A Missing Truck

Quite a while after Mac’s death I was asked to present myself at the police station in Port Elizabeth. Good grief, NOW what? I was informed that I was in arrears with the licensing on my Toyota pick-up truck, and that I had to rectify the situation. Well, that truck had been purchased second-hand by Mac when we were building our house, and after a lot of wear and tear hauling construction materials it had been sent to St. Vincent for some much-needed bodywork. Never having driven the truck myself, I had completely forgotten of its existence until the authorities made me see the error of my ways.

I explained that the owner of the vehicle had passed away, and that the truck had been on the mainland for a long period of time, hence the lack of inspection and licensing activity. Although sympathetic, the officer explained that if a vehicle was not licensed the plates had to be turned over to the police, and that I needed to find the Toyota and remove the plates.

“Stratmann” Nik was in port with his tug and barge, and when I mentioned my dilemma he offered to help. I had tried to call the fellow Mac had entrusted with repairs on the truck but was never able to get hold of him, and we decided that the obvious course of action was to visit his repair yard on the mainland. Nik had a motorcycle, and it was agreed that we would take the 6:30 ferry the following morning and do our best to find and retrieve those license plates.

The next day, armed with a backpack containing a thermos of coffee and a change of clothes, I climbed onto the back of Nik’s motorcycle when we disembarked at Kingstown. I was not used to riding on a bike, and held onto Nik rather nervously as he headed through Kingstown and then along the leeward coast of the Island. I had experienced that stretch of road before, but never during rush hour and certainly never on a motor-cycle, and I clung onto Nik for dear life as he navigated hairpin turns and dodged speeding vehicles with the ease of a seasoned rider. The traffic was dire, but as we progressed along the coast it thinned out to the extent that I was able to relax a bit and enjoy the scenery.

After a long drive we arrived at the repair yard, where neither the Toyota or the owner of the facility were in evidence. A lady (whom I presumed was the repairman’s wife) gave us permission to search for the truck, but our efforts were in vain; Mac’s pick-up was not to be found, neither the license plates I had hoped to carry back to Bequia.     I figured the owner of the yard, knowing that Mac had died, had simply used the truck for spare parts, but as he wasn’t there (or kept his distance until we left!) I had no way of knowing.

Nik and I decided not to waste the day; the weather was lovely, the coastal scenery beautiful, and we had ample time to explore before finding some lunch. Riding on the back of the bike was a pleasure now that traffic had pretty much ceased, and we enjoyed a delicious fish meal at a small restaurant by the sea. We chatted and laughed as we ate, and it slowly dawned on me that I felt happy, something that had been missing in my life for several months.

On the way back to Kingstown to catch the 4:00 ferry we were hit by heavy rainfall, and I DO mean heavy. It poured so hard that Nik was forced to pull over at a bus shelter, where we shivered with cold as the rain pounded down. We hugged each other for warmth, and I realized that hugging Nik made me feel happy too! When the rain eased and we continued on the bike, I was holding on to Nik not because I was nervous but because I liked how he felt. I liked it a LOT! We missed the 4:00 boat that afternoon, and by the time we boarded the 6:00 ferry for Bequia I had a feeling I would be spending a lot more time with Captain Nik. We may have failed in the license plate recovery department, but the trip to the mainland had not been a wasted venture!