The bolt had held, unfortunately it’s the linkage that’s sheared
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A little different this time as not only was the trip just to France, but the
other half, her daughter and one of the daughter’s friends, accompanied
me. On top of that there was also the fact that we’d looked into where
we might be staying as well, talk about organised! Though obviously we didn’t
book anything as there’s always a chance that ‘something’
might crop up on the way.
And it did, everything started off well enough, a few hours going over the van,
all the normal things like greasing everything I could, changing the oil in
everything else and making sure nothing had come loose. Ok, with hindsight maybe
not quite everything…. Finally I got around to replacing the battery that
was flattened and sorting out all the other electrical problems that cropped
up following the engine swap. Anyone know where I can get an original two-speed
wiper switch from? I’ve no idea what happened during the engine change
but it got fried and the wireless went for a slight meltdown as well, oh yeah
and a headlight got broken too. Guess what, I’m not going back to that
garage again.
Enough about that, the van was going well, and we picked up the daughter and her friend and got to Dover at about nine in the evening. After a little loop around the wrong areas of the ferry terminal we got the ticket and made it to the ferry. Top tip – Don’t bother with electric 12V car kettles, they take forever to boil!
The crossing was painless, and getting off in Calais posed no problems, we didn’t even see a customs officer, which is unusual as I seem to get stopped fairly frequently. Only about six hundred and fifty miles to go and with the ferry we got it meant we should be passing round Paris at about four in the morning which suited me fine.
Don’t you just love planning and timetables when driving
a thirty eight year old VW? The first couple of hours were fine, then we had
to stop to pay a toll (so much easier when you’ve got someone sitting
in the passenger seat), but when we went to pull away, ah! Pick a gear, any
gear… Found one! Can’t get out of it but I can spin the gear stick
around a lot… but at least we can leave the tollbooth and pull over.
Time for a scrabble around underneath and to start thinking that I hoped my
insurances’ ‘European recovery’ really is what it claims,
then I saw the problem, and fantastic! One of the locking bolts had fallen off
the rear gear linkage, phew, just need a bolt and we’ll be on our way
again, easier said than done, after a major rummage I finally found my one and
only bolt that was the same thread (from part of the clamp that holds the battery
in place). Unfortunately this isn’t tapered so after about half an hour
with a Swiss army knife’s file enough had been shaved off for it to hold.
Excellent! Off we go again, and only an hour lost, and Paris probably
won’t be too bad at five in the morning. Everything’s going well
and we’re making good progress, on the outskirts of Paris and it’s
still pretty quiet as it’s still before five in the morning, looking good….
Spoke too soon, just pulling away from the last tollbooth before Paris and no
gears again. Bugger! Wonder if the exhaust manifold bolts are the same thread
as I have no other’s that might fit. Oh well, let’s have look shall
we…
The bolt had held, unfortunately it’s the linkage that’s sheared
It was now about five in the morning and I’d not had any sleep since getting up at eight the previous morning. Time for a coke (cola!!) and a Mars bar, I’ve got to say I was really impressed with the passengers, I guess it helped that they just wanted to be asleep, but there were no complaints or rude comments. Anyway, sitting in a parking bay on the side of the auto-route drinking coke and eating chocolate wasn’t going to fix anything, time to look in the parts box…
It’s marvellous what can be achieved with a hammer, a jubilee clip, a Swiss army knife and some chocolate. Oh yeah, and about three hours of hammering, cutting and filing. But at least it seemed to hold together, and after a little conference in the van about the options and in one very definite vote for forward (the optimism of youth and desire to hit the beach), another one for cautiously forward (well I could have always put the van in third and chugged down at thirty miles an hour) and two unsure but hopeful votes for forward, forward it was.
These delays meant we hit Paris at about nine in the morning, so instead of taking about an hour it took three or four, and that was with lot’s of gear changes, nervous? To right! But with frequent checks and the occasional tweaks it held together, and we finally managed to get out the other side and start heading south again. By this time I knew I wouldn’t be able to get down to the south coast without stopping for a night so we stopped at Orcet
It was a nice little site, though the take away and shop closed pretty early and as they’d had pretty abysmal weather on the run up to us getting there so the pool was pretty chilly. Still the bar was open and the people friendly, so after setting up the tent for the girls and pumping up their beds (thank you to the Dutch couple who loaned us a better pump than we had) that was where we headed, though I have to say I really wanted to go to bed, well come on, it was a good thirty six hours since I last had any sleep and I’m not as young as I used to be…..
Packed up the tent and Boris, paid the bill and headed over the Midi-Pyrenees to Cap-d’Agde. Even with the new motor it was still an interesting chug over the hills, especially when every gear change had to be done as gently as possibly and on the accents picking a time when there was no one behind, just in case it went from fourth and wouldn’t find third… Oh yeah, and it was pretty breezy, and as any who drives these things knows it can be a little ‘meandering’ at times…. Still, the jubilee clip held and the gears shifted for the final hours of the drive.
We arrived in the town at about four in the afternoon, and found the campsite that had sounded suitable in the guide book, without too many wrong turns or detours. One of the reasons we aimed for Le Club Farret was that they didn’t offer a reservation service, so turning up and not getting kicked out for the weekend was likely seeing as we were approaching peak season. They only had one space and it was right by the beach, it would have been pretty much where I would have chosen if the site had been empty, but being Bastille day it wasn’t. So we said yes please immediately and at about €50 a night wasn’t too scary. Ok, I admit, yes it was, when you think that a couple of years ago I was paying less than €10 a night in Greece, but this was France and there were four of us, two of which probably wouldn’t be too impressed with a quiet site in the middle of nowhere and no night life (the joys of 17 year olds!), hence choosing this site, as it was very close to the beach (the other side of the fence), had a large pool, shop, restaurants, bars and the town with it’s bars, clubs and restaurants were only five minutes walk away.
Beach, pool, pitch, reading, eating, drinking, sleeping and generally lazing around in the sun. With various people burning various parts of their body, getting stung by something in the sea (don’t think it was a shark attack somehow, maybe an irate jelly fish but more likely a sea urchin or something like that), then there was an attack by a drunken wooden spike on a sober persons backside (or was that the other way round?) and a vicious attack by the passenger seat on another leg. In other words just a normal beach holiday. Oh yeah, and another look at bodge on the gear linkage, a little more time spent tinkering and tightening then covering the whole lot in duct tape so if it did fall apart then with luck I’d still have the parts.
Left the site shortly after eleven in the morning, stopped off at the supermarket where I let the ladies do the shopping while I had a look at the map to try and come up with a different route home. Even though it was slightly further to drive the idea of not going over the hills or through Paris was quite appealing, also by staying on auto routes for the journey meant fewer gear changes.
And so it was, sitting there at about fifty-five miles an hour for pretty much most of the journey to Calais. The gear linkage didn’t break, the engine didn’t miss a beat and everything held together for the seven hundred miles back to Calais, which is more than can be said for one of the petrol stations we stopped at which was out of fuel and had a faulty coffee machine. I have to admit that when we got onto the ferry at about three in the morning I did give a little cheer. Well we were right at the front and if Boris didn’t start then P&O would be pretty keen on getting us off and into the hands of the AA, even if it was half four on Monday morning.
As you’ve probably guessed, the van got back to where I keep stored, dropping off the two girls with no dramas, and we then jumped in that euro-box thing I use in London, well it has to be parked on the street and if it gets nicked or vandalized there are plenty of others I can replace it with, though seventy miles an hour does seem very fast now….
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Broken |
Bodged |
Replaced |
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