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Confessions of a Land Rover Owner

I grew up with a healthy dislike for old Land Rovers

They were used by authority, and I’m one of those who isn't keen on imposed authority. If there is one thing I can’t stand, that would be it. And pointless violence, so two things, and old Land Rovers embodied both for me. They were the part of the uniform, the Big Brother’s evil horses. Therefore, no Land Rovers for me, please. But life is life and life happens any way it’s meant to happen, so here I am, writing about my beloved Series III.

I loved Toyotas...

The second confession is even worse. Oh, how I loved them. They were cool, rare, logical, powerful, well made, but most importantly, authority didn’t have them. Toyotas were the way for the crowd to stick it up to the authorities.

I believe that vehicles have personalities

The third one will not make me very popular in certain communities, but here it is. I firmly believe that vehicles have personalities. I simply think that the mental process and the energy of the people making those vehicles shows in the final product, like in paintings, songs, books and many other places. Why not cars as well? But, now it gets really weird. I think I know quite a lot about the guy who made my Land Rover Series III and I like him. He’s almost like a friend now. I’ll tell you about Nigel some other time. Maybe someone could help me find him and prove me right or wrong. So, how come I have and love to bits (many of which are from Bearmach) my 1972 Land Rover Series III 88 Station Wagon? It’s a story that begins like most great school assignments...

I was on the way to buy my Series without even knowing it

It was a nice and hot summer day... One of those days when you have time for yourself (the worst kind), when I decided I needed a distraction in my life in the form of an old and cheap off-road vehicle. How smart of me. You all surely know those moments when you sit idly and think “I have some problems. I’ll go buy an old car to solve them.”. Most times those ideas evaporate soon enough in the summer heat, but that day one of those clung long enough for me to act upon it. I decided to buy a Daihatsu Taft, again. I had one when I was young, so much younger than today, so I had enough time to forget all the pain, scarcity of parts, the rust and the embarrassment when I couldn’t climb up a paved road, but not enough to forget the rides with friends while blasting “Pretty Fly for a White Guy”. I made a deal to go and see a Defender some 300 kilometres from home. It looked nice. Red, with a white roof, large wheels… Cheap, too. Perfect. I should have know better than to go see a 40 year old off-roader at a place where they have very little roads, and very much… off roads, where people take pride in how many timbers they can drag out the forest at once and how long they can run without an oil change. But it was all fate. I was on the way to buy my beloved Series without even knowing it...




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