Not even as a failure had my misadventure been complete.

My walk had yielded several photos of the mountain I had wanted to climb with which I was pleased. And, the sunset had been—as is the custom of sunsets—faultless.

But… to every silver lining, there is a cloud, and that cloud was now on my mind. My car was in urgent need of liberation from the clutches of the desert.

I took to pondering over solutions to my predicament. I first went over all secular options I could think of. But having exhausted these, for the briefest of time, my mind turned to religion.

Contrary to the fundamental doctrine of my upbringing, and for the first time in my life, I found myself coveting my neighbour’s ox.

I did not wish to lure his wife from him nor to dispossess him of his house, donkey or any anything else he might hold title to. And, I did not envy him his servants, whether male, female or gender-fluid. But his ox now, that might have been useful.

Some might at this stage point out that I had arrived at holy scripture and livestock solutions rather too quickly, bypassing more conventional means of car-rescue. To understand my train of thought, it is useful to know a little about my many and varied failings as a human being.

I find those solutions best that allow my role in the making of the underlying problem to remain obscure. Such solutions can by careful choice of words, be moulded into triumphs of human ingenuity, rather than conclusive evidence of an unsound mind.

On reflection, however, there seemed to be no way out of this proverbial and literal hole that excluded seeking help from others. My self-preservation instincts pulled rank on my pride.

I sought in vain for mitigating factors in which I could embalm the lacerated remains of my dignity. But, as hard as I thought, I could think of nothing to justify my folly.

Back on the main road, I stopped an ageing pickup containing eight(!) non-judgemental locals who were well-accustomed to the feeble-minded eccentricities of tourists.

By their inherent goodwill, brought forward by twenty Jordanian Dinars, my car was restored to the paved surface to which it belonged, and I with it.

And then the starts came out.

— ‘It is an, an…, ah yes, an INTERESTING vehicle’, I replied; using the word ‘interesting’ as one does when at a loss for a something to say, but strongly feels that a compliment is expected.

— ‘Yes, it is good—very very good!’, said Abdullah, much pleased, ‘I bought it from my brother, who bought it from my other brother, who bought it from his friend—in Saudia’

It did not require a great stretch of the mind to accept that this vehicle had been pre-owned. One might even suspect Abdullah’s brother’s brother’s friend of not having been the first owner.

The dashboard had several openings that looked as if they were not part of the original design. From these protruded a mess of wires. The odd spark could be seen but didn’t bother Abdullah.

Neither speedometer, odometer, nor oil or fuel gauges exhibited any signs of life. And all non-essentials such as the passenger assist grips, the rear-view mirror and the sun visors had longe since taken their leave.

Still, much of the steering wheel was intact, and several of the gears were in working order. And even the most critical observer could count four rotating, albeit threadbare, wheels.

Yet, this was not a spartan vehicle. The interior was decorated, and lavishly so. There was not a vacant spot that had not been devoted to beautification.

There was, of course, plush dice suspended from where the rear-view mirror had once been. There was a vase with artificial flowers—and there was a small mint-green alarm clock in the shape of a mosque with two golden-domed minarets.

Among the many eye-pieces, a tiny green container was glued to the dashboard. From it emanated an unimaginably powerful scent that hit me so hard, it instinctively had me reach for the handle to roll down the window. Unsurprisingly, it was no longer there.

In any event, that turned out not to be a problem there wasn’t any window to roll down. It was permanently jammed in the lower position.

In Wadi Rum, though, I wouldn’t have wished for another car for the world!

Eg veit enno ikkje heilt kva ein kalipper er men eg har fått forståinga av at det er ein mekanisk del med nokre stempel og greier som går sund for eit godt ord.

Kjekt å vite!?

Det var i alle fall dette som var gale med bilen min då den streika i Hemsedal.

Det er 20 minus og likevel er bremsene raudglødande! Kvifor skal det vere slik? Det er vanskeleg å forstå!?

I have nothing but kind thoughts about Peugeot; he was someone I could always rely upon when I wanted us to do something together; he did his stuff well and never complained about money – or maintenance.

Peugeot was a registered organ donor, had a booming life insurance and left his family (me) with means to get back on the road in style. His engine is still beating steadily, within some other deserving vehicle, rolling along a Norwegian by-road.

Rest in peace old friend

In the course of its life, Ford Sierra brought his new owner to numerous destinations, over hill and under hill, through mountaneous and desolate lands, through rural and urban areas, on-road and on rare occasions even off-road. But everything comes to an end.

Ford Sierras death was brought on by his owner. Thrilled by realizing that the car could get by on practicly no oil at all, the owner started experimenting to see if it was possible to make the car stop using gas as well. Water for the cooling system was completely off marks, likewise brake fluid and gear box oil.

Remembering good old days, the late 80’s and its previous owner, Ford Sierra carried on living for a while, feeding on the memories of past glory. However, in the end, 6 years of systematic neglect and failure to carry out even the most obvious maintenance operations eventually got the better of it. On the 3rd of December 2004, it was left to its fortune outside a car dealer in Kaupanger. The last thing it saw, before its clouded front lights, was the smug, unrepentant smile of its previous owner, as he seated himself in a Peugeot 406 and sped away.

Rest in peace old friend.