A Tangential Story About Wine, Family, Life & a Car!
- Brent Eddy
- May 31, 2025
- 4 min read
Updated: Feb 7
It turns out I don't have many photos of my car, a 2005 Land Rover Discovery.
There are incidental shots of it: hazard lights flashing, laid up on the Ponatahi Hill attached to a trailer whose deck had collapsed under the weight of a full wine tanker. Potentially ruinous, both financially and reputationally; covered in snow in the small hours of frost-fighting all-nighter; towing various equipment, cases, pallets, and barrels of wine. There's also a shot of the boot loaded with tools. The photographs I do have portray a vehicle that is a peripheral, albeit vital utilitarian actor in our family/work life. But make no mistake; I have deep affection for this car. And how could I not?
A Nice Reliant Automobile
I bought the Discovery in April 2010, anticipating our first child. Those who do not know will scoff but the petrol v8 fitted the bill — safe, capable, and dependable. These were the arguments I presented to HQ. The Discovery has proved to be all of that and much more. Its registration plate was happened to be DADXXX. Zeus the earth-shaker was moving.
DADXXX was purchased from a dentist in Mount Maunganui. He was going through a messy divorce. Being matrimonial property, he wasn't motivated to achieve top dollar. I was the early bird and he honored my naive offer, ignoring higher subsequent bids. He must have been hurting badly.
There’s more to DADXXX’s origin story. The dentist, it turned out, had taken long-term care of the teeth of a university girlfriend’s dad—someone I admired and respected. Zeus. Once the deal was struck, we agreed I would pickup the car in the parking lot of a supermarket in Bethlehem, on the outskirts of Tauranga. More signs of mysterious ways.
And so, carrying several tens of thousands of hard currency in my jersey back pocket, I set out to cycle 200 or so kilometers from Auckland to pick it up. Those dollars, ring-like in my pocket, summoned evil.
An hour into the journey, while riding along the crest of the Bombay Hills, a shabby Commodore swerved in at speed. The driver, honking and gesticulating, stopped about 100 meters up the road. Not a great sign. Long story short, he turned out to be a good friend of the local chapter of the Head Hunters Club. A prospect. This was his ambition.
At some point during our discussion, he decided not to change his tire using the wheel brace he was brandishing. Instead, off he hopped, promising he'd mention us to his head-hunting colleagues, and that we should expect one, some, or all of them to be looking out for us on the road!
At some pace, we proceeded in an easterly direction, the report would read. The rest of the trip was uneventful—flat tires in Waihi and Katikati, pies and Coke in those towns too. By the time we reached Bethlehem, my donkey was cooked and close to delirium. But we made it! Stories were swapped with the dentist along with the precious cash. Bikes were loaded into the back, and off we hopped.
Our daughter Brennagh was born three months later, and DADXXX got down to business.
Adventures with DAD
DADXXX underwrote, facilitated, and opened up the vast unexplored hinterland of parenting for us in countless ways. The split boot door became the perfect mobile nappy change station on long journeys and short supermarket trips. The back seat's ceiling-mounted video unfailingly lulled grumpy children to sleep. They never minded that it only played an Elmo DVD that was permanently jammed in place. The seven-seat arrangement meant we could comfortably include grandparents and kids. Wherever we went, we could always exceed our luggage allowance.
Bike adventures were built around DADXXX. The Mount Albert 3 would load bikes into the back, heading to Cambridge to watch track cycling world champs or to Northland, Coromandel, or Taupo. It even served as a Commissar's car during the National Road Champs in Napier in the early 2000s.
Most Cherished Memories
Many moments lost to the passage of time shouldn’t have been. I should have captured shots of the sleeping arrangements during those dreaded all-night frost-fighting nights. Picture a cozy wooly beanbag filled with duvets and pillows. Or the excitement of hayriding children around the vineyard—"Go faster, go faster!"
Most photographs of DADXXX aren't about biking or wine adventures at all. Instead, they show two children, separately and together, angelically asleep in their safety seats cocooned in the mid-row of DADXXX. There must be at least 100 of these photographs. Each one is precious and cherished.
Last week, memories of DADXXX coalesced with two oddly twinned landmarks. On Sunday, the baby who inspired DADXXX's purchase 15 years ago took her first driving lesson in it. In time, I hope she can boast about having learned to drive in a V8 Land Rover. She even managed to reverse smoothly without any damage or tears!
The following day marked another milestone. DADXXX clocked 300,000 kilometers on the odometer.
There was no fanfare or celebration of this achievement. Just as it should be.
May 2025
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