Sometimes, a bird-brained misadventure is all that’s needed to remind us that in a world that often seems heartless, kindness can be found in the most unlikely of circumstances. I drive a diesel car. Yes, I know this makes me a dinosaur, and in some circles, something approaching an environmental vandal.
Tony Wright with his rescuer, Chayce McCubben. My defence is that I drive long country miles frequently, and the vehicle uses a lot less fuel than a petrol machine on the highway. Anyway, I fear I’d be too impatient to sit for extended periods at charging stations during those long drives if I were tempted to move to an electric vehicle.
Which I’m not – at least, not yet. I’ve liked the thrum of an engine since I was a kid. It turns out, however, I’m not only a dinosaur, but a blockhead.
Heading from Melbourne recently to attend a family funeral in Canberra, the car packed to the roof – OK, it’s a largish SUV – we pulled into a service station in the early hours to top up the fuel tank. More than 250 kilometres later, we made another stop for a picnic at a riverside park in Albury. When we were ready to continue, the car wouldn’t start.
Sweating, I spiralled through the likely reasons ...
and with heart sinking to my boots, came to an appalling conclusion. Back in the dawn, all those kilometres ago, I’d topped up the tank with petrol. This was a very bad idea.
Petrol, diesel – don’t confuse them. Credit: Bloomberg We shall spare the technical details.