PUMPING MY RIDE
e’ve all seen something like it: a sorry-looking Land Rover in a littleused grassy lane, with a flat tyre and a cracked windscreen, the paintwork and cappings covered in mould. We wonder what they want for it; is there much wrong with it? It’s both exciting and depressing. It’s even more exciting and depressing when it’s your own.
For years I never worried about mildew, mould and even moss. I regarded it as a patina, a sign of authenticity. But a couple of days ago, my poor old Land Rover had a flat front tyre. She’d been fine when I’d parked her a few days before, but now she looked so miserable that I wanted to hug her. It’s quite hard, though, to hug almost two tons of cold metal. So I did the next best thing: I changed the wheel, patting the old girl and reassuring her. Fortunately I had two spare wheels in the garage, I didn’t even need to pull the spare off her back door. The tyres are part-worn, but good. I chose one and went to pump it up.
WAh, another problem. There’s no power in the garage, so no compressor. My trusty Halfords Brass Barrel foot pump must be a couple of decades old. Pumping up a tyre after half a decade of lying on its side on a shelf is never going to be easy, but when the spring returns the foot-pedal only half way up, it’s even more tedious. So I cleaned it and oiled it.
Never mind. The tyre is now fixed, though despite a new Contrôle Technique (MOT) a few weeks ago, the brake cylinder on that wheel is sticking. Another miserable little job, which will have to wait for warmer weather. The crack in the windscreen? Well, it’s pretty tiny, so I’ll live with that, but I’d better order another screen – that’ll be the third or fourth I’ve changed in a dozen or so years, though once was because the frame was beginning to break up.
That still leaves the mildew and mould, and now I see things differently. That flat tyre threw a mental switch. She looked so sorry for herself. I never washed my soft-top Series IIA in all the time I had her in the early 80s, though admittedly she was green and didn’t show the dirt as much. Red is different. Although I’ve occasionally scrubbed off the worst of the mildew, I can’t say I’ve ever actually washed her properly in 14 years and over 100,000 miles. But comparing how I first saw her, gleaming in red and cream on the garage forecourt, with the sad, mildewed old Land Rover at the foot of the lane, I realise I’ve been shortchanging the old girl. Although I may not get as far as the T-cut and Turtle Wax, on the next half-warm day when I can’t find any excuse not to, I’ll give her a good old wash.