Punctures: Good in Bad

I had a puncture deep in the Kgalagadi Park, after lots of jolting on corrugated and rutted roads. I replaced it early in the morning with the spare, and then jolted back across the same corrugated and rutted roads hoping I wouldn't get a second, and be forced to change it surrounded by a ring of interested wild animals. The tyres held through the park ... and down 250km of straight desert to Uppington ... and across the brown and green plains of the Northern Cape and North West province. I had about 1300km to drive altogether to get me home.

When I arrived in Vryburg, with still about 400km to go, my first reaction was that I was back in the high crime zone - the land of high fences and gated communities that I had been out of for a while. My second thought was that the town wasn't such a great place to hang out in ... the streets were dirty and buzy, even late on a Sunday afternoon. My third thought, at the petrol station, was - "Oh damn. Here's the second puncture".

All the workshops were closed for the Sunday, and suddenly I was faced with the thought of an unwelcome overnight in an unlovely town when all I wanted was to get back to Joburg and sleep in my own bed.

Then the guy at the petrol station saw the flat, and said "Call Bande!". He gave me a number, I phoned and 5 minutes later a giant tow truck with a young black guy with dreadlocks came roaring down the road. I could still drive, so I followed it around the cornder into Vryburg's dusty suburbs ... and there was Bande, who was prepared to sacrifice 20 minutes of his Sunday afternoon to repair my two punctures, and get me back on the road for about 80 Rand ($8).


This is Bande with his brother and son. It turned out to be a fun experience, in fact the best thing which happened to me in that long day of driving.