Plot Life - The Road

    "Well," they said, "you'll never be able to afford living on a plot."

    "I'll make a plan," was my response.

    And boy, did we. 

    At first, we enjoyed the dirt road, in all its glory, that most people were afraid to tackle without 4x4. I drove Beasty at that time, a beat up old Toyota 2.7 petrol manual double cab. And wow, did she have a suspension that could carry the world. However, there came a point when I said to Pio, "If I have to carry on driving this thing, you're going to have to cough up for a boob job."

    He laughed at me. I ad to say it a couple of times, eventually saying, "If this road isn't fixed, I'm getting a boob job!" 

    So we started working on the road. We're a good six or eight kilometres from the main tar road, and the grader, although its a public access road, doesn't grade past our gate. Buggers. I still need to take up that fight with them, actually. 

    But never mind, onwards and upwards, I would do it myself. By this time I had acquired a new double cab 4x4, with much softer suspension, and as it was automatic, I could drive with one hand and clutch my poor boobs with the other. But then, I began to feel for the poor thing, as I floored it up and over the mountains, with scant regard for it, but just wanting to get past the worst of the road. 

    James, our darling builder, and Wilbard, my lovely fix-it-all guy that had been with me for years, started tackling the road. At first, we dug out sand from our mountain top, and drive it down the road, filling holes and levelling.  

    One day, in old Beasty, I had a good ton of sand on the back, and four guys in the car with me, that had been recruited from the plots around us to help with the road. As we were coming off the top of the mountain, around a sharp corner that led to an even steeper downhill, with practically a cliff on the right, the bakkie slid out. 

    I hit the brakes, that were pretty much non-existent at best, but hey, what could you do. Beasty carried on going, straight off the road and down this very steel hill, that to this day gives people the heebies as a driver or passenger. 

    The four black guys, in the back of the double cab and in the passenger seat, literally turned a pasty shade of grey. They began to shriek in panic, throwing open the doors and preparing to jump. I jsut sat on the brakes and prayed.

    We slid about two meters down this hill. The guys bailed - and only poor Wilbard has gotten in a car with me since.

    Eventually, Beasty stopped. I kept my foot on the brake, and tightened the handbrake, which also never really worked. At that point, with kak brakes and an even kakker handbrake, and the guys shrieking and awwing, I managed to get Beasty into 4x4, then low range, then into reverse, and to start backing up - all without stalling. 

    Thank goodness the old thing is as strong as an Ironman. I got her out. Slowly, but I did. 

    We all stood around and shook for a bit, then headed down the road. The guys walked. 

    Anyway. After our decision to start fixing this lethal road, we did a lot of research. I wanted to do solid concrete blocks of about two meters square, straight down the road. Pio moaned at me. Too expensive. Takes too long. We have to buy concrete hardener as well, as because with the terrain, there was no way to drive around the road we had thrown, while waiting for it to dry. Plotted and planned, and eventually started. 

    We decided to do two strips of road, one for each tyre. We measured out chassis's on the cars, from a small car to a truck, and went for something in the middle. But sod that, anyway, I thought to myself, and gave the instruction to pave in between the two tracks as well. This later did me good, as I kept falling off the two tracks before the paving, and cringed at the cost of the tyres I was damaging. 

    James, my darling James, went ahead like a steam train. We made moulds for the straight sections, and used bendy steel (don't ask me what its called) to create the placing for the corners. This way we would have a beautiful road, nicely laid out, and perfect. My OCD does not like imperfections. 

    Well. We came to the first straight, and it was particularly busy at work. Now, James is brilliant, but he needs guidance, and I just didn't get there. By the time they'd thrown a good fifty meters of road and I could drive on it, I realised it was about five centimetres higher than it should be. Therefore, one strip would me higher than the other. 

    My fragile temper cracked. I threw my toys out of the cot. James drives, so at one point I remember asking him at what point has he driven on a road like this? Poor guy. It was too expensive, however, to rip up and do again. 

    Now, whenever I drive it, my poor car hanging to the right, I have to laugh. I also then contemplate how long its going to be before I do get them to rip it out and do it again.