detailing

Mulga Bill forsook the “good old horse that served him many days”. I am about to forsake my little horse, the Honda Jazz. Over five years it carries me to and from Bendigo, escorts me and my good woman to remote parts of this state, and gives me no reason whatsoever to part with it.

But somewhere a container ship bobs on the ocean, a Volkswagen Caddy stowed in its hold in its own custom container filled with bubble-wrap and polystyrene padding. The Caddy is due at the end of October. Never in my life have I had, and never again will I have, the chance to own the perfect personal vehicle.

On the way to my first up-close encounter with the Tour de France, I walk down a steep narrow road in Verdun, a village contiguous with Les Cabannes in the French Pyrénées. Parked on the roadside is my dream vehicle. Instantly I’m hooked on Europe’s small vans. With my new job comes the capacity to purchase one. Decision made.

On Friday a local RWC tester issues a clean bill of health for the Jazz. Now for the fine detailing. Yesterday the interior gets the treatment. Today I open all doors, scour the door wells, scrub grit from tight places with a toothbrush, then soap and rub and hose down the exterior from antenna to wheel-nuts.

I take four photos, write forty words, register for an online car sales site and press Submit. I enter the Jazz’s vital stats and after half an hour’s wait for approval my Honda is for sale. Comparable vehicles at comparable price have travelled much further. The Jazz has carried my over 47,000 kilometres. Nobody but me has ever sat in the driver’s cockpit.

It’ll be a sad day when it goes. 

Rock on.