Mechanics of New Zealand

When thinking back over the last couple of weeks, the most salient mileposts aren't the spectacular beaches or cozy pubs, but the memorable mechanics of New Zealand. There was Roger, of course. You never forget your first. But you know all about him. Then there was the tow truck driver who veered out of traffic and all the way onto the sidewalk to answer his cell phone. There was the Duran Duran fan who told us all about his annual motorcycle pilgrimages to the south island on the Queen's birthday weekend. And then there was Rob.
Rob was summoned during our latest breakdown, which occurred last friday in the town of Dannevirke. Rupert lurched to a shuddering halt at about 5:05 pm, just after the rigidly enforced closing time of every garage, mechanics, and junkyard in the country. A call to AA prompted the arrival of a truck bearing the ominous words "Rob's Salvage," and a little, round, gnomelike man emerged. After a few minutes of quiet grumbling he discovered that our distributor cap was full of shards of shredded metal (!) and advised us that we were going nowhere fast. Molly caught a ride with Laura and Anni to Wellington for the start of the super 14 while I, being far less excited about rugby, remained to keep Rupert company.
Despondency set in around 7. If New Zealand had tumbleweeds, they would have been rolling down the main street of Dannevirke. I ate terrible chinese takeout in my motel room while watching a british comedy that made it look nice to be old.
As instructed, I called Rob at 9 the next morning. He hadn't had any luck finding a new distributor the day before, and I didn't have much hope that anything would have changed overnight. He told me to come over, so I drove down the freeway in third gear with my hazards on and coasted down the driveway of 14 Makiriki lane, closely watched by two lazy-looking cows. A woman answered the door.
"Oh, you're here about the van. Come in, Rob's gone to get your distributor." I felt awkward at first. It seemed apparent that she'd only recently gotten up; she wore slippers, and was making a pot of coffee. "Would you like some breakfast? Toast? How about coffee?" She poured me a cup and I asked her if Dannevirke was her hometown. "No no, we just moved into town about ten years back. We farmed out in Hawke's Bay, sheep and beef. Over four thousand head of 'em. I'm from the Coramandel myself." It felt good to be in a home again, and we chatted while I played with the cat and she ate toast. Rob appeared shortly, sneaking through the back door with a single red rose and an impish, toothless grin. His wife's back was to him and he made an elaborate shushing gesture as he reached around and presented it to her in a surprising flourish. "Happy valentine's day darling!"

So it turned out he did find a distributor, but it didn't come from just any junkyard. "High School demo model. From the auto shop. They'll give it to you for 60 bucks but only if you give them your old one so they can inspect it in class." Deal. I waited while he consumed two turkey sandwiches and most of a two-liter bottle of Coke, fortifying himself for what I feared might be a lengthy process. 45 minutes later, though, we were cruising smoothly down the road on a test drive and talking up a storm, mostly about his six children. When we got back, I mentioned in passing that my dad liked old cars, and Rob got a funny look on his face.
"Wanna see something?"
"Sure"
"Wanna bring your camera?"
"Do I need it?"
"Yeah."
We walked to the shed on the back corner of his property, and he peeled the tarp off of a 1914 Model T Ford. "My Grandad bought it new here in New Zealand. Never drove it in the rain. All original. Last thing that happened to it was a repaint in the thirties when my dad backed it into a tree. Still runs too! You gotta crank it. I'm fixing it up for my daughter's wedding. It's in a year-should give me just enough time." It was extremely beautiful. The top was this rich brown leather, the headlights like tiny hurricane lamps you had to light by hand. There was no gearshift, but three different pedals which all did strange and counterintuitive things. I cooed appreciatively and he told me how he'd been offered 200,000 US dollars for it but would never sell it. "I don't owe anybody anything. I don't need the money. It's the kind of thing you wanna hang on to."

He undercharged me and I overpayed, though the whole thing came out costing less than 50 bucks in the states. I can't wait to show the pictures to pops.