Lexi

I've never been afraid of the highest heights, Or afraid of flying high, I've never been afraid of the wildest fights, Not afraid of dying. But now I want off this ride 'cause she's scaring me, and I don't like where we're going. I need a new funfair, 'cause she's scaring me, And I don't like where we're going… And now you're gonna miss me. I know you're gonna miss me. I guarantee you miss me…'Cause you changed the way you kiss me : Queue wheel spin and through a doughnut!

That song by Example always reminds me of my Lexus. She was a true thing of beauty. I brought her in the winter of 2012 and by the time spring came around we had blossomed the most tight Dues ex Machina relationship. I remember dicing a Hemi Jeep at 220km/h around the N3 meander roads, I remember drifting around the parking lot at the pavilion shopping center and I remember each and every night I slept on that driver’s chair. Waking up in locations like Salt Rock, Sun City and the Drakensberg. She gave me some of the most memorable drives of my life. She just ran and ran and ran.

Towards the end of the rear tyres’ life she started to really become a lot of fun. There was so little grip and the limited slip diff made for the most spectacularly smooth fish tail bends and torque shifts. The time in my mind at the moment, the time I remember that song blaring at full volume and the time Naldu almost died was a quiet, easy, stay at home pizza night in late 2013. Sheldon and I were playing Guitar Hero and smashing Romans pizza in our faces when the batteries in the guitar ran flat. Now, we had decided early on in the evening that we weren’t going to drive anywhere tonight but the closest garage is a few kilometers away. Naldu, the perpetually sober, offered to baby sit us as we picked up Lexi’s keys and headed out. Nice and easy.

Oom always told me the golden rule “The more you drink the slower you drive” which is a lesson I did fairly well with over the years. Nice and slow, down to the garage. I got out the car and headed towards the shop window. Bing, bing, bing from Lexi as the key in my pocket was losing proximity. So I pulled the key out and placed it on the wind screen wiper so they guys inside could carry on listening to music. That proximity key was awesome, you would walk up to her with the key in your pocket and the side mirror lights would come on. Touch of my hand and the doors unlocked. Frikken awesome car.

Anyways, I got the batteries and we headed out slowly. Then, that song played. The build-up broke-down my self control and while pulling out of the petrol station I ditched her clutch and threw the back end out in a flurry of tyre smoke, flicking the revs between 5000 and 6500 rpm to gain a little control. She caught grip and catapulted off into the distance. A few hundred meters along we came up to this three-way intersection with just enough room for a doughnut. I came in pretty hot, slacked off and ripped the handbrake. Put her into a slide, just a little one, just enough to get the grip loose and ditch her back into first. Round and round we went. Things were going well…

As we went around the third time I spotted head lights about 200m away. “Loads of time” I thought to myself and planned to get her correct and then head of in the right direction. As we hit the 180 degree mark I spotted those lights and they were right on me. Couldn’t have been more that 50m away. This guy was motoring well over 120km/h on that side road on a collision course. Perfect timing for a perfect disaster.

I threw down hard on the steering wheel and pressed the peddle down flat. Our only hope here is to power over the traction entirely and hope she spins without the momentum. I came about, revs bouncing off the 7500 mark and BANG! Plastic bits flew in my window followed by some glass and screeching of brakes. No time to sit here. We got to get out and get out now. I got her correct and headed off up over the crescent.

Ted, my guardian angel, was in sublime form. All that force with all that potential madness and all we hit was wing mirrors. Like as if the two cars gave each other a high five on the way past. My wing mirror was all smashed up and I had the thinnest microscopic layer of white pain on my back fender. Honestly, it was milliseconds and micrometres that kept that from being manslaughter.

So we are running. Fast. Up over the hill and we pull into a pub nearby. Pull up past the pub and into a parking spot around the back. Switch her off, switch her lights off and sit easy. All three of us just amped on adrenalin not speaking a word. We sat there for 10 minutes and then decided to sneaky crawl our way back home. And now? Lexi won’t start. Where’s the key? We searched and dug around for 30 minutes before I click: I left it on the windscreen wipers earlier. It must have flown off. It’s the only key I have within 300km.

So, with my imagination on overdrive about the beating I am about to receive from some random bunch of guys missing a wing mirror, I walked up the street back towards the petrol station. Looking in the street and on the side walk for my key. I got up to the petrol station, after 30 minutes of walking and searching, and there she was. Lying in the channel on the side of the road was my car key. I walked up and just before I bend down to pick the key up my senses went ballistic…there…across the other side of the road... waiting in the petrol station is four seriously pissed of potato-eaters and a Nissan Champ bakkie minus one side mirror. “Have they seen the key? Are they staking it out? Or are they just waiting to see if that douche in the Lexus drives past again?”

With my best acting I walked across the street, said howzit to the guys and walked into the store. I spied on them for a while and realised they had no clue the key was there. They are just waiting for me to drive past so they can chase me down and serve a hiding. I need to get those keys. I hatched a plan, brought an ice cream and made my way out the shop. All I caught was “moer hom dood” and “in a Lexus” as I walked past them and across the road. Timing here is everything. I tripped over an imaginary stone in the road and dropped my ice cream by 'mistake'. Right on top of my keys. In my best drunk acting I pretended to bend down and pick up my smushed ice cream, pat it off and continue eating it on my way down the road. With my car keys in my mouth I nibbled away on bits of stone in pretend enjoyment.

Those moments, when your heart is in your throat and your A-hole is squeezing tight…those moments make you feel alive. Not to say I would plan on doing that again or would I ever eat tarmac soft serve again but … perhaps…maybe.

Naa.