Changing a flat in lion country…

He’s well acquainted with flat tyres and how to change them, but not when a lion might be stalking, says Pieter Hoepfner.

Idon’t know which sighting is the most rare nowadays: a lion or a broken-down vehicle. Cars nowadays simply don’t seem to break down. You may see be a light blinking on the instrument cluster that politely warns you there’s a problem somewhere with the computer, but that’s not something you need to worry about immediately. Leave it to a technician with a laptop when you return to your dealer. The days of men bending like halfcocked shotguns into the engine bays next to a deserted road are a thing of the past. You also don’t find many people thumbing a ride – an empty jerrycan in one hand, a R10 note in the other, indicating that they’ve run out of fuel. The computer nannys you in so many ways: how much petrol is left in the tank, what your fuel consumption is, how many kilos you can still drive – and by way of speaking how angry your wife will be if you don’t stop immediately to give the kids a loo break. If you run out of fuel in a modern car, someone needs to take back your matric certificate.

THERE IS, HOWEVER, still one big equaliser when it comes to being stranded on the side of the road, and that is the infamous flat tyre. It hits everyone: young or old, male or female, rich or poor. Your car may have a huge number of buttons and lights, but if a shard of slate on the R355 between Ceres and Calvinia decides it’s your turn, then that is that. People with expensive German cars will argue that they have runflats and that they’re not afraid of a flat tyre. A runflat will only take you to the nearest town, somewhere like Calvinia, Divundu or Stampriet, where you’ll find that nobody can replace that battered runflat. Even in big cities, the natural habitat for expensive German cars, you sometimes wait weeks for a replacement. There is a predictability as to which

I could hear a “plop” sound at the right front wheel, followed by a rhythmic “tap-tap-tap” sound of something metallic

wheel will probably go flat. When someone tells me they had a flat tyre, my party trick is to ask if it was on the left rear wheel. To everyone’s surprise, I’m usually right. My secret is in knowing that larger stones are driven out to the edge of the road on a dirt road. The left front wheel tilts or bounces these stones, and they then hit the left rear wheel with their sharp edge before settling down on the ground again. That’s why the left rear wheel has to endure such abuse. Most of my own flat tyres were the left rear ones, as well as most of the friends I’ve toured with – that’s how I know. Some roads are notorious. The R355 between Ceres and Calvinia has big guys trembling with trepidation. The slate of the Tankwa has very little respect for a tyre. If you want to see a travelling circus, clowns and all, all you have to do is stop at the Tankwa Padstal while the AfrikaBurn festival is in progress. The parking lot is filled with city slickers struggling to swap out flat tyres. If your daily activities are mainly to take Instagram photos and drink expensive coffee in Sea Point, you’ll obviously struggle to change a wheel in the Karoo. There’s a good reason why even Calvinia farmers rather take the 100 km detour over Vanrhynsdorp to Cape Town – the R355 is no joke. Another scary road is the C14 between Solitaire and Walvis Bay in Namibia. Back when there were plenty of road graders, it was a lovely road. Nowadays it is reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic battlefield as vehicles stand next to the road with flat tyres. That’s even if there is room for them to pull over among all the overseas tourists who rolled their rentals after falling asleep because of too much apfelstrudel and Table Lager. THREE YEARS AGO, our family went on vacation with friends. Stiaan and I have been friends for many years, since university days, and we get along well because we complement each other’s weaknesses. He knows everything about computers while I’m almost a luddite. I know everything about fixing a flat tyre, while he can only stand by watching in amazement. With these diverse talents we headed to Namibia. My family and I were driving ahead and Stiaan and his family followed. It was my job to, as it were, sweep the road for hazards, and clearly I did my job a little too well, because 10 km outside Helmeringhausen I picked up a puncture: yes, the left rear tyre. I changed the tyre and we carried on. But an hour outside Solitaire I saw Stiaan was no longer behind us. It was tricky slowing down to wait for them to catch up, though, as the tourists in their rented bakkies were in such a hurry and I didn’t want to take the chance of one of them crashing into me from behind with a stomach full of apfelstrudel. Later, when my wife also started doubting the depth of my friendship with Stiaan, I finally pulled over and waited. I didn’t turn back as I assumed he simply stopped for a loo break. But then, later, I did make a U-turn and drove back. I half expected to come upon a horrific accident scene and reprimanded myself for not turning around earlier. There was a deathly silence in our car as we drove back to Solitaire. Suddenly, Stiaan’s car emerged from the dust and we stopped next to each other. I expected him to berate me for leaving them behind, accuse me of being a fair-weather friend, but instead he enthused how they got a flat tyre (left rear, of course) and how he changed it himself. The broad smile on his face made up for the shredded tyre in the boot. We bought him a new tyre in Walvis Bay, because there was hardly enough rubber left on the old one to repair it. We headed inland from Walvis Bay, over Okahandja en route to Tsumeb, with Etosha as our final destination. This would be our first time in Etosha, and from the Namutoni Gate we immediately started seeing game. We headed to Halali and spent the night there. At the waterhole of the same name, participants of the Put Foot Rally entertained us with their merriment. Apparently there were also wild animals in the vicinity. THE NEXT MORNING we were ready to go looking for lions. A number of people around camp spoke of a large pride at the Rietfontein waterhole. When we got there, there were herds of game, but no sign of lions. As we had small kids with us, we couldn’t wait around indefinitely because it would eventually become more dangerous inside the car than out. Just as we were leaving, a Jeep Jocky in a game viewer told us that there was a pride of lions just a short distance from the Halali gate. We took that as a sign, and we headed back to Halali. We drove slowly and kept our eyes peeled for the big cats. The anticipation was palpable – even the kids lowered their voices. They whispered so softly that I could hear a “plop” sound at the right front wheel, followed by the rhythmic “taptap-tap” sound of something metallic going around and around. I stopped, coincidentally in the area where the lions had just been spotted, and after scanning the area, I got out to check the tyre. An 8 mm bolt with a large wing nut protruded from the tyre. Continuing on was out of the question, as the tyre would be torn to pieces before we reached Halali gate. I had to get the spare wheel out, right there Stiaan stopped next to us and I explained my plan: I would change the wheel while he looked out for lions. I didn’t feel like being jumped upon by a hungry predator while I loosened the wheel nuts. This weighty responsibility had Stiaan a little white around the gills, but we were far more afraid of our wives who wanted to get the kids home than of any old lion. On that day I would have made Lewis Hamilton’s pit crew look like rank amateurs. It’s amazing how fast adrenaline will have you swapping out wheels. With encouragement from my kids and wife inside the car – and Stiaan’s ominous “I don’t see any lions yet” every couple of seconds – I set a new speed record for wheel changes that will undoubtably remain unbroken for a very long time. I kept the wing nut and bolt as a souvenir and when we got home I mounted it above my braai on the wall. It reminds me that the impossible is made possible with a little encouragement. Someone simply has to stand behind you and occasionally whisper, “I don’t see any lions yet.”