I’ve never been much of a petrolhead. In the past, the idea of subscribing to the polluting, expensive, city-clogging race of ‘cagers’ (as cycling activists call them) was anathema. Sure, motorbikes and Anglia 105Es have done their damndest to weave their tempting spell, but the purity of human-powered transport tended to win out. As a cyclist, I may well have parroted the smug aphorism, “when you’re a petrolhead, you dream of owning a Ferrari; when you’re a cyclist, you are the Ferrari.” I know, and I’m sorry.
But here in New South Wales, where distances are great, roads can be rough, and bulky stuff needs transporting around, you need carrying capacity. And you may well also need four-wheel drive if you fancy fording Boppings Crossing or exploring all the other unsealed roads around here.
I mean, a bicycle will only take you so far. And the old German sports car, while handling the King’s Highway very nicely – as you’d expect from an automobile designed by the people who created autobahns – is a bit too low and soft-bellied for venturing far on the dirt. So, with all this in mind, combined with what we’ll call a challenging budget, for some time we’ve been checking the classifieds for a suitable load-carrying river-fording dirt-crushing conveyance for less money than a second-hand carbon-framed mountain bike.
And let me tell you, you’d be amazed at what a couple of grand will buy you here. I mean, serious wheels man. You may need to accept that those wheels will have a very large number of Ks on them, but acceptance opens the door to all kinds of possibilities, as you know.
We toyed with the idea of one of those highway-devouring station wagons made by BMW, Audi, and even Volkswagen – a sort of suburban ‘shooting brake’ but with 4×4 capabilities, designed to transport management consultants and their families on frosty tarmac to the slopes for the odd ski weekend. Research revealed that Volvo also make a virtually indestructible motor in this vein, and several other candidates appeared out of the woodwork. Subaru does well around here. But my encounter with Bopping’s Crossing changed all that – nothing sleek and low could handle that.
So the conversation turned to an idea the Americans have kindly gifted the world, along with its now-ubiquitous acronym: the sports utility vehicle, or SUV – pretty much the same as a Teutonic ski-toting station wagon, but higher, and maybe with a bigger engine.
Hard on the heels of this change of tack came a bewildering array of models. Put it this way: every single motor manufacturer you’ve ever heard of, and a couple you haven’t, offer at least one, and often several, of these.
Some manufacturers offer a hard-core, trailblazing, off-road-capable vehicle which you can use to tow a boat, drop the kids off at school, cross the Sahara, and bring home the groceries. With this vehicle, you can switch drive from two to four wheels at will, and even change to a lower gear range for more traction; it may well have independent suspension for each wheel, giving it even greater bog-wading powers.
Then these manufacturers offer something smaller, chic-er, probably more economical, where the 4×4 is always-on, or perhaps governed by an artificial brain which responds to sensors all over the show. This isn’t a bad idea, as the fully kitted-out version above is probably overkill for most suburban families. For this demographic, ownership of the all-capable 4×4 is really a status symbol – it says, “I may or may not spend my weekend towing my polo ponies to posh tournaments.” The smaller kind says, “I’m a bit of a weekend warrior, me.”
Then there’s Toyota. I gave up counting how many different variations of the FWD, AWD, SUV ute genre this lot offer. By all accounts, they’re all bulletproof, bomb-proof and designed to conquer any terrain. Toyota’s Hilux range is consistently voted Australia’s most popular vehicle. All of which means they’re also correspondingly costly, even with half a million km on the clock, accumulated over a decade or two of abuse.
So where to go? What to do? Searching the classifieds confirmed that most Toyotas were out of the question. There were some rather nice Land Rover variants, especially appealing to the blue-passport brigade in Blighty, but they were few and far between. A capable but tiny Suzuki was surprisingly costly per pound. The only way to decide was to set the search engine for the main criteria, and see what came up. And it was this.
Yes, it’s Teutonic. And admittedly, it appears to be a premium brand – more ‘mink and manure’ than pigs and poultry; more school run than Paris-Dakar rally. But to these allegations, I submit in rebuttal: one quarter of a million kilometres on the clock; nineteen years’ staunch service. Too old for Bluetooth, GPS, reversing cameras and/or radar, steering-wheel-mounted hands-free and hi-fi controls. Admittedly, one careful owner from new – a doctor, no less – and a full service history. But also non-working central locking and a rear-view mirror that falls off if you adjust it too firmly.
To clinch our defence, an engine note which given its heritage I’d liken to that of a Messerschmitt 109 on take-off. We’re having that checked out, but as the damage to our coffers is about a quarter of what Corner Cottage’s new wardrobes are going to cost, I’m optimistic. It’s just what we need to convey firewood, pinecones, my bike, the odd piece of furniture, and occasionally a niece from boarding school. It’s precisely what’s required to haul our dog around when we get one. And there are a lot of good dirt roads hereabouts that need leisurely exploring.
It’ll have active, varied, but dignified second career, entirely in keeping with the life we’re building here – except perhaps for that unfulfilled challenge posed by Bopping’s Crossing. That still needs to be resolved, and I think we have the wheels to do it.