As Roland approached Seaford, the horizon opened up to a vast expanse where the blue of the sky kissed the rust of the earth. There it was, shimmering like a mirage. Amongst the sand and dirt stood the legendary car service workshop close to Seaford. It wasn’t just a workshop; it was a citadel, the last beacon of old-world craftsmanship and new-world resilience.

The labyrinthine corridors of the workshop whispered tales of legendary modifications, unparalleled upgrades, and souls forever bound to their metallic steeds. Yet, for all its grandeur, the heart of Seaford’s legend was not in its sprawling workshop but in the hands of a solitary figure: the best auto electrician Seaford had to offer.

The elusive electrician, known as ‘The Sorcerer,’ was not easy to approach. While machines bowed to his touch, the man remained a riddle wrapped in the enigma of the vast wasteland. To seek his expertise, Roland had to prove himself worthy. But this was not a challenge of gun-slinging prowess; it was a test of understanding, patience, and the ability to synchronise one’s soul with the heartbeat of a machine.

Through a series of intricate challenges, from deciphering the lost dialects of ancient engine murmurs to dancing with live wires in a ballet of sparks and intuition, Roland found himself immersed in a world where man and machine were not separate entities but reflections of each other.

As the Sorcerer worked his magic, Roland’s vehicle transformed, not just in power and performance but in essence. But this transformation was not just material. Roland, too, evolved. The vast landscapes of post-apocalyptic Australia, the workshops, the legends, the mechanics, and the Sorcerer converged into an epiphany. The gunslinger understood that in this brave new world, survival wasn’t about man versus machine. It was about man and machine, intertwining their destinies, forging ahead, creating stories that would become legends in the sands of time.

And so, with a steed like no other and a heart full of newfound wisdom, Roland rode into the horizon, not as a lone wanderer but as a testament to the harmonious symphony of steel, soul, and sand.

As a classic car enthusiast, I’ve always taken pride in maintaining and driving my vintage ride. A beautiful Musting, with all its original parts, it was my pride and joy. But with age, comes inevitable issues, especially when you try to mix the old with the new. On one fateful day, while trying to install a modern audio system into my Musting, I managed to short something out. The car went silent, refusing to start. Panicked, I quickly realised I needed a professional – and fast.

After calming down, I started my hunt for a mechanic close to Milperra, as I wasn’t keen on getting my beauty towed across town. I wanted someone who understood the soul of a vintage car but was also well-versed with modern technology. A tall order, but hope remained.

Scouring through online forums and reviews, I was led to a workshop that not only had a fantastic mechanic but also an auto electrician Milperra residents trust. The comments were filled with praise for their electrical wizardry, especially with hybrid and older cars, which was exactly what I needed.

As I described my dilemma over the phone, I was reassured that they had dealt with similar issues in the past. Feeling optimistic, I arranged for my Musting to be transported to their garage.

Once there, it was heartening to see the mechanic and electrician, working in tandem, bringing their unique expertise to the table. The electrician, a young chap named Benny, had a deep appreciation for older cars and their quirks. He narrated tales of restoring electrical systems in classic vehicles, making them compatible with today’s tech, without compromising their vintage charm.

The issue with my Musting? A wrongly connected wire that had caused the short. Benny and his team quickly rectified it, ensuring the new audio system was correctly integrated. By the end of the day, not only was my car back to its roaring best, but the music from the stereo was crisp and clear!

Driving away, I was filled with gratitude for the duo that had saved my car. The blend of old-school mechanics with modern electrical knowledge was the perfect combination. Now, every time I’m cruising with the windows down, and the music turned up, I’m reminded of the expertise that went into ensuring my Musting remained the perfect blend of yesterday and today.

Can you believe that we’re up to the semi-finals already? Welcome back to the Parking Lot Cup, where we will determine the fate of the Earth. Will it be turned into an intergalactic parking lot by Nitrous Dioxide, or will it be free to continue floating around the sun? I’m Tybalt Way, and with me in italics is my co-host, Harry McGillon.

The winner of today’s race will face the devious alien, Nitrous Dioxide, in the race to determine the fate of the world. We have eight racers altogether, including our personal favourites, Liz Lime and Magnus Opus. In an exclusive interview with Magnus Opus, he told us that if we ever needed car suspension specialists, we should get in contact with him. What a great guy!

Indeed he is, Henrietta. Now, the racers are getting into their starting positions and getting their engines ready. Our favourite mechanic is going through his regular checks, making sure his kart is in perfect condition. I bet he does services like this all the time.

All right, it’s time for the big race to begin. The lights go green and they head off! Liz Lime is off to a great start, well ahead of the competition. Magnus Opus finds himself in fifth place, but there’s still plenty of time to go. By the way, Tybalt, my name is Harry. I don’t know why you keep forgetting it. We’ve been best friends since primary school.

Sorry about that, Harriet. Now, back to the race. The master mechanic local to Moorabbin is gaining ground, and now it’s a tight race. Liz Lime is still in front, though. Oh no! She’s fallen off the edge of the track, crashing into the ground hard.

And to add insult to injury, Magnus Opus has just crossed the finish line, and all other contestants will now be zapped out of existence! Goodbye, Liz Lime! 

What a race that was. Tune in next time to discover the fate of the world. Although, if you’re able to read our blog post, that means the Earth has probably not been turned into a parking lot, so that’s good!

Cars, cars, cars. I love cars. Even saying the word ‘cars’ sends a thrill up my spine unmatched by even the mightiest of roller coasters. How can you not instantly become excited when somebody mentions cars? They’re an incredible invention and have changed the way we live our lives. Sure, they’re a metal deathtrap as well, but I think the positives far outweigh the negatives. Every day I spend forty minutes driving to work. Back in the day, before cars existed, I would have had to ride a horse. That same journey would take me about forty minutes on horseback as well, seeing as there would be no traffic to deal with, but I wouldn’t have the comforts my car gives me. How would I listen to the radio or have air conditioning on a horse?

I’ve been thinking about how much I love cars lately, ever since I took my car to get a brake repair near Moorabbin. I just considered how if my brakes hadn’t worked properly, I’d probably have severely injured myself in a crash. But even if I knew that driving a car would be the end of me, I’d probably still do it. I don’t think I’d want to live without my long drives on the weekend or my relaxing commute to work, sitting on the Monash Freeway for thirty-minutes of the 15km drive. 

This week I’m going to get car servicing close to Bentleigh so that my car can sit in the congested traffic even smoother. It’ll just be me, the road, and ten thousand other people trying to get to work. Nothing better than that, right? I don’t understand why other people dislike it. They complain about all the traffic on their commute, about how much longer it takes than it should, but I’m simply grateful for the time I get to spend in my car. It’s truly special. Maybe I should get a job further away, just so I can have more time on my drive.

– Tim

I say, I can’t believe that after months of searching for the Glass Smashing Bandit, he’s been handed to us on a silver platter by that lovely Zach Jordan fellow.

We put the bandit in the back seat of our car, along with the strange glass bottle of green goop Zach Jordan had given us for some reason. The bandit didn’t argue at all, seemingly crushed by his defeat.

“We just have to stop at a mechanic shop near Brunswick to get some new tyres,” I called back, as Whatson and I entered the front. “I hope that’s alright. You’re not in a big rush to spend the rest of your life in prison, are you?”

The Glass Smashing Bandit shook his head. Truth be told, I almost felt bad for the man. He looked so broken. I suppose he never thought he’d get caught. Poor fool.

Suddenly he spoke up. “Why am I going to jail? I don’t smash glass anymore. I haven’t damaged anyone’s property other than my own for months now. It’s almost likely I’m a completely different person to the one you hunted, for no explicable reason. It’s really weird, actually. My characterisation hasn’t been very consistent.”

Whatson turned to me. “You’d better start driving, Schlock. We’ll be late for our appointment at the car repair shop. Brunswick mechanics don’t wait, you know.”

I started the car up and began the short drive. As we went, I spoke to the bandit. “I’m afraid the legal system doesn’t work like that, my good chap. You still have to atone for your previous crimes.” I turned back to Whatson. “Say, I’m quite thirsty. Do we have anything to drink?

Whatson looked around. “Just this strange, complimentary drink given to me by Zach Jordan. I think it could be radioactive, though.”

We looked at the bottle’s glowing, green liquid.

“I’ll risk it,” I said, taking the bottle from his hands and opening the lid.

“Wait, no, that’s my friend!” said the bandit.

I took a gulp and immediately spat it out. “That’s disgusting!” I said. “Celebrities sure are strange.”

Without hesitation, I rolled down the window and threw the bottle from my car. The green liquid splattered along the gutter behind us.

 

I raced down the east coast of Tasmania on my motorbike, the engine roaring as I sped past cars and pedestrians. Keeping one hand on the handlebar and another on my longsword, I wasn’t able to adjust my helmet of pure white metal. I was riding blind, but thankfully my hearing is so strong that I could manage on that alone.

I like to think of myself as a real-world Man of Bats. When you need someone to save the day, I’ll be there whether you ask for me to be or not. Today I received a messenger pigeon with a letter from the best Brighton tyre and auto shop, describing a powerful object that had come into his possession. At the time I was in Melbourne, so I got on my bike and rode through the Bass Strunnel.

Three hours after leaving I saw a sign that welcomed me to Brighton. By then I’d managed to adjust my helmet. I could see smoke up ahead. My gut sunk. Was I too late? I sped up and rode toward the mechanic’s shop. There I saw a dark figure standing amongst the flames. He wore a black cloak and had a mask of pure darkness, like a void.

Space Man, my arch-nemesis. He’d reached the mechanic around Brighton first. He’d probably stolen the artefact already. I had to stop him before he got away. Charging forward on my trusty motorcycle, I swung my sword wide. Space Man dodged as if he was made of shadow itself.

My motorcycle sped past him so I leapt from the seat and backflipped toward Space Man. I landed hard, my armour clunking, but managed to keep my feet. Unleashing a flurry of blows, I tried to get a single strike on my enemy. Space Man was too fast. He was always too fast. I spun and tried to catch him off-guard. Lifting his hand, Space Man caught my sword and twisted it. The metal screeched.

“You will never stop me,” Space Man said, his voice muffled, “now that I have the Tome of Mystia. You have lost, White Knight.”

Space Man lifted a leather-bound book. Through that endless void of his mask, I thought I saw a grin. 

He wrapped the shadows around himself and vanished.

I’m going for my first ever driving lesson today, and I just need to say, I’m really nervous about it. That’s right: I, Dr Dark McBane, evil scientist extraordinaire, never learned how to drive. That’s the reason I’ve temporarily left Melbourne. I don’t want anybody to see me driving around with L plates. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be? Now I know people will read this blog and find out, and that’s fine. But if I so much as suspect that you’re sharing this secret with people, I will personally visit your house, shoot you with a freeze ray, then melt you with a plasma ray, then feed your remains to my pet tarantula. Are we clear?

I paid a driving instructor extremely well to drive us to Western Australia before letting me get behind the wheel. We’ve driven so far, though, that the car is having trouble. So before I can drive we need to get car service close to Midland. Then I’ll be behind the wheel and terrorising the streets of WA. I just hope that nobody recognises me.

At least my arch enemy, the Dirge, is out of my way for a few months. I’d like to see him take credit for my evil schemes from the set of Australia’s Next Top Office. That’s why as soon as my lesson is done, I’ll be activating my newest invention: the Brakes Breaker 7000. I was going to call it the BB v7 but it just didn’t feel right, you know? Numbers in the thousands just feel so much more intimidating.

So what does the Brakes Breaker do? It kidnaps everybody capable of giving brakes repair and brings them to my castle in Melbourne, where all brake repairs will be done from now on. I’ll take 60% of the profit, charging obscene amounts, giving the other 40% to the workers. Oh, it’s just devious. They’ll call me a mad genius and that’s exactly what I am. I’d like to see the Dirge take credit for that!

Even a famous detective needs to get away from it all every once in a while. The Glass Smashing Bandit is one of the only cases I haven’t been able to crack. He always knows where we’re going and where we’ve just been.

I just needed some time to step away and clear my head. Watson and I took a trip to Tasmania, driving through the Bass Strunnel.

We drove down to Brighton, enjoying the scenery. That’s when our car broke down. I recalled seeing a sign about a mobile mechanic around the Brighton area and was able to recite the number thanks to my great memory. Soon enough we had a mechanic on his way to fix our vehicle. Then we could continue on toward Hobart.

While waiting, Watson and I decided that it would be a good time to begin our video blog or vlog as the kids call it. He set up the camera and we began to talk about our trip so far. I was in the middle of reciting act one of Hamlet out of boredom when the mechanic showed up.

He approached the window and said, “You wanted repairs from Brighton Tyre and Auto?” Our mechanic had a strange moustache and black glasses, along with a big orange nose. We told him that something was wrong with the engine and he got to work.

I went back to reciting Hamlet while Watson practised his magic tricks. The mechanic walked back to the window about twenty minutes later. Neither of us looked at him, so engrossed in our activities.

“Alright, the car should be all fixed now,” he said. We heard a clunk behind us, causing Watson and I to turn around. The mechanic was gone, but only for a moment. He stood from behind the door, adjusting his glasses, nose and moustache.

The mechanic didn’t ask for any money, just walking away. Then there was a sudden crash from our back window as it shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Schlock, I think that was the Glass Smashing Bandit!” Watson said. “He must have been wearing a fake moustache as a disguise.”

We both looked up at the blogging camera we’d left on from before. “Check the footage, man!” I said. “Maybe he accidentally showed his face!”

Finally, we’d have the Glass Smashing Bandit. Patience pays off after all.

Classic cars: what’s not to love? Each one is a work of art in its own right, a symphony of form, feel and character. Plus, when you’re driving one of these things, it’s just you and the machine – no distractions. The experience is a far cry from what you get with the car models that are coming out nowadays, which are so loaded with screens, alerts and sensors it’s all you can do not to give in and let the technology do the driving for you.

I will admit that maintaining vintage cars is becoming more and more of a challenge, especially when it comes to things like roadworthy certificates and RACV inspections. Near Ringwood, it’s still possible to get on with driving an old beauty like mine, but even here the people willing to service it are becoming few and far between.

I get that there’s a bit more of a risk involved for all concerned, as the parts take on an increasing amount of wear and tear over time and it becomes more difficult to find good quality replacements. That said, these parts were made to last, unlike today’s shoddy components. I often find myself arguing about this with mechanics. Some of them agree with me, some don’t.

To give you an example, take getting a brake replacement. Around Ringwood, I’ve been able to do this without too much fuss, and that’s most likely because I’ve only ever had to do it once. My brother Stevey, on the other hand, has had it done three times – that’s in a car from 1999, mind you – not new, nor of the old school variety that’s built to last (although, being over 20 years old, I guess it technically qualifies as vintage). It beats me why he’s gone with that option.

I suppose it comes down to what you want your car to do for you, and for me that’s to help me get myself from A to B – as opposed to getting me there without any input on my part. A drive should be a collaborative effort, I always say.

 

You know, sometimes even the captain of an immortal pirate fleet needs to get away and take a break. Given my several hundred years of service, I’ve decided to give myself a few months leave. My first mate, Johnson, should be able to take care of our land raiding for a while.

In the meantime, I’ve decided to come down to Victoria and see the sights. Of course, it’s no real surprise that I’d have car troubles while on holiday, because isn’t that just typical? As a result, today I got to meet the best mechanic in the Frankston area. Well, technically it was just one of his employees, but we had an interesting discussion anyway.

“G’day matie,” I said, trying out the local lingo. “I’m Cap’n Large, leader of the infamous pirate band Large’s Bigs. No doubt ye’ve heard of me?”

The boy, who stood behind a nearby counter, shook his head. “Are you one of those cosplayers I’ve heard so much about? Think my cousin’s in a cosplay group.”

“Arr, nay, I am no cosplayer! I’m a real pirate. Anyway, my car needs repairs, do you accept gold doubloons? Otherwise I can pay in credit.”

“Credit will be fine,” said the boy. “The boss is out at the moment. He’ll be back soon, but as the finest auto electrician around, he’s in high demand.”

I tapped my fingers rhythmically on the counter. “Aye, that’ll be fine. I can wait.”

We were both silent, standing awkwardly for a few moments. Eventually, the boy looked across the workshop and said, “So, what brings you to Frankston, Mr Large, was it?”

“That’s Cap’n Large to you. I didn’t go to pirate school for eight years just to be referred to as ‘mister’. I’m on holiday, leaving my driving fleet in the hands of my first mate. After hundreds of years without a break, you get kind of tired of the constant raiding and pillaging, you know? Even the vikings went on holiday from time to time.”

“Oh. Right.”

The boy didn’t say anything else, the whole time we waited for the mechanic. Eventually the boss arrived, fixed up my car, and now I can get on my way. Holiday, here I come.