A Thief at Dawn

I had caught him red handed. There he was only 5 metres away, in the early morning light and I had spotted him trying to escape with his haul. Guilty. You could tell by the beady look in his eye. He stared back at me with a look of defiance on his face. I quickly felt around me to see what I could lay my hands on, just in case things turned nasty, but nothing came to hand. It was just me and him. I eyed him up again. He had a look of confidence about him that was concerning, but I felt sure that I outweighed him. I opened the door a little further. With an aggressive swish of his fluffy tail, he was off up a tree with the freshly snaffled peanuts.

The New Forest in Hampshire is supposedly a low crime area. That is assuming you only count crimes committed by people. Our nocturnal nut smuggler was our second visitor. The previous evening, another resident, a New Forest pony had tried a smash and grab routine, rooting through the back of the van on the basis that it would take a brave person and several seconds to remove it. Luckily, it was ushered away, empty handed (or is it empty hooved ?)

This was the Windy 500 camping trip at Ashurst camp site. Hardly a strenuous trek to test the machines to their limits. Hampshire is only an hour or so away from Weymouth and nobody had to come that far. Surely nobody would have any problems with such a short little jaunt ?

Team 6 in Milly had other ideas though. Coming up from South Devon means traversing the notorious Telegraph Hill, the graveyard of many vehicles. A phone call from Lucy and Jim informed me that once again, this fearsome hill had taken it's toll on Milly and they were being repatriated to Teignmouth for some urgent repairs.

We arrived later than expected and soon located Robin and Sam of Team 46 with Trigger, their multi-terrain Mitsubishi van. Also there were Adrian and family of Team 37 and later on we were joined by Jeff from Team 32. Team 27, who will be Team Newlywed (seems wrong to call them that before the event) arrived in Olly, their white limousine. Just the sort of vehicle you need to camp in style. A huge boot and (if you aren't transporting the full complement of 8) plenty of room inside.

The weather held out. Alcohol was consumed. Tall tales and hopes and plans for our vehicles were discussed until after dark. Team 6 arrived 24 hours late and impressed everyone with the bedroom, kitchen, lounge of Milly.

The journey home proved problematic. Well, it would have done if anybody had stopped suddenly in front of us. Jezebel's brakes can prove to be a little temperamental. It's a problem with old brake fluid apparently. It picks up air bubbles, making the brakes very spongy. Something that needs addressing before any further trips I think.

She is taking shape inside. Obviously not as fast or as sophisticated as Milly, but the floor is pretty much in place, the insulation is installed throughout and we have a place to sleep when needed. The rest as they say is mere garnish.

International Rescue

I'm on first name terms with the local recovery truck driver. That in itself is a worrying turn of events. He greets me like a regular customer. I guess that is what I have become. I suppose the next step will be having Green Flag on speed dial, recognising the call handlers and asking for Mike to attend once more. I certainly get the feeling that it won't be my last trip in the front of the Marsh Road Garage recovery truck.

It had been a good day up until then. Having been to the tip, I had taken young Lucas for a quick trip to the beach. It was fiercely hot, most unusual for this summer, and we had shorts on, so we went in the sea to cool off. Then, on the way home, I noticed that the gears were getting harder to get in to, having been so smooth since they were fixed last week. We got in to some stationary traffic on Preston Beach Road and whilst the rest of the stationary traffic became slow moving traffic, I was left cursing and sweating as I tried frantically to force the gear stick in to a gear, any gear, to get it going again. It wasn't happening. I'm no great mechanical expert but I could tell a knackered clutch when I felt one.

I tried pushing the beast out of the road. Hordes of gormless morons drove past, staring blankly at me as I tried in vain to get Jezebel out of the way of the traffic which was building up. Still, at least it wasn't whilst the Olympics were in full swing. Finally, a car full of Koreans stopped to help. At least I think they were Koreans. I didn't ask which side of the border they were from. They didn't seem to speak a lot of English but they understood the situation I was in and helped to push Jezebel up on to the pavement. I thanked them in my best Korean. "내 모자는 세 모서리를 가지고있다" . They seemed pleased with the news that my hat has got three corners.

I waited patiently for the arrival of Mike until there was a knock on the drivers window. "Hi, it's Don, Team 31" . And it was. Stood in the traffic, admiring my dubious parking and wondering if there was an issue. I explained the lack of clutch action and that my regular recovery truck driver Mike was coming to sort me out again. Not the greatest place for an impromptu Windy 500 discussion, I guess I should have invited him in, got the burner going and made him a quick cuppa.

The meeting earlier in the week with Team 3, Team Trauma, was much better organised and sociable. Cider, freshly grilled steak and salad lively discussion about ambulances and estate agents. I'm sure many people have dreamed of putting an estate agent in an ambulance, this team are actually going to do it ! Some great ideas from the paramedics on the fundraising front.

So, thanks to Mike, Jezebel is currently sat outside the house and is likely to be there for a little bit. The planned two day trip this weekend has now reverted to good, old fashioned, proper camping, in one of those tents. Just as the Olympics are due to start and I had envisaged having my van and it's advertising on view to the World's media, there she is parked in a cul-de-sac 3 miles from all of the action. Most annoying.
Later, whilst at work, I spotted a man in a lurid pink and purple top. Using my powers of deduction, I approached him and accused him of being Team 49. I was correct. First meeting with Gary as he is snowed under organising the Olympic ambassadors in Weymouth, with their violently coloured shirts. He won't have time to consider getting a vehicle until September and the Games have been and gone. Funnily enough, I had one he could have had, if he didn't mind a few dents where I had been banging my head against the bodywork.

Gone Fishin'

Gatwick Airport is the second busiest airport in Britain, only slightly less busy than it's near neighbour Heathrow. It does hold it's own record though. It is the busiest single runway airport in the World. 52 flights an hour at peak times take off and land on the runway which runs approximately East-West.

Henfold Lakes near Dorking are a peaceful series of 5 fishing lakes. Peaceful, that is, in between the 52 flights an hour buzzing overhead. Henfold Lakes was where I found myself on Wednesday evening, together with a 30 year old camper van, an excitable 4 year old lunatic and an equally excitable 30 something year old wife, clutching two tickets to the show jumping at Hickstead the following day.

How could I be so foolish ? Not the camper van, she was fine, albeit a little heavy on the juice. Not the camp site either. The noise became background noise soon enough and the lakes were pretty. It was even good value at £11 for the night. No, I was referring to the Hickstead tickets. I have to admit, to my eternal shame, I bought them.

I've had some good E-bay purchases in my time. £8 for two tickets to the Heineken Cup Final for example. That was a good purchase. Grand National Tickets for £20 was also a bargain. I've also had some rather poor E-bay purchases too. The bagpipes for example could never really be considered as a wise purchase. In my defence, m'lud, I was very drunk at the time. The Hickstead tickets though, I was sober. Perhaps I didn't plan it right, thinking that Jo would take her sister. Chickerell Primary School sports day put paid to that and hence I found myself being dragged off kicking and screaming to bloody Hickstead to watch the bloody show jumping. Fan-bloody-tastic.

Until now, Jezebel had not been out of Dorset in the previous two years. Our longest trip since we got her back on the road had been the twenty odd miles to Eype. Weymouth to Dorking is nearer 140 miles. I decided that the best way to tackle this mammoth trip was by dozing in the back and letting Jo drive. It was raining, but with a positive forecast we were looking forward to a pleasant barbecuing evening by the lakes. I awoke in Hampshire and took over the driving and navigating, exploring most of the country lanes within a 5 mile radius of our destination. Those extra gears (yes, we now have 4 ! forward gears !) made for a much smoother ride.

The weather forecast was wrong on the whole. We still managed the pleasant barbecue, just did it hanging out of the back of the van. We slept in the roof for the first time too. Well, when I say slept.... I dropped my pillow and needed a wee from about midnight onwards, just didn't want to disturb everyone else.

Next stop was Coulsdon to collect a fridge. 30 minutes drive, if you know where you are going. We took 60 and took the last 5 miles very cautiously due to our newly acquired issue. Excessively spongy brakes. Just what you need when you are about to collect a 40kg lump of kitchen appliance. Strangely though, as we scoured the local garages for brake fluid, the problem seemed to heal itself and we were off again, complete with enormous fridge, to bloody Hickstead.

So, bloody Hickstead. What can I say ? Infested with bloody ponies and young girls called Porsche and Scarlett. Still, the jodhpurs looked good.

The Nightlife of Eype

For those of you unaware, Eype is a small village in West Dorset clinging precariously to the edge of the Golden Cap, the highest point on the south coast of England. It provides fine walking opportunities and wonderful views of Torbay, Lyme Bay and Portland. On a clear day that is.... On a wet and foggy evening with a howling gale blowing in off the sea, the views and walking opportunities can be a little less appealing.

We were in a camp site near the beach. As the crow flies, only 100 metres from the beach. Alas, this is a vertical 100 metres we are talking about and any crows that were inclined to fly would have been several miles inland the moment they took off. The camp site itself wasn't exactly flat. From the narrow road that led to it there was a steep incline and the camp site had terracing to provide small flat parking/camping areas.

So, this is what Jezebel, with me at the wheel, was facing as I looked up from the road. A daunting prospect. Especially with the mysterious lack of first gear in our gearbox. The one gear I could really do with in such a time of emergency. I gave her a bit of a run up, floored the accelerator and got by using the power of prayer, pleading and the odd expletive as she chugged to the top of the slope on the verge of the camp site, right on the verge of stalling. Phew.

Nice weather before the rain set in 30 minutes later.

Lucas's bedroom for one night.

This was to be our first camping experience with Jezebel. Early July and due to weather, vehicle problems aplenty, work and other issues and we had only now managed this feat. What is more, this was using the original, knackered engine that we had been told was on it's way out. Life in the old dog yet...

The camping was an experience. With the pop top not currently functioning (I think it could have acted as a huge sail if we had put it up), Lucas dropped off to sleep on a mattress in the boot area whilst we chatted and drank beer in the lounge area with my chum Mike, down for the evening from Surrey. We still haven't got flooring or cupboards in yet so our gear was free to roam around the interior on our journey down there.

The engine is currently behaving well. The service did the trick, eventually. New oil, filters and plugs had her running sweetly....for the first 20 metres. She then stopped dead and had to be pushed back in to the garage. A bit of tinkering and sanding of contacts in the distributor did the trick and she drove down to B&Q like a dream. Purring quietly on the bypass, compared to the rattles, coughs and splutters we had before that made you have to shout at your passengers.

After coming out of B&Q, she wouldn't start. I repeated the trick with the distributor and lo and behold, I was off again. 200 metres later, I wasn't. Outside KFC, parked at a funny angle on double yellows, I was again fiddling with HT leads, distributor cap and rotor arm. 10 minutes and after some advice from an AA man, I was off again. For 50 metres. Breakdown number 4. This was soon after followed by breakdown 5 of the day on Swannery Bridge. The adjustments made with some pliers and a hammer seemed to do the trick though. Since then, she has been running like a dream.

So, I now have a functioning pop top. Lucas has been up there, claiming the large double bed as his own. I've ripped off the ghastly carpet stuff from the roof boards as it was disintegrating and spreading fluff and dust through everyone's hair.

We are off to Hickstead next week. A three hour trip (on paper), with a night of camping somewhere near Brighton and a day of bloody pony related ghastliness. I hope they have some decent beer tents and I can persuade Jo to drive home afterwards. Jezebel is back in the garage today to see if a mechanic can find that elusive first gear. It's in there somewhere, I'm sure of it.

The End Is.......Fine.

She really is a tinker that Jezebel. For the best part of a month now she has sat idly by outside the house whilst I searched in vain for a new engine. With the diagnosis that the big end is going, I was led to believe that the only solution was a new engine of some sort. With the alternator problems too, I felt that taking her anywhere was just asking for trouble. So, with 2 weeks off work, not enough cash to buy any sort of engine, I had busied myself with insulating the interior, sulking, tinkering and cleaning. At least she was warm and clean inside now, albeit lacking in certain equipment. Seat belts, fridge, units and flooring still to go in. Can't do them without a bit of Hairyman welding on the floor, can't get it to Hairyman without new alternator and engine. Hence the sulking. Even the cat wouldn't come near enough to let me kick it.
Finally, with a pocket full of used notes in small denominations, I took a trip out to Crossways to collect the engine they had put to one side for me. It was a scruffy looking lump of rusty machinery and I wondered quietly to myself if this was really £500 worth. I was just about to load it in to the back of the car when one of the young flunkies said "it was water cooled you wanted wasn't it?". It wasn't. Damn. I headed home to look for the cat again.
So, a few days later, a phone call to Ollie to see if he had located a second hand air cooled T25 engine anywhere. It seems it is easier to track down the right testicle of a unicorn. Probably cheaper too. He did however suggest that if I brought the van out to him the next day, he would listen to it and see if it was the big end or something less excruciatingly expensive. Ahhh, panic ! 24 hours to get her working well enough to get out to Crossways. I hadn't yet got further than 5 miles without a break down before and now she was slouched outside on a slope with supposedly a terminal condition and no functioning alternator.
I went out for a quick tinker. My mechanical knowledge consists of knowing where to put the oil and how to jiggle spark plugs. I did both then tried to turn her over. No joy. I tried to bump start her down the hill. No joy. I was now parked across a junction at the bottom of the slope. I tried the key. She fired up immediately and ran smoothly. How ????
A gentle (very gentle) drive around the village suggested that whatever her issues were, they were possibly just imaginary. A drive in to work the following day also went smoothly. After work I psyched myself up, jumped in, set the stereo to loud and set off for Crossways. It was all going swimmingly, all the way out there.
Ollie went straight to business. He hadn't even spoken to me before his head was in the back of the van, prodding and poking about in the engine bay. "She doesn't smell good" he said. I was a bit hurt after all that cleaning. It turned out he meant the engine and the fumes it was producing though. Well, the verdict was indeed favourable. She needed a good service, fresh oil, new filter, new plugs and points and the timing was out by several hours. Not the big end. Probably. The end is fine !
So, with this pleasant news giving me a warm and happy feeling in my back pocket, I jumped back in and turned the key. It barely turned over. After 5 minutes of turning it over I admitted defeat and went to sheepishly ask to borrow a booster.
On the way home, cruising at a steady 40mph on the flat, I started losing power rapidly. Changing down the gears and pushing the accelerator right down did nothing as my speed bled away to nothing and I crawled in to a bus stop. Filled with pessimism, I gave the ignition a quick turn and she fired up immediately as though nothing had happened. She repeated her amusing little trick twice more before we got home. As I said, she is a little tinker.
So, we are booked in for a service next week. I can finally get her over to Hairyman to fix the floor holes and the roof rams. Who knows, she might, just might, be in a fit state to go camping next week. Now, that would be amazing, wouldn't it ?

Sunny Afternoon at the pub

Pleasant as it sounds, this wasn't where I wanted to be. The pub in question was the Kings Arms at Portesham in rural West Dorset. A significant location in a way, it was the furthest I had driven Jezebel from home to date. Just under 5 miles. With a new battery under the drivers seat, I was out cruising the shire to charge the battery and to give the engine a bit of welly as it had remained static for so long.
All was going well as I entered the village. All was still going well as I turned right and noticed the admiring gazes of the pub garden full of lunchtime tipplers. All was not going quite so well another 30 metres up the road when she stalled for no apparent reason and ground to a halt in the middle of the road, under the less admiring gazes of the tipplers. Turning the engine over just wasn't working and strangely it was sounding like it was flat again. Time to test the Green Flag recovery that comes free with my bank account.
Mike from Marsh Road Garage turned up and did the usual mechanics thing of tutting and pointing out various cowboy repairs that had been made. He jump started Jezebel and we let her run for a bit before he announced it was probably an alternator problem and, 'oh, by the way, I think your big end is going' .
A big end ? This will, I have no doubt, mean something to about 10% of readers. It's an engine part. I have no idea what it looks like or where it was planning on going to. All I know is that it's an important thing in the engine and when someone mentions your 'big end' it usually prequels them asking for a wedge of cash the size of a small village. I gulped and nodded knowingly. Fear not I thought. All of the blogs and web pages I had read mentioned how easy it was to get a T25 engine out and how many other engines it was possible to substitute for a T25 engine. "Get a Golf engine, no problem, drop it in." Mike advised me. "Shouldn't be more than a few hundred quid".
So, I spoke to Chris at Class Bodyworks. He suggested getting a second hand diesel, or a reconditioned petrol engine. Advice from other mechanics was to recondition the current one, buy an engine from a reputable company, buy a cheap written off car, buy a Subaru, browse the net, phone around. The cheapest quote I found for a reconditioned T25 engine was £1800.
Well, finally, after a fair bit of trawling, I think I may have found one. £500. The problem is, I don't know how good or bad it is. The bloke selling it tells me they have got it going and it doesn't smoke but he can't do a warranty. It's a gamble. It could be in just as bad a state as mine. Oh decisions....
In the meantime, having had yet another group say they would love to put in a team, but couldn't stretch to 3 weeks off work, I had a brainwave and came up with the idea of the Windy Lite. A two week version including the Transfagarasan Highway and the Stelvio Pass. It will mean two hefty drives at the beginning and end but is just about doable in 2 weeks. It's launching tomorrow. I need bunting, champagne and fireworks !

The Smell of Success

Well, she's an interesting drive, I'll give her that. Jezebel has now been on the road for a couple of weeks and I have been putting her through her paces. Actually, that might not be completely accurate. I think she has been putting me through my paces. After a few years of driving a new VW Golf around with no concerns about breaking down, not starting or things falling off, I guess I've become a bit lazy and I've been taking my vehicle for granted. So, what has this Jezebel got that the Golf hasn't you ask ? Well, it's more what is missing that makes the drive more interesting :-
1. Less forward gears. The Golf has five, the van has two and a half. No fifth gear, haven't yet found first despite a lot of stirring of the gear box and occasionally I can find second gear, but never at traffic lights.
2. A temperature gauge. This surprised me at first, I looked everywhere. Seems that air cooled vans don't bother with that sort of thing. Logical when you think about it.
3. Air conditioning. Well, it's got windows I guess. We always used to get by with windows.
4. No seats in the back. Not yet anyway, The bed/back seat is still currently a mangled pile of scrap metal and cheap board. I'm working on it though.
5. Wire. Not really evident on the neat and tidy Golf, however the wiring in the van seems to be a pile of spaghetti behind the drivers seat. The CD player (yes, it has a working CD player !!!) doesn't work because the speakers are on the dashboard, the wiring is behind the drivers seat and I'm guessing the two need to meet sometime.
6. Oil. Well, it does seem to have some, but alas it is currently all over the road outside our house and the car park at work. I think this is something we'll need to address before the start.
There are a number of other things that you may expect to find in a camper van, such as a sink, table, fridge and storage units. These are currently located in my garage and will be making their way on board at a later date.
What it does have though is a selection of unusual odours. Hay, from transporting bales from one stable to another. A man with a van is universally popular. Burning oil whenever we get above 45 miles an hour. Fresh paint, but alas this is fading rapidly.
The noises are interesting too, from the loud clunk of the doors as they slam shut to the grating noise of the bed sliding around in the back. It really does need some sound proofing before I fix the stereo.
Jim has now been up, has looked it over, we have disentangled the bed to some extent and he has given me a list of things to buy and things to do that will keep me busy for a few months. Insulating, water proofing, painting, flooring and re-covering the walls for a start. It's almost a relief that the weather isn't really up to camping yet.
On the Windy planning front, Romania is certainly looking interesting. The Transfagarasan Highway doesn't open officially until a week after we pass through due to snow, however it is often unofficially open a week or two before if weather permits. There is however an alternative route, the Transalpine. This was only recently paved all the way and is described by locals as more scenic and more of a challenge to drive. Sounds interesting. The possible civic reception in Brasov with the mayor also sounds like it could be an experience.