The rough across the plain soon became so bad that we tried to get Bruce to
drive back to the village we had come from. Even though the road was littered
with boulders and pitted with holes, Bruce was not in the least perturbed.
Glancing at his map, he informed us that the next village was a mere twenty
miles away. It was not that Bruce always underestimated difficulties. He
simply had no sense of danger at all. No matter what the conditions were, he
believed that a car should be driven as fast as it could possibly go.#
As we bumped over the dusty track, we swerved to avoid large boulders. The
wheels scooped up stones which hammered ominously under the car. We felt sure
that sooner or later a stone would rip a hole in our petrol tank or damage the
engine. Because of this, we kept looking back, wondering if we were leaving a
trail of oil and petrol behind us.#
What a relief it was when the boulders suddenly disappeared, giving way to a
stretch of plain where the only obstacles were clumps of bushes. But there was
worse to come. Just ahead of us there was a huge fissure. In response to
renewed pleadings, Bruce stopped. Though we all got out to examine the
fissure, he remained in the car. We informed him that the fissure extended for
fifty yards and was two feet wide and four feet deep. Even this had no effect.
Bruce went into a low gear and drove at a terrifying speed, keeping the front
wheels astride the crack as he followed its zigzag course. Before we had time
to worry about what might happen, we were back on the plain again. Bruce
consulted the map once more and told us that the village was now only fifteen
miles away. Our next obstacle was a shallow pool of water about half a mile
across. Bruce charged at it, but in the middle, the car came to a grinding
halt. A yellow light on the dashboard flashed angrily and Bruce cheerfully
announced that there was no oil in the engine!&