August 2011 - Land Rover Owners Club KwaZulu Natal

Transcription

2011 COMMITTEE
Kenneth Jones
Chairman
Cell: 084 509 1427
[email protected]
Vehicles: Defender 110 DC TD5
Defender Hybrid (Snail)
Newsletter Editor
Brian Moore
Cell: 0828420064
[email protected].
Vehicle: Defender 110 Td5
Gavin McKenzie
Membership
Tel: 031- 2661175(h)
[email protected]
Vehicle: Defender 90 TDi
LANDROVING
IN KZN
Aug 2011
Monthly Newsletter of the LROC of SA KwaZulu-Natal
P.O.Box 70650; Overport; 4067 Find our Home Page at www.landroverclub.za.org
Ed’s comment, "The
newsletter is published
regularly on an irregular basis
every month, printed as and
when it seems fit and
delivered when it suits. It will
be late on your time, but on
time, on my time.”
George Goswell
Events/Trails/Gates
Tel: 031-7002300 (h)
Cell: 0836581324
[email protected]
Vehicles: Series 111S HT
Range Rover 3 door V8
Paul Stanley
PRO
Cell: 082 7777 976
[email protected]
Vehicle: Puma 90
Johan Scheepers
Social Events
Cell: 082 3552 344
[email protected]
Vehicles:
Range Rover P38
Defender 110 v8
Disco11 v8
Series
Brendan Mitchell
Webmaster/Treasurer
Tel:031 7678150
Cell: 0832824318
[email protected]
Vehicle: Defender 110 TD5
Disco 11 v8
Leon Jacobs
Regalia
Cell: 073 214 7756
[email protected]
Range Rover V8
G-g-g-g-g-g-reetings and salutations
I don’t know whether any of you have noticed, but it has been a tad brisk outdoors of
late on our bottom half of the orb, with Mama Naycha having adjusted her planetary
thermostat to a setting somewhere between “brass monkey” and “I can’t find it
anymore”.
Now I don’t know about you, but I cannot stand the cold! My hatred of the cold stems
from a particularly nasty piece of terrain that featured prominently in my youth, growing
up North of the Boerewors Curtain, where one arises early to inhale the smog and
listen to the birds coughing in the trees!
As with all young teenagers, there came a time in my life, when it was not politically
correct to be seen being dropped off at the school entrance gate, in the company of
Mater, even if it was in Pater’s second love, his Ford Fairlane V8 with its 8 track stereo,
nodding sausage dog, double divorce pipes and leather steering wheel with nude
revolving picture of Doris Day in the centre!
Tiring of my persistent outbursts at having my face moistened publically by Mummy
st
Dearest in front of the 1 team rugby players, as she bid me adieu, it was decided,
with much persistent nagging by me-myself- I, that a bicycle would give me all the
independence, and face saving a young lad could want.
I shall never forget that moment when Sir Wilfred of the Wallet arrived home, with the
boot-lid of his Fairlane ajar, and the glinting chromed handlebars of my first bicycle
peeking out between the spider-web of butcher’s sisal twine and brown wrapping paper
that kept it securely in place.
This was no ordinary bicycle I might add! This bike would have made Jet Jungle hang
up his baboon skin underwear for good.
It was a state of the art ,gloss black, Sir Walter Raleigh Assegai, with no gears, 26 inch
rims with baboon tires, back-pedal brakes, matching two tone police car mudguards
,bus driver handlebars, 2 coil sprung leather saddle (later christened the “Nut-Cracker
Seat”), rear mounted satchel carrier puncture repair kit and the piece de resistance, a
glistening chrome ding-a-ling bell.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this Newsletter are not necessarily those of the Club’s Committee, Members or the Editors and may be incorrect
LROC KZN Aug 2011 Page 1
The fact that all my other mates had 21 speed Harley look-a-like chopper bikes, with easy rider monkey bars, padded
double seats with chrome wheelie backrests and battery operated “ A- HOOH-GAH” hooters, seemed to have eluded
Pater when he went to the shop, but I must not complain, as , at least mine did not have a wicker vegetable basket affixed
to the front like Phineas the Grocery Boy’s , from Nick the Greek’s Corner Café and Fish and Chip shop. (I am truly
grateful, really I am Dad!)
The first few months of emancipation were bliss, as I hurtled around the neighbor-hood with my mates(usually around 2
km behind my mates actually), and slewed into the bicycle shed at school daily, with dust and gravel flying in true backbraking Denzil Kemp speedway splendor, from my Dunlop Maxi-grip ,Non- slip baboon tires.
Then, winter arrived!
Awakening one morning to a peculiar rat-tat-tat (later discovered to be the sound of the morning robin, chiseling away at
his frozen birdbath like Woody Woodpecker), I donned my Centenary Edition Teesav Shorty Safari suit and matching Mr.
Chips cap and ventured out, to retrieve the bike from the garage. A chill of incredibly penetrating proportion immediately
settled around my nether regions, and I realized, as my scrotum began to retract involuntarily, it was rather suddenly a tad
cold out!
As I grabbed the handlebars of my steed, my hands laminated instantaneously to the highly polished chrome. Recoiling in
shock and horror, I promptly removed the first layer of my epidermis, which hung limply from 5 fingers, like a surgeon’s
gloves from the handlebars.
Of course, I immediately thought to myself, “Self!, Mater and Pater being the kind, generous and loving parents that they
were, would obviously not object to giving you a ride to school on their way to work in this foul weather”.
I mean come on people, who in their right mind, could expect anyone to be out in this frigid temperature, let alone a mere
waif of a schoolboy, and the last true carrier of the family gene pool!
“How-za-bout a lift to school this morning, Dad?”, I asked, in full confidence and trust in my loving parents, as I sat
cradling my bowl of hot milked Snap, Crackle and Pop, warming my fingers and raw skinned palms.
“Poppy-cock, M’ Boy!” came the haughty response. “YOU wanted a bike……..so, now Sonny Jimbo, YOU ride it to
school!”, replied Pater non-chalantly, with a supercilious grin on his face. “That’s right! You tell him my boy” mumbled
Grandad, through prune puckered lips, as he hammered away at his hard-boiled egg with his dentures which had become
encased in a solid block of ice on his bedside table overnight.
“But, but, but, but, but!”, I stammered, in stunned protestation at Pater’s uncompromising and callous rebuke.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, will you stop sounding like an Evinrude outboard motor, and get yourself off to school, before you
wake up and find your clothes out of fashion!”, came the unsympathetic command, from the Uncompassionate One, who
obviously now no longer loved his one and only begotten son, fruit of his loins and last carrier of the sacred genetic code!
OK!, so it was going to be like that then, was it?
With jaw thrust forward in best Biggles form, hunched shoulders and heavy intermittent sighing for effect, I slouched
outdoors, mumbling & muttering sullen goodbyes through the sudden fog which enveloped my steaming nut in giant
steam locomotive puffs.
Airman “Sluggers” Moore, combat ace with 27 kills to his name, sauntered jauntily across the apron to his waiting
Sopwith. His silk scarf wound loosely around his neck, the ends flapping in the crisp frigid breeze. His Leather flying
helmet and flying jacket glistened in the early morning frost. The frozen gravel crunched under his flying boots.
Mummy sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye, as she waved me goodbye from the threshold .My Nana consoled her,
tapping her back gently and saying, “Now ,now, dear!.He’ll be back..... So what time is tea?”
With a perfunctory glance over his shoulder at the WACS in the control tower, he deftly hoisted himself into the cockpit.
Hauling my knobbly-kneed and Schwarzenegger calved frame onto the bike , the minus-3 degree Nguni Cattle hide
banana saddle with gun-metal nose cone, came into abrupt contact with the nut factory, causing a mass evacuation, of
my precious family jewels, not seen since Rommel’s retreat from Tobruk.
The pain of both testes trying to squeeze past each other in their haste to clamber up my pelvis to find warmer climes was
intense. With a loud AYEEEEEEEEE, I hurtled out of the driveway and into Augusta Avenue, aided by a well planted
shove from Dad, nearly flattening the milk delivery man in the process.
“ CONTACT! CHOCKS AWAY” yelled Sluggers, peering around the side of the plexi-glass canopy, as his trusty batman
Fontleroy-Smitherington-Smythe swung the propeller, and the engine spluttered into life.
Pater trudged inside shaking his head and muttering something to Mater that sounded like, “Did you cancel that fools
damned subscription to Whizzer and Chips like I asked you? “
Trundling along the runway as he prepared for lift off, Sluggers reminded him-self to look out for bandits at 12 o’clock! He
felt like a sitting duck on the ground. The Black Max was lurking out there somewhere! Today was not a good day to die!.
Augusta Avenue, for the uninformed, is the first 1.5 km of a 5.5 km long downhill stretch of road, that led from where we
lived, and which roadway terminates approximately at the entrance to the bicycle shed of the learned establishment,
where I spent the best six years of my life, viz. STD 3.(Name withheld to protect the innocent)
Sluggers felt the nose of his trusty Sopwith lift from the runway! Gad, it was good to be alive! Circling the airfield,
Fontleroy-Smitherington-Smythe looked like an ant scurrying on the ground, as he hobbled back to his Nissan hut and the
glowing warmth of his Esso heater and Ovaltine.
The gradient of Augusta Avenue is the same as the maximum roll over angle of a Defender. Within a paltry nano-second
of commencing the descent, the combined effect of mass, gradient and acceleration meant that within 2 seconds, the
Bicycle Ace of Hearts playing card held in place by Mom’s purloined clothes peg on the back wheel, begins to sound like
a belt fed Browning.
“Beware the dastardly Hun that should attempt to cross no man’s land today!” thought Sluggers as he peered out from the
cockpit of his Sopwith Camel, as the test rounds from his Twin Browning crackling through the frigid morning air like a
soccer rattle.
Now anybody who has done a short university course in the principles of thermo-dynamics knows that at best, a moving
speeding body causes all approaching matter to compress. Air, at -3 degrees, when compressed, gains another -15
degrees on the Scott-of the Ant- Arctic Wind Chill Scale (See nearest box of Kellogs Rice Krispies for your free sample!)
At 1000ft in the open cockpit of a Sopwith Camel, add another -10 for effect!
Sluggers scanned the icy blue frigid sky, with his steely grey eyes! Nothing moved! Where was the cursed Black Max?He
must be out there somewhere!
By the 300m mark of the down-hill run, the skin on your hands is beginning to tighten and crinkle like shrink-wrap. The
tips of your knuckles clenched on the handlebars begin to resemble the snow clad tops of the Matterhorn range. At 500m,
the tears that begin to flow freely from your eyes freeze in a continuous parabolic arch into your sideburns plucking them
clean from your temples one by one. Grey/green mucus begins to start dribbling from your nostrils and accumulates on
your top lip, forming a glazed solidified moustache of Adolph proportions. By 700m, the teeth begin to chatter, like an
Eddie Eksteen drum solo. The cheeks and outermost portion of the nose take on an eerie red glow, like an afterburner
on a Mirage F111, and as the facial skin tightens and you begin to grimace as if being subjected to G forces in a NASA
centrifuge. Your bottom lip splits.
Sluggers felt an impending sense of danger, as his skin began to crawl! He depressed the elevators and pushed the
yoke, peering left and right of the cockpit, as he began to dive. Where was the Black Max?
At 800m, something begins to slap both ears repeatedly
.
The Black Max, opened fire on the unsuspecting Sluggers from behind, and chortled evilly as he watched the rounds
tearing into the unsuspecting Sluggers’ plane..
The right hand pedal of your back braking “dik-wiel” bicycle, shears off at the 1.2 km mark, from cold induced metal
fatigue, plunging your unsuspecting foot into the tarmac and grinding away the first inch of the toecap of your Bata
Tuffees, skinning all 5 toes to the third knuckle in the process (6 if you’re from Benoni). Your groin meets the cross bar,
and your testes, still jostling with one another since lift-off, get a massive helping hand up the chute. A long drawn out
wail, like a Banshee, escapes your lips. Vision blurs.
Aaaaaargh! Red Leader! Red Leader! I’m hit! Cried Sluggers, as suddenly, red hot pain seared through his body and he
was thrown forward in the cockpit! Great chunks of fuselage were flying everywhere.
Your body begins to shiver and convulse, and you begin to weave uncontrollably across the tarmac, legs flailing from side
to side. Your left leg caught from behind by the remaining rapidly rotating pedal pedal, slaps your left kneecap repeatedly
into the end of the handlebar with every left swerve.
If I can just shake him from my tail! Thought a dazed Sluggers, as he cranked the yoke of his ailing Sopwith desperately
from side to side to shake the Baron form his tail, as he lay hunched over the controls, his body convulsing with
andrenalin induced shock.
At 1.4 km, you throw yourself forward, and assume the aerodynamic posture of a motor-cycle dragster, as the violent
slewing on the banana saddle plays havoc on your now acutely swelling scrotum. The vacuum formed behind your arlie
lifts the tail of your safari suit like a F1 aerofoil and, as the gale force icy blast roars through your now ballooning jacket, it
turns your nipples ice brick blue and hypo-thermia begins to rapidly set in.
Dive! Dive! Sluggers threw the stick forward with all his might! The roaring of the wind through the wing stays, rose to a
crescendo! His flying goggles began to ice up and his vision blurred as his craft slowly began shaking apart in its final
death throes.
By the time you reach the entrance to the bicycle shed, you are frozen solid as an ironing board, head over handle bars
with eyeballs bulging from their sockets, lips parted in an eternally mummified grimace, teeth and gums as dry as blotting
paper, white perma- frost encased mono-brows, no feeling in any arm from below the elbow joint, sensation-less hands
securely welded to handle bars in a martial eagles iron-taloned grip. Your left kneecap skin is split open showing your
patella, your right leg is protruding rigidly forward like a shattered jousters lance, remnants of foot angled toward front
wheel spokes as an emergency standby braking system, as you contemplate the odds of successfully negotiating the
front wheel of your bicycle between two parallel parking bars, no more than an inch apart, at a terminal speed of
97.5km/hr.
Pull up! Pull Up! Damn you screamed Sluggers, as he fought the uncontrollable joy-stick with all his might, his useless
mangled leg unable to depress the rudder, his joystick unresponsive..
Approaching the shed, you begin to emit strange unintelligible and garbled sounds form the back of your throat, as you
realize you have now lost all ability to talk. Your right thumb attempts to unlock itself from its’ rigor mortis state and
extend to the bell paddle, in an attempt to warn the first team rugby captain, called Ox, to move out of your way.
“Fire , curse you, Fire”, cursed Sluggers as he depressed the trigger, hoping to use the recoil from the guns as a last
resort, to slow his rapidly increasing rate of descent!
You manage to reach it with your frozen cartlidge cracking digit, and you frantically hammer the paddle. The striker in the
bell gives off a muffled metallic “ drrrrrr….ker-klinkety klunk” , as the internal spring mechanism parts company with the
striker. Your front wheel hits the left parallel bar, and your wheel spokes make a sound like Jimmy Hendrix on a lead
guitar riff.
Curses, jammed!” , cried Sluggers in disgust. The spinning ground reached out to swallow him. “ I must bale out!, I must
bale out!”, he thought , struggling against the G forces trapping him in the cockpit!
“ AYEEEEE, I AUNT SSSOP! …..UNGWUUUN LEEZE ELLLP EEEEEEE,,,,AAAAARAGH!!!” is the last strangled sound
that leaves your clenched jaws, at 2 octaves above middle C, as you pass the bicycle shed prefect at head height, canvas
haversack full of text books trailing the rest of your body like Haley’s Comet, before slamming headfirst in a classic 3 point
landing, in the fountain at the feet of the statue of the school founding father, Mort De La Loon, the patron Saint of Village
Idiots.
Suddenly, curiously, he was weightless, flying as free as a bird. Sluggers, fumbled desperately for his ripcord!
“Rats! No chute! Curse that dastardly Batman of mine” he lamented, as with utter disbelief, instead of his chute, his
beetroot and lime marmalade sandwiches tumbled skyward where his silken canopy should have been.
The last thing that enters your mind is the grateful thought that you marked your blood group in bold indelible marker on
your haversack flap, during last week’s inter street-gang, Normandy Landing war games.
Sluggers watched in an air of detached hopelessness, as his Sopwith spiraled into the ground, erupting in a pall of black
smoke in no man’s land below him. The ground rushed up to meet him. This was it – so this is what it was like to die! He
crossed himself and prepared to meet his maker!
You awake 10 minutes later surrounded by a huddle of ancient and weathered Catholic Brothers all dressed in white,
resembling angels, all clutching their rosaries and reciting 10 Hail Mary’s and an Our Father.
Sluggers’ eyelids opened with a start! Where am I? He was as cold as ice, his bloody saturated flying overalls clung to his
body. Who are these heavenly apparitions?”Am I in Heaven” he thought. Gingerly, his hands slowly patted his body all
over, to check if his limbs were still intact.
“It’s a miracle. I’m alive!”, thought Sluggers, as he sat up in the muddy water-filled shell hole trying to make sense of it
all.
As you stagger groggily to your lifeless feet on Moirs Jelly legs, wondering if you are now officially dead and have entered
the pearly gates, some wise Charlie, usually until that point, your very best mate, or the first team rugby captain, rushes in
from behind, and with outstretched palms proceeds to rub both solidified ears vigorously against your head, yelling …..
“EARY-WIG!, EARY-WIG!” , before running away cackling hysterically with delight. You collapse as your world explodes
in a kaleidoscope of sound and colour and pain.
Finally, at round 10h30 in the morning you regain consciousness in a sudden rush of blinding light, the pain in your head
is intense, your jaw has thawed enough for a few garbled words to escape your lips. Your testes have resumed normal
position but you are bandaged head to toe like a mummy and in a chair. An evil sadistic looking madman with flowing
black robes and a large stick is striking the table in front of you repeatedly ,screaming in a frenzied voice, spittle flying
everywhere like rain.
Sluggers regained consciousness. He was in a world of pain. The silhouette of his interrogator was etched into his
eyeballs against the backdrop of the intensely bright lamp .He struggled against the bonds that held him back. Blows
rained repeatedly into his battered body…
“In zer name off all zat iss holy boy,….FOR ZE FORCE TIME, …., VERE(thwack)…ISS (thwack)……….YOUR
(thwack)…..FIRST VIRLD VAR…………AZZIGNMENT(thwack)?”
Suddenly, You remember the Geneva Convention, and your rights as a POW.
Slugger!………… 3598!……….,………. Airman!…………….You’ll never get another ruddy word out if me, you swine!.
Gad, I really DO hate winter with a passion!................................................
Oh yes!, and cycling!......................and EARY-WIGS!................................and detention!
OBSERVATIONS, RESERVATIONS, COMMENDATIONS
The Good
The recent heavy snowfalls, which allowed those Land Rover owners lucky enough to be able to get a break, the
opportunity to play with their snow chains, and provide us unluckier souls, some awesome Face Book images. Thanks for
rubbing it in chaps!
And the Bad……..
The recent heavy snowfalls, which allowed those unlucky enough to be on the road and not own a Land Rover, to have to
stay with their vehicles for 3 days on Van Reenen’s Pass.
No opportunities to attend Land Rover outings for a month!
August newsletter being sent in September! A thousand pardons to all paid up subscribers!
(…. now for the Ugly)
The recent heavy snowfalls, which resulted in the 40 year old suppressed memories of a severely traumatized ,
schoolboy to resurface.
TECH TALK
Land Rover Range Rover 4x4 3.5 V8 5dr
Road Test done by AUTOCAR Magazine in the UK
Test Date 12/11/1970 – Article supplied courtesy of George Goswell
HISTORY. Eagerly awaited, the new Range Rover has fulfilled and even surpassed the high hopes held for it. The
combination of an over-90mph maximum speed with the ability to go cross-country mud-plugging will seem revolutionary
to many. What is so good about the Range Rover is the way it carries out its multiple functions, serving equally well as
tug, load carrier, cross-country vehicle and – by no means least – as an ordinary car suitable even for commuting in
heavy traffic.
DESIGN AND ENGINEERING. The Range Rover’s chunky body style is standardized as a two-door estate car with
sliding rear side windows, swiveling front quarter vents and winding side windows in the doors. It’s powered by almost the
same all-aluminum V8 of 3528cc used in the 3500 and 3.5-litre saloons, but it has Zenith-Stromberg CD2 carburetors
instead of SUs, and the compression ratio is lowered from 10.5 to 8.5 to 1 (suiting it to as low as 91-octane fuel for 85octane with reseat ignition timing). Maximum payload is over half a ton with two adults on board as well, and a selfenergizing strut in the rear suspension A-bracket pumps itself up within the first few yards, restoring normal ride attitude
when laden. Loaded to the limit, it made the rear suspension much harsher, but certainly offset any tail sag.
ON THE ROAD. The Range Rover allows a smart step-off in traffic, which belies its size and makes it often the quickest
car away from the lights. Through the gears it accelerated briskly to 80mph in under half a minute, and the 19.1sec time
for the standing quarter mile is much better than many more lithesome saloons can manage, and only 1.2sec slower than
the Rover 3500. The V8 engine seems even smoother in this big car than in the Rover 3500, and its lusty low-speed
torque enabled us to take acceleration figures in top gear from 10mph with only mild protest. As for the gear change itself,
it’s very heavy, has rather long travel, and is a bit notchy. As well as offering the cross-country advantages of permanent
four-wheel drive, the Range Rover pays real dividends in improved cornering. It is an understeerer, but when the power is
applied hard the front wheels can be felt pulling the car round without any protest from the tyres. Also unexpectedly good
is the standard of ride comfort, an education in what can be achieved with live axles front and rear. On most surfaces the
car rides with surprisingly little vertical movement, and there is only occasionally a trace of front end pitch. Disc brakes
with servo assistance give really dependable braking and progressively increase in efficiency as pedal load rises, until an
impressive 1.02g maximum is achieved at 100lb pedal load.
LIVING WITH THE CAR. It is often forgotten how seating positions have been lowered over recent years, to keep waist
and roof levels down, and it takes something like the Range Rover, in which one sees over the roof of the car ahead, to
make one appreciate the value of a higher sight line. And to be able to look down on the flat bonnet with its clearly
defined corners means it is easier to place the vehicle accurately. The seats are excellently shaped with just the right
back support, and are softly sprung with deep foam rubber. Although there is no adjustment, the backrest angle is good
and there is ample fore and aft adjustment. In the usual estate-car fashion, the rear squab folds against the cushion, and
the whole seat then tips forward against the front seats. A strap is provided to hold the back seat squab tightly against the
cushion. Our overall fuel consumption of 14.4mpg included a lot of long runs to offset the heavy consumption of crosscountry work. It would be unrealistic for an owner to expect more than about 17mpg in general running
VERDICT. We have been tremendously impressed by the Range Rover, and feel it is even more deserving of resounding
success than the Land Rover. It remains to be seen how durable and reliable it will prove in service and to find out we
plan to add one to our long-term test fleet as soon as possible. But there’s no denying that the biggest improvement over
the Land Rover is the very much better ride in cross-country work. Long travel coil springs front and rear, with huge
telescopic dampers, absorb rough tracks and field conditions extraordinarily well, and without any of the violent bucking
and bouncing of an ordinary leaf spring Land-Rover. This is a genuinely civilized on- and off-roader.
Devoid of bright trim, dash looks businesslike
RECENT EVENTS
Due to my inability to attend a number of events during the month, regrettably I do not have much to contribute to the
newsletter, however I did receive the following
Gravin Phyfer, our roving correspondent in France/ Spain sent an interesting article from his travels! (Quite why
he was walking and not driving is unknown – hopefully not vehicle trouble Gravin - ED!)
Hi George / Brian / John
I spent May walking the Camino de Santiago from France through Northen Spain. What a pleasure to see so many Land
Rovers - Santana, Series, Defenders, Discos and Range Rover Classic diesels. The newer Defenders are used mainly by
the utility companies. New Disco3/4 and Range Rovers are rare. Land Rovers rule except for the Nissan Patrols, long and
swb, used by the police. I saw only one Toyota double cab.
Attached find some photos. If you are interested, I can send more.
Regards
Gravin
2003 DiscoII V8
1983 Series (R6) SW
1980 Series (R6) PUP
Killarney Saturday 27th/Sunday the 28th August
A rather small band of stalwarts managed to attend the Killarney sleep over weekend, and when we arrived on Sunday
morning we were greeted by a number of slightly damp and bedraggled looking members.
Rumour has I that not much sleep was had by those who camped over, with Saturday proving to be an interesting day for
some, and Saturday night even more interesting for others. On closer examination of the eyes of some of our members, it
was possible to see all the trails they covered the day before. Tracks for Africa, move over! I believe a number of prop
shafts were bent and despite all my efforts to remove the red-eye from close up shots of members faces I cannot, hence
no publication possible.
Despite the overcast conditions and a bit of mist, Sunday proved to be a most enjoyable one with a healthy mixture of
some light trail dusting and some serious play by the big boys with the big toys. Paul Stanley set the standard for the
modifieds by being the only one brave enough to tackle an enormously steep and slippery downhill run, and then prove
his mettle by coming back up the hill again while we all watched in bemused awe. George appeared to be having a
relaxed day (not often we see George looking so relaxed) as he was noticed mostly riding shotgun with Ryan, who also
provided some entertainment forging the river near the campsite. Byron and Ken had a small rock climbing completion
which saw Ken in a rather awkward situation of having to have half the members present build him a road to go where
Byron had gone before, but he subsequently redeemed himself by not making as much noise as Byron’s underbody
protection on the way down, so the score was settled at 1 all. As the day progressed more members joined up with the
convoy.
Pierre Joubert was noted getting the occasional bit of mud on his new Puma. Leon and the Cowans came for lunch. After
a short break for lunch and some debate over who’s meat was consuming all the space on the fire, it was back to play.
Driving to the quarry to watch the antics of the fast eaters, was interrupted y a rescue attempt of a disco which had
become stuck in the river which quickly became a spectator event, and then post rescue, the challenge was on to see
who could negotiate the drift. Ryan provided some entertainment as he made numerous attempts to cross, with George,
Ken and Paul being splattered with mud as they shouted instructions to a very determined Ryan. Brendan then put
everyone to shame as he sailed through without so much as a hiccup – pretty impressive stuff. Regrettably further
commentary is no possible as for some the day had to come to an abrupt end, but I can see this becoming a regular item
on our calendar as a fun family weekend.
You posta my picture – I smasha you face!. Rare pic of Snail not leaving a
trail!
Yes Paul – you tell them. They said braai fires will be provided!
George “Ry-Daar” Goswell guiding Ryan into a heavily hung over Paul
Stanley, while Chairman and others attempt to look like a shrubbery.
Water, water everywhere…..Leon adopts eager to assist Rescue 911
mode!
WAZZUP
LROC KZN PROVISIONAL EVENTS DIARY
2011
CONTACT
PERSON
When
What, where More Info.
T.B.A.
BOSTON
Rustic Camp over weekend at Boston. Interested in a
grade 4/5 trail, then this will be for you. REVISED DATE
PENDING
Kenneth Jones
0845091427
4/5
18 Sep
SHONGWENI
VALLEY 2
WATERFALLS
TRAIL
Meet at the Polo Pony petrol garage at 08h30 for 09h00.
It’s a BYO braai for lunch with braai fires provided
George Goswell
0836581324
3
UMGENI VALLEY
3 MOUNTAIN
TRAIL.
An easy scenic drive to 3 view sites high above the
Inanda Dam and Umgeni river. Fairly steep in places but
grade 3, suitable for all. Its mostly dirt roads with one of
the hill climbs a 2 track. It’s a BYO braai next to the river
with braai fires provided. Meet at Waterfall Spar
shopping centre at 08h00 for 08h30 depart.
George Goswell
0836581324
3
LAND ROVER VS
TOYOTA
8 Land Rover vs Toyota Challenge
2 Oct
Grade
Nov
Nov
th
Dec
Misc Events not organized by the LROC but worth supporting.
1 Oct
12 Nov
4 Dec
NATIONAL 4X4
CHALLENGE
REGIONAL 4X4
CHALLENGE
BAYNESFIELD
OPEN DAY
NATIONAL PLUS REGIONAL 4X4 CHALLENGE
Pietermaritzburg, Mountain View
Idube, Camperdown
Baynesfield Estate Open Day Christmas Market
George Goswell
0836581324
George Goswell
0836581324
George Goswell
0836581324
1
1
1
Note For All Gates Events:
1. Only paid up LROC members will be able to compete in the Gates Events from now on.
2. Non LROC members welcome to attend as spectators.
3. Only LAND ROVER vehicles will be allowed to take part. No other make of vehicle.
LANDY CLUB KIDZ
Due to the total lack of response from members to date, this feature will no longer appear in forthcoming newsletters.
All chocolate has now been comsumed!............. Unless of course someone out there can convince me it is worth the
effort to keep trying! Ed
LANDY CLUB TEENS
Some members or their siblings must have some form of contribution for this section of the newsletter, and as
difficult as it is, not to create the impression that this is a regular One Family contribution forum (which is most
definitely not the intention), the following may be of interest to some of our teenager members. Please gang –
support me here, or else I drop this as well! The Ed
st
Congratulations to Shannon Moore for being selected to play for her school’s 1 team soccer squad as well as
participate in the KZN U14 Girls Soccer trials, where she recently represented Northlands Girls High School. Well done
also on winning Gold Medal for Kata, Silver Medal for Kumite and Dojo Trophy for Most Spirited Member 2011 (Now
promoted to Head of Complaints Department!)
Sensei Derek Krummek, Self Defence Acadamy of
South Africa and Shannon Moore
Cassie Moore performing in the extremely entertaining Hollywood Rocks performance at Northwood Boys High School,.
Her determination to make the stage/music surpassed only by Dad’s need for a shotgun!
Cassie Moore wows the audience, at Hollywood Rocks
DID YOU KNOW…?
Collecting Land Rover Scale Models is a great pastime, and some members have an interesting array of models collected
over the years. Why not post me a picture of your collection, or even a picture of rare and unusual model you may have.
It has been heard said by more than one dealer, that model Land Rover collecting is by far the most popular pastime of all
die cast car collectors! This can be borne out by the scarcity of this model, especially the Defender 110, which is a rare
find at best.
Better still why not bring your collection for display at the next social gathering.
WELCOME TO THE FOLLOWING NEW MEMBERS.
Remember it’s your club and you will get out of it what you want to. You have purchased
THE BEST 4 x 4 x FAR and now it’s time to use it. See you at the next club event.
New Members who have joined or re-joined LROC over the past few months
Member No
035
467
468
469
470
471
Surname
Dandridge
Joubert
Baxendale
Gevers
Reed
Attwell
Member Name
Desmond
Pierre
Lee
Allan
Winston
Tim
Salutation
Des and Mary
Pierre & Sheila
Lee & Leigh
Allan & Michelle
Winston
Tim & Gill
Email Address
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
HANG OVER RECOVERY
Winston Churchills opinion on Whisky
Art of saying a lot without revealing your cards.What a
Statesman he was !!
Winston Churchill was once asked about his position on whisky. Here’s how he
answered: "If you mean whisky, the devil’s brew, the poison scourge, the bloody
monster that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroy s the home, creates misery
and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you
mean that evil drink that topples men and women from the pinnacles of righteous and
gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, shame, despair, helplessness,
and hopelessness, then, my friend, I am opposed to it with every fibre of my being."
"However, if by whisky you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the
elixir of life, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song
in their hearts and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean good
cheer, the stimulating sip that puts a little spring in the step of an elderly gentleman on
a frosty morning; if you mean that drink that enables man to magnify his joy, and to
forget life’s great tragedies and heartbreaks and sorrow; if you mean that drink the
sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of pounds each year, that
provides tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb , our
pitifully aged and infirm, to build the finest highways, hospitals, universities, and
community colleges in this nation, then my friend, I am absolutely, unequivocally in
favour of it. "This is my position, and as always, I refuse to compromise on matters of
principle."_._,___
Caller :
Hi, our printer is not working.
Customer Service : What is wrong with it?
Caller :
Mouse is jammed..
Customer Service : Mouse? Printers don't have a mouse, you fool!
Moral: Customer is always right..Listen to him and believe what he says :-))
Classifieds
If you wish to place an advert, please forward the info to
[email protected]/[email protected]
Please note that ads will run in two successive newsletters where after they will be
removed. For ease of reference those highlighted in red have already appeared and will
not appear in the next newsletter unless you specifically send me an email asking me to
keep the ad.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------SERIES 1 LANDY FOR SALE
Land Rover series 1 1955 , 86 inch wagon ,it has been modified in that it has env diffs front and rear ,
6cyl brakes stainless steel sleeved , defender steering , defender seats , rock sliders under gearbox and
exhaust comes with spare doors , roof , bin , gearbox etc. In good condition just not getting used enough
R60 000 neg.
Tel Johan :0823552344
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

August 2011 - Land Rover Owners Club KwaZulu Natal

Transcription

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