Buggy’s Adventures in Motoland
Buggy Discovers Motoland
Published by Kathleen Bosman at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Kathleen Bosman
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Chapter 1
Buggy was a VW (Volkswagen) Beetle Car, one of the new designs, painted shiny green with a silver and white stripe down each side. Buggy had two drivers. He was bought by Mrs Scrag but was mostly driven around by her son, Wayne. Wayne always took Buggy to the beachfront and parked him there in the hot sun where he could hear the waves rhythmically washing the sand. He had roof-racks to carry Wayne’s surfboard to the beach.
Sometimes, after much arguing with her son, Mrs Scrag managed to get to drive Buggy to the shops. In the evenings, Wayne would take him to his night-time job where he worked as a waiter. He enjoyed that because he came to know the other cars parked in the shopping mall. He watched the people walking in and out of the shopping centre and wondered what they did and what they were like. He felt a little lonely sometimes in his silent world. He wished he was human. He also didn’t really enjoy the way Wayne drove him. Sometimes Wayne was drunk and drove recklessly, pulling hard on the gear lever, pushing hard on the accelerator and yanking the steering wheel. Buggy felt pushed to capacity during these times. He concentrated so hard on keeping on the road so he wouldn’t crash. He also hated the loud music that Wayne played on his CD player. It rumbled through his engine and gave him an aching radiator. But he put up with it as best he could because he loved Mrs Scrag and wanted to keep her son safe.
“I’ve arranged for Donald to bring you home from work. And you can have the whole house to yourself, Wayne,” Buggy heard Mrs Scrag say one evening in a clear, direct voice.
“But how am I going to get to the beach without Buggy?”
“You’ll just have to catch a bus.”
“I hate buses. Why do you have to take him?”
“Wayne, Buggy is my car and you are privileged to drive him. You can do without him for two weeks.” Mrs Scrag’s voice was becoming impatient.
“But, Mom, the surfing final is coming up.”
“It’s still two months away.”
“Mom,” Wayne pleaded, knowing he was losing his argument.
“No, and that’s final.”
Buggy heard a door slam. His mind was racing. Why couldn’t Wayne drive him for two weeks? Was he going to the mechanic? Was Mrs Scrag using him for something? He was longing to know.
He was woken early the next day with the light being switched on in the garage. Mrs Scrag came through with two large suitcases and a basket. She packed the suitcases in Buggy’s boot and the basket on the passenger seat. She opened the garage door and drove Buggy out onto the driveway. She climbed out and called to Wayne.
“Don’t forget to lock all the doors when you go out. I left the petrol money for Donald in,” her voice suddenly went hushed, “the kitchen drawer. And, don’t forget to feed Betsy.” Betsy was the black and white cat Mrs Scrag doted over.
“Yes, Mom,” Wayne droned from the doorway, shirtless with his baggies and his long, sun-bleached, salt-caked hair standing in all directions. Buggy could see he had not recovered from his late night. Buggy felt surprisingly fresh though. He knew that he was going away somewhere and was excited. Two weeks without Wayne’s thumping music alone would be blissful. Mrs Scrag drove gently too.
“Come, Buggy, we’ve got a long journey ahead of us.” Buggy revved his engine as she turned the starter motor. Mrs Scrag took him out onto the highway and drove for hours. She stopped for a short lunch and in the afternoon, took him on winding country roads until they reached a dirt road.
“We’re nearly there,” she encouraged Buggy. He wasn’t tired though. A long journey rejuvenated him and made him run smoothly.
After some time, Buggy drove onto a bumpy dirt road but eventually, they came to a signboard saying “Scraggy’s Sheep Farm”. Mrs Scrag turned him sharply by the sign. Her palms were sweating on his steering wheel.
She must be excited, Buggy thought. They bundled down a narrow, rocky road and then Buggy heard children shouting. Four dirty, happy children came running towards them.
“Granny, we love your car,” the only boy shouted.
“Take us for a ride,” the littlest girl squealed.
“Children, children, let me park him first. Please don’t run in front of the car.”
Mrs Scrag parked Buggy near the farmhouse under a tree. The children crowded around Buggy and touched his shiny body.
“That’s a smart stripe, Granny,” the one girl said as she rubbed her hand along the stripe with admiration.
Buggy felt proud and happy. This may turn out to be a wonderful holiday, he thought.
“Where did you get him?” the boy asked.
“From the auto shop, Clinton, dear,” Mrs Scrag said with a laugh. The children hovered around their Gran, the little ones hugging her legs and the older ones asking dozens of questions. A young lady came out the farmhouse laughing.
“Children, leave your Granny alone and let her take her bags out and relax a little. She’s been traveling for hours and must be very tired and thirsty. Come, Celeste and Clinton, take Granny’s bags for her.”
Granny handed them her two cases from the boot. “Thank you, Penny. Thank you my dears.” Mrs Scrag kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek.
“Finally, I get to see the famous new Buggy,” Penny remarked. “Come inside for an ice-cold drink first.”
“That sounds marvellous!”
Chapter 2
Buggy was happy to watch the children play in the farmhouse garden but wondered if he would see any other cars. He wasn’t disappointed. Besides seeing a chunky tractor on a distant field; on the first evening, a twin-cab was driven up and parked close to him. It was quite old and well-used from the farm road but moved in a dignified manner.
It must feel useful working on the farm, thought Buggy.
When the sun crept below the hill, the stars began to twinkle in the sky and the last light went off in the farmhouse, Buggy decided it was time to rest his eyes.
“So, what is a little fella like you doing here at Scraggy’s Sheep Farm? You’re not made for these roads.”
Buggy opened his eyes with surprise and expected to see the farmer talking to him. There wasn’t a human in sight.
“I know what you’re thinking. Who’s talking to you?”
Buggy didn’t say anything because he couldn’t but if he could, he would agree with whoever said that.
“Well, it’s me, the twin-cab.”
What?! thought Buggy.
“Yes, I’m a car and I can talk. There’s something magic in this place. Maybe you can discover it too.”
Buggy listened intently. He had always wanted to talk. Could he learn to talk too?
“There is this place called Motoland and maybe you can go there if you want to. But I have chosen to come back because Mr Scrag, the sheep farmer, needs me. I didn’t lose my ability to talk though. All the vehicles in Motoland talk and they don’t need a driver to drive them. They can operate themselves how they wish.” The twin-cab paused. “My name is Derby by the way. Yes, I can see that you are very interested in what I am saying. I also know you want to know how to get to Motoland. Now that, well, that’s a secret you’ll have to discover yourself. I don’t want to be responsible for Mrs Scrag losing you if you decide to stay there. Happy searching little bug.” Derby promptly shut his eyes and fell asleep.
Buggy felt suspended in mid-air as though he had been lifted up but not brought down again. He was excited and curious but had so many unanswered questions. This was all new and mysterious. Could it all be true or was he dreaming? If it was true, would he find the secret? If he did, should he go into Motoland or not? His heart really wanted to go. To talk to other cars? To discover what they thought, to drive how and where he wanted. That was what he had always longed for.
It wouldn’t do any harm to go for a short while, Buggy thought. Mrs Scrag doesn’t need me on the farm. When her holiday is over, I can come back. I’ve done so much for her. Can’t I have a special time too? That’s it, he decided, he was going to find the secret.
It wasn’t until two days later that Buggy found a possible clue. He had enjoyed two wonderful days outside watching the sheep grazing, Penny Scrag gardening and Mrs Scrag playing with her grandchildren. But still, deep down, he had a longing to go to Motoland.
Buggy noticed something unusual when Mr Gavin Scrag (the farmer) was talking to Mrs Scrag about cars.
“You know what keeps him gliding like a Ferrari, is the oil I put in his engine?” Mr Scrag patted the proud Derby as he spoke.
“The oil?” asked Mrs Scrag. “What oil do you use?”
“I get it from my mechanic. He’s brilliant.”
“Where’s he?”
“Right here on the farm. He’s one of my workers and he fixes all the farm machinery, the tractors and the vehicles I use.”
Maybe it’s the oil, thought Buggy excitedly. How can I get Mrs Scrag to give me some? Buggy’s questions were to be answered soon.
That afternoon, Mrs Scrag wanted to take her grandchildren out for a ride in Buggy.
“You’re going to take him on the farm roads, Gran?” Clinton asked with concern.
“We’ll just take him to the Rosebush Dam for a picnic.”
“Okay, that road isn’t too bad,” Clinton confirmed.
“What are we going to eat there?” Andrea, the second-youngest girl asked, her red hair pulled loosely back in a ponytail with a blue ribbon.
“I already packed a picnic basket while you were all playing with the dog this morning.”
“Thank-you, Granny.” Netta, the youngest, giggled. “Come, everyone. I’m longing to ride inside Buggy.”
They clambered in with excitement.
“Have they all packed their costumes and towels, Penny?” Mrs Scrag asked. “And some sunblock?”
“Yes, Mom.” Penny stood outside with a smile, watching the rowdy children squashed up inside Buggy.
Mrs Scrag started Buggy. He started with a little jerk, not having been used for a few days, but revved loudly. Mrs Scrag slid him into gear and off they drove to Rosebush Dam.
“Are we going to pass the mist behind the hill today, Granny?” asked Andrea.
“You know that we aren’t allowed there,” groused Celeste.
Buggy listened to their conversations, giggling and games as they drove to the dam. It was a pleasant day at the dam, watching the children run and jump off the small cliff into the water. Buggy saw the mist behind the hill and was baffled by it. On the way back, he felt a little tired. Next moment, his engine spluttered and cut out.
“Oh, no!” Mrs Scrag exclaimed. “Buggy, what’s wrong?” She tried to start him again but without any success. Buggy felt a pain in his engine every time she tried to start him.
“Granny, how are we going to get home?” cried Andrea.
“Don’t worry, Andrea,” Clinton said, “it’ll only take us half an hour to walk home.”
“What about poor Buggy?” Netta wailed. “We can’t leave him alone.”
“It’s okay, we’re in Uncle Jimmy’s farmland and he’ll look after Buggy until we get Duke, our mechanic, to pick him up,” Celeste told her sister.
“Okay, children, let’s start walking before it gets dark.” Mrs Scrag put the gear and steering locks on Buggy as well as a sun shield to keep his dashboard from fading and cracking.