Hunt for a "New" Car

Since i promised to give my Land Rover to my daughter for her eighteenth birthday, i needed another car.
So I've been looking for a clunker on Gumtree, something for two or three grand, that's reasonably reliable and that i can work on. I had an interesting dalliance with the W123 Mercedes Benz. This series, from 1970 to 1985 apparently possesses the capacity for high mileage and has been dubbed  "million mile cat". Like the Rover, the older Merc's are "simple and a pleasure to work on". That's my kind of car! This evening I came across a motoring article featuring a W123 300D diesel with 3,4 million kilometres on the clock. The 86 year old owner has used it as a taxi in Belgium and reckons he just changed the oil regularly and has avoided any major rebuilds. That's gold right there.
But, you know we live on a rural property and the driveway was designed by a web-footed mountain goat Essentially, we lose bits of the driveway each time a good downpour arrives and its been some years since two-wheel drive access has been possible. So negotiating with said Merc might involve a caveman type drag rather than a cruise. So Plan B I designed was to look for a survivor of the smallest 4WD ute in recent decades, the Subaru "Brumby". These went out of production in 1995, but like the W123 Merc, they have a bit of a reputation for longevity. They won't routinely pull out a million k's, but many achieve between 5 and 800 thousand. In the USA they're known as the Subaru "Brat", something about Recreational All Terrain, because of its higher ground clearance and for-wheel drive configuration. Strangely, they normally run as a front wheel drive, and when going off-road, the rear wheels are engaged. Quite unconventional, they have been the vehicle of choice for adventurous types for many years.

It's a new car (sound of discordant trumpets)

In between running my gardening business, feeding two teenagers and the dogs and two dozen unproductive chooks, I like to get onto, in, or beside, the water. But, to get near water one needs a motor vehicle.
Now, for me, motor vehicles fall into the category of houses, a boring necessity of life. I really hate having to work or spend time repairing cars or painting houses and co. For me, I would really prefer to liveaboard a large old boat; may be with plants in pots, but no designer bathroom or kitchen, no tedium. That's the background, now the present.
For the last few years I've been talking around in an ex-army Land Rover. And really it has been fantastic except for tolerating people's quips, criticisms and disdainful glances. Sometimes i can't figure whether this is about them not feeling comfortable with people bucking the system or its thumping great noise and beat aesthetic. Anyway, it's not my brother to worry what others think (thanks Buddhist Wisdom).
So anyway, last week as i was taking miniscule and slow steps toward my ultimate goal of living off grid on a large boat and riding myself of anything suburban in appearance, I promised to give my Rover to my daughter for her eighteenth birthday. This has passed the week before, so it's time to move.
Initially my plan was to replace the head gasket on my Ford ute and get that registered, but it has a "fatal" design fault in that it blows radiators and head gasket each Christmas. Plan B required.
After looking on the used car market I've discovered that most modern cars have the same fatal flaws. So go old?
Old Rovers have gone through the roof cost wise as people have realised they're a snap to work on and are reliable and beat.
Don't know how, but some weeks ago i rediscovered the Hillman Minx, a sixties British sedan, compact, stylish and reliable. Performance-wise the Hillman suits me, it's kind of pedestrian. She'll just plod along, but with a bit of old school maintenance she's pretty reliable. And so far the "car enthusiast" crowd have largely ignored the Hillman Minx.
There are only occasional murmurings on the used car market and a good few of those are just too "projecty" for my interests so it's going to be difficult to get hold of one. The project car sellers tend to market the dream while those with drivable vehicles know they have a rare type. Oh K'ism, such a pleasure.

A paddle and a kingfisher up close.

Bless me father for it has been the weeks since my last paddle ... my daughter's eighteenth birthday and bad weather ... ok. Phew, I only need to go offshore for two hours. On a day like today that's easy, but I won't tell him that.
Just to mix things up I transported "Sunshine" (my sea kayak's new name), on the deck of my Hobie cat. It worked out quite well; because there was no need for a special rack, and it was easy to load up. Compared to every system I've previously used, this was the best by far.
Prior to joining the water I check and discover that the tide will be in flood for the next six hours. So I decide that a half-hour downstream, one hour up, and half hour back down will spread the burden of passing against the flow. It should also deposit me back to where I started.
The ramp is vacant as usual, so i can park off to the side, down by the water. I change into Rubbernman (my wetsuit and booties). But as there are no phone booths within five kilometres I just do it al fresco.
On the water, the Bliss Bomb his straight up. The water is slick, quiet and beautifully peaceful. Aah! At the bottom end of the ebb there is a lot of flotsam, mostly benign like bamboo stalls, twigs and seed bombs but there are more logs than usual ... and the wheel of a truck.it's so busy that t the only second run-about boat I've seen on the river proceeds only slowly. The peace is broken only by the sound of occasional traffic and little brown ducks fleeing our bow wave. Typically after time of from paddling I feel frumpy and uncoordinated, which I really dislike. For a short two hour paddle i can only rely on feeling better much later.
My thirty-minute time to turn around alarm goes off, but I decide to continue on downstream to visit my favourite riverbend and continue against the flow to properly push my stamina. At the "mansion bend" I nudge into the northern bank to escape the flow and take off my top layer of clothing (rubber doesn't breath week), and to hydrate. While removing my PFD with my pale lashed, I'm wary of ending up in the chilled water, but I'm reminded how comfortable and strong I feel now compared to my wobbly beginnings just three months ago.
After turning to go upstream I'm immediately aware of how easily and fast we're shooting along. It's an old story but a good one to "go with the flow". No longer do I consciously duck into bends to avoid the head flow, now we swing wide and slingshot upstream. I'm aware of the reduced physical load and up the pace to give myself a decent work rate.
Life's great, we hear and then see said runabout dodging logs and frankly we are too. Although we're moving in the same direction as the logs we come upon them quite rapidly and you never know until the bow his smaller pieces, whether it's something to bother about. If there's a small bump its a bamboo shoot, but a real clunk indicates a submerged branch. These are mostly harmless but wrist-thick ones can knock the dagger fin or rudder. A dull almost silent strike can mean a submerged tree which has the real threat of capsize if one side of the hull rides high and tips us of balance. All good though, its mostly bamboo and using the river to search clear paths is low key fun. The truck tyre and rim come up fast, we're well clear but i must about the potential to get it off the river. But it's too big and the banks are too inhospitable for such folly.
Well after bypassing our take off point I spy a green foam noodle on the backside of the river and make a mental note to grab it on the way back south. We turn for the last time at the Paterson Road bridge and I begin hunting for the noodle. The bamboo clump leans over the river and I worry about ticks, so approach gingerly. As I stow it on deck, my attention is drawn to a shy whistle overhead, an Azure Kingfisher. I quickly take note of its remarkable plumage before it flies off, only it doesn't. It actually it's watching me load the noodle like it approves our something. Being typically human I exploit nature and quickly grab my phone and snap of a few photos. Well I don't think this sacred little bits minds the publicity.
Nearing the ramp I wait a plastic bottle, a bit of insulation, a wrapper and quickly and thirteen pieces of plastic debris that I remove for landfill, instead of fish-
 or bird fill.
Hardly, the sailor home from the sea. But sure the paddler home from another few hours on the river. The post paddle adrenaline is there, but only mild when compared to that after a long paddle when I'm fitter. But I'll take it, it has been nice and the sun is seriously dipping do own on what has been a beautiful day.