I feared this might happen. The inspector pulled the key from the ignition while the motor was running. I showed up with my partner’s Land Rover at Class Auto Testing and, just before finishing his once-over, the mechanic flagged the key, which roughly two months earlier nearly had caused the vehicle to fail a roadworthy assessment.
In November, Steve, our off-road specialist, had persuaded the inspector to overlook that blemish. Now came my attempt. “The same thing happened last time and your colleague certified the vehicle as roadworthy,” I implored. “Plus, even when you remove the key the engine continues to run.”
“It’s not a big deal,” the inspector replied. “Just cut a new key.” That may be his view but it seems we might need to replace the ignition switch, according to Steve, who sighed audibly when I told him the inspector had identified nine items for repair.
But let’s turn back the clock slightly.
Earlier that morning I had visited Outdoor Marine in Pietermaritzburg. Steve had instructed me to see Philip, the owner, who would direct me to a testing center that we hoped might extend the roadworthy certification I had allowed to expire.
All I had to win was two weeks, sufficiently long that my partner and I could register the vehicle after she returns to the country. Steve and I hoped the testing center might extend the certification without actually inspecting the vehicle anew.
When I arrived at Outdoor Marine I found Philip in his office, talking on the phone. I waited in the showroom, which brims with boats, rafts and other craft, all wedged at acute angles to one another. I fancied one of the rigid inflatable rafts that had twin outboard engines affixed. It looked like a Zodiac on steroids.
Just then Piet, a friendly guy with a shaved head who wore a red shirt emblazoned with patches from Mercury Marine and other suppliers, greeted me and offered to show me the way to the testing center. Piet comes from Mpumalanga, a province in eastern South Africa, but he has lived in Kwa-Zulu Natal for 12 years. “Mpumalanga is beautiful but it’s hard to find work there,” he told me.
During the five minutes it took us to drive to the testing center, we talked about places to visit nearby. Piet suggested Sani Pass, a road through the Drakensberg Mountains that connects Kwa-Zulu Natal with Lesotho and requires the use of a four-wheel drive vehicle. “I like to drive up there, drink a few Maluti Lagers, then head back,” Piet said. “You need to go, you have the perfect vehicle for it.”
We would have the perfect vehicle if we were able to register it. When we arrived at Class Auto, Piet and I headed to the office, where he explained to a nice Indian woman behind the counter that I had brought the Land Rover for roadworthy testing. She smiled and slid a form across the counter that Piet filled out on my behalf. After I paid the fee we headed back outside, where Piet instructed me to pull the Land Rover into a row of about four vehicles that had queued for testing.
While we waited for the Land Rover to move forward in the line, Piet and I chatted about South Africa, the U.S., the economy, labor unions (there’s been some unrest lately at South Africa’s platinum mines), and boats. Sales have slowed in the last few years, according to Piet, who attributed the fall-off to a sluggish economy. That’s when Piet decided to call a co-worker for a ride back to Outdoor Marine. “You don’t mind if I call someone to fetch me,” he asked. “Not at all,” I answered, happy to survey the testing center.
Class Auto tests vehicles in a hangar wide enough for a single lane of vehicles. Light pours through mustard-colored plastic panels that line the tops of the walls. Cars, trucks and other vehicles to be tested enter the shed, where they proceed along a pit into which the mechanics file so they can stare up at the undersides.
Vehicles to be tested first roll across spindles, which detect the vehicle’s weight and measure braking force. The results appear on two gauges – one for the left wheel and one for the right – that extends from a wall.
The pit runs the length of roughly two automobiles and two trucks. Behind the Land Rover stood a Tata Motors flatbed with six wheels, a Volkswagen van from the Panorama Recovery Centre, a silver Honda Jazz and a flatbed from Norman’s Driving School.
An inspector walked the length of the pit, tapping the carriages of the trucks with a crowbar. (That’s one way to know if the pieces actually attach to one another.) When the inspector passed me I asked him if a vehicle had ever fallen into the pit. “Not since I’ve been here,” he answered. “But I’m just a trainee.”
After about 10 minutes the Land Rover straddled the front of the pit, where two inspectors probed its underbelly. They tugged on parts, stared up the guts of the thing and conferred with each other at least twice. Finally, one of them motioned for me to climb down into the pit, which one reaches via a ladder at the far end.
As eager as I was to stand beneath the Land Rover, I sensed the inspector had not invited me into the pit so he could tell me the vehicle had earned a roadworthy certification.
“You have to replace these bushings,” the inspector told me, as he used chalk to mark an “X” at each end of the front and rear stabilizers. “See this,” the inspector said, jiggling a part with his hands. “You have to secure the air filter.”
I listened with a look that I hoped the inspector would construe as my appreciating the seriousness of the situation. “There’s also oil, leaking,” he added, pointing at black droplets that had collected on a steel surface.
A few more pokes and the inspector ushered me out to garage level while he drove the Land Rover around to the front of the hangar and parked near the office. He remained in the driver’s seat, motioning to me to come over while he marked his findings on a form attached in duplicate to a clipboard.
“We discussed the bushings and the air filter,” he said, pointing to the boxes on the form that corresponded with those findings. “Let’s go through the other things.”
So much for an extension, I thought. Besides the items marked in the pit, he also instructed me to:
- Replace the blade on the rear windshield wiper
- Fix the spotlights on the wench
- Tighten the parking brake, and
- Harden the steering wheel, which is pliable in spots
“You can just replace the grip,” the inspector said, tapping the wheel. Steve told me later that we might have to replace the steering wheel unless he can stiffen it with an injection of silicone. I told you that Steve is a specialist.
Then came the key and my pleading with the inspector to disregard it. He told me that if I returned by February 14, I would not have to pay the testing fee again. “If you come back on February 13, no fee,” he said, handing me a pink carbon copy of the inspection report. “If you come back on February 14, there will be a fee.”
“OK,” I said.
Though my spirits sank, I thanked the inspector for his time. “Where are you from,” he asked me. “The states,” I answered. “I’m getting an education.”
