Originally Posted by wally
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Yesterday evening, the unthinkable happened: I took the Landy out the gate, down the street, down another street and then another street and then a road and then another and I just kept going......
In an unexpected twist, I had Wally onboard for the expedition. This made sense, as, rather than wait for me to arrive at his house to start complaining and criticising, he could yap at me all the way as we launched the expedition to find the fabled Northwest Passage from my back yard to his farm.
So, with the whine of the overdrive competing with The Who on the stereo (it was pretty-much a tie), we set out. Through valleys, across cane fields, over bridges, spanning great plains, corners, intersections, a traffic light and several gentle, undulating rises and a small pothole.... on we ploughed in the gloaming.
The Landy took it all in her stride, purring along at forty-four miles per hour and – on one or two tense moments when reckless enthusiasm overcame prudence and momentarily put the brave expeditioners in peril – fifty on some stretches.
At the far-off destination, hope was in the air. A crowd (small dog) had gathered, when, just on nightfall, an engine was heard in the distance. The far-off auditory oscillations rose to an approaching rumble – then a triumphant clattering as the advance party drew into view.
Finally, as the motor was cut, few words were spoken. A firm handshake, a muttered “Well done, old chap...” and the crowd suddenly erupted in cheers (barking) and carried the explorers (idiots) shoulder high (ran behind them barking) to the awaiting formal reception (enamel mug of Stone's Green Ginger Wine).
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