Thursday, February 02, 2006
Foumban, Cameroon (12.17.2005)
I find myself no longer able to delineate the boundaries between the sentient and inanimate; I can no longer think of the Stingray simply as the perfect vehicle, created to conquer all obstacles. During the past five months behind the wheel, I have seen the Stingray take petty revenges for imprudent decisions. I have also seen him impulsively fix long running problems without any outside help. Although often needy and regularly temperamental, I have found in him a reliable friend.
It took some time before I could fully trust the Stingray. There was one night early in our friendship when he would not allow his headlights to be turned off. Shutting off the engine and removing the ignition key made no difference. In the end, I was forced to disconnect the battery at each stop. This outburst lasted only one irritating evening. I marked it off as an early attempt to set boundaries.
Sometimes, after a long punishing day on the road, the Stingray will refuse me access to his horn. Other times it is the turn signals. Sometimes closing the left door with force will dramatically change the volume of the radio. For a few months we fought over the power windows (excessive and potentially dangerous in a car with such an unpredictable attitude). This often occurred during such opportune times as trips to the market, forcing me to baby sit him, and sudden downpours. This has not won the Stingray many friends. Yet these outbursts are infrequent and the Stingray frequently normalizes relations on his own by suddenly fixing the problem.
On the flip side, the Stingray has performed admirably well in some of the worst areas we have faced. Climbing dunes in Dogon, wading deadly rivers near Konni, plowing through large tracts of Saharan desert, straddling deep culverts in mountainous Rhumsiki, and navigating muddy rice field dividers in Karifiguela were relatively straightforward for the Stingray. Where many failed, the Stingray stood strong.
However, before our latest journey I observed something I had never seen before. I saw undeniable fear in the Stingray. We had decided on a notoriously unpleasant track west through Banyo and Tibati in an attempt to steer clear of the Chadian rebels creating havoc on the main road. We awoke and packed early in the morning, before the sun could peak its head over the misty mountains to the east.
When it came time to awake the Stingray, it was business as usual. There were no early indications of any irregularities. The engine purred softly as dawn sky began to fill with color. The road ahead seemed surmountable. Then an unexpected cough. A sudden sharp fluctuation in the idle, warning lights flashing, and the engine almost died before returning to normal. I looked at Nate and Tuuli. They shrugged. Then it happened again, with 'hicups' materializing every ten seconds. I popped the hood, we poked around a bit, checked the sparkplugs, but couldn't make anything of it. Before searching for a mechanic, I felt we should give the Stingray a bit of time to stretch its morning legs.
With Nate behind the wheel, the Stingray's early morning flutters quickly disappeared. We considered that quite possibly the Stingray was a bit worried about the road ahead and wanted to notify us. However, with no other options and the 'problem' suddenly gone, we headed off the paved road onto a rocky dirt road with almost 400 miles between us and our intended destination.
The road, while rough and even a bit precarious at times, was manageable. I was overjoyed to see that the potholes, twice the size of the Stingray and deadly during the long rainy season, could be avoided with appropriate technical driving. Infrequent 'traffic' on the road consisted primarily of an occasional commercial shipping truck.
Covering more than half the distance by nightfall, we stopped in a small Fulfulde village and camped in the chief's compound. The following day, after a long stretch of ruined road, we finally hit tarmac. I was sure the Stingray would be grateful. Surely, after adeptly guiding him across potentially devastating terrain, he would make the final stretch easy. But this was not to be; it was payback time. After the punishing we gave the Stingray, he vindictively waited until we were within striking distance of Douala.
It happened slowly at first. As we ascended the final mountainous roads, less than a hundred kilometers away from our intended destination, we found the 'muscle' distinctly lacking in our usually trustworthy car.
It sputtered, coughed and finally wouldn't accept any speed faster than that of a donkey cart in deep sand. We rolled into a small roadside town, confident that we couldn't even make it to the top of the hill just after town. With Nate and Tuuli debating about leaving the car there and trying to catch a ride to the capital for help, I popped the hood and started tinkering with the air intake valve. After a few minor adjustments, the Stingray seemed to have caught its breath and regained some of its strength.
I hadn't yet lost faith in the Stingray's ability to carry us to even the most remote places. We jumped back in, and without fail arrived in Douala before nightfall. The next day, we brought the Stingray to a local mechanic for a check up and, after fixing one broken shock and a busted bobine, we were ready to continue further south.
I find myself no longer able to delineate the boundaries between the sentient and inanimate; I can no longer think of the Stingray simply as the perfect vehicle, created to conquer all obstacles. During the past five months behind the wheel, I have seen the Stingray take petty revenges for imprudent decisions. I have also seen him impulsively fix long running problems without any outside help. Although often needy and regularly temperamental, I have found in him a reliable friend.
It took some time before I could fully trust the Stingray. There was one night early in our friendship when he would not allow his headlights to be turned off. Shutting off the engine and removing the ignition key made no difference. In the end, I was forced to disconnect the battery at each stop. This outburst lasted only one irritating evening. I marked it off as an early attempt to set boundaries.
Sometimes, after a long punishing day on the road, the Stingray will refuse me access to his horn. Other times it is the turn signals. Sometimes closing the left door with force will dramatically change the volume of the radio. For a few months we fought over the power windows (excessive and potentially dangerous in a car with such an unpredictable attitude). This often occurred during such opportune times as trips to the market, forcing me to baby sit him, and sudden downpours. This has not won the Stingray many friends. Yet these outbursts are infrequent and the Stingray frequently normalizes relations on his own by suddenly fixing the problem.
On the flip side, the Stingray has performed admirably well in some of the worst areas we have faced. Climbing dunes in Dogon, wading deadly rivers near Konni, plowing through large tracts of Saharan desert, straddling deep culverts in mountainous Rhumsiki, and navigating muddy rice field dividers in Karifiguela were relatively straightforward for the Stingray. Where many failed, the Stingray stood strong.
However, before our latest journey I observed something I had never seen before. I saw undeniable fear in the Stingray. We had decided on a notoriously unpleasant track west through Banyo and Tibati in an attempt to steer clear of the Chadian rebels creating havoc on the main road. We awoke and packed early in the morning, before the sun could peak its head over the misty mountains to the east.
When it came time to awake the Stingray, it was business as usual. There were no early indications of any irregularities. The engine purred softly as dawn sky began to fill with color. The road ahead seemed surmountable. Then an unexpected cough. A sudden sharp fluctuation in the idle, warning lights flashing, and the engine almost died before returning to normal. I looked at Nate and Tuuli. They shrugged. Then it happened again, with 'hicups' materializing every ten seconds. I popped the hood, we poked around a bit, checked the sparkplugs, but couldn't make anything of it. Before searching for a mechanic, I felt we should give the Stingray a bit of time to stretch its morning legs.
With Nate behind the wheel, the Stingray's early morning flutters quickly disappeared. We considered that quite possibly the Stingray was a bit worried about the road ahead and wanted to notify us. However, with no other options and the 'problem' suddenly gone, we headed off the paved road onto a rocky dirt road with almost 400 miles between us and our intended destination.
The road, while rough and even a bit precarious at times, was manageable. I was overjoyed to see that the potholes, twice the size of the Stingray and deadly during the long rainy season, could be avoided with appropriate technical driving. Infrequent 'traffic' on the road consisted primarily of an occasional commercial shipping truck.
Covering more than half the distance by nightfall, we stopped in a small Fulfulde village and camped in the chief's compound. The following day, after a long stretch of ruined road, we finally hit tarmac. I was sure the Stingray would be grateful. Surely, after adeptly guiding him across potentially devastating terrain, he would make the final stretch easy. But this was not to be; it was payback time. After the punishing we gave the Stingray, he vindictively waited until we were within striking distance of Douala.
It happened slowly at first. As we ascended the final mountainous roads, less than a hundred kilometers away from our intended destination, we found the 'muscle' distinctly lacking in our usually trustworthy car.
It sputtered, coughed and finally wouldn't accept any speed faster than that of a donkey cart in deep sand. We rolled into a small roadside town, confident that we couldn't even make it to the top of the hill just after town. With Nate and Tuuli debating about leaving the car there and trying to catch a ride to the capital for help, I popped the hood and started tinkering with the air intake valve. After a few minor adjustments, the Stingray seemed to have caught its breath and regained some of its strength.
I hadn't yet lost faith in the Stingray's ability to carry us to even the most remote places. We jumped back in, and without fail arrived in Douala before nightfall. The next day, we brought the Stingray to a local mechanic for a check up and, after fixing one broken shock and a busted bobine, we were ready to continue further south.
3 Comments:
oh my god. you are so cool. seriously, like, wow! pygmies. are you for real? and so hot with that baby lion. eeeeee!
I laughed my guts out reading your story of the humanity of Stingray! Consider prayers are in effect and it is for your highest good that you learn to accept, encourage and forgive and LOVE your vehicle UNCONDITIONALLY, like your self and your neighbours including Nat and Tuuli.
global grandma
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