My Old Thing

Leo the Drover

They say electric cars are the future and that internal combustion engines will soon become relics of a distant past. Fossil fueled engines that power most of our motor vehicles will be consigned to antiquity as the world searches for greener solutions and ways to reduce our carbon footprints. Wide-eyed children will gaze in wonder at the mechanical marvels of yesteryear as they walk slowly though museums that showcase inventions that have changed the world. Internal combustion engines have certainly changed our world. Components such as carburetors, starter motors, flywheels, and engine blocks, will sound as foreign to the children of the future as hames, bit’s, check reigns and quarter straps sound to me. It’s hard for me to imagine a world without fossil fueled engines. If you’ve never been shaken to the core by a finely tuned 351 Cleveland engine, then you, my friend, don’t know what you’re missing. Even at slow idle, the 351 is a marvel to behold. Granted, owning an engine that burns through $5.00 worth of fuel every time you gently tap on the accelerator, isn’t everyone’s idea of going green.

My old thing, Leo the Land Rover, is still quite economical even by today’s standards. This is especially true when compared to a 351 that’s being fed a mix of fuel and air by a Holly 650 double-pumper. Now, I’m going to tell you a little secret; I don’t exactly know what the numbers 351 and 650 actually mean, but I’m guessing they refer to measurements of volume, cubic capacity, or something groovy and exciting like that. All I know is that I remember hearing about Holly double-pumper carburetors at one point in my life, and thought they sounded impressive. I’ve been waiting for years, nay— decades, to fit the words Holly double-pumper into a sentence, and figured today, was as good a day as any. This is a seminal moment friends, allow me to take a moment, and I shall return forthwith.

I used the aforementioned moment to find a picture of an old carburetor, for no other purpose than to illustrate what one looks like. I’d like to also like to showcase what a remarkable, albeit outdated, piece of history looks like. Yes, it’s a bad picture, but it was the only one I had ready access to. For any future carburetor enthusiasts, this small single barrel unit is off an old Briggs & Stratton lawn mower, that now belongs to my beloved nephews. If they ever read this, I’d like to thank them both for taking it off my dirty, oil-stained hands. Suffice to say, a 4-barrel Holly carburetor is way more impressive than this one.

Leo doesn’t need a carburetor, and that’s just the way I like it. I should point out that there are some issues about my car that I don’t appreciate. If I ever get sun cancer on my right forearm, I can apportion blame to the Land Rover design team. The British engineers, undoubtedly after a good drinking binge at the pub, designed these vehicles for optimal diver comfort. They did this by ensuring that the most comfortable position when driving, is with the window wound down and your elbow resting on the windowsill. After any long trip, my right arm is decidedly more tanned than my left side.

I bought Leo because of my love for the television adventures of Major Leslie James Hiddins who drove a Land Rover similar to mine. Les earned the nickname "Bush Tucker Man" for to his role in the television series of the same name, which aired in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The show focused on exploring and showcasing traditional Aboriginal bush foods (known as "bush tucker") as well as survival techniques unique to the Australian Outback. Les became widely known for his expertise in identifying and using native plants and animals for food and medicine in the wilderness. I particularly enjoyed his simple camp setup, and at the top of my preferences for an off-road vehicle was one without a computer or complex electronic systems of any sort. I think the only microchips inside Leo were inside an aftermarket CD player that I installed after a long trip of putting up with my own singing. The CD player is no longer working. It died a quiet and ignoble death after I accidentally rinsed it out several times while traversing a river or two. Electronic systems in vehicle improve our lives no end, they just don’t like getting soaking wet.

My first experience driving through deep water was in Far North Queensland (FNQ). I remember reaching the halfway point of the crossing and it turned out to be deeper than I anticipated. To help with perspective, you’ll be able to get a sense of how deep it was by looking at the photo I’ve included below. On that occasion water covered the bonnet and reached halfway up the windscreen. Luckly, I had my elbow inside and all the windows were up before I waded into that body of water. Unfortunately for the CD player and my shoes, I had forgotten to fully close the air vents. You can see air vents under the windscreen wipers. Water poured through both of those vents and right into the cabin. What fun. If you’ve never had the pleasure of driving a vehicle through deep water, I can assure you it’s anything but dull. In fact, it’s likely to illicit some feelings of intense anxiety that can make things even more interesting.

Apart from the obvious pitfalls of submerging a perfectly good motor vehicle in water, all the rivers, creeks, and waterways in FNQ are likely to have one or two salties darkly lurking about. A salty is a colloquial term for a saltwater crocodile, and they are not to be trifled with my friends. As I entered the water, I was gripped with a feeling that nudists sometimes describe as butterflies in the stomach. The butterflies quickly left once the bonnet was submerged, as that was more of a white-knuckled kind of feeling. I’m pretty sure I forgot to breathe until I emerged dripping on the other side of the river. I’ve never been skydiving, but it could be similar to taking your first jump from the side of an aircraft. I can imagine skydiving would involve a lot more wind in the face, and perhaps a little more terrifying. My first deep-water excursion on four wheels was when I crossed a river on my trip from Cape Tribulation to Cooktown.

Here is some guy sitting next to Leo on a long white beach somewhere near Carefree Cove. This is the best vehicle that I’ve owned, and to date it has never let me down. I’m fond of it, not because of its creature comforts, but because it has taken me to some of the most wonderful places I’ve ever seen. I’ve driven through mud flats and sand hills in the pouring rain and bright sunny days. It’s dragged me and my gear through rivers, and streams and allowed me to camp in places with no one else around for miles. On these camping trips I’ve fed swarms of mosquitos as they descended quietly around me at nightfall. I can recall the metallic smell of my own blood as I’d swat a few of them that were feeding gleefully on my face. And let’s not forget to mention the intolerable itchiness of biting midges and their dastardly cousins, the sandflies. Those itches can last for weeks. I know it doesn’t sound appealing, but they were fun times. Good times, good times indeed.

On one trip, I spent nearly two weeks alone on a beach, where my only friends (apart from the blood suckers) were a flock of sea gulls who would drop by unannounced and pretend I wasn’t there. Clothing became optional after a few days into that trip. I was forced back into culturally acceptable clothing after a couple of young men suddenly arrived on ‘my’ beach. They had come in search of mud crabs and a good fishing spot, so my solitude came to an end which was probably just as well. I was getting way too comfortable parading around naked and engaging in fruitless conversations with myself and the gulls.

I was talking to my mechanic the other day and had to smile when he absentmindedly brushed his face and left an oily smear on his brow. He was lamenting his choice of a dirty career and said he couldn’t wait to retire and call it quits. I asked him where he thought the car industry was heading. He looked a little taken back by my question, and asked what I was referring to. We started talking about the influx of electric vehicles into the market, and how internal combustion engines will gradually become obsolete. He believes fossil fueled engines will remain, at least in the short to medium term, but thinks auto repair shops of the future will look vastly different than they do today.

How so? I asked. Tuning and diagnostics will be done online and remotely, repairs will be clean and easy, he said with a grin. I paid the bill, jumped in the car, and turned the key. The starter motor engaged with the flywheel, which started the combustion process, and the engine sprang to life. As I drove down the road and pulled up at the traffic lights, a blue colored Telsa silently slid up alongside me. The driver leaned forward and started tapping on a touch screen that looked as big as my computer monitor. He was probably playing with the mood lighting function or setting the ideal air temperature for optimum foot comfort. My Leo has an earlier version of that feature, but I have to wait for it to rain before it kicks in. When it rains water drips slowly but steadily onto my right foot. It’s all very cooling and wonderous in the hot summer months. Whenever I see rain clouds forming in the distance, I have to remember to take off my shoes. Then, I wind up my window, open the air vents (to stop the windscreen getting misty) and keep on joyfully burning diesel fuel.

As always, thank you for reading. And if you enjoy my musings, I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to comment, share or even subscribe. It would make my day.

Ciao for now.