My head suffered a few knocks as we navigated the back roads. When deep muddy ruts dry, they become major speed bumps. My dad often chose not to slow down much. It was a challenge to quickly and skillfully zig-zag across the dirt, looking for the track which offered least resistance.

We kids were usually in the very back, in one of the two-seaters that faced each other. We would brace ourselves – our feet against the opposite bench, one of our hands between our heads and the ceiling, the other gripping the seatback. You could never predict the sudden jolt that might propel your bottom off the seat and your head into the ceiling!

Some people only just endure rides like that; some people are exhilarated by them. I wonder what the difference is between us? Are those of us that enjoy that just a little bit weird?