Author Archive
Field Repairs
[Also in Afrikaans @ https://pgjonker.co.za/?p=126]
Reflections of a non-mechanically minded traveller
[Published as a letter in LW, April 2010]
In his article Softroading the Dunes (LW, March 2010) Johnie Jonker writes: “Predicting what other spares could be required would at best be a hit and miss affair, so forget about them and rather think on your feet when faced with a problem.”
Now thére lies a slight problem for the likes of me. I have difficulties changing my bakkie’s wheels, nevermind thinking on my feet when a problem arises. So at all times the first thing on my planning list is to identify a mechanically minded genie to take along to do that “think on your feet” thing for me, should something go wrong.
A few years ago we were three families that embarked on a trip to the Richtersveld. It was my maiden 4×4 tour. I even boasted an oversize high-lift jack that someone dumped at my yard. However, when everything was packed and we started looking for a place for the high-lift jack we decided that (a) none of us had space for it, and (b) we’d rather try to stay out of trouble. So we left it at home. Maybe this gives an indication as to how serious we intended to do the heavy stuff off-roading.
[Picture: Frikkie, Pieter, PG]
Now, it was imperative for my friend Frikkie to go along on the tour. My “think on your feet” genie. Shortly before the trip I had a burnt valve repaired on my bakkie. The 1000km mark, on which the obligatory retorque had to take place, would happen at McDougal’s Bay. So we rented a house with a lock-up garage so that Frikkie could do the retorque of the engine on the morning before we left for Richtersveld.
I watched in awe as this was done. Now and then I would hand Frikkie a spanner on request, normally managing to correctly identify the requested spanner on the third attempt. It later turned out, however, that had the figures in foot-pounds instead of Newton meter, and with the result that the whole retorque exercise was one in futility which eventually had to be done again by the garage who did the initial job.
Later on the tour, somewhere in the middle of the Richtersveld National Park, my bakkie’s remote control stopped working due to the batteries having run flat. Fortunately another travel mate, Pieter, came to my rescue with an old set of batteries that he had in his cubby hole that did the trick.
However, what Frikkie did not tell me was that, while I was breaking out in panic stricken sweat, he already figured out where he can cause a short with a screw driver to by-pass my immobiliser.
After a rather enjoyable stay in the Richtersveld, we left the park at the Helskloof gate. At the gate Frikkie noticed that he had a brake oil leak on his right rear wheel. He was not unduly worried about is. Very few things of a mechanical nature can unsettle Frikkie.
We visited Khubus (oeps, here I have my spell checker in a frenzy). I thought Khubus looked a bit like Paternoster, only a lot further away from the sea. Before Lekkersing we turned off for Eksteensfontein. At Eksteensonftein we stopped again, and Frikkie realised that the leaking oil is not brake oil, but diff oil. Now I ask you, how did he know that? Did he test the cultivar or something?! But Frikkie was still not too worried.
From Eksteensfontein we travelled on an increasingly worsening corrugated surface. Later Frikkie stopped to inspect a knocking sound coming from underneath his bakkie. He identified a loose rubber on his exhaust and fixed it. He was not worried.
However, the knocking sound persisted, and just before the Helskloof Frikkie stopped to inspect again, but could not see anything wrong. Nothing to worry about, he said.
Just as we exited the Helskloof, fortunately on a straight stretch of road, Frikkie noticed in his side mirror that his rear right wheel was now running next to the bakkie, instead of within the designated space for said wheel. It turned out that the half shaft had been pushed out of the diff, and had pushed through the brake drum. I’m not sure whether Frikkie was now worried, but by then I thought he actually should be.
Pieter left with the rest of the crowd to go make camp at Peace of Paradise and returned to assist with the repairs on the wheel.
It turns out that the last guy who serviced Frikkie’s Hilux did not replace a circlip. The half shaft’s splines looked like they were melted. On the other end, the shaft was forced through a bearing and a further metal ring that was supposed to keep it in place. It forced the brake drum (and thus the wheel) out.
I had no idea what was wrong, that is now apart from the obvious fact that the wheel fell out. I also had no idea what should now be done, other than to call some sort of emergency number, if we only had reception. I have to confess that I was very relieved that this happened to Frikkie’s bakkie instead of to mine. However, through all this Frikkie remained unfazed, setting to work and instructing Pieter and me what to do. Admittedly, I did not do much, but I do have my moments offering good company, you know.
The wheel bearing and metal ring were heated up with a Cadac utensil, whilst lubricating it with brake fluid. We then took turns hammering it back into position. [It was a lot more difficult than it sounds here, believe you me.] The half shaft got inserted back into the diff as far as it would go (which was not as far as it should have gone) and the wheel nuts had to do the rest. One of the six wheel nuts was damaged, though. The drive shaft was removed, leaving the bakkie as a front-wheel drive. The feeder pipe for the brakes took some effort to get it hammered so as not so spurt out brake oil.
Eventually, after nearly 5 hours, and with not a single vehicle passing us, the Hilux was …
LUGHAWE STORIE
[Also in English @ https://pgjonker.co.za/?p=107]
[Gepubliseer as ‘n brief in By 15/3/2008]
Op ’n goeie Saterdag agtermiddag bevind ek my op die lughawe in Kaapstad. Vir die tweede keer die dag. My swaer vlieg Dublin toe waar hy die laaste vyf jaar werk.
Die oggend reeds het ons lughawe toe gery om hom in te boek sodat hy ’n sitplek kan kry wat sy lang bene kan akkommodeer, maar toe was die toonbank nog nie oop vir besprekings nie. Nou is ons weer hier.
Daar is geen sitplekke beskikbaar in ekonomie-klas met baie beenspasie nie. Swaarde verduidelik mooi vir die beamptes van die moeite wat hy het met beide knieë wat gebreek is in ‘n onderonsie met drie Marsmannetjies uit die buitenste ruimtes. In ruil vir sy innoverende poging skuif hulle hom toe na ‘n sitplek by die nooduitgang waar hy sy bene lustig kan rondswaai.
Swaer gaan loop ’n draai. Ek kry my sit op sy bagasietrollie saam met sy oorblywende bagasie en wag vir hom. Dis warm en ek haal my bril af om sweet uit my oë te vee, kop onderstebo.
Ek kyk op en deur die waas van my sonder-bril-kyk sien ek ’n swart man doelgerig op my afstap. (Ja, in die Suid-Afrikaanse konteks maak dit saak wat sy etnisiteit is.) Ek sit my bril terug op my oë en let op dis een van die portiere. Daar is niemand anders naby my nie, dus is daar geen verwarring daaroor dat hy na my toe op pad is nie.
Ek dog oeps! dalk mag ek nie op die bagasietrollie sit nie. So ek staan maar van die trollie af op, maar dit sukkel, want ek het myself so half vasgesit tussen die stukkies bagasie, en boonop sit ’n mens mos maar laag op so ’n trollie. Soos ek myself uiteindelik regop getrek kry van die trollie af, is die portier net mooi by my.
Voor ek kan keer gryp die man my aan die skouer met sy linkerhand. Met sy volgende beweging gryp hy my met die ander arm ook vas. En hy sê vir my: “My friend, don’t cry, don’t cry, everything is going to be OK”. Hy gee my ’n beerdruk dat my asem weg is terwyl hy my bly bemoedig.
Hy los my later met die een arm, maar hou my in ’n stewige greep met sy ander arm.
Met dié kom swaer teruggestap. Ek beduie vir die portier nee, ek is eintlik oukei, dáár is die man wat weggaan, waarop hy ons al twee verder troos.
“Don’t you worry, it will be better soon, everything will be OK”.
En toe is hy vort om aan te gaan met sy werksaamhede.
PG JONKER…
AIRPORT STORY
[Also in Afrikaans @ https://pgjonker.co.za/?p=109]
[Published as a letter in By 15/3/2008]
One fine Saturday morning I find myself at Cape Town Airport. For the second time that day. My brother-in-law is flying out to Dublin.
Earlier the morning we have been to the airport to try to get a seat for Bro’-in-law that could accommodate his long legs. However, the counters were still closed. So now we are back again.
The seats in economy class with the ample legroom had been taken already. Bro’-in-law, however, convinces the ground personnel that he has endless trouble with his knees after both knees had been broken in an altercation with three Martians from outer space. In return for his innovative endeavours in this regard they move him to the seat at the emergency exit where he can swing his legs.
Bro’-in-law goes for a walk-about. I make myself comfortable on the luggage trolley along with the last remaining pieces of his luggage. It is a hot day. I take my spectacles off to wipe the sweat off my brow and sit with my head in my hands for a moment.
At one stage I look up and, through the haze of looking without my spec’s, I see a Black man walking purposefully in my direction (it’s probably only in the South African context that the ethnicity is relevant). I put my spectacles on and look again. Yes indeed, there is no-one near me, and this guy is clearly heading straight at me.
I thought oeps! maybe I’m not supposed to sit on the trolley. So I struggle to get of the trolley, but I’m a bit wedged in between the luggage. And in any case, the trolley is very low, it is difficult getting up quickly. By the time I eventually have myself half way on my feet the guy is on me. Before I can do anything he grabs me with his one hand across my shoulder, with the other hand coming around. And he gives me a bear hug, saying: “My friend, don’t cry, don’t cry, everything is going to be all right, you just see.”
Later he let go with his one hand, but keep me in a firm grip with his other arm.
Bro’-in-law returns and I explain to the porter no, I’m OK, that’s the guy that is leaving. Upon which he starts comforting us both.
“Don’t you worry, it will be better soon, everything will be OK”.
And off he goes to proceed with his business for the day.
PG JONKER…
Drifter bakkie?
[Story also in English @ https://pgjonker.co.za/?p=84]
Dit was een helder mooi oggend by Brittanniabaai. Die water was besonders laag gewees. Ons sit lui-lekker in die son en geniet die water. Meer die sien van die water as die voel daarvan. Hierdie Weskus water is nie onnodig snoesig nie, nie eens in die somer nie.
‘n Paar jong manne daag op met ‘n waterponie op ‘n sleepwa. Dié is gehak agter ‘n Mazda bakkie. Hulle stoot die waterponie agteruit in die water in om dit af te kry van die sleepwa af. Vanweë die besonderse lae water moet hulle redelik ver ingaan om darem by die water uit te kom.
Die waterponie kom af en word gou vinnig vir ‘n toetsrit geneem om seker te maak alles werk. Alles werk mooi.
Intussen blyk dit dat die water net mooi sy laagste punt bereik het, en nou begin opstoot. Die manne besluit later miskien moet hulle die bakkie en die sleepwa ook maar versit na droër grond toe. Probleempie. Die bakkie skop vas in die sand. Die sleepwa wat steeds aangehak is maak dit ook nie veel makliker nie.
Ek draf na my bakkie toe om dit nader te stoot dat ek kan help sleep. Voordat ek daar kan kom spring ‘n man met ‘n Landrover Defender my voor. Ek kan darem my tou bydra tot die geleentheid. Dis ‘n fris tou, nog nooit gebruik nie, met ‘n 3 ton breek-krag. Ons hak dit aan die Landrover en die Mazda bakkie vas.
Die man van die Landrover sê my dis ‘n kinetiese tou. Ek sê hom nee, dis ‘n vaste tou. Nee, verseker hy my, dis ‘n kinetiese tou. Ek weet ek is reg, maar wil nie stry met hom nie. Ieder geval, die man benader die herwinning ook asof dit ‘n kinetiese tou is. Ek hou maar duim vas dat die tou nie breek nie.
Ek weet nie veel van herwinning af nie, maar ek het in Andrew St Pierre White se boek gelees dis ‘n gawe gedagte om die voertuig wat gesleep word se enjinkap oop te maak vir ingeval die sleephak van die sleepvoertuig dalk loskom. Aangesien die tou inderdaad aan die sleephak vasgemaak is (nie my idee nie) draf ek af na die Mazda toe om die enjinkap oop te maak.
Verskeie pogings later sit die Mazda nog net op dieselfde plek. Die manne hak later die waterponie se sleepwa af. Die Landrover probeer weer. Die Landrover begin vasskop in die sand, maar die Mazda beweeg nie.
Dan, met ‘n gelukkige toeval, trek die Landrover weer net mooi op die moment wat ‘n fris brander van agter af die Mazda laat dryf en sodoende sy agterwiele uit die sand uit lig, en daar gaan die Mazda.
Dis natuurlik hoekom dit ‘n Drifter genoem word, het ek nou maar gedink.…
Drifter?
[Story also in Afrikaans @ https://pgjonker.co.za/?p=89]
It was a beautiful morning at Brittania Bay. The water was extremely low. We are loafing around, enjoying the sun and the water. More the looks of the water than the feel of it. The West Coast water is reputedly chilly, even in summer.
A few young men arrive with a jet ski on a trailer behind a Mazda bakkie. They reverse the Jet Ski in the water to offload it. Because of the water being so low they have to go in rather deep just to get to the water.
Soon the Jet Ski is up and running, and taken for a spin just to check that everything is working fine. Everything is working fine.
In the meantime it appears that the water has just reached its lowest point, and the tide started to turn. The young men later realise they should better move their Mazda to higher ground. But now there is a slight problem. The bakkie is bogged down in the sand with the trailer still hitched, which does not make things any easier.
I jog over to my bakkie to assist in the recovery, but get beaten to it by a guy in a Landrover Defender. I contribute my brand new 3-tons breaking power rope for the occasion.
The chap in the Landrover tells met this is a kinetic strap. I inform him that it is not the case. No, trust me, it is a kinetic strap, he insists. Not wanting to get involved in an argument I leave it there. The recovery is approached by the guy in the Landrover as if it is a kinetic strap. I wince with every attempt.
I know nothing about recovery, but I have read before in Andrew St Pierre White’s book that it is a good plan to open the bonnet of the vehicle being recovered, just in case the recovery vehicle’s tow bar might come off. As the rope is indeed hitched to the tow bar of the Landrover I open the Mazda’s bonnet, just for in case.
After a number of attempts the Mazda is still right where it was when we started the recovery. The trailer is now unhitched to lighten the load. The Landrover tries again, but also starts to get bogged down.
Then, by a happy coincidence, the next attempt by the Landrover coincides with a large wave that lifts the Mazda’s rear wheels from the sand and sets the Mazda adrift, and whala! The Mazda is out.
I assume this is why they call it a Drifter?…
HOFSTORIES
[Story also in English @ https://pgjonker.co.za/?p=37]
Ek het onlangs nodig gehad om die hof te besoek. Bellville se Landdroshof. Nee, ek was nie in die moeilikheid nie. My bywoning was heeltemal bona fide en in die eerbare deelname aan die regsproses.
Vroegoggend is daar lang toue buite die hek. Almal moet eers deur ‘n skandeerder gaan. Alle AK47’s en messe en al daai goed word gekonfiskeer. Die tou staan ver op die sypaadjie uit. Daar is baie mense. Daar is ook baie voertuie. Van die soort wat hulle op die TV op “Pimp my ride” gebruik. Maar dis die “before”-weergawes wat hier rondry. Ploiing karre met nuwe leersitplekke en mag wiele. Custom made chroom sierroosters. Zooped up motors, gekreukeldes, motors met verlaagde suspensies en spoilers, fur op die dashbords. Daar is ook voertuie wat ‘n kombinasie van sommige of feitlik al voorgaande kenmerke toon.
Oorkant die pad in die son staan 5 manne. Groot Menere. Aangetrek met baie netjiese denims, baadjies met gewilde handelsmerke op en pette. Nie sommer sulke bofbalkeppe nie, nee, larnie hoede, ek sê. Goue ringe, goue armbande, goue hangers om die nek en so. Hulle besigtig die ry van daardie kant van die pad af, ietwat uitdagend. Dis nie die tipe manne wat jy gaan afstaar nie.
‘n Harley-Davidson kom aangery. Hy pute-pe-pute-pe-pute op die sypaadjie op en in die rigting van die Groot Menere af. Die Groot Menere maak respekvol pad dat meneer Harley Davidson kan parkeer. Hy klim af en besturdeer ook die ry. Dan stap hy oor die pad om by die ry aan te sluit. Hy loop soos ‘n cowboy in ‘n Wild West fliek sal maak. Hy haal nie sy valhelm af nie. Die Groot Menere bewonder sy motorfiets.
Dan begin die Groot Menere een vir een by die ry inval. Voor in. Niemand protesteer nie. Ek ook nie, want ek is mos nie haastig nie.
Ek kry berig dat die aangeleentheid waarvoor ek daar moet wees eers ‘n uur later gaan begin. Ek besluit om maar gou oor te stap na Binnelandse Sake om ‘n ID boek te gaan haal. By Binnelandse Sake is ek heel voor in die tou. Ek voel so half verleë. Dis so al asof mens voel jy moet liewer ‘n tou gaan soek om agter in te staan. Dis net te goed om waar te wees. Die man agter die toonbank tik op sy rekenaar. Ek kry ‘n sms van Binnelandse Sake af wat sê dat my ID boek gereed is om af te haal. Die man gee my ID boek vir my. Een-en-‘n-half minuut later stap ek uit by Binnelandse Sake.
Nou gaan val ek maar weer agter in die ry in by die hof. Mettertyd is ek darem binne-in die gebou. Ek gaan loop ‘n draai. Vonkiespat en Ugly Pops was al voorheen daar, sien ek.
Buite keer ‘n man my voor en vra of ek hom kan sê waar hy moet wees. Hy wys my die dokument in sy hande. Dis een wat die Balju by hom afgelewer het wat sê hy moet daar wees vir minagting van die hof. Ek sê jou, daar is altyd iemand met wie dit slegter gaan as met jou.
PGJ…
Heads?
[Story also in English @ https://pgjonker.co.za/?p=12]
Met hierdie seilery van my leer ek nogals interessante dinge.
Byvoorbeeld, het jy geweet dat die toilet op ‘n seiljag die “heads” is. En dit is nie “downstairs” nie, maar “down below”. Dis ook nie “down under” nie, want dis waar Australië is. Dit beteken ook dat jy nie aankondig dat jy vir ‘n vinnige wieps na die toilet toe gaan nie. Nee, heelwat meer eksoties as dit. “I’d say, ol’ chap, just going down below to use the heads, I say”.
So reken ek toe ek moet seker leer hoe die toestel werk. So vra ek dus toe gou instruksies by skipper Matthys oor hoe om die “heads” te spoel. Die instruksies klink toe amper iets soos volg:
“Jy flip die levertjie na links, maak die seacocks oop en pomp. Flip die levertjie na regs, pomp, en maak die seacocks toe.”
Maar nou is ek mos nie onnodig handig nie, en ook nie so vinnig van begrip wanneer dit by tegniese sake kom nie. So nou moet ek eers weer stadig die proses probeer assimileer.
Raait, die levertjie na links, is dit nou links as jy vorentoe kyk, of as jy agtertoe kyk? Nee, dis as jy vorentoe kyk. Vergeet van vorentoe of agtertoe, dis aan die port side van die boot. OK dit verstaan ek mooi. Maar ehmm… soortvan, van watter levertjie praat ons nou eintlik in die eerste plek?
Goed, ons doen dit stap vir stap. Ek weet nou al by watter levertjie ek moet begin. Maar jy praat van seacocks? Genugtig. Ek het al gehoor van tennis-elmboë en seemansvoete, maar seacocks!? Maar nee, dis toe nie ‘n mediese toestand nie, maar doodgewoon die twee swivel krane wat die inlaat- en die uitlaatpyp vir die plumbing moet oop- en toemaak. En van groot belang: as jy klaar is moet altwee seacocks toe wees.
Wel, noudat ek die basiese terminologie half onder beheer het gaan dat al makliker. Levertjie na links, seacocks oop, pomp 15 keer, levertjie na regs, pomp weer 15 keer. Dan is daar nog ‘n permutasie van inlaat seacock toe en die uitlaat seacock oop en pomp nog ‘n paar keer, maar ek dink dit is vir een of ander noodmaatreël wat nie in ‘n gesinspublikasie hoort nie.
En al wat ek wou weet was hoe om die toilet te spoel!
So ter nagedagtenis maak die skipper die opmerking: in geval van twyfel, gaan terug en gaan maak seker! Nou ja, nadat ek toe nou die toestel mooi baasgeraak het en weer my sit op die dek gekry het, toe begin ek wonder of daai seacocks nou toe of oop is. Maar ek weet ek het dit toegemaak, so ek weier om my te laat beïnvloed deur hierdie lawwe gedagtes nie. Maar hoe langer ek daar sit, hoe meer teister die visioene van ongepoetsde bruin bere wat skelmpies by die septic tenk uitkruip boontoe en daar sit en wag vir iemand om die heads se deur oop te maak dat hulle kan “whah!” skree. Dus gaan check ek nou maar later ek het allester mooi toegemaak.
Ek kan nou verstaan waarom die transom van die boot die voorkeurposisie is, bo die heads. Dis net soveel eenvoudiger.…