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In Motoring

Whot Happens In Tahiti When The Brakes Fail

Prom Our Own Correspondent.

Papeete, July 28.

TRANSPORTATION of merchandise ana passengers, between Papeete and the several districts of Tahiti, is carried on by motor trucks. Some of them are new and modern; some of ancient vin tage. All are serviced in a rather sketchy manner—particularly in the matter of brake inspection.

On the comparatively level route along the west side of the island, a journey by truck is somewhat of an adventure. Along th,e rugged and perilous north and east coasts an expedition by truck is a hazard which would produce a shrinking and shuddering fear in an actuary, and chal lenges the gods of ch,ance.

Taharaa—likewise known as One Tree Hill—is one of the most formidable heights crossed bv this route. The descent on the eastward side of this hill is very steep. The roadway winds down between a clay embankment on the left and a drop into a valley on the right. Every now and again th,e brakes of a truck making this descent give out. Usualy the driver stops the vehicle before it has gained too much headway, by heading it into the embank ment, where it comes to rest with no more damage than a shaking up of the passengers, an aerial flight by the miscell aneous merchandise piled on the roof of the awning, and a twisted radiator.

On one occasion, however, the brakes of a truck heavily laden with passengers and wares, failed at the steepest declivity near the top of the hill. To have attempted to turn into the embankment at that point would have meant the overturn of the truck and severe injury to those on board. The driver decided to take the chance of keeping the truck on the road way and to trust in fate to stop it in the sands of the beach at the foot of the hill.

Half way down the hill a stout old gentleman seated in an ancient buggy was guiding his horse slowly and carefully down the steep descent.

Suddenly he became aware of a thun dering roar as of an avalanche down the flank of Katchinjunga. A hasty glance behind told him that speed—and speed alone—could save him from destruction.

That race down Taharaa became an epic.

The passengers on the truck—forgetful of their own danger—leaned out to watch and cheer the old gentleman, as he stood up lashing his galloping horse, while the buggy rocked and bounced over the in equalities of the roadway. He won the race by inches.

At the foot of the hill the road made a sharp turn to the right to follow the coast. The buggy rounded that turn on its two starboard wheels, just as the truck was about to overtake it.

The speed of the truck was such that it would have been madness to attempt the turn. Grazing the rear wheels oi the buggy, it dashed straight on, plunged through the sands of the beach, and fin ally stopped upright, half submerged in the shallows of the shore reef. No one was injured.

Every night at midnight, two big trucks leave Hitia’a on the east coast, and travel through the darkness along a nar row roadway which clings, high up, on the face of precipices at whose bases the mighty waves of the open sea beat etern ally; for there is no barrier reef on that part of the coast. There are many places where, when rounding the sharp curves at the headlands, the outer half of the truck’s tyres overhang the abyss.

Sometimes the lighting apparatus fails.

In that event, the driver attaches a couple of ordinary kerosene hurricane lanterns to the radiator, and steers by instinct. The passengers crowd aboard and hope for the best.

By some miracle they always get through, and those living on the roadway to Papeete, who do not sleep too soundly, hear their chime whistles each morning, just before dawn, announcing that the gods of chancel have, once more, been propitious.