I do not like mist. I have no shame in admitting it. It is wonderful in books. Like Wuthering Heights, or something like that. Very romantic. Sets the mood for mystery, romance and intrigue. The hero disappears into the mist, or appears out of it, and is always a most dashing figure. But of course he is riding a horse at about 15 Km/h. And if he did bang into a tree or trip over a rock, the author would not record it. It wouldn’t be right, or proper. The only thing that happens in books with mist is that ships go aground on treacherous reefs. And occasionally the villain is allowed to walk over the edge of a treacherous cliff to his doom, unsighted by the mist. You note however that it is the cliff or the reef which is treacherous. Not the mist.
So much for books. But I’m talking about driving. Not that I’m a very fast driver at the best of times. I have sometimes had spider webs growing between my outside mirror and the door. But then we do have very strong spiders in the Eastern Cape. I am really just a law-abiding citizen. I don’t speed. There are much nicer ways of killing yourself. Like with liquor for instance. I know it takes longer, but I’m in no hurry. Of course, if you are in a hurry, mix the three together: driving, speed and drinking, and you won’t have too long to wait.
So (as they say in journalistic circles), you know where I’m coming from. (Not from where I am coming, journalists aren’t allowed such archaic grammar!) And where I was going to, was the Eastern Transvaal lowveld. This was a long time ago, when we lived in Pretoria, and actually thought it was quite nice. The kids were small, and sat strapped into their car-seats, wrapped up in warm jerseys, with mittens or gloves, and woolly hats, for it was a cold winter morning. We were likewise dressed in the warmest clothes we had.
The reason for all this warm clobber, was that the heater on the old car had stopped heating, and all the witch-doctors and wizards and goblins amongst the various backyard mechanics that we supported, had been unable to come up with a diagnosis that didn’t cost more than the holiday in the Kruger Park was going to cost. So we would be like my old man, who always drove old American gas-guzzlers that didn’t even have heaters. You were lucky they had windscreen wipers they were so basic.
We were not even at Bronkhorstspruit when we started getting mist. At first it was only in the valleys, but later it spread to everywhere. I could make out the car in front of me for a while, then they disappeared into the mist, all travelling much faster than we were. Not that that was unusual. I remember once, when travelling up quite a steep hill, we eventually caught up with a caravan being towed by a very old and smoky Land Rover. As we pulled into the outside lane prior to overtaking, both boys became alarmed. Volubly. It was all Sue could do to stop them screaming. It took a long time before she could explain to them that we were actually allowed to overtake. Up to then, they had understood that overtaking was something which was done to us, not by us.
So it was nothing unusual for the stream of cars all to be overtaking us. The further we went, the thicker the mist got. I would have stopped, but it was too dangerous, as once you pulled off the road, if someone didn’t ram into the back of you as you stopped, they would definitely do so when you had the temerity pull out into the traffic again. Eventually I had slowed down to such an extent that a bloke on a racing bicycle went smoothly past us. He wasn’t even peddling very fast, but I explained to the boys that modern bicycles had such incredible gearing, that they could maintain high speeds while pedaling only slowly.
And still the stream of traffic roared past in the right hand lane: sports cars, bakkies, delivery vans, trucks, bigger trucks, huge coal-hauling trucks, all blundering on through the mist, with no regard to the fact that they could not see what was up ahead. But we just plodded on. My eyes were starting to burn from the strain of trying to peer through the fog and mist. Sue got a bit upset and said not in front of the children, when I called it fog and mist, but must assume she misheard me.
I became aware of a car that pulled up next to us, but did not actually pass. I could just see the person in the passenger seat gesticulating and making signs. I couldn’t actually see if they were rude signs or not, but got worried that he wasn’t getting past. I mean, it wasn’t that we were travelling too fast, but he just sort of hovered there. Today I would assume HI-JACK! and take some sort of evasive action, but in those days it was still only happening in America, and the local thugs had not yet been trained by Hollywood. So I was totally mystified. But eventually I could make out that the woman was indicating that I should open my window, and I decided that I had better do so, as this parallel driving at 40Km/h was potentially dangerous in this thick fog and mist.
So I cranked my window down. Half-way. That was enough. I could now see the car clearly. I could in fact see the far-off horizon, and I realised in a flash that we had not been travelling in mist or fog, but through a bright, pre-dawn morning, and the mist and fog was all on the inside of our windows. I suppose it is right that the story gets trotted out whenever I am pontificating about road safety, or giving one of the boys a lecture on safe driving. But I still maintain that if I was stupid in not realising where the mist was, I was not the only one in the car!
So much for books. But I’m talking about driving. Not that I’m a very fast driver at the best of times. I have sometimes had spider webs growing between my outside mirror and the door. But then we do have very strong spiders in the Eastern Cape. I am really just a law-abiding citizen. I don’t speed. There are much nicer ways of killing yourself. Like with liquor for instance. I know it takes longer, but I’m in no hurry. Of course, if you are in a hurry, mix the three together: driving, speed and drinking, and you won’t have too long to wait.
So (as they say in journalistic circles), you know where I’m coming from. (Not from where I am coming, journalists aren’t allowed such archaic grammar!) And where I was going to, was the Eastern Transvaal lowveld. This was a long time ago, when we lived in Pretoria, and actually thought it was quite nice. The kids were small, and sat strapped into their car-seats, wrapped up in warm jerseys, with mittens or gloves, and woolly hats, for it was a cold winter morning. We were likewise dressed in the warmest clothes we had.
The reason for all this warm clobber, was that the heater on the old car had stopped heating, and all the witch-doctors and wizards and goblins amongst the various backyard mechanics that we supported, had been unable to come up with a diagnosis that didn’t cost more than the holiday in the Kruger Park was going to cost. So we would be like my old man, who always drove old American gas-guzzlers that didn’t even have heaters. You were lucky they had windscreen wipers they were so basic.
We were not even at Bronkhorstspruit when we started getting mist. At first it was only in the valleys, but later it spread to everywhere. I could make out the car in front of me for a while, then they disappeared into the mist, all travelling much faster than we were. Not that that was unusual. I remember once, when travelling up quite a steep hill, we eventually caught up with a caravan being towed by a very old and smoky Land Rover. As we pulled into the outside lane prior to overtaking, both boys became alarmed. Volubly. It was all Sue could do to stop them screaming. It took a long time before she could explain to them that we were actually allowed to overtake. Up to then, they had understood that overtaking was something which was done to us, not by us.
So it was nothing unusual for the stream of cars all to be overtaking us. The further we went, the thicker the mist got. I would have stopped, but it was too dangerous, as once you pulled off the road, if someone didn’t ram into the back of you as you stopped, they would definitely do so when you had the temerity pull out into the traffic again. Eventually I had slowed down to such an extent that a bloke on a racing bicycle went smoothly past us. He wasn’t even peddling very fast, but I explained to the boys that modern bicycles had such incredible gearing, that they could maintain high speeds while pedaling only slowly.
And still the stream of traffic roared past in the right hand lane: sports cars, bakkies, delivery vans, trucks, bigger trucks, huge coal-hauling trucks, all blundering on through the mist, with no regard to the fact that they could not see what was up ahead. But we just plodded on. My eyes were starting to burn from the strain of trying to peer through the fog and mist. Sue got a bit upset and said not in front of the children, when I called it fog and mist, but must assume she misheard me.
I became aware of a car that pulled up next to us, but did not actually pass. I could just see the person in the passenger seat gesticulating and making signs. I couldn’t actually see if they were rude signs or not, but got worried that he wasn’t getting past. I mean, it wasn’t that we were travelling too fast, but he just sort of hovered there. Today I would assume HI-JACK! and take some sort of evasive action, but in those days it was still only happening in America, and the local thugs had not yet been trained by Hollywood. So I was totally mystified. But eventually I could make out that the woman was indicating that I should open my window, and I decided that I had better do so, as this parallel driving at 40Km/h was potentially dangerous in this thick fog and mist.
So I cranked my window down. Half-way. That was enough. I could now see the car clearly. I could in fact see the far-off horizon, and I realised in a flash that we had not been travelling in mist or fog, but through a bright, pre-dawn morning, and the mist and fog was all on the inside of our windows. I suppose it is right that the story gets trotted out whenever I am pontificating about road safety, or giving one of the boys a lecture on safe driving. But I still maintain that if I was stupid in not realising where the mist was, I was not the only one in the car!