A year or two ago, we found ourselves at an (in-law) family gathering on a game farm in the Karoo. Clan members travelled from far, ready to reconnect, share stories, and possibly test the limits of familial patience.
Upon arrival, we were greeted not with hugs and pleasantries, but with the tale of one of the guest’s Mercedes Benz Vito that had earlier fallen victim to a particularly treacherous patch of tweespoor farm road. Entered the family patriarch – a devout Toyota disciple – who charged to the rescue in his Fortuner, the ultimate mud-conquering machine. Or so he thought…
It didn’t take long for the mighty Fortuner to join the Vito in mud-induced humiliation. It also got stuck! According to the storyteller, the patriarch was visibly distraught as he was a man who firmly believed that Toyotas don’t get stuck! However, they somehow managed to get both vehicles out.
As we settled in for the weekend, Toyota Man felt compelled to issue a stern proclamation – the mud was of such an otherworldly consistency that we, in our Jimny, would have been completely outmatched had we followed that specific route to the farm house earlier that day. Naturally, this unsolicited commentary sparked an immediate challenge – one I had secretly hoped to avoid. Could the unassuming Jimny tackle the mud pit and emerge victorious where others had failed?
With Toyota Man leading the way in his Fortuner, armed with his vehicle’s recovery gear and, what I assumed, a silent prayer, we set off. When we arrived at the infamous mud pit, he parked at a safe distance, stepped out, and prepared for what he was certain would be the Jimny’s spectacular defeat.
I took a deep breath, grinned, and eased the Jimny forward. The result? Pure, unadulterated magic. The Jimny glided through the mud like a duck on a pond – no wheelspin, no drama, no problem!
Toyota Man’s jaw visibly tightened.
And then the little devil on my shoulder took over. It made me spun the Jimny around and drove back through the mud. Same result. It was as if the mud pit hadn’t gotten the memo about being impassable!
Toyota Man’s face darkened like a thundercloud over the Karoo. Without a word, he turned on his heel and trudged back to the Fortuner. The silence that followed when we got back to the farmhouse was so thick you could have shovelled it with a spade!
For the rest of the weekend, the mud pit became a conversational no-go zone. That is, except for the next morning when Toyota Man passed me and, through gritted teeth, muttered: “You bloody Toyota belittler!”
PS: This story is shared in good humour. The mud challenge was all in the spirit of fun, and I’m reasonably certain no family ties were irreparably damaged.
The Jimny after its encounter with the mud pit