All in all, the Porsche is… finished.
Finished for the road, finished for TÜV — but nowhere near finished for Africa.
It’s back on its own four wheels, it drives, it brakes, it steers…
but the list of “small things” still to do?
Endless.
And it’s not getting shorter.
No matter how many boxes I tick, for every item I finish, two new ones appear.
A mathematical miracle — the annoying kind.
For example: right after I welded and painted the roof rack, I realised I’d immediately signed myself up for the next welding session:
A cargo barrier for the boot.
Not because it’s fun — but because otherwise, in an emergency stop, everything back there turns into an uncontrolled projectile. Many small projectiles. And then you’d hear something along the lines of:
“Good night, Marie.”
Not for us — driver and passenger would be fine.
But for Ölvis, it would be over.
And I can’t afford that.
Because I need Ölvis.
So… who or what is Ölvis?
Ölvis is a team member.
Always has been.
Since the very first rally back in 2011, the little rubber rocker has been hanging off my windscreen.
I picked him up at a motorway petrol station somewhere near Leipzig — so yes, basically a Saxon through and through. He thinks Saxon, he speaks Saxon… and wobbling, whining and getting on your nerves? He does that in Saxon too.
But Ölvis is more than just a bit of plastic on a rubber string.
He’s the unfiltered voice in the car:
humour, irony, chaos and rock’n’roll in one.
The type who says things out loud before I’ve even thought them properly. Sometimes cheeky, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes weirdly wise — and sometimes completely off target.
He’s been there from the start.
Not on the “proper” rallies — “too stressful”, he says — but on everything else.
Even the winter North Cape trip, vibrating like a champion and commenting on absolutely everything.
Or maybe he was just freezing. Who can say.
Why do I need him?
Because when there are two female voices in the car that need to be managed — my co-pilot and the sat nav — I need someone on my side.
Someone with backbone.
Possibly with a lot of hard rubber.
Someone who never shuts up.
Ölvis.
I’d say the balance of power in this car hangs on a rubber string.
He winds everyone up, motivates, annoys, survives every breakdown, comments on every decision, mocks everything… and above all: he knows everything. And of course he knows it best.
Even though he has neither knowledge nor intuition, he still sometimes hits the nail on the head.
The one thing he’s genuinely world-class at is getting worked up.
Loudly, cluelessly, and gloriously brainless.
Or, as he would put it himself:
“If yer lookin’ for common sense — it ain’t hangin’ off the mirror.
It’s hangin’ on the rubber string, mate.”
Ölvis has already taken his seat. No one’s getting him out now — he’s stuck to the windscreen like a bloke glued to Match of the Day.
Project Marrakesh – Part 6 of 8
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