Farewell, faithful friends

LIFE is not static. It is all about change – and about moving on. Knowing that, though, doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. So it was just before Christmas when I said two difficult goodbyes to a previous part of my life.

The second was the most painful. His name was Lucky – because we got him from someone else who rescued him from the streets of Berea where he was being dragged around by a piece of wire around his neck. In the end, life catches up quicker with big dogs than small ones, and this cross husky by way of a St Bernard was starting to fade.

The end happened on a Saturday morning. My wife and my daughter sat with him until he faded away after the vet administered the injection. I stood outside, unable to face it. Sometimes cowboys do cry…

Unexpectedly, the other parting was, as Shakespeare would have said, more of a sweet sorrow.

My Volkswagen Jetta, Wolfsburg Edition, had been with us for twice as long as Lucky – almost 26 years from the day I bought it new (from Dornat Motors in Braamfontein) in 1989. Like Lucky, it had never let me down. Not once in that time had it stopped, or failed to start or pulled off in a cloud of steam.

My son was six months old when I brought the car home to Windhoek, Namibia, where we were then living. He is now 26.

In its time with us, the Jetta (I never give my cars pet names) cov- ered 332 000km. It travelled to Namibia, Zimbabwe, Swaziland and all across South Africa (and every single major national road – N1 to N9 – from one side to the other and a myriad secondary roads in between).

It witnessed sunrises over the Indian Ocean in Durban and sun- sets over the Atlantic in Swakopmund. It survived Namibia’s desert heat and Gauteng’s brutal hailstorms.

Its clutch survived my son’s early driving lessons (the original clutch lasting an amazing 312 000km) – although its lack of power steering meant he would never drive it as his student car (any mother will tell you, as his did, that it is cruelty to children to force them to drive a vehicle without power steering).

Apart from the long-lived clutch, the SA-assembled VW displayed other remarkable mechanical feats. The engine was never opened. When I was driving it regularly (up until about 280 000km or so), it was using a can of oil every 8 000km. The first exhaust silencer was replaced after 12 years.

The after-market Dunair air-con system (never quite as good as the factory-fitted item, but then VW aircons are the best in the business) had to be re-gassed a few times and have bearings and seals replaced. There was one replacement water pump, a rebuilt carb and a few engine mountings, as well as a radiator.

And, apart from that and normal replacement of service and wearand-tear items… nothing.

The 70kW 1.8-litre petrol engine gave reasonable performance (official figures were 0 to 100km/h in just under 12 seconds) and it had good overtaking power right to the end, mainly because the car only weighed 960kg.

So, farewell, faithful friend. I know you, too, will fare well. I know you still have a lot to give and I am happy to pass you along. Thanks for bringing me into the VW family.