novel experience, before settling down on the passenger seat.

The next day he joined our meeting, ate raw sausage and lapped milk like he'd never seen food before. He survived threats of drowning and shooting from two stern conservation men who rightly disapprove of all cats, and especially voracious, future bird and reptile murdering strays, but clearly didn't have the heart to do him in. However, we cannot keep a cat, I am mildly allergic, the cockatiel is very allergic, and the dog would consider him a snack. I stopped in Bredasdorp, the nearest small town on the way home, to drop him at the animal shelter. After looking over the miserable cages, and knowing his likely fate there, I was slightly relieved that they were closed and there was no answer on the after hours mobile number. In Cape Town, Rosie had already established that all the nearby animal shelters were full. So for a few days he was banished to the garage, with brief excursions when the mewing was replaced by constant purring. That time was enough to establish that he was intelligent and civilised enough to figure out how to use a sand box after one day,  and exceedingly hungry all the time. After the fleas were dealt with and he accepted being bathed with minimal fuss, it became apparent that he really was thoroughly adorable, that the purring might never stop, and that laps were a lot more pleasant to be in than end of summer dry and dusty wheat fields.



The power of social media saved us from becoming cat people, and on Saturday the ginger kitten joined a loving family and was named Lenard. The pictures and video posted so far show a very small cat establishing that he is the boss of two large dogs, a besotted, gentle blonde toddler, and the adults in the house. He is now certain of the finest food money can buy, comfort and constant love. Sometimes a happy ending is that easy.

A deconstructed Moto Guzzi

Why would an otherwise completely sensible person buy a 33 year old motorcycle, sight unseen, as a pile of parts?

Reason no. 1: It's a classic Guzzi


Reason no. 2:  Yes, that odometer really does say 26,326km. This Moto Guzzi SP1000 is basically brand new. Slightly more grubby than is typical for a new bike admittedly, but not a trace of wear anywhere. Flaking chrome and three decades of dirt, but all the working bits are almost virginal.

Reason no. 3: Well this is really the same as reason no. 1. Until the mid 1980's Moto Guzzi manufactured the most beautiful internal combustion engine on the planet. Still the old rounded tappet covers.


Reason no. 4: A very trustworthy, soft Welsh voice, all the way from Aberdeen. No, not Scotland, Aberdeen near Graaf Reinet in the Eastern Cape, South Africa. And some pictures. I'm not insane.

I fetched it Friday evening. Unpacking had to wait until Sunday. To the uneducated the following picture might look like a big mess. Understand that the newspaper is actually gift wrapping, and suddenly the true nature of the scene becomes clear.

Which brings us to reason no. 5:
Yes, there is another classic Guzzi engine in those pictures. It belongs to my 1971 V7 Special. We've been together since 1993, and slowly, slowly, she is returning to her former glory. Since she really is Special, serious modifications are out of the question. The SP 1000 though, is like a beautiful woman dressed in ugly clothes. She needs a little undressing, and some new clothes. A mistress, if you will, something of a plaything. Don't be alarmed though, that's just the Italian way, my oldest love will always be first in my heart.

P.S. I don't really equate women to mechanical possessions.
P.P.S. On the other hand, I do relate to the V7 as more than a machine. Judge me as you will.

10 Feb update

I made more motorbike fix up progress this weekend than I have in ten years. Miraculously everything seems to be there. That pile of bits now looks sort of like a bike, and I've got a pretty good idea of what I'm aiming for - a custom that uses almost all original bits, maybe even the original paintwork on the tank, but every excess piece will be brutally pared away and all the lines cleaned up. That open rear frame is a winner and will stay, with all the components that were under the side panels to be hidden away somewhere else. Now to decide what needs to be cut and changed, and what bits I need to make, and then I'll take it apart again, do all the repairing and fabricating, and just put it back together again. Easy.

I promise this won't become a motorcycle blog, but if you're interested, bookmark this post and I'll update with major progress.

Moto Guzzi SP 1000 cafe custom mock up. It's going to be pretty. And no, that's not the saddle I will use.

For reference, here's how it looked before. Sort of charming in a 1980 kind of way. The windshield is very practical , and not completely hideous, but whoever thought those engine cowls were a good idea should be shot and thrown in Lake Como. Not only are they an ugly blight on that exquisite v-twin, they also bash the knees of any normal sized person. Contact me if you would like to purchase all that excess bodywork at a very reasonable price.

That same Moto Guzzi SP 1000 circa early '80s. Photo by original owner Les McMahon

February 2014 progress:

I've mostly figured out what I want to do and have started getting bits ready. E.g. this pair of lovingly hand-fabricated headlamp brackets.



What you see here is about about 22 hours of Photoshop mock-up, cardboard templates, staring, measuring, staring, cutting, checking, staring, brazing, cosmetic filling with tin solder, grinding and painstakingly hand sanding to be ready for plating. Yes, that's only one small component. But this isn't a race, and aren't they pretty?

26 March 2014 - Carbs

Such a lovely name, Dellorto. Even the code sounds charming to me, one marked VHBT 30 C S, and the other VHBT 30 C D. VHB designates the old square bore Dellortos, with a nice wide 30mm diameter to feed those big cylinders. S is for Sinistra, left in Italian, D for Destra, right, indicating their respective sides.
They started out like this:


Filthy and corroded, dried out petrol sludge glueing everything together. This is great news. It tells me that this is why the previous owner stripped the carburettors, to try to deal with a problem, not to fiddle. It also confirms that the low mileage is genuine and the bike stood for long, long time at some stage.


A couple of hours of soda blasting, followed by a good rinse in boiling water and a careful drying got everything looking almost new. Home soda blasting is great, quick, safer and cheaper than nasty cleaning chemicals. Basically like sand or other media blasting, but with baking soda - powerful enough to quickly strip grease and deposits, gentle enough to leave even plastic components undamaged. The intake manifold gaskets had previously been stuck on with some gasket gunk, so I took the time to scrape them off carefully and get the manifold mating faces dead flat with sandpaper on a glass sheet.


After that it's like playing with a puzzle, making sure you have all the bits, undamaged and in the right places. MIA: one float pivot pin. Due for replacement: two number v9 needles badly corroded, one of which also had some wear. Dubious and should probably be replaced: one main jet, number 265, worn ever so slightly oval by the worn needle. All jetting standard and hopefully will do well with modern fuel, I've no desire to mess about with the more than adequate standard torquey performance.


For now, only temporarily assembled while I wait for the required parts, which will only be ordered once I discover what else I need. To keep everything corrosion free and prevent binding while it waits, all parts and channels are slathered in Fluid Film. Like most of their clients, I'm in love with this lanolin based anti-corrosion lubricant, which smells like Arnica lotion, doesn't go sticky or smell bad, and won't harm me, unlike most solvent based petrochemical lubricants that don't disclose their composition, but almost certainly include scary carcinogenic short chain hydrocarbons.

Labia Theatre

For Lily who is both a marvellous cook and poetic writer and photographer, and Braam, who appreciates benign decay but not necessarily the pigeon shit that tends to come with it.

http://labia.co.za - it's still running, and still the only independent movie theatre in Cape Town. Go and watch an art movie there in an atmosphere of authentic shabbiness, tinged with sadness and served with beer. It may not be around forever.

Update 14 Jan- A digital photographic aside

I've been concious that I need to deal with my tendency to take too many pictures, with not enough care given to each one. I've been looking over transparencies and negatives from the days when money and therefore film was very limited, but my time was cheap. I took better pictures. Exposure and composition tended to be spot on, even on transparency film where one has a half stop margin at best. Far more of the pictures were of meaningful subjects.

Now don't get me wrong, I love digital. As an environmentalist with a technical bent, how could I not? Anyone who's ever done darkroom work is aware that the chemicals are super-scary. Sure my best selenium toned prints are lovely to look at, but that stuff will kill you and is environmentally toxic even in tiny amounts. Digital is benign by comparison, and done right can provide quality that required far more time, and insanely expensive medium format gear back in the day. Plus you don't have to spend hours at a stretch locked in a pitch black, humid hole reprinting the same bloody print to get it right. The magic of seeing that image appear under the orange light soon disappears after the fifth time you've fixed, rinsed and dried it, checked under realistic viewing conditions, and still haven't got the exposure and contrast right.

Sometimes, digital does let you get the moment that would have been almost impossible before. The image above is one of around 65 shots. I wasn't just shooting randomly, I only pressed the shutter when there were flying pigeons potentially located in compositionally useful places. No motor drive, single shot only. It's never easy to compose with fast moving elements, but the great joy of digital is that you can check those difficult shots, and when you've got it, you know. I realise it's not a picture for everyone, I've left it quite flat and cold, but I love the composition, and what I didn't even notice at the time, the way the diagonal viewing line of isolated pigeons bottom left and top right just emphasises the stillness of all the sitting pigeons, in contrast to the two flying.

And yet. There are too many mediocre pictures. In the world, and on my computer. I don't want to photograph less, but this year should be a year for deleting, for taking fewer pictures, and going over old ones. Expect some posts from the analogue archives.

the science of portraits

Cameras do horrible things to people. Self-conciousness sets in, and with it uncontrollable rapid blinking and forced smiles. Even the most self-confident rapidly get that rabbit in the headlights look when faced with a huge unblinking glass eye. Ladies contort their heads into weird positions in a misguided attempt to hide real or imagined flaws or sagging.

For me portraits must be entirely natural. Unguarded and not posed.

This is why family portraits are a nightmare. Let's do the maths - it's all about probability. For an average picture with an average group of humans I'd estimate the input numbers as follows:

Adults
chance of an adult sitting properly without finger up nose: 99/100 = 0.99
chance of an adult having an acceptable expression: 4/10 = 0.4
chance of an adult having a great expression: 1/20 = 0.05

Children
chance of a child sitting properly without their finger up their nose: 6/10 = 0.6
chance of a child having an acceptable expression: 5/10 = 0.5
chance of a child having a great expression: 2/10 = 0.2

For the purpose of the calculations that follow, it is important to note that having a great or acceptable expression and putting your finger up your nose or similar antics are NOT mutually exclusive, as demonstrated convincingly here by both Sadie and Zoë who manage to look beautific while respectively mining for gold and pretending to be an eel.

Single children

Contrary to popular wisdom, portraits of single children on their own, are therefore not too much of a challenge - probability of a great expression, natural, decently framed picture without orifice exploration is:

0.6 x 0.2 = 0.12 or 12%

i.e. 1 in every 8 or 9 photos is likely to be a great success

If you can even relate to kids a little, just set up your kit, shoot 8 to 9 photos and et voilà:



You want a picture of your son just before his milk teeth fall out and he looks all rabbit-like for the next five years? No problema señora:

Multiple children

Two kids together? Still do-able:

(0.6 x 0.5)² = 0.0144 or 1.4%

i.e. 1 in every 69 photos is likely to be a great success

Three kids? We're starting to get into lower your expectations territory. Unless you want to shoot the 579 images that it would take to have at least one shot at them all looking great  over enough sessions for the kids to stay fresh, you'd better accept that at least two of them are going to look merely OK while the other one looks superb enough to make the mediocrity of the other two clearly noticeable:

(0.6 x 0.2) x (0.6 x 0.5)² = 0.0108 or 1.1%

i.e. 1 in every 93 photos is likely to be a two-thirds OK with one-third great success

And best you bring your best reflexes and enough light for f11. You don't want to be a little out of focus for that one in 100 shot. Keeping them still is not an option.

Single adults / teenagers

Single person portraits of adults are already substantially more challenging. While it will probably be easy enough to get an acceptable photo unless the person is really camera-phobic...

0.99 x 0.4 = 0.396 or ~40%

i.e. one in every 2 to 3 pictures is likely to be OK

...getting a really natural and flattering picture can be a lot harder:

0.99 x 0.05 = 0.0495 or ~5%

i.e. one in every 20 properly exposed, lit and framed pictures might be pretty decent.

Teenagers can be more challenging still, although the standard deviation on that group is awfully high so I will omit probability calculations as largely meaningless for specific cases. I personally think morose is not actually that bad since it's at least natural and will likely make an authentic portrait, although not necessarily one parents would pay you for.

Combinations

Hopefully I've already made my point and you know where this is going.

Let's say two grandparents, two parents and two kids. Want everyone looking their very best?:

(0.99 x 0.05)⁴ x(0.6 x 0.5)²= 0.000000054 or 0.0000054%

i.e. one in every 18,507 pictures is likely to be close to perfect.

I'm not really an 80/20 kind of person, but with these odds, I'll settle for OK, with a dash of lovely. Oh wait, one of the kids has run off and refuses to come back? Never mind, then it's time for alchemy. Just put grandpa with any available granddaughter:



Probability of success: 100%

Pooh, Leo and Pookie

The three of them have been with me since birth. I can't find a picture of Pooh, but he sits near my desk, yellow flannel for fur, with hand stitched eyes, nose and mouth radiating slightly surprised pleasure. Leo was made by my godmother in Cathcart in the Eastern Cape, and his floral green coat only gets more awesome with every year since 1970. I think he takes drugs when I'm not looking. And then there's Pookie. A life of hard loving and a couple of unpleasant encounters with family dogs has been tough on him, but he carries the scars of multiple injuries and facial reconstruction surgery with stoic calm.

It's important to have the right kind of stuffed friends. I couldn't ask for better.

So much Spring, so little time

It's the best and longest Spring in as long as I can remember. Despite my best intentions, photo editing and this site are coming a rather poor spare time second (fifth, sixth...?) to gardening, playing in the unbelievable flowers, taking photos, rearranging my garage as a preamble to actually re-starting work on my Moto Guzzi V7 Special, and admiring some vintage red tractor lights that I intend to turn into light fittings.

Did I ever mention that I'm a chronic and unashamed junk hoarder? But really, who can resist cool old shit. Like these cast agricultural valve handles. One day they'll be door or drawer handles, but for now I'll just look at them lovingly once in a while, or include them in a Spring-themed photographic reference to the shortage of free time in my life. And by that I mean the deep inconvenience that results from having to earn a living and do useful things most of the time.

Angels come in all shapes and sizes

My father and I both love old motorbikes. He mostly loves old British motorbikes. While I admit that they have a certain rustic charm, I prefer bikes that are reliable and don't leak oil everywhere. Unfortunately I'm also lazy, and my incomparable 1971 Moto Guzzi V7 Special is still distributed as disconnected bits all over my garage. So a couple of months ago I was forced to use his 650 BSA to join a vintage motorcycle rally he was helping organise. Half way to the venue, in classic British fashion, the BSA managed to vibrate loose every bolt holding the headlamp nacelle and speedometer. I pulled over on a highway overpass near the lower edge of the Voortrekker Road industria and investigated my pockets and backpack: one screwdriver, a couple of spanners, and a pair of pliers. No use at all with the bolts lying somewhere on the road behind. I was just staring at the sky and cursing having gotten out of bed early on Sunday morning when this apparition on a black Kawasaki appeared. Black leather, dirty faded jeans and work boots. Old-fashioned blue ink tattoos on his hands that may or may not have been done professionally. And kind eyes. We got talking and I found out that he was the mechanic for the crankhandle club. I also discovered that he'd owned the exact same model BSA. We did not immediately come up with a solution for my problem. I was about to turn around and head home when I stepped on a strap hanging from my backback. I'm not sure what it was originally intended to hold, but since it had not been used in ten years, I turned to my guardian angel and asked if he had a knife. He pulled out a retractable craft knife. The kind with disposable carbon steel blades that snap off in sections. Except this one had been resharpened to a narrow point and razor edge. He said "Be careful" as he handed it to me. Ten minutes later I was on my way, motorbike held together with nylon strap, glad that I'd gotten out of bed early on a Sunday morning.

I need the world to slow down for a while. To be calm and still and kind.

Ingrid & Kevin's vintage birthday

It's fortunate that the best photo from this late night, slightly drunken and very chaotic photo booth session was of the birthday girl and birthday boy together. Like a still from a Woody Allen movie.

Jimny, a little love affair

This site is NOT about reviews of stuff. But until my more work-oriented ecological.co.za site goes live, this post can live here. Because the Suzuki Jimny is so damn cool it deserves serious consideration, and when I was researching to buy I struggled to find any reviews from people who'd actually lived with these cars and really used them as working vehicles.

My work involves a substantial amount of fieldwork and site visits in Provincial Nature Reserves. It's a hard life I know, but someone's got to do it. In the 14 months since I bought this car in Feb 2011 I've racked up 28,000 kilometres throughout the Western Cape: a mix of city driving and commuting, lots of tarred highways, gravel roads in various states of repair, and nature reserve tracks ranging from gentle to 20 degree inclines liberally strewn with large rocks and dongas.

Yes, the Jimny looks like a dinky toy. It's downright girly in appearance. Rugged reserve managers and other Land Cruiser types may not take you seriously. The name does not help. Fortunately I'm manly and hirsute enough to pull it off. But can this tiny, cute caricature of a Jeep actually be a serious work vehicle?

All the detailed specifications are available from the Suzuki website here. Of these, four things together really distinguish this car from any other:

• It's tiny and featherweight- 3.645m long, 1.6m wide and only 1,070kg
• It's light on fuel with a claimed 7.2L/100km - comparable to a light sedan or hatchback (in South Africa it's only available with a 1,328 cm3 petrol engine)
• It has a real 4x4 drivetrain, with proper selectable low range
• It's by far the most affordable 4x4 at R192,900, even including vehicles without low range like the Toyota RAV and Daihatsu Terios.

Yes, it's small

The Jimny is a really unique set of design choices. Lets get the obvious stuff out the way first. This is a two-front door, one rear door car, shorter than most city cars. It's for singles, couples and families with no more than 2 small kids. Like any two-door, getting into the back seat involves sliding the front seat forward, and is a pain. While it is possible to fit two, or even three very short-legged persons in the back seat, for 6 foot tall adults, seat depth and legroom together are not adequate to allow knees to be pointed forward in a normal sitting position even when the front seats are pushed way forward, which would then push the front occupants' knees into the plastic dash. At 6ft1" I need the driver's seat adjusted as far back as possible, and very tall drivers would probably not fit. With only two standard sized adults however, it is perfectly comfortable, and with the rear seats folded forward, provides plenty of packing space.

And it really is frugal.

Manufacturer's claims for fuel consumption tend to range from optimistic to downright fraudulent. In this case however, they aren't too far off the mark for a sensibly driven Jimny. Over 28,000km, I've managed an average of 7.5 litres per 100km, ranging from a delightful 6.9l/100km when doing lots of 80-90k/h driving on dirt, up to 9.1l/100km when tearing along at 140km/h.  That means 400km to a maximum of 500km before the fuel light comes on, requiring a 36l refill, and leaving around 4l or 50km of reserve in the 40l tank. I drive like a granny and have to do very little city and rush hour commuting, so these figures are around the best you could expect, with average users of cars in standard trim reporting 8-8.5l/100km, and some even getting typical consumption as high as 10l/100km.

I haven't noticed any large difference in consumption when engaging 4WD high range on loose gravel or muddy dirt roads, nor if the airconditioning is on. Even 30km of low range on up to 20deg incline didn't dramatically reduce range on a full tank.

It's clear that the Jimny's fuel use responds strongly to driving style, with lowest consumption requiring good practise of gentle acceleration, avoiding heavy braking by anticipating traffic, and staying below 110-120km/h. Likewise, oversize tyres and heavy modifications take their toll. However, even the worst Jimny fuel consumption figures reported are 30% or more lower than virtually any other 4x4, and half of what many big 4x4s use.

But has it got the off-road credentials?

In short, yes, and then some. Remember me bitching about rear seat space three paragraphs ago? That's because this isn't anything like most serious off-road vehicles. It's not a truck turned into a car. It's more like a super quad-bike with a light body. After living with this car for a while, it's clear that every design decision aims to keep overall mass way down so that lighter engine, suspension and running gear can be used. That shortness translates into the ability to turn on a dime, and incredible entry and exit angles. And hot damn, it works. You can climb into and out of holes that would leave bigger cars with their rears buried in the ground. This little thing runs rings around any other 4x4 I've driven. It's small, narrow and light enough to pick lines that other cars couldn't and zips merrily over soft sand that bogs down heavier vehicles. On steep inclines and really rough tracks, with low range engaged from the button on the dash, the little 1300 engine and excellent power to weight ratio is entirely adequate to keep it crawling over rocks and up impossible inclines all day. It might be bested by bigger cars with larger wheels and a bit more clearance on huge boulders, but I've yet to meet a reserve track where I couldn't get through without even breaking a sweat.

Despite it's cutesy looks, this is no soft-roader without low-range or adequate clearance. I recently accompanied an all wheel drive Volvo XC70 down a rocky track, and breezed through sections where the Volvo was spinning tyres, scraping it's chassis, and having to make several attempts at steep, loose sections despite its powerful diesel engine. If you're more interested in getting into the wild than engaging in constructed 4x4 challenges, the Jimny will get you anywhere you need to go.

Oh, so that means it's not so hot on the tar?

Well... that depends on your expectation. I've pointed out that the Jimny is very short and narrow. It is of course tallish too. Having moved straight from owning a similarly sized and shaped 1986 1600 Daihatsu Feroza, and having driven the older SJ incarnations of the Suzuki, I found the handling phenomenally brilliant in comparison, with decent cornering, fantastic braking even in emergency situations, and far better high-speed road holding. But physics is a bitch. Compared to a lower sedan, or even a wider off-road vehicle, cornering does involve some leaning and is best approached with sensible caution. The ridiculously short 2.25m wheelbase with rear-wheel drive means oversteer is a potential hazard, and something you have to be very aware of, especially on loose gravel roads. Engaging four wheel drive helps in these circumstances, but it's not magic. The Jimny is not as stable as a longer vehicle, and if you don't adjust your driving style accordingly you will come to grief. That said, I've never felt unsafe, and the few times drunken men and horses have appeared out of the dark, I haven't felt even close to losing control, even while swerving and simultaneously emergency braking from over 100km/h. The ABS brakes do their job just as they should.

While the rev-happy Jimny can maintain 140km/h comfortably on the open road, it does wreak havoc with the fuel consumption. I'm not interested in driving much over the speed limit anyway. I've seen enough freshly dead and maimed idiots and their victims in my travels to understand the dangers. Ironically, driving fast actually makes almost no substantial difference to travel time anyway. How many times have you rushed past a slow truck, and had it pass you an hour later when you stop for a 10 minute pee break? My rather belaboured point is that the Jimny is plenty fast enough. Yes, the little engine does sound strained at over 120km/h. Yes, once in a while you might need to change down a gear when going up a steep hill. Yes, a sixth gear would be lovely on the open road, and would probably dramatically drop consumption on long trips. Yes, it would be nice to have a little more power when overtaking long trucks. But honestly it really is fine like it is. I regularly drive 8 hours or more in a day, and the performance isn't something I think about.

In the city however, the Jimny is in its other element. It keeps up with traffic effortlessly and it's got none of the disadvantages of a normal four-wheel drive. Any reservations you might have about the open-road handling will disappear when you have to park in crowded Long Street, or do a quick u-turn across a single lane. The turning circle actually beats nearly all small sedans and hatchbacks, and it's a doddle to park in the smallest space.

It's all about compromise.

When I bought this car, I was utterly baffled as to why the designers didn't add 15cm to the length of the car and allocate that space to back seat legroom, and maybe add small rear doors. Oh, and roll-down rear windows. Did I mention that the back isn't just cramped, it's probably downright claustrophoic? But why should I care, I never go in the back. I now realise that adding any space would have required a cascade of design changes that would make it impossible to have such a small, nimble and fuel efficient package that is also tough, capable off-road and on, and at half the price of any other 4x4.

In short, if you want the fuel consumption and manoeuvrability of a small two-wheel drive, with real usable off-road ability, something has to give. That something is space, and to a lesser extent, power. And while a short, narrow and tall 4x4 will never corner as safely as a sedan, the Jimny actually handles surprisingly well, and ABS braking and passenger and driver side airbags provide additional peace of mind. If like me, you really don't care about 0-100km/h acceleration times as long as you can easily keep up with other traffic, and like travelling light, the Jimny will take you anywhere. It handles ridiculously easily in the rough compared to heavier and larger vehicles where you can hardly see your line over the long bonnet. Although I typically do two to three day trips, I wouldn't hesitate to take mine on serious overland expeditions. I don't really understand why anyone would want to struggle with a 100kg canvas house when a 2kg two-man tent goes up in minutes. Out of Africa is a hassle kids, let it go. But if you can't, and you struggle to fit all your expedition gear inside and on top of your long-wheel base Landy, the Jimny is not for you.

Like any car, the Jimny is a design compromise. Professional motoring journalists unvaryingly value power, acceleration, speed and luxurious comfort. Apparently fuel economy, affordability and and flexibility are only for wimps. Reviewers that actually test the Jimny thoroughly in the rough note with surprise that it's as capable an off-road vehicle as the best. But even those that get that far are usually put off by the small interior, practical finishes, and the fact that the mountain goat handling is less of an asset on the open road. In their never ending macho quests, they miss the point that even the most ardent town dwelling over-lander typically spends 90% of their time in town where a conventional 4x4 is a heavy, thirsty, hard to park and turn nightmare, and engine power is frankly irrelevant. For me, the Jimny has all the right compromises for my lifestyle. It's a pleasure in and around the city, adequate on the open road, and can also get into the back of beyond. Every time the fuel price goes up I have reason to be thankful. But most importantly, as a package, it's more fun than a barrel full of monkeys. Real Jimny drivers passionately love their cars. Over a year on, and I still smile every time I get into mine.

Update Jan 2013 - My thoughts on the new Jimny. 

The new 2013 Jimny model only has cosmetic and minor safety feature changes. Most notably, a ridiculous, blanked-off, utterly non-functional bonnet airscoop that serves no purpose except to possibly slightly reduce aerodynamic efficiency and make the car seem like a bit of a poser, instead of the wolf in hamster's clothing that it really is. Amazingly, the non-MP3-playing CD-frontloader sound system remains unchanged, meaning you still cannot play MP3s or plug in an external player and the tiny, tinny speakers mean that a sound system upgrade is the first thing most people will want to spend money on.

The good news is that all the important good stuff remains exactly the same, and it's still the most competent and efficient real 4x4 you can buy for anywhere near the price.

Update Feb 2016 - Fuel Consumption. 

Approaching 100,000km worth of fuel records gives an average consumption of 7.7l/100km, not bad at all. Since the warranty expired I've been doing my own services, using decent full synthetic oil.

more than chicken soup

Valentine's day

I kissed a sleepy Rosie and left at sunrise.

My morning was mountain silhouettes, endless sun shafts through broken cloud lighting dried out wheat fields and grazing sheep. Then quantity surveyor, architects next to blue, blue water. I discovered that the stainless steel thermos flask from my mother who passed away three years ago does not keep coffee hot.

Later, at the N2 highway turnoff to Suurbraak, a man was hitching. He had faded blue workpants and kind eyes. He looked about 50, with high khoikhoi cheekbones. He told me he was going home to Barrydale, coming from visiting his wife in hospital at Swellendam. He said he worked for a man named Michael, looking after his second holiday house, that he thought would probably be sold soon because the family only stayed there a night or two a year, passing through. I asked if he came from Barrydale. He said no, he used to be a farmworker, but there was no more work so he left his birthplace. We drove through sleepy Suurbraak, and he mentioned how much safer it was now than it used to be, how joblessness and lack of any opportunity was a problem for the young. He told of a son in the police, another studying by correspondence, his relief at his neighbour being able to look after his four year old at home.

I remembered to ask about his wife. She needs more blood he said: "sy het meer bloed noodig, hulle moet meer bloed insit", they have to transfer her to hospital in Wellington. I asked why, was she injured? No he said, she wasn't bleeding, he didn't know why. I dropped him a couple of kilometres down the road at the Barrydale turnoff, trying to carry on the small talk and not let him see me tear up. I hope there's another reason an uninjured person would need a transfusion. Some reason other than leukaemia or lymphoma.

Later when I left Grootvadersbosch, I glimpsed a girl of about eight standing barefoot under a dusty wattle tree, late afternoon light catching a gingham dress from another era, just watching our cars go past.

In Swellendam I picked up a Somali holding out a R20 note, going in to Cape Town to renew his permits at Home Affairs. I waved aside his money. He told me he misses his parents but can't afford the airfare home. Every few minutes he barked a tumble of what sounded suspiciously like Klingon into an old cracked Nokia, starting and ending the call without any pleasantries as far as I could tell. I realised I had never heard Somali spoken before, surprised at how Arabic it sounded. His English wasn't good, but there was no mistaking the look of longing when he told me how good the Toyota bakkie (pickup) we passed was. Soon his head started nodding, and I had to show him how to put the seat back down to sleep. There was a carefully darned hole in his slacks. He got out when I turned off the N2 and moistly shook my hand. Driving onto Baden Powell I saw that he'd tucked the R20 into the car ashtray.

Passing Mandela Park, strapping, athletic young men were framed by the sea and low sun as they ran effortlessly back to the endless shacks stretching into the summer evening haze. I realised my phone was ringing and got a frantic Rosie who had been trying to get hold of me for 10 minutes, convinced I'd been hijacked.

The first hitch hiker had said just after he got in that no-one gives lifts any more because of all the crime.

This fucking country. Sometimes it just tears me apart.

Ink

Why is this world is so appealing? I suspect that heavily inked people are not so much rebelling, as embracing the fact that they never fitted comfortably into everyday society anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have read The Electric Michaelangelo, realised that even the most menacing symbols are part of a rich and old language, most representing tolerance, love and a wry appreciation of life and death. Southern Ink Xposure, the fourth Cape Town International Tattoo Convention, also reminded me that this is a community devoted to aesthetics and body appreciation, and despite a hot and crowded venue with an all day bar, full of happily different couples, families and friends, and far more genuinely, warmly well mannered than the book-sale patrons I encountered that morning.

Milo Marcer (Mr Lucky Tattoos, Cape Town) drawing on a design.

Hipster girl being tattood by Ross Turpin of Star Crossed Tattoo (Hong Kong). In case you're wondering, her right arm says 'ARISE AND SHINE. Your Light Has Come.'

Rosana aka Dermadonna (Amsterdam)

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

These batshit crazy girls were doing all kinds of upside down, hanging from insecure-looking foothold, mid-air flick-flacks five metres above a tiled concrete floor. Some serious muscle suggests that their careless grace was based on a lot of practice, but I was still relieved when it was over.

   

   

   

   

Tattoo-related art appreciators

I didn't actually check what this stall was all about but from the hat I'm assuming it's Manic Panic of NYC, purveyors of hair colours unlikely to be available at your local salon.

Yes ladies, Cape Town really is full of men that look like this.

   

   

Skulls and spikes and chains fall in love just like everyone else. Well, as long as you also like skulls and spikes and chains. And black. And maybe classical music. He has the long right hand fingernails of a guitarist.

Proudly Cape Town - African penguin, King Protea, sea, Table Mountain et al. I think it's bloody awesome and graphic just like that, but apparently the colouring still has to be done.