Here’s some free advice. If you’re thinking of buying a brand-new Ford Ranger, wait a few days … at least until some other mug has bought the one I helped build this week.
I was among a handful of people invited to Ford South Africa’s Silverton vehicle assembly plant in Tshwane to get a taste of life on the production line. Late last year, the plant began manufacturing the latest generation of the Ranger bakkie, following a R16bn investment from the US. Off the same assembly lines, it also builds the Amarok bakkie for Volkswagen.
Given my technical ineptitude, it was a relief to be given the most menial of tasks: using an idiot-proof electronic “gun” to secure chassis bolts, and positioning preprogrammed pumps to squirt diesel and urea into fuel tanks. Urea is not what it sounds like, but an organic compound that reduces pollutants in vehicle exhaust emissions.
Fortunately for customers, instructors directed and checked every move I made. I feared momentarily I might even get beaten up if I made a mistake. Pieter Pienaar, who is responsible for Ford vehicle quality in the Middle East and Africa and watched my pathetic efforts, bears the intimidating industry title of manufacturing master black belt.
No motor company, least of all one that exports most of its production to Europe, can afford even the slightest lapse in quality. Since production of the new Ranger began mid-November, Silverton had built 29,622 vehicles by the end of May. Of those, 22,210 were exported and 7,412 sold to South African customers. Operating 24 hours a day, Monday to Friday, the plant can build 200,000 vehicles annually, or 720 daily. Its best daily figure so far is 704.
According to Ford officials, completed vehicles wait no more than four hours in a holding yard next to the plant before being starting their journey to South African dealerships or export harbours.
At least, that’s the intention. However, with state transport operator Transnet failing to meet its commitments to provide a reliable rail freight service to the Durban and Gqeberha harbours through which Ford exports, four hours is more dream than a reality. The dust on vehicles in the holding yard attests to that.
One question: when will Ford stop marketing this model as the “Next-Gen Ranger”? It isn’t. It’s now the Current-Gen.
Modern assembly line workers need technical skills rather than strong arms
What could be argued is that some of the manufacturing technology is still futuristic. The initial R16bn investment may have got the headlines but the spending hasn’t stopped. Ford South Africa recently forked out a further R20m on a scanning machine that captures high-definition, full-body images of every vehicle as it’s about to leave the plant. It detects misbuilds, damage or defects invisible to the human eye.
It takes six second to capture vehicle images and 30-50 seconds to identify problems. If there are any, the vehicle is removed and taken back into the factory. Besides improving quality, the system protects Ford against dealers or customers claiming compensation for alleged factory defects.
Another R22m has been spent on machinery to remove skidmarks. Once again, I had to make sure there was no misunderstanding. “Skids” are small, mobile pallets which carry vehicles through the painting process. In the first automated facility in any Ford plant in the world, Silverton uses high-pressure water jets to remove built-up paint residue that attaches itself to skids during the painting process.
Motor companies need all the technological help they can get to meet the growing complexity of vehicle manufacture. Because of the different demands of customers in the more than 100 exports markets served by Ford South Africa, including several African countries, Silverton produces 78 versions of the Ranger.
Besides a choice of single-, super- and double-cab vehicles, there are different suspension settings to meet driving conditions in each market, different fuel systems, different body panel combinations, and right- and left-hand drive transmissions in both manual and automatic.
The introduction of electric Rangers will complicate matters even further. Many of Ford’s export markets will ban petrol and diesel engines in the next few years and the company, like its local competitors, is anxious to introduce electric models into its portfolio. But until the government stops procrastinating on electric vehicle policy, which is almost two years overdue, companies say they can’t plan confidently. “We are in a state of hopeless limbo,” a Ford official said this week.
Then there are the personal demands of customers. In South Africa, the most popular Ranger colours are white, silver and light metallic. In Europe, the favourites are black, grey and light grey.
In total, says Ford, about 6,300 parts go into each vehicle. Before technology and robotics transformed vehicle manufacturing, this complexity could be a nightmare, requiring direct human management of every vehicle and every part. Assembly lines at all manufacturers were peopled by armies of men able to heave vehicles and parts into position to be welded and screwed together. Precision was difficult.
Some readers may remember the fear of buying a car built on a Friday or Monday. On Fridays, some assembly line workers would rush through tasks so they could leave on time for the weekend. On Mondays, they were tired and sometimes hungover.
Technology has eliminated that fear. Computerised robots repeat the same job time after time. Modern assembly line workers need technical skills rather than strong arms. Women, with their greater aptitude for precision, have a growing presence.
Of course, the fear of blunder can never be eliminated completely, particularly when they let nincompoops like me near the assembly line — even if the real professionals checked my work afterwards.
This week was my third time on an assembly line. Toyota South Africa once let me loose in Durban — even if the subcomponents I was supposed to turn into a whole one ended up in a waste bin.
That confirmed how bad I am. But then, I already knew. General Motors South Africa had previously rewarded my efforts on an assembly line in its training centre with a certificate declaring me to be the most incompetent person on the course, perhaps any course.
It was fair comment but also revenge for an FM story I’d written about the company’s delightful American MD, Bob Socia. His US-based boss, Maureen Kempston Darkes, was intrigued to learn that she shared a name with the South African company’s Kempston Road HQ, in Gqeberha. I suggested the local council do something similar for Socia. I proposed that a small lane nearby be renamed the Socia-Path.
Retribution was inevitable.
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