Overweight Honey Badger Must Streamline

The Honey Badger is on a crash diet—no more heavy metals. On the spur of the moment, it was decided to weigh the truck, and the collective surprise was huge when she came in a few hundred kilograms over her recommended weight allowance. “How on earth can that happen?” you may well ask. Trust. We put our faith in the information we gleaned when we purchased the vehicle—big mistake.

As usual, hindsight is a perfect science. It’s no use saying “you should’ve done this or that”; of course, one should’ve weighed her on day one. As with packing a suitcase for a holiday abroad, it’s recommended to weigh the empty suitcase and work from there. It saves a lot of unnecessary disappointment, frustration and angst.

To regress a little, the previous owner used the truck to ferry 12 passengers to various music concerts and festivals. Therefore, the truck’s weight limit included the “box,” seating, and all other alterations and improvements. According to the licence disc, the weight was almost 2 tonnes less than it currently is.

We assumed that removing seats, a wall, and a steel door would reduce the weight enough for our new additions, such as water tanks and solar panels. Highlighting these modifications shows the ongoing effort to optimize the truck for our travels and keeps you in the loop.

How to prove it? Impossible, of course. One or two people in the know have insinuated that the truck started overweight and might even have been registered dubiously. I have no reason to think that.

Weight reduction started immediately. Off came the extra spare wheel holder and all its steelwork. The extra diesel tank was gone. Every unnecessary bolt, screw, tappet, running board, lock, grate or chain was gone. Fortunately, this time it was easy to remove all these extras, as she’s still a work in progress. This week, all the unnecessary, over-engineered bits will have to be removed. It seems we’ll start at square one again. Rewind 20 months, hundreds of hours of work and tens of thousands of Rands down the drain. All of which we can ill afford.

But, with only the bare necessities (I have to apply my lipstick using the side mirror), we excitedly set off on Friday afternoon for a weekend jaunt to a small caravan park 10 kilometres east of Greyton, that delightfully fashionable village just off the route to Caledon or Hermanus. Nestled at the foot of a mountain, Greyton oozes charm and character with its picturesque oak-lined streets, wisteria-vined front doors and rose gardens, which are all coming into bloom now. The English thatch-roofed cottages evoke a bygone era and a quieter, simpler country lifestyle.

It was a slow meander along the river to the campsite, and by the time we arrived, Percy and Sue had almost set up camp. We got to work straight away, and I’m happy to report we could sit down to sundowners within 20 minutes! We were parched.

Campers were dotted around, and soon smoke from campfires languidly spiralled into the sky on a windless evening. Glorious. We brought out the bone of contention, our Cobb Kettle braai, a fantastic portable “convection” oven. Fuelled by a compressed coconut husk brick, this little marvel stays hot for 2 hours, during which time one can bake, fry, smoke, grill, sauté and stir-fry. We do have the deluxe model, and we don’t go anywhere without it.

We’ve even camped at Khwai Community Camp in Botswana with it, where we’ve gone on a game drive with the Cobb nestled in the back of the Cruiser, quietly doing its thing.

Supper was a delicious rack of lamb, perfectly cooked on the Cobb, and our butternut bake was sheer heaven, so easy to prepare in our brand-new Samsung Microwave/Convection oven in the Badger. As we sipped our coffees and licked our fingers after our delectable chocolate petit fours and profiteroles, we noticed the lights go out across most of the campsites. It was only us, a few frogs and the cicadas now; even the Red-Chested Cuckoo (Piet-my-vrou) had called it a day.

We were determined to enjoy the balmy evening until the midgets forced us indoors and to bed, to read in our super-comfortable beds, while the Knights slept on their brand-new Coleman inflatable mattresses. After much investigation, they opted for two single mattresses, each inflated to the person’s specifications to ensure maximum comfort. As in the children’s story, they would have a softer sleep for Papa Bear and a harder cushion for Mama Bear. Papa Bear slept like a log; Mama Bear didn’t close a lid and woke with stiff hips.

With all our Fitbits tracking us, we set off for a brisk walk after coffee and rusks, a special camping treat. Through farmlands, over cattle gates, and under barbed-wire fences, we made our way, exploring the valley. This is dairy country, and thousands of Frisian cattle are milked every day. Calves are hand-reared (hans), so it was no surprise when we encountered them; they literally ran to greet us, rambling all around us. A truly unique experience. This is what country life is all about.

Greyton boasts a Saturday morning farmers' market, one we, the girls, planned to visit for a few organic treats; we didn’t make it. I could see the sigh of relief on Butch’s face; he is not keen to participate unless he’s familiar with the market stalls and has an agenda or a shopping list. Mingling or milling about aimlessly doesn’t inspire him at all. Instead, we happened upon Guy’s Man Cave.

Now this is something to write home about. A disused milking shed was converted into one of the most interesting bars you can imagine. A vintage Mini Minor’s bonnet was painstakingly restored and converted into a liquor “cabinet”; Guy upholstered the seating in brightly coloured ethnic prints sourced from the Eastern Cape; there was an occasional table, a replica Spitfire wing, a usual conversation piece, and the walls festively covered in Harley-Davidson rally posters. Other memorabilia was perfectly juxtaposed with their black-and-white annual bikers' club photographs. We rehydrated while admiring this tasteful, quirky space, fit for any glossy architectural magazine.

Guy’s lights are fashioned from vintage bric-à-brac such as miners’ torches, hurricane lamps, or Grandma's Primus Stove. In fact, if you’re sentimental about a piece of farm equipment or a favourite kitchen utensil, I’m sure that after a short contemplation, Guy will artfully create a stunning working piece of decorative lighting to grace any room with panache.

I must confess I found the ladies’ darts game far more exciting, robust, competitive, and lively. We showed an amazing amount of skill and fine motor co-ordination in hitting the target, unlike the Springboks, who couldn’t pull their game together against the Wallabies. Next time, we will head to the bar and play darts. This Saturday might be a good time to start. I need extra weight on my darts; I might hit the 17 then.

Sundays are lazy days, the one day we deserve to do little more than nothing. As the mist lifted from the water, we watched the sun rise over our steaming coffee; we were still marvelling at our new Nespresso Travel Mugs. They might be expensive, but believe me, they’re worth their weight. After rigorous stress tests, I can report they outperformed their rivals, both cheapies and “better” ones, by at least 20°C over 60 minutes.

With stiff limbs, we grudgingly stepped into our walking boots for our daily meander, which we took gingerly until we’d stretched our legs enough to enjoy the walk-through pear and apple orchards covered in spring blossom. The wheat fields were changing colour before our eyes, from the freshest green to golden as the ears ripened for harvest. Sting's beautiful song came to mind as I walked.

As summer approaches, our breakfasts go from warm, creamy oat porridge dusted with cinnamon to platters of the freshest stone fruit, berries, pineapples, and subtropical fruit, with dollops of thick, creamy Greek-style yoghurt and fynbos-infused local honey, liberally drizzled over winter nuts. Nothing could be nicer after a long hike. Like lizards, we basked in the sun; some dozed off while others contemplated their navels or read a book. The only sounds came from the Piet-my-vrou with his incessant calling and the laughter of children playing in the river a little farther downstream; even the dogs were looking for a shady spot to nap.

Lunch would be an early supper in Greyton at an old favourite restaurant, the Oak and Vigne. Although Butch was ready to bolt home, he had much on his mind, plans to remodel and lighten our burden; the truck being foremost on his mind, he did succumb to the charms of Cardamom, cinnamon, chilli and star anise, flavours subtly blended to make up our delicious Natal beef curry and rice. Sue, who eats like a bird, tucked into her Rump steak, crispy chips and stacked steamed vegetables with gusto. Both choices were generously portioned and perfectly cooked: the steak on a red-hot plate, and the side dishes beautifully served and garnished. Enjoying our meal with our eyes first, before tucking in, was what we all remarked on. This reasonably priced wholesome meal is certainly worth a second visit.

Poverty, unemployment and general hopelessness have taken their toll on Genadendal, the once-lively Moravian mission station, the oldest in Africa. Nelson Mandela renamed the President's official residence, Westbrooke, in honour of this village—a place of sanctuary for more than a thousand enslaved people when slavery was abolished in 1838. Genadendal is blessed with a rich tangible and intangible heritage. It boasts vernacular architecture, musical traditions, and language, as well as a long tradition of humanitarian efforts and political struggle. Restoration work done a decade ago is hardly visible now. These once-beautiful sights are now neglected eyesores. It is really heart-wrenching to see the decay.

Today it’s back to the drawing board with the Honey Badger. An updated to-do list will have to be drawn up. I’m sure the clerk of works will have come up with a plan as he gathers his wits and expertise to solve our weight woes. I have been informed that all future trips are on hold until further notice. I am disappointed and gutted, but I trust we'll be back on the road again soon...ish, especially now that we have a sprocket of engineers working on solutions.  As Butch says, "The fat lady must sing!"

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