My little Opel Kadett was stolen on Friday somewhere between 07:50 and 16:30 outside my workplace. I walked out after work to find it gone.
Besides the obvious financial inconvenience (very limited insurance and R5,000 worth of hired costumes in the boot), it is the sentimental value of the car which is important and the most upsetting. My sense of security has been violated.
The Blue Bomber, or the Blue Leopard as it is more affectionately known, would be 21 next year, an awe-some feat for any car. They sure don’t make ‘em like they used to, do they? I get stopped at traffic lights, petrol stations, shopping centre parking lots and cricket grounds by funny-looking creatures all offering to buy my little Opel: “How much you want, lady?”
I was driving home the other night around 9pm. Whilst waiting at a red traffic light in a not-so-nice part of town, someone starting hooting loudly and very close to me. I turned to the car next door, a 4x4 Isuzu monstrosity, to see a man gesturing wildly out of his window at what seemed to be my tyres. I simply couldn’t be sure. I ignored him. But the robot remained as red as ever.
Next, there was a tapping at my window. Now, I was scared. I looked to see the same jolly man shouting through my passenger window: “You have such a ‘kewl kar’ lady. Come on, how much you want?” I left tyre marks when I sped off with the green light, leaving the 4x4 and the scary man in my dust.
I know how cool and reliable my car is, dude. That is why I am still driving it!
I am reminded of the most recent Tracker advert. A little baby is rescued from the back from the back of a stolen car, thanks to Tracker of course and she, in turn, is afforded a lifetime of memories. I, too, have an entire timeline of good and bad times in the bomber imprinted in my mind.
When the car still belonged to Granny Pixie, I remember traveling in the backseat with the smelly dogs from Port Elizabeth to Port Alfred for holidays at the beach shack and being dropped off at tennis tournaments in the December holidays. Granny was always a sophisticated smoker and I remember her having the odd puff in the Blue Bomber. On rainy days, when the car leaks a little, one smells the faint odour of cigarettes and times gone by. Once, a lighter, left on the dashboard, exploded from the heat. My Aunt Pat thought we were being shot at and made my brother and I duck under the seats.
We have always had at least one bomber running in the Turner household. When I was just a wee babe, Brian had a little red backfire of a machine, Mom had a mustard-coloured Escort when we were in Swaziland (I have forgotten to ask how it got from Port Elizabeth to Swaziland and survived for a couple years after that) and then followed the Toyota Cresida, the best car we ever had. Fifteen years later, the Cresida was still our family car carrying around the rather large five children. In my first year at Rhodes, tri-varsity was being held in PE. The Cresida bomber was in the garage for repairs, and so Brian made use of the Blue Bomber to fetch four of my friends on his way through Grahamstown to join me and the festivities at NMMU.
When I obtained my driver’s license (some people are still shocked that this was allowed to happen), I was permitted to take the Bomber with me to Rhodes when I moved into a house share. This resulted in a little extra freedom; Lillies trips to the beach when I should have been studying for exams, trips to PE via Nanaga farm stall for tennis league and watching cricket at Manley Flats. I coached tennis at St Andrews during my Rhodes career. The boys used to fight over who could have a lift back to hostel in the ‘limousine’, which was soon re-named by them as the Blue Leopard, stealthy as she was quick.
In February of 2008, Dad and I made the trip to Stellenbosch in the Bomber. I was off to complete an Honours course. It was 35 degrees Celsius. The Bomber obviously has no aircon; we sweated the whole 12 hour trip. But the Bomber nearly died too. We thought she would definitely overheat. We stopped regularly for re-hydration breaks for all three of us. At Stellenbosch University, I added hundreds of fantastic Blue Leopard moments to my memory bank; early morning drives to Jonkershoek, picnics on the river, trips to Cape Town with my new flat mate and getting very stuck in the traffic after a free Celine Dion concert.
And over the last two years, the Bomber, in a new era, has been carrying my brother Tristan to school and to varsity, to Barneys and to tennis, to friends and to fun. Man, we were all hoping she would last another ten years. There is no way we can afford another car. But more than that, I will miss the Blue Leopard for all the wonderful memories. She has just always been there.
Really wish I’d had Tracker…
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