The High Country Rail trail.
Topic: Australia

 

After a bit of effort I finally managed to ride along the old Tallarook to Alexander Rail Trail. Mick and I headded off at 7.12am to Southern Cross station and after about an hour we where having Ham and cheese toasties with coffee at the Tullarook general store. The trail itself is about 85kms which is a bit of a stretch even for some one in peak fitness like myself. Mick had bought the touring bike with tools, while I had the light weight racer. Both where suitable for the trail but I did try to move Micks bike at one stage and did my back in with the weight of it.  I had sorted the accommodation (Thanks Des), Meals (Thanks Des), Bike support (Thanks Des and Mick),Transport (Thanks Des, Mick, and Happy), and the evening entertainment (Thanks Des, Mick,Josh and Happy). The rest I left to my helpers.The day was quite hot and we where lucky we got going early. A few coffee stops and we made half way at Yea for lunch about 12. Happy was meeting us here with Josh, unfortunately he was still stuck in the traffic in Melbourne at the time. Mick and I settled down in the Bakery watching the cricket while we waited.

         The Hapster eventually rocked up with Josh,  and we set off in the hottest part of the day to ride to the Cheviot tunnel. Most people think you go down to a tunnel but on railway lines they tend to be at the top of the hill. By this time it was getting quite warm, and the 9km climb took it's toll on us. Once you got into the tunnel it was beautiful and cool, a bit like a huge swampy air conditioner with a nice breeze blowing through it. Even better still the next section was 8 KM of down hill to the Molesworth pub. We sat out the heat and watched the Cricket for another hour. Only another 20 km to go.

          Five KM to the turn off to Alex then 12 KM up the hill, Im running out of energy but pushing it, Josh is cruzing right on my tail, with the others in the dust somewhere behind. A 10 minute coast into town then where here. Surprise 4.30PM and everything in town is closed, we are in the country after all. After a few enquirers we find the fish and chip shop hidden in the side street. Des is on the river catching dinner, and it's still 6 km to go to the trailer park. Happy's toasted, I'm not much better, Josh is rearing to go. I leave Hap bolted to the chair with a cool drink and a dimmy, and head up the last hill.  The clock ticks over 87 km and I'm there.

        Des rocks up with the goods, he's got a couple of one and a half kilo trout and a roast for dinner. Des heads off to town to pick up the wounded, and Hap's car. I have a power nap and put the roast on.  They return with beer, we eat fish, roast lamb, and discuss the benifits of the motor car. The five of us pass out in the van, Hap and Josh sharing the double. Next morning we head into town for a good breaky. More Fuel.

         Happy drives the car back to Yea and heads up the hill to meet us at the tunnel. We meet and ride back into Yea. I try to loose Josh again, but after 10 min of pushing it he's still right on my tail. Mick and I think about riding back to Tullarook for about a nano second, then take up Hap's offer of a ride back to Melbourne after another bakery fix. These cars are bloody good things bloke. The next day I drink about 10 liters of water. Click the pic for more photos.

            

SLC
Topic: North America
      The only state in the contental U.S I was yet to set foot in. Unfortunatly I only got to the airport but it looked good , even if it was a little cold. Click the pic for more.

Lions Gate Vancouver BC Canada
Topic: North America
Quick visit to the land of "Can a de a" to catch up with some friends and the god daughter. Jumped on the bike and rode around Stanly Park, grabed a hot dog for lunch on the beach, and a coffee from a stall near the Marina. My sort of fast food.

The trip to the Mother road
Topic: North America

 

   I innocuously mentioned that I wouldn't mind driving Route 66  a few years ago over  breakfast. My mate Chris was there, and after a year of nagging over  further breakfasts I gave in and told him if he got the time off I'd organize it. This should of been safe as Chris didn't have a passport and has 3 kids and a full time job. "Two weeks" Not enough I said. 'Three weeks" You need a month. More negotiation with the war office. "Ive got Four Weeks" I book the tickets. We leave on the first and return on the first, close enough to four weeks.

     I got a round the world airfare. Chris's kids had been all over but he had  pay for  it, so had never been outside of Oz. First Stop Hong Kong. We  jump on to the bus to China to spend a couple of nights with Muz. We check out of HK and of to the Visa office.  Unfortunately the Olympics are  just about to start in Beijing, so there not issuing any short term visa's for Shenzhen. At least we got on to Chinese territory so you can say you've been there. Back to Honkers for two days. Victoria Harbor,Giant Buddha, Victoria Peak, sleazy back street bars, dicey budget hotel and getting chased around by dodgy watch sellers. " Is genuine fake, but have genuine Japan mechanism". Great Fun  We bought two watches.  HNK tick. Next stop Rome.

     Great Place. Unlike China you don't even know you've gone through customs. You pass couple of Carabinieri checking themselves out in  the mirror and your on the street. Trevi Fountain, Vatican, Colosseum, Pantheon, Sistine Chapel., Azzurri beer and Kebabs so good we went back twice. Rome Tick. All we have to do is survive the 100 MPH taxi ride through the back streets at Four in the morning to the airport and where outta here.

     Zurich and a change of pace.The country where every bloke owns an Assault Rifle and 50 rounds of ammo, they like to keep things chilled. Mac and Reggi put us up for a couple of nights at there house out in the country. We do a bit of hiking, and eating at home style restaurants in the hills, a boat trip, fondue with the father in laws homemade cheese, and another bloody 4am trip to the airport. Switzerland Tick .6 days and 5 countries later we are on our way to New York.

     Americans are wonderful friendly people, pity I can't say the same about there immigration service. After a 6 hour flight you arrive at JFK. Some jerk in a uniform grunts at you to stand in line. Straight away the guy in the cubical goes to lunch.You get directed to another line. Jerk 1 comes back and yells a everyone to get in the original line until it's pointed out that is no longer open. Jerk 1 turns and walks away. Photo, fingerprints and some mind numbingly dumb questions, I 94 stamped and your in. Welcome to the Free World. Where in New York, Route 66 starts a third of the way across the country in Chicago. We head off to Times square to find some accommodation. First hotel $500 a night.  We walk a couple of K's to the wonderfully named Hell's Kitchen. Hotel $180 and a 12 pm checkout. Lunch at the dock, I stuff up and tip as well as pay the service charge, I thought the waitress looked happy. We do a night cruise of the Hudson, and stop by a bar to watch some Monday night football.

        I wake up, it's light and the phone is ringing. It's 5 to 12, my head hurts and they want us out of here. Vague memories of bourbons lined up on the bar and a 4am finish, throw in a bit of jet lag, it's not ideal.  We head to the central  bus terminal after both of us decided we has seen enough of New York. I drive the porcelain bus while Chris helps out some 20 year old blond who needs $20 to get back home to Kansas. Probably to buy some Meth but I have been called a bit of a cynic. We sleep on the two hour trip to Philly then wander off to Duncan's place. They have a meal and a warm bed waiting for us, which we put to immediate use. We need to get a car. Chris wants to buy one, he's into old American classics. I bought one of these and drove around the states in the 80's. Mine was a Ford Pinto with a highly inflammable sticker on the bumper. Duncan lends us his F100 and we drive around the used car yards. It seems that even a wreck is worth $300 as scrap. Not only that but we can't get it registered unless we have a Pennsylvanian drivers license. We cant get a drivers license unless we have a social security number. We cant get that because as foreigners we are all terrorists. In the 80's I had a US drivers license, and a car, It wasn't that hard. We had a nice Chevy 2 door picked out, even the dealer reckons the laws are crap. We return home defeated , and I book a rental on the internet. $1250 with unlimited miles and no one way fee. Before we take off the next day we drop in to say thanks to Duncan.. He is the main construction grip on a movie so we drop in and check out his work. There building igloo's to ship off to Greenland, bit like coals to Newcastle. Their lot is an old Naval shipyard full of decommissioned war ships surrounded by fashion and internet businesses. We head off to Geno's for a famous Philli cheese steak then out of town.

        At last where on the road. Not quite route 66 but Interstate 75 to Chicago. After a while we peel off on the Lincoln Highway, the first transcontinental route across America. Unlike route66 this one does go all the way across from Times Square to Seattle. Once you are off the interstate you start wandering through all these little backwoods towns. We pull up in a classic 40's motel, duck across the road to the servo for our first taste of American fast food as there is nothing else in town. After that we head to the local bar. The outside is full of pickups and Harley s, every one on the inside has a NRA or deer hunter tee shirt on. The walls are full of dear antlers. The place is quite, they don't get many strangers around here. And so starts our routine for the rest of the trip. "Two Beers please" Where you from?" Australia" What in Hell are you doing here? "Driving Route66" I always wanted to do that some one would say. I strike up a conversation with a bloke in a camouflage hunting jacket. We have had a couple of beers and don't want to get caught  drink driving so where about to leave. He tells me that they took away his drivers license because he couldn't pay his alimony, the local sheriff lets him drive into town so long as he only goes to the bar and straight back home. They wont do you for DUI so long as you tell them your on the way home. We don't risk it but it's nice knowing electing your local sheriff comes with privileges. We go through Gettysburg, past the flight 93 memorial, grand rapids and a whole pile of Springfield's. A couple more cheap motels and grimy bars. Eventually we end up at US54 in Chicago. The Start of the Mother Road.

 

Lukla Airport
Topic: East Asia

A short piece on the joys of flying into a place called the worlds most scary airport.

The Mountains
Topic: Oceania

 

If you go into the woods today you’re in for a big surprise. No, not Teddy Bears. Hills, Bloody great big ones. Its day 6 and we take off from Kone. After our night of native accommodation the boys where keen to get on the road, and burn up some of the Yams they had consumed. We headed off out of town for a pleasant 15KM of flat road, even a bit of bike track. The roads where still good and the traffic was relatively light. Once we hit the hills it was different. Ern had booked a nice resort on the other side for two nights, and we were going there for a rest day. Not that we had a lot of choice. There was no further accommodation available in either direction for 150 KM. That was fine, but first we had to get there.  New Caledonia is about 350 KM long and around 80 KM wide. The coastline is relatively flat but to get from one side to the other you need to go over not just one, but 2 sets of mountains with a valley in the centre.  We where heading up the first of these.  Fortunately I was driving due to my bung arm, but even the Citron was struggling up some of the 10% plus grades. How where the boys going?  Who cares? I switched on the AC, and waited at the lookout at the end of the climb. It was a great view of the previous days ride. Eventually they struggled in. I directed them towards the water and told them to get a move on, as I wanted to get as much time around the resort pool as possible.  Another 45 minutes riding mostly downhill with a few tiny bumps and we stopped at a great swimming hole for lunch. Baguette and Brie, great riding food and a half hour break.  About 300 meters after our lunch break around the corner was a sign with 10% grade on it and it wasn’t going down. I shouted encouragement from the open window of the Citron, but the brie didn’t seem to be kicking in. I tried to take a photo of the Lads riding up the hill. I could not get them all on the bikes at the same time; some one always seemed to be walking. You don’t see that in the Tour. Eventually they made it to the top of the second climb and where rewarded with a nice 15km downhill followed by a nice flat beach section. All of a sudden we were at the Resort. Beers all round, this was more the style. I drove up the coast the next day to see one of the highlights of the East coast. A bunch of islands around Hienghene which were very pleasant, and copped a good dose of Kodak poisoning. I couldn’t get any other takers for the trip; the others just wanted to hang around the pool. On the way back I drove past the resort, and through Pondmine. The resort was at the start of town, one dogey pizza and pasta place, two gas stations, a poulet (chook) and roti van, and a dubious snack bar.  Knowing Erns love of dogey pasta I went and retrieved him from round the pool because I did not want to be responsible for the dinner booking all by myself. We drove back through town and the roti van which was the best looking of the lot had closed and moved on.  We ate at the resort again that night.

                The next day we got an early start, well sort of. We had to get 160KM down the coast and across the hills to La Foy. A dubious standard hotel awaits us there, as this was the only accommodation available. I chucked Mick in the Citron and drove him 30KM to the next village and up a hill on the other side of town the waited for Ern and Frank to catch up. The coast road was great. Flat, not a lot of traffic, and that palm tree tropical sandy beach with islands you see in the brochures sort of pretty. We all caught up about another 30KM on in the next town.  It had a market so I bought twenty ripe sugars Banana’s (most are green) and a great bit of banana pie of one of the locals for a couple of bucks. Then we found a brilliant little cafe, which had the best lunch menu we had seen so far. The local cops where eating there and a bloke who we decided must have been the Mayor was drinking Coolies (Cheap Wine) out the front. When the cops left he came and gave us a great lecture on local history in the native language. He then had a chat to the owner who didn’t seem to be able to understand him either.  I chucked Ern’s bike in the car and we headed out of town, and into a nickel mine that used the highway as a haul road up the mountain. We where now headed back across the island, and I dropped him off at what we thought was near the top of the hill. Back down, the hill. We couldn’t fit all four of us and the bikes in the car so someone had to be ridding at any one time. Originally this was to be split four ways over three bikes but due to my arm the other guy’s had to do all the riding. I spent the next 5 hours shuttling bikes and blokes to the top of various never ending hills. I feel I know the road quite well as I generally drove it at least three times backwards and forwards to get everyone. Just on dark we arrived in Sarramea where we had hoped to stay but the hotel had been fully booked. We where knackered, it was dark, and another 30KM on to our booked hotel so we dropped in for a beer while we worked out a game plan. Wait there may be a room available.” For Four”... No... But there is a Gite across the road. We go across the road and check. Yes, It is fully booked... But wait there may be a room... There is a room the owners don’t normally rent it as it’s for their friends. It has a four poster and a 50” TV, not your normal Gite accommodation. The old hang around long enough and something will turn up works again. We ring our booked place and explain about our car troubles, they don’t seem too concerned. The hotel is magnificent, the have a full on French Degustation menu in the restaurant, run by the crew from Faulty towers. Service Lousy, Food Great, and Wine French of course. I still feel sick.

                The next day we head off to finish the last 30KM in to La Foa. In town we find a real patisserie with good coffee and free WIFI. I shuttle the bikes and riders 60KM down the road to the airport, where Mick boxes them while I get Ern and Frank. Of course due to Security concerns they have no luggage storage and our flight is the next day. Mick and I cart the boxes in to town, another 50KM, while Ern and Frank catch a Taxi back to Le Meridian. We check in for the night, and the boys investigate Pop light, the local Disco after another fine French meal.  It must have been good as they look pretty seedy the next morning. We clean up the car and head back out of town past the odd burnt out and upside down 4 wheeler from last night’s partying that has yet to be cleaned up. Just another Saturday night in Noumea. The planes late, but at least I find all the ingredients for a Bloody Mary in the airport lounge. It’s touch and go but we make our connection in Brisbane, and have time for another drink before getting on the plane back to Tulla. Apart from the arm, which is rapidly improving, it’s all gone pretty well.

 

Fatboys Go Native
Topic: Oceania

  

       New Caledonia, French Polynesia, Atom Bomb Test Site, no matter what you think the cheese eating surrender monkeys have a pretty good hold on this part of the world and there not going to let it go in a hurry. It's only three hours from Melbourne in a plane, or at least it would be if you could fly straight there. Tourism is under developed, with 100,000 visitors a year, compared to 400,000 in the Cook Islands and 200,000 in Vanuatu, and it shows. Most people go straight to a resort, and don't leave until the plane home is warming up on the runway. That's a bit of a pity because the place has a lot to offer. Great beaches, mountains, swimming holes, mine sites, friendly locals, and great bike riding.

      That's what the Fatboys where here for. We spent the first  day practising our rusty French in Noumea, then headed south through the hills along route 3 to Yate. It was here we first encountered the great local tradition of having no accommodation.There was meant to be a hotel and a couple of native hostels (Gites). No Hotel, and both the gites where full even though there didn't seem to be anybody there. Ern headed off to see if he could find the hotel while Mick and I settled in for a coffee. Seeing that we weren't going anywhere, all of a sudden an offer of a room appeared. "Two beds", we need three. OK then "three". We where learning the basics of traveling in NC. Because everything is always booked out, book ahead. People book rooms which are held for them, and then don't turn up. If you hang around  long enough eventually you'll be offered one.Erns search for the hotel was unsuccessful so he was happy when he returned to find a room, meal, and beer waiting for him.

        The next morning we took off for the ride back to Noumea. This was along the beach and all went fine for the first 30 KM. Pulling up under a tree the front wheel of my bike slipped out from under me. With my feet locked in to the  pedals I hit the ground hard and heard a large crack. My arm hurt like hell and had bits poking out in funny places. The Boys loaded the bikes into the car, no mean feet as it was a little car, while I managed to get in the front seat. We  returned to Yate which had a little local clinic. A native woman out the front went in side and an old French doctor appeared. Straight in to the clinic and on to the x-ray machine. Half an hour later I have my x-rays, drugs, and my arm in a sling. I've dislocated my elbow which has popped back into place when I moved it. I'm sorry to say I would have never received such good prompt and free service in Australia.

      We go back to Noumea, for lunch, and then 70KM out of town to a golf course near the airport to settle in and await for Frank. By the time he gets in, I've got an arm out of action ans Ear's got a case of the Touristas from a dogey feed of spaghetti in town. Tomorrow has to be better.

       The next day we head towards Bourail along the main road. The roads are in good nick and the traffic is pretty good so long as your off them before every body starts driving around pissed after dark. We find our luxury accommodation and are greeted by the manager with his "Porn Star" tee shirt. He's about 150 KG but pulls out a photo of himself later when he was in his twenty's, and the winner of the Tour of New Caledonia.

      Another 100KM the next day. The east coast is not very exciting but good bike riding. We head into Kone where of course there is no accommodation. We've managed to book a Gite 30 KM in the hills. A local picks our bikes up in his 4wd and we head into the hills with jokes about us being to nights menu. After an hour of rugged steep mountain roads we arrive in the village. Lots of dogs, one shared room, but a meals included. Where told that another lodger is sharing with us for the night. She turns up half an hour later, takes one look at the place and heads back out of town to god knows where. Every things booked. We share the dinner table with about 10 cats, but the meal is good. Yam's,Tarrow, Plantains, and heaps of Fried chicken. A cat jumps off the wall and grabs a piece of Ern's chicken off his fork but apart from that there are no casualties. Tomorrow we tackle the hills. TBC

 

 

 

Fatboys 12
Topic: Oceania

  

Things not to try on your 53 Birthday

Connect the dots
Topic: Undefined
This post used to have a map with lots of places I've been.

The North
Topic: Australia

    

      I'm not a natural flyer. Jetstar gotta get there early or else the Mongrels kick you off. That gives you to much time to think so it's off to the Q Club for a sanga and a quick beer to calm the nerves. Then down to the cattle gates. Get jammed into a large tin can. Metro sexual gives talk on Lifejacket under the Seat in case of a crash  landing on water. Mate Melbourne to Darwin not a lot of water there. Besides if things go arse up a bloody life jacket aren’t going to be much help when your packed into the glove box with 300 of you closest friends. I once heard that the most dangerous bit of a flight is the first two minutes, so generally spend these counting backwards from 120. Only after that can I relax. That's if you call a 4 hour jetstar flight relaxing.
     I've arranged to see my mate Russ in Darwin. I only gave him 4 months notice, so he’s managed at the last minute to get himself a two week contract working bush. The up side is his car is free, and He's just about finished his house reno. Jetstar moved my flight to a 3am arrival from midnight so I’ve begged and pleaded and now arrive at a very pleasant hour in the after noon. His Missus Katie picks me up at the airport, and it’s off to the new Ranch. Russ isn't the greatest in communicators, so I've come with a long list of Questions from his friends down south. We spend the night catching up, and discussing the joys of cohabitation with the Mead.
     I'm only here for a week , Saturday Kate and I are off to the Comedy Debate at Mandorh, It's Wednesday. Time is short. I wouldn't mind going to Kathrine and seeing a friend who lives in Batchlor a 100KM Sth, so I need to get going. Russ has kindly left me his car, a 4-cylinder diesel Toyota Ute. Like most cars it comes with a list of instructions, well only one. It has no key so I need to find some thing to stick in the lock to start it. It’s in the back yard. The doors are open and it has a fine selection of dints. It looks like my car on the inside. The passenger seat well is full of old hamburger rappers, empty stubbies, and bits of building rubble, theirs one other thing, the handbrake is lying on the floor. I jam a screwdriver in the lock and twist. Nothing. Flip the bonnet latch, hook up the battery, twist, Broom Broom, It's a goer. I chuck the swag in the back, and I'm off. Well off to Auto Barn. The blinker doesn't, oils low, and the washer bottle is empty.  New globe, new oil, new water, now the washer bottle is just not working. Two out of three aint bad.
      A couple of hours later I'm at batchlor. From there its only another 30km of dirt road with instructions like turn left at the washout and keep going till you see a gate with a 44 next to it. Somehow or other I find her place. Cinda lives on 75 hecters with her Half a dozen horses, chooks and a nice  old solar powered Queenslander. It's a long way from her suburban Malvern upbringing, the nearest shop is 30 Km away, god knows where I can get a latte.We feed the horses, have dinner and catch up. She's up early the next morning to start teaching at the local school. I wave her goodbye, jump in the ute. Click.
     Bugger now I know why the battery was disconnected. Fortunately I'm on a farm, there has got to be something around here to get it going. I walk over to the shed and find a battery charger, and a lead .Chuck it on the battery and sit down to read my book. An hour or so later the little green light says the battery is charged, Screwdriver in the lock. Click. Bugger. Time for plan B. Cindas told me she's going off for a couple of days with her friend so theirs no use waiting for her. No mobile phone reception so I can’t call the RACV.  The shed has a Fergie tractor in it, I find some jumper leads, and spend five minutes trying to get  it started. I'm just about ready to give up when I remember to take it out of gear. Click, Clack Clack Clack. I park it next to the Ute, and try to jump start it. No Good. Next I change the battery with the one from the tractor. Click Now I'm stuffed. Time for a cuppa. The Farm has a slight hill, maybe if I get the Ute to the top I can roll start it. There aint many other options. Back to the shed for a bit of rope, swap the batteries back again. I'm towing the Ute backwards up the hill, stopping every 10 meters to adjust the steering so it follows the tractor. I get it half way up the hill and the rope breaks. The Ute takes off backwards, I stop the tractor and take of after it. I catch it just as it hits the fence at the bottom of the hill. Bugger. No major damage just a bit of paint barely noticeable amongst the other scratches. Back up , get the tractor , tie the rope back together, try again. I've been trying to start this thing for three hours now. At last I get it to the top of the hill. Turn the wheels so it doesn't take off again. ( no handbrake ), and disconnect the rope. I push it down the hill hoping to get enough speed so it will start. Clutch, Third gear, Drop the clutch, the fence is approaching rapidly, a few revs, clutch "BRAKE". I stop just before the fence. The Bastard,s running. I carefully drive it up the top of the hill making sure not to stall it, then I spend half an hour putting all the stuff that I've borrowed back. Just a couple of gates to negotiate. I have to park across the road since it's go no hand brake and I can't stop it and put it in gear because I can't be sure it will start again.
         At last I'm on the road again. The window winder is broken, so I hit the AC. It dosen't work. The vent knobs are all immovable, and in funny positions . The fan and the radio are also dead. Same for the cigarette lighter so I cant charge the phone. The dash looks like someone has cut it out and screwed a different one in with plasterboard screws. Only the gauges and speedo work. I get back to Batchlor and the engine seems to be running ok so I make an executive decision to head towards Lichfield National Park instead

Things seem to be working again, the donk is ticking over well, so I make a stop on the top of a big hill and turn the engine off. Hopefully I can roll start it  from here if it wont start again. I turn the stick in the key hole and it chugs over straight away. Twenty minutes later I’m at a Buley Rock Hole, a beautiful swimming spot. Still not totally sure of the reliability of the Ute I park  at the very top of the car park, then head off for a swim. There is a series of little rock holes with little falls in between finally ending up in the river at the bottom. Refreshed I start the ute and drive to Florence falls for another swim. Things seem to be working OK in the transport department so I decide head off to Kathrine. Ive got the swag its  only another 200 kms. I stop at Adelade River and fill her up.

      Katie gets  home, and tells me the story of one of her indigenous art students. He made $500 selling some paintings, and when asked what he was going to do with it he replied “ I reckon I might buy your husband another car”. She’s boycotted push starting it six months ago, so sometimes when the neighbours are hiding Russ has to bribe the local black fellas with fags in the morning for a push.

      Saturday night we jump on the ferry to the debate at the Mandorh Pub. The book festival is on and the subject is books are better than fishing. It was a close run thing but the books won. I try to catch up with my cousin who’s working in the travel lodge a couple of times. I see Balabo at the deck chair cinema, and have a great steak at the Trailer boat club. I also try to charge the battery on the car and have a couple of go’s at getting it started to no avail.

 

Post Script

Russ got home and fixed his car. He changed the battery, then he tried to push start it, then he got his mate to tow him round the block, then he got his other mate who’s a gun with Toyota’s to tow him around the block several times with a bit of tinkering in between, then he bought a new car.