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Special for Walla Car Readers: A chapter from Aviram Barkai's new book - Walla! Car


Highlights: Aviram Barkai's latest book, "The Majority is Good, Thank You," detaches itself from the horrors of war into the old hobby, life insights, nonsense and gossip of many outdoor icons. The book gathers short and optimistic stories about terrain and jeeps, fellowship and love of the large streams. In the same spirit, Aviram intends to pull out the lust for travel that has been pushed aside in recent years, to return to field trips and guides. You can get the book at Tzomet Sfarim and Steimatzky stores, and in a digital edition in Hebrew.

After a slew of military history books about the Yom Kippur War, Aviram Barkai returns to the field and jeeps in a new book

Veterans of the generation remember Aviram Barkai as a capable field fox, a nature reserves ranger in the 1980s, a tour guide in the Negev and Egypt, a well-known and respected field figure. Aviram is an impossible combination of a tough macho and a hopeless romantic, a man who recognizes his own worth but also knows how to laugh at his nonsense and failures. He writes with the same enthusiasm about 'The One and Only' as well as 'The Wonderful World of the Differential'. A delight for the eyes that so read.

Aviram wrote eight off-road route books, two motorcycle maintenance books and two rescue books; I never knew there was so much to write about the winch cable. One day, Aviram was attacked by a predatory bacterium and plunged into the depths of the Yom Kippur War. Everyone who was there was infected with the same bug, but only Aviram did deep academic research from it, interviewing hundreds of fighters and commanders, armored personnel carriers and pilots. His books "On Containment", "In the Name of Heaven", "We Are on the Black" and others, tell the story of Israel's wars, do justice to fighters and armored personnel whose voices are not heard, but whose wounds are still open to this day.

After describing the battles, Aviram Barkai connects with the optimistic and the best of life (Photo: Courtesy of those photographed, Aviram Barkai)

His latest book, "The Majority is Good, Thank You," detaches itself from the horrors of war into the old hobby, life insights, nonsense and gossip of many outdoor icons. The book gathers short and optimistic stories about terrain and jeeps, fellowship and love of the large streams. In the same spirit, Aviram intends to pull out the lust for travel that has been pushed aside in recent years, to return to spend trips and guides, we are already waiting.

As a bonus, please get a short taste of the book. The chapter "Oneg Shabbat" tells in eloquent and smiling language how even the best jeepee can get caught up in a series of entanglements, jams and near-accidents. All because of a combination of achievement and romance, technological thoroughness with the goofiness of a gymnastics who stole Daddy's car – and always, but always, looking for the thin line between momentary thrill and motor catastrophe. You can get the book at Tzomet Sfarim and Steimatzky stores, and in a digital edition in Hebrew.

The eyes and soul disconnect from Israel's wars, return to field trips and trips (Photo: courtesy of those photographed, Aviram Barkai)

A chapter from Aviram Barkai's new book: "Oneg Shabbat"

Maybe I should have been more aware of the signs. Understand that there are days when the cards are handed out in advance to your detriment. For example, the. An avid travel enthusiast who on the Saturday in question made signs that she prefers to stay asleep. "So be it," I said to one and only. "By five, roof six, we'll be back. Fewer monsters on the Defender. A vigilant guard at the front of the house. Suits us."

At the end of a road trip eastward, we met the Dead Sea, and climbed the cliffs of Dergot, and were honored by the splashes of the Queen's Sabbath light on the desert plateau, and crossed the Darja gorge, curving between the chalk hills. And the one and only, behind the wheel, was all excitement.

The medical world, and the route she took, did not prepare my partner for off-road driving. Ever since we met, she's done everything to close the gap. Once, in a moment of grace, she shared with me the reasons for the excitement that grips her as she leans behind the wheel: "The Defender is an authoritarian lover and inspires confidence. You, on the other hand, my beloved personal, are still hesitant. Not closed on yourself. Two like you on the same platform? A complementary and exciting combination."

These were ancient days without Waze and GPS, aboard the good old carriage (Photo: courtesy of the subjects, Aviram Barkai)

We broke right to um Daraj, the "Magic Castle". And we eavesdropped on the wind at the top of the malls. And we loved the migrating birds without asking why and the herds of ibex who walked as masters on their estate. And the blossoming of harnesses perfumed the channels. And newborn goats jumped on the side of their mothers and there was also a rabbit that was startled from its nest and a flock of crows flew from the mane of a wide-topped tree.

The deeper we got, the more we loved what we saw and heard.
It all felt like puzzle pieces in a desert game. And they all fit perfectly into place.
Then we reached Hatzeron's shoulder.

"I'm all for checking the 'red route' that goes south to Lens Creek and Lizard Mountain," I said.
"Whatever you decide, my love," she replied, all vibrating behind the wheel of the Defender.
"The map does say serious offenses, but I remember it as a piece of cake."
"Whatever you decide, my love," she repeated.

So we skied to Bir al-Batihiya, and then we went up and down and curved, and into the lap of Wadi am Rahm we entered, and climbed again, and jumped and suddenly... Suddenly, E and A was there. Straight opposite.

Bor A.N.K. Not the dreadlock of the center of the country. Bor-Bor. One that only the rains of the desert know how to carve to such depths. and a sharp side slope on its side.

Yes, there was an option to turn around and continue on the original route. Planned. But it was a la and an option. For beside me sat the one who saw me as her private teacher of perplexity in all matters of the field, as well as overcoming huge pits in the desert, and perhaps that is why she leaned back, stared at me teasingly, and said: "Piece of cake? Come and show me how to get through this."

Every good field story begins with optimism about leaving home (Photo: courtesy of the subjects, Aviram Barkai)

Hour. That's the time it took me to fill the hole.

Curious ibexes stopped their walk. Two tristramies improved their spotlight. Short-tailed crows croaked above. And the Y A? She sat well on the cliff, rested her head between her hands and questioned, "Are you sure that's enough? Don't we need more rocks?"

Truth be told, I was worried that I drank water. She added: "Well done my love. Well done."

Finally I said, "That's it. It's over" and I went into the Defender. I incorporated a locked LOW, chose a second gear, ignored the sharp side slope, tightened my grip on the steering wheel. And I passed.

The one and only came off the cliff, the Tristramies made sounds of relief and I declared, "That's it. No more surprises. From now on, everything will be easy and simple."

The steering wheel of the Defender returned to my partner, and while she savored the gurgle of the engine, I celebrated my success in front of the monstrous pit with a shrill, stormy discharge.

As I shrieked loudly, "Climb, climb to the top of the mountain," I saw the narrow, upright gorge and heard her ask if any special preparations were needed.

"Go normal," I replied.

Then there was noise and my partner said the Defender wasn't going.
I glanced at the gear knobs and transmission and saw they were fine.

I opened the door, leapt out and... I found myself watching the two rear wheels of the British explosive hoisted in the air courtesy of a rear bumper leaning against the side of the gorge, and a front bumper dug into the opposite bank.

"On pages 132-166 you can read about the operation of the central differential..."(Photo: Walla! system, uncredited)

We used to settle for two wheels. Barkai in the field (Photo: Ronen Topelberg)

I tried to drive out. Nothing.
The shovel, hoe, bushes, blankets, wooden beams, were scornfully rejected by the wheels and ground - water to dust. Who for rags. And who for the chips.

An hour passed. "Here-to-here," I shouted at a silhouette that appeared on the horizon.
"Do you want us to attach a camel, pull a jeep?" asked the silhouette, which received an outline of a Bedouin on a camel.
Not Juma'a. Thanks no. Then I remembered the new lowlands.

While the one and only one was courting Juma'a's camel, the two of us struggled with the rogue Defender. We picked up. We floored. We strengthened. We threaded. We prayed. And off we went.
We said goodbye warmly. She's from the camel. I'm from Juma'a.
Along the way, I changed the repertoire of songs to something more Venus.

When we reached the road, evening fell and the first stars set the sky screen.
"We left a sad, hungry dog at home," my partner reminded me.
"Never mind, we're there. The will be fine," I mustered my convincing tone.

When we arrived in the Judean Lowlands, the news announcer described a car accident that occurred down the road.
"There will be traffic jams," I said. "Harvested in the field."
"Do you know the trails?"

I really knew. But I didn't see so well. And the night was dark. And Defender has flashlights "on the face". And I forgot there were fields. And it was a touch before the summer. And the fields required massive irrigation. Boom.

The Defender was wrapped in the arms of a quickswamp, in a heavy clay embrace.
I was looking for an anchor for the winch. No.
The Hi-Lift sank into mud.
The lights of the nearby settlement were farther from my estimation.

At the end of a two-hour jogging walk, a local farmer complied, emerged from the shed with a large tractor and a tow strip dozens of meters long.

When "the voice of the Orlogin called midnight, and in the inns the candle went out," we opened the entrance gate to the house and found a dog mad with longing, hunger and rage.

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Source: walla

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