Author Archive
Namaqualand National Park – Part 3
Leaving Boulderbaai
Departing from the caves we still short one member of our group. Thomas has not arrived. Maybe we have to get used to not travelling along with Thomas. It sounds a bit like that song of the chap that had to get used to not living next door to Alice anymore.
[Thomas! Where the heck is Thomas?]
A short distance away from the caves on the road back there is cell phone reception for probably about 200 meters. From there Pieter manages to get hold of Thomas on his phone. Thomas and his wife are at Garies already. So they can be here within the next hour or so.
Knowing that Thomas is underway we head for Varswaterbaai.
Along the road to Varswaterbaai there are indeed spots that have fresh water fountains.
We follow Martin on the two spoor tracks, keeping as close to the see as we can. (Some places offer more than one road.)
We come to one of the two more challenging parts of the route. The board gives a good indication where the trouble may start.
The first part is thick sand, but everyone gets through without a problem. Then we get to a hard patch. From there you need to negotiate the twee spoor track over a dune in an “S” before getting to more even sand, but still thick.
This is the exact spot where Thomas got bogged down last year with his 2×4 Colt. He now has a 4×4 Jeep Cherokee, but this time he has Pieter’s trailer to contend with. While awaiting his turn, Koos finds his Crocs from last year that he left there while we were doing battle extracting Thomas from the sand!
[Thomas! Where the heck is Thomas?]
After two unsuccessful attempts Martin suggests that we let our tyres down from 1,5 bar to 1 bar or lower. I take mine town to 1,2 bar. Then Martin speeds off with quite a commotion. After a while it becomes quiet. Martin has radio contact with three of the vehicles. As we hear nothing from him we assume him to have been successful.
One at a time we tackle the stretch of sand.
Thereafter it is easy going. Along the way we see a colony of seals.
We also spot a beautiful Blue Crane bird.
Varswaterbaai
It is cold and overcast when we arrive at Varswaterbaai.
Tonight is Koos and his family, and our turn to make the food. We pitch our tents rather hurriedly. Two pot breads need to be mixed and given time raise in the sun, and the sun is going down fast and with it the required heat.
Eventually the fires are burning, with the sun setting. And still no sign of Thomas and Marienka.
[Thomas! Where the heck is Thomas?]
There is no signal to make a call. So apart from being concerned about them, there is nothing much we can do about it.
The chicken wings and kebabs are coming on nicely. The two breads did prove a bit but not much, but they are being baked. The chocolate cake for desert is doing its thing it the pot.
Then we see the headlights of three oncoming vehicles. We all watch in suspense to see whether it is Thomas.
The first vehicle that pulls up is a double cab Land Rover with a trailer.
“Hey, that’s my dad’s trailer,” says Pieter’s son.
The second vehicle is also a double cab Land Rover.
“Hey, that’s my friend Nekkies,” says Martin.
The third vehicle that pulls up is a white Jeep Cherokee.
“Hey, that’s Thomas!” everyone exclaim.
OK, at least now we know where Thomas is!
The short version is that Thomas became stuck and that the guys with the Land Rovers came to his assistance. One of these guys happened to be Nekkies of Getaway Off-road Centre in Wellington who regularly services Martin’s Land Rover.
By the time we have the food ready, Thomas has his tent pitched. More or less. The structure shows signs of it corresponding with the design as intended by the tent manufacturer. However, by now Thomas has very little sympathy with a flysheet that does not want to co-operate and decides to do the rest tomorrow. Like turning the flysheet around to face the way it should, and so on.
The chicken and pot bread came out very nicely, and everyone enjoys a good meal. This is complemented by Surita’s chocolate cake & icing. And, of course, the absolutely indispensable coffee.
By then we also dragged the more elaborate version from Thomas.
[Part 4 to follow]
PG Jonker…
Namaqualand National Park – Part 4
Thomas’ story
By the time we get to the coffee we got Thomas and Marienka to give us a more detailed version of their story. Thomas made it to “Soft Sand 4×4 Only”. The first part went fine.
Then he got to the second part where we let our tyres down. At that time Thomas still had his tyres on 2,2bar.
Immediately upon entering the thick sand, he got bogged down. This is also the part where he got bogged down last year. He managed to unhitch the trailer and push it back and out of the way. He then decided to rather go and look for us and get another vehicle to tow the trailer. Just as an aside, inside the trailer was also Pieter rubber dinghy. But whatever they had in mind for the dinghy, it never materialised.
So Thomas and Marienka set off in the Jeep, leaving the trailer there. However, only a few hundred meters further on the Jeep ran out of ground clearance and got bogged down.
Two hours later there were two mountains of sand next to the road as they tried to dig the Jeep out. Some people really have all the fun, huh?
I did not get the impression that they quite enjoyed playing in the sand, though. One aspect that seems to drive home this fact is Marienka’s broken plastic cake bin. This was used in the digging process. However, it was not the digging that led to the demise of the cake bin. No, it was a well aimed (or maybe a badly aimed?) throw of a stone that went right through the bin, rendering it unfit for further use.
Eventually Thomas decided that the writing is on the wall. This Jeep is not going anywhere soon. So, as is required from a diligens paterfamilias he stuffed a few things in a bag. They are going to set out on foot.
Not so, said Marienka. Those wild Struthio camelus that they have seen shortly before getting bogged down may chase them. Ostriches mos do that.
They won’t, Thomas assured her.
Ja, you also said the Jeep can get through here. But in any case, we can’t leave the car here, reckoned Marienka. The next guy coming past may just bump into it.
Well, for the past two hours nobody came past, countered Thomas, so what are the chances?
Before the matter could escalate into a domestic difference, the two Land Rovers arrived on the scene. And the rest is history.
When we eventually went to bed my wife suggested that we rather turn around with our heads away from the sea. It’s rather noisy. Surf’s up, you know. So we turned the other way. I can’t say that the drone of the sea was any less intrusive, but it was more comfortable sleeping uphill, rather than downhill.
Saturday, 7 April
It’s a rainy day. Nice. For hours we just hang around in our tents. Or coffee crawl from trailer tent to trailer tent. The kids play on their PSP players, or listen to the music in the cars.
We have a tent with a view.
The kids play touch rugby on the beach.
During the course of the morning Nekkies and the rest of the rescue team of yesterday come driving past and pay us a visit. Someone mention in passing that Rinus’ Discovery is leaking sufficient oil to make an Arab smile.
Nekkies immediately offers to check the problem out. He is a Land Rover mechanic at Gateway Offroad Centre in Wellington. A few minutes later the problem is fixed. It seemed to have been an oil filter that was not properly tightened.
Orange is not quite my colour, but I must say, on Nekkies’ Land Rover it does seem to add a touch of class.
Today we’re not going anywhere. By early afternoon the rain stops. Rinus and Thomas get the fire running for their lamb potjie for the evening.
Only then do we notice the colony of meerkatte watching us from a distance. One of them seems like he is the sentinel, because he stays there all the time watching us. However, he is a lousy sentinel, if that is what his function is. I mean, he is totally unaware of what’s happening behind his back!
Quietly approaching him from the rear is the junior bunch of our outfit. It’s nice that the kids have this interest in things nature. However, you don’t go out to look and learn from nature with two catties with you, do you?
Fortunately we see these appliances of war before it could be put to use. A few loud reprimands (they were a distance away, mos) accompanied by hand signs (but not the one that can be successfully executed with only one finger) we indicated to the junior corps that they better have a change of heart, mind and direction if they do not want trouble. They then opted for the trouble free outcome.
Save for two short bursts of rain the weather held. Early evening the pot is ready. The lamb is so soft, it comes off the bone. Very nice! My understanding is that there would have been some form of pudding for which Marienka’s cake bin would have been required. As stated before, said bin was not fit for further use, and we had to settle for café chocolates. Not that it was bad. I mean, I am still to meet the café chocolate that I do not like.
And, of course, we had coffee. Rinus was fortunate to escape serious burns by jumping away from one of the coffee pots that toppled over. Fortunately no harm done, and the spilt coffee could be replenished with no ill effect.
[Part 5 to follow]
PG Jonker…
Namaqualand National Park – Part 5
Sunday, 7 April
To Lambertsbaai
After two nights at Varswaterbaai we had to pack up. Now we are heading for Malkopbaai, Lambertsbaai.
Past Kwassebaai is another stretch of pretty thick sand. At places the tracks have become fairly deep, to the extent that it would be difficult to just hop out of the spoor should there be traffic approaching. Fortunately there is a double set of tracks for some of these places, which would ease things a bit in the event of two way traffic.
Those towing trailers need a bit more speed and momentum to keep going. Of course! So that would be the reason why, by the time we were through these sandy patches, I had to give some gas just to catch up with those in front of me. Not towing anything I could quietly trundle along, minding my own business at a rather leisurely pace.
Where we have a choice, Martin opts for the spoor closest to the sea. At one spot we have to negotiate quite thick sand with severe cross-axle movement. We take turns so that the vehicles can go through one at a time. You don’t want the front guy to get bogged down with the next vehicle right on his tail.
It looks very impressive watching a vehicle with a trailer going over that spot, with the vehicle and the trailer heaving and bobbing in opposite directions.
Martin’s initial planning was for us to swing west from the Groenrivier and head for the tar road. His idea was to take the fastest, albeit not the shortest, route so that we can get to Lambertsbaai not too late in the afternoon. Fortunately by the time we arrived at Groenriver, that plan was canned in favour of one to stick to the sand tracks for as long as we can.
The rain definitely made the sandy parts easier to drive, but caused some mud pools. Nothing serious, just enough to make your vehicle look very impressive to the neighbours back home.
Just before the Groenrivier we leave the Park at its Southern gate.
At the Groenriviermond we do the been-there-dunnit pictures, and follow the spoor past the Groenrivier light house, heading south.
And what a nice drive! Eisj! What were you thinking, Martin! We nearly missed all this.
My understanding is that the roads that we now travel on used to belong to the mine, but that the land was offered to the Parks. Whether they have taken it over is not clear. It is in any event unlikely that they would have the money to develop the area.
This is probably the reason why people can camp at various places next to the beach. A bit of a free for all, where all shapes and sizes of abode seem to go.
Before we reach Brand-se-Baai we stop for lunch.
Pieter decides to inflate his tyres with his electrical pump. This attempt blows a fuse on the bakkie, ending the inflating exercise. So I decide to show Pieter how things should work, making use of basic technology – such as a foot pump. I get my foot pump out and start working (pumping just does not sound right) my tyre.
However, after a short while I decide that, as there will only be 28km’s tar road to go, I can just as well leave my tyres as they are and have it inflated at the Lutzville fuel station. I could then sommer also discretely look for a bin to chuck my now dysfunctional foot pump into.
My friend Alwyn, whom I see about once in a decade, comes driving past with his family. This, of course, increases our statistical average of meeting each other substantially.
Eventually we hit the tar road again and travel slowly on the road to Lutzville. My bakkie does not pass a fuel station by easily, and I have to fill up. And inflate my tyres, mos.
Just outside Lutzville, heading for Strandfontein, the wind spectacularly removes Martin’s camping table from the roof of his Land Rover. If it was not for the fact that he was driving like a maniac at that time, I could have been hit by the table. Fortunately I was still playing catch-up some distance behind him.
After a cursory inspection of the table Martin decides to rather leave it there for the needy.
From Strandfontein we take the gravel toll road to Lamberts Bay. The road is in brilliant condition. We arrive at Malkopbaai late afternoon.
The camp site is right opposite the Muisbosskerm. It has proper ablution and grass. Some parts of it sports West coast roll on lawn in the form of anchovy net, but I assume that to be temporary.
Strange how, after only three days of longdrops, one can go ape at the sight of flush toilets, running water, electricity and grass to camp on .
Pieter & Hanneke and her parents (Oupa & Ouma) are in charge of the food. Pieter made prior arrangements to have yellow tail and witstompneus fish delivered for the braai. Some friendly neighbours offer us cooked crayfish that they took out at the Groenrivier, they said. It tastes marvellous. The red tide clearly did not affect these crayfish. Not that surviving the red tide helped them much. What you win on the swing, you lose on the roundabout, huh?
The fish tastes wonderful, complemented by just as nice salads.
Marienka has recovered from her lack-of-cake-bin syndrome and prepared soetkluitjies for desert, collecting pots and pans for this purpose from her fellow travellers. Food (quality and quantity) is surely the last thing that anyone can complain about on this tour!
Monday, 8 April
The long road back home
Today the tour ends. The weather is nice, but we had some rain during the night, and it takes to about 11h00 before most of the tents are sufficiently dry for us to pack it up.
We have a nice time sitting around, chatting, having coffee, and in between doing bits of packing.
After a group photo (you have no idea how long that took) the group starts to disperse, with us being the first to leave.
Nou daai was ‘n lekker toertjie gewees!
COMMENTS AND STATISTICS
On the route
[Source: Imagery ©2014 TerraMetrics, Map data ©2012 …
The Luggage Monster
One of the ladies in the Golden Girls TV Sitcom series always used to say: “Picture this, Sicily 1943,” before going on to relate a story. Nou ja, picture this, Namibia 1999. We’re on a 5800km trip with our Venture, then with a family of four. It was great. The Venture had lots of space, lots of leg room, so everyone could travel in comfort.
I had the jump seats removed from the back of the Venture and had a horizontal rack inserted to give me a double load bed. The day of our departure, however, everything was so neatly packed it all fitted in underneath the piece of wood that served as a rack, save for a few minor items just chucked on top of the rack.
Now the thing with space in a car is that it works just like your budget: expenses rise to meet your income. Similarly, luggage seems to grow to meet and exceed available capacity. It breeds or something. We haven’t even reached Mariental yet, and the luggage monster had his tentacles protruding from everywhere. My virtually empty rack was stacked right up to the roof. And we haven’t even attended any curio shops; we just reshuffled the load we had when we left home.
Well, we managed to fight down the ever growing luggage monster and contained most of it to the load bay, albeit it up to the roof. But then things started going wrong.
On the evening before departing for Epupa falls I got my second flat tyre on the same wheel on the same day. Arriving at the farm Rustig to the West of Etosha I was short of a spare wheel.
It turned out, however, that the owner of the guest farm where we stayed used a Toyota Stallion for a farm bakkie – using the same wheels as the Venture. Upon the advice and insistence of Jörgen he took my stricken wheel, replaced it with one of his Stallion’s wheels, and added another spare wheel, just for good measure.
Have you ever tried to add a whole spare wheel to your existing luggage? Well, I’ve done it several times. All those several times happened on that night, each time trying out another method of stacking luggage. I would say the success rate was one out of five or so.
The next morning we departed very early. It was a longish drive up to Epupa. All went well until we reached the last 78km’s road from Okongwati to Epupa. Well, from where I sat things were still going fine, but I was driving the car. My wife was managing the rest of the outfit. And maybe I should have mentioned that we nearly lost the fight against the luggage monster the previous night. All the stuff that had to be removed to find a place for the extra spare wheel landed in the passenger compartment. Pretty much everywhere but the driver’s seat, which was where I was sitting, of course. By the time we reached Okongwati, the last vestiges fell before the onslaught of the luggage monster. He was out of control. (I think it was a she, but sjjj……)
In spite of some verbal reprimands, the luggage monster went about his business annoying us, unfazed. Some colourful words were spoken, even in slightly elevated tone and volume. Not even the, well, simultaneous efforts by both my wife and I could stem the tide.
Now we’ve been told what a wonderful sight the Epupa falls would be. By the time I arrived there, however, all I could think of was f**** the falls! But those thoughts were actually aimed at the luggage monster. Really. It just became slightly misdirected in the heat of things, you know mos.
Eventually Epupa falls indeed turned out to be a wonderful sight. With a combined sigh of relief we opened the doors and the luggage monster escaped from all available orifices at the same time. Rather spectacular, now that I think about it.
After making camp we started relaxing and enjoying the scenery. We stood in awe of the falls. Our campsite was right next to the river. Tranquil, I’m telling you.
Now clearly the altercation with the luggage monster could not have gone unnoticed by our children. So the next day, whilst quietly going about his business drawing pictures of a waterfall on a piece of paper, my seven year old son suggested: “Dad, should we not rather skip Epupa falls?”
Sigh.
PGJ
…
The case for bull bars
I have often wondered about the frontal accessories on off-roading vehicles.
There seems to be quite a variation of these. Nudge bars, bull bars, whole rebuilt frontal areas, bull bars with cradles for whinches. It seems like a science on its own.
Visiting websites that specialises in 4×4 accessories I found that you get custom made variations for most makes currently on the road. I must concede, some of these stuff really looks cool. Imagine how I could have been the talk of the town in Windhoek during my national service years if I could have had one of these nudge bars on my 1979 Mazda 323. It would have gone nicely with the fur on my dash.
Aah! My fur! Sorry for interrupting myself, but on the topic of accessories: I remember the night I lost the fur on my dash. On the N7, just outside Garies, about three-o-clock in the morning, heading home after clearing out of the army I had to stop to take a leak. I also used the opportunity to check and adjust the windsurfer on my roof, where my fur was temporarily doing service to cushion my then most prized possession – the windsurfer was worth more than my car. Arriving home on the West Coast, though, my fur was gone. Gone with the wind, I assume.
But that was 24 years ago, so don’t go looking for it.
Anyway, back on the topic of bull bars. I’m told you can’t just slap a bull bar on to your vehicle. You need to take into account the potential effect it may have on the deployment (or not) of airbags.
The weight might affect your front shock absorbers.
Apart from that, though, the most negative aspect listed for the case against fitting bull bars is the effect it may have on the pedestrian or vehicle on the receiving end of the bull bar.
I pondered upon these things upon acquiring a second-hand Venture bus years ago. This Venture sported a nice bull bar with custom made fittings for spotlights. Only, someone took the spotlights. It looked pretty macho, which is probably one of the reasons why this accessory is fitted by some (guys like me).
Being aware of the detrimental effect that my bull bar may have on anyone or anything that I may bump into, I made a point of refraining from doing this.
Then, on a trip into some rugged terrain with the Venture I became a convert for the case of bull bars. It turned out to be a really usefull accessory. Take my advice. You should not even think twice about it. If you do some off roading, of even only slightly off the beaten track, do fit one to your car.
I mean, really, where else will you hang your towels to dry.
…
Doing the Canca Fynbos 4×4 Eco trail – well, almost…
By PG Jonker
Having previously done the Vleesbaai 4×4 route (and in the process causing substantial damage to his vehicle), brother Johnie decided this year’s visit to Gouritsmond calls for a different 4×4 route.
[Source: Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google]
After consulting publications on the issue it turned out that the Canca Fynbos Echo 4×4 route is just around the corner from Gouritsmond Caravan Park.
After checking availability we arrived at Kippie Horn’s farm at around 11h00 the morning. We were the only people visiting, and had the route for ourselves. Kippie took us to the starting point of the route, gave us a route map and some directions, and off we went with the 3.2 liter petrol Landrover Freelander2 automatic.
Fynbos mecca
The route sports vast fynbos,
and also reeds (the stuff used for thatched roofs).
The reeds often grow close to roof height of the Freelander. Some of these were found in the middelmannetjie, causing the driver not to be able to see anything but the one spoor in front of him.
Mind the puff
A short distance into the route we found a rather challenging bit of rock climb that required a bit of scouting around to decide which track is best. We also saw it fit to re-organize some of the rocks in the road.
For the sake of a good picture I took up position a bit up the road to get a good shot. At that stage I was not sure whether I should thank or curse Kippie for his parting words: “just mind the puff adders.”
I don’t do snakes. So I treaded very carefully stomping my feet just to alert any lazy bum snake that I am on my way – hoping he or she would perform the ultimate maneuver of self defense and run away. It seemed to work, as I did not spot any snakes. Well, not there.
Driving through eye high reeds we had a visit from a funny little gogga that looks just like the reed where he was probably knocked off from.
After taking a picture of him, Johnie gently put him back on a reed.
Where’s my mom?
However, only a few yards on, another one appeared. This one was a bit smaller. Maybe he came looking for his mom. He was also duly and gently disposed of and put back on a reed.
The route map supplied by Kippie gave the route, and numbered markers at the various turn off points. We successfully negotiated the route and turn offs at markers 2 and 3. I suspect, however, that Kippie’s last visitor might have taken his numbered markers as souvenirs, as we did not see any further markers.
Getting lost
Travelling at 20km/h always makes it difficult to judge distance. However, as we progressed we started to suspect that we missed some markers. We did end up at dams and some wind pumps. Although the map do indicate a wind pump, we by that time suspected that we were not on Kippie’s farm anymore. We reached a point where it appeared that the farmer’s main crop was wind pumps. Not all of them in working condition.
We were rather excited to see three Secretary birds on two different occasions.
The one was trotting in the road in front of us, a bit in the style of an ostrich. We tried to inch closer for a better picture, but then the bird apparently perceived us to be too near for comfort he took off – markedly unlike an ostrich.
Our suspicions that we were not on the 4×4 route anymore appeared to be well founded when, instead of circling back to Kippie’s house, we ended up 17km’s to the West of the farm at the gravel road that connects Albertinia with the Stilbaai – Gouritsmond road. By now we were probably a few farms away from where we started!
Now I was thinking: if we can deviate 14 odd km’s over a 3 km stretch of tracks, can you imagine where we may end up if we do an African crossing!
On the road again
We decided not to head back. For the last probably 14 km’s we did not know where we were, and going back the same road would probably not serve any purpose in making things clearer as to our whereabouts.
Heading out on the gravel road we saw a snake passing across the road in front of us. I was sitting in the car, obviously. It just goes to show that the stomping of the feet actually worked back on Kippie’s farm. I handed my camera to Johnie and suggested he get out to take a nice picture of the snake. He declined, citing the fact that he was driving the car as a reason for not wanting to get out. He suggested that I do it. It was, of course, a stupid suggestion. I told him that I’m not really that into snakes and told the snake to hiss off, which it then duly did.
So we took the road and headed for the main gravel road between Stilbaai and Gourits. We turned left again, now heading for Gourits.
However, shortly after we got on this main road, the GPS indicated a road to Gouritsmond that would take us along the sea. So we duly turned right there, and followed the GPS’s instructions.
Getting lost – again
Eventually the road disappeared. Sommer just like that. Unfazed, the GPS indicated that we should not despair and simply proceed on the way as indicated. But there was not road, zilts, nothing! We decided against following the instructions of the GPS. Our experience of navigating on Kippie’s farm did not exactly instill confidence in us for our navigational skills. So instead, we took the next discernable track heading more or less in the direction of the sea. This road eventually got us to a private residence, in the middle of nowhere. Rather embarrassed we had no choice but to enter the erf where the house stood to make a u-turn – it was clear that this road also reached its end.
As a courtesy I got out to explain to the owner why we were trespassing on what was clearly private property. …
Starter motor woes
By PG Jonker
Colin sent me a mail with a few suggestions regarding the problem I had (have) with my starter motor. So I thought I’ll do a follow up on the previous story.
For quite a while I’ve had a starting hassle on my 1998 Mazda Magnum B3400 4×4 DC. For more than a year I’ve had this occasional “hoi” from the starter when commanded to start the engine. Invariably on the second attempt the engine would start. So although I assume it was not designed to operate in this fashion, I’m rather forgiving of this old lady, given her 265 000km’s, so I was quite happy to proceed in this fashion.
But then I got invited on the Namaqua 4×4 trip, and I thought I’d better get the problem sorted. So off I went to the auto electrician to have the batter replaced.
Alternator
No, sir, you’re battery is fine, but the alternator gives less than 12Volts through to the battery instead of more than 13 Volts, so that’s where the problem lies. Having run out of time by then before departure on the trip, the guys did not have time to rebuild my existing Lucas, and replaced it with an already rebuilt Bosch.
Three days later we departed on our trip. After 200km’s the new alternator developed a cannibalistic streak and ate up the new fan belt. Fortunately I was right at the turn off to Citrusdal where the local Toyota dealer was still open and managed to find a fan belt that he could more or less fit. More or less, because we had to put the bakkie in 5th gear and push it to get the crank moving so that he could get the belt on. I bought a spare. But actually I don’t do technical. It will be a lot simpler just to keep pantyhoses at hand rather than to attempt doing this job by myself.
“Hoi hoi hoi!”
OK, off we went. However, the bakkie in the meantime persisted with a “hoi” from the engine compartment. Mmm…. It was more acute when the engine worked hard.
During the course of the 4×4 trip I heard a funny kirri-ki-kirre sound which I thought might be from the transfer box. Back at home it turned out to be the pully of the alternator that was loose. Fortunately it held for the duration of the trip!
Starter
OK, but now I still have my starting problem. Back to the auto-electrician. Then started three days of fun at the workshop.
First they changed the battery to a bigger one (I knew mine is too small), but it did not solve the problem. Off came the starter [1]. A new solonoid was fitted, and it was put back on. Then it did not work at all. Off came the starter [2] and the solonoid replaced with some more reputable brand. Back on with the starter. It started the engine – but only after a merry “hoi”. Off came the starter [3]. A brand new one was ordered and put on. It made no difference. Off came the new starter [4]. Back on went the old one. No difference. Off came the starter [5].
Now they revisited the cables, reconnecting everything. Also it turned out that this starter is not the one that came with the bakkie. This one was kindly sourced from the scrapyard after my starter burnt out on a previous occasion – which was a rather interesting story for another occasion. So they added a further (armature?) winding to increase the output of the starter. Back up went the starter.
From then on it performed like clockwork – in the workshop.
So I went home. The few times I had to start it, it worked well. The next day I took a short trip with the bakkie. Upon starting it again, it said “kgggg” as the ratchet slipped. On the second attempt it started. Back home I stopped, and then started it again just to check. This time it made “hoi”, but unlike previous attempts, immediately went on to start the engine without me having to take a second shot at it.
Compression
So what is the problem then? A theory raised was that something (like water seeping through gaskets) might land on the piston, increasing compression, and causing the bendix to get stuck the first time. However, the bakkie does not use water.
So, after parting with quite a substantial amount of money for the replacement of the alternator and labour on the starter motor the problem is still with me. The auto electrician promised me that the engine will not fail to start – in any event not due to any of the electrical components attended to.
Well, I now have peace of mind. It might be ill-founded peace of mind, but what the heck, as long as I have even false peace of mind I’m happy – one thing less to worry about!
Fortunately, given the age and (I’m told) technical simplicity of my bakkie, it should eventually be solved, if it is not yet solved.
PGJ
But I’m curious as to the cause of the problem.
PGJ…
A nose for things
By PG Jonker
[Also published on 29 November 2011 on Leisure Wheels’ blog.]
Some mechanics just inspire confidence. They’ve just got a nose for things, a skill honed by years of experience.
Theuns is one of these guys. He has been working on my cars for years now. As he is a one-man business (assisted by a competent team) it is a somewhat smaller concern than what one would expect from the agents. The incidental benefit of having a good relationship with a guy like Theuns is that he humours me when I pull into his workshop unannounced on a morning before work with some minor ailment to my car.
The downside of such a good relationship with your mechanic, of course, implies that you need to go there quite often to foster this relationship. That I have done. In fact, I keep on doing this. One never knows, you know.
For instance, my bakkie’s choke would play up and runs up the revs. Or there’s a clonking sound from my A160’s front wheel and Theuns saves the ball joint from coming loose after a previous workshop did not fit the bolt properly, and so on. It’s a bit like your platteland garage where oom Jannie quickly fixes you up and off you go again.
Recently Theuns did a major service on my 2004 Daihatsu Sirion. This included replacing brakes rear and front. Then shortly thereafter I got the smell of a hot iron every time I drove the car. Something was burning / overheating. I could not see anything, because shortly after you stop the smell would disappear. So I guessed it might be the brakes.
I jacked up the car just to feel how free the wheels were turning. And indeed, whereas the rear wheels would spin freely, the front wheels required a bit of an effort to get them running.
The next morning I pulled in at Stellenberg Motors. I stopped next to Theuns in his workshop and asked him whether he could smell anything. He could. I explained the experiment I did with the wheels, and that I already diagnosed the problem for him as the front brakes. And as he was the guy who recently worked on them, clearly he would have to jack up his quality control. So could he please have look….
“You’ve got a plastic bag stuck to your exhaust,” Theuns interrupted me. “Pull her on the lift.” I assured Theuns that it is not as simple as a plastic bag on the exhaust. I mean, I have mos done that little experiment jacking up the car and spinning the wheels and so on.
“It’s a plastic bag,” Theuns stubbornly insisted. “Your car is automatic, front wheel drive, and the front wheels will not run as freely as the rear wheels. Now I can’t tell you whether it’s Checkers or Spar, but I’m telling you it’s plastic on your exhaust.”
Mmmm…… Some people think they know everything. I pulled the car onto the lift and Theuns jacked her up. You’ll see, it’s not a plastic bag, it’s the brakes. I stood there tapping my toes while Theuns inspected.
“Here!” he called me over. The bag has since come loose, but the molten plastic was still evident, running from the lower part of the manifold and following the exhaust to the rear of the car. Theuns and one of his assistants quickly scraped the molten plastic off.
Problem solved.
I knew it would have been something small.
PGJ…
Driving Miss Daisy
By PG Jonker
[Also published on Leisure Wheels’ Blog]
Ever since I can remember I have loved driving. Be it as a passenger or as the driver, although my preference has always been to be the driver. This is something that only happened occasionally since the age of 11.
I never had much of an interest in exotic cars. Anything that could be driven was fine, as long as I could be the driver. Not that I would turn down the opportunity to drive something exotic, but I’ve had more opportunity to do old cars and farm bakkies. Although I personally consider my 1998 Mazda bakkie to be rather exotic, it seems to be a view not shared by many others, and least of all, by the rest of my family. I don’t know what it is with these people.
So, I like driving. The other night, however, in the words of the Nissan ad, I got driven.
Our washing machine, referred to in my house as Miss Daisy, tore the rubber seal of the door, resulting in my kitchen floor being under water every time we do the washing. The experts were called in and they advised that, due to the product suppliers having left the country, the replacement of the rubber would require the import of the offending rubber, and the total quote for repairs would come to about half of the price of a new washing machine. Our Miss Daisy, they advised, was up for replacement.
Not to be thwarted by something as simple as a torn rubber I decided “patch and solution” should be the answer. I mean, after all, that’s how you get your bicycle up and running again. I will show these guys that with R25 worth of supplies I will fix Miss Daisy. Now this might be a good time to mention that I am not exactly a handy kind of guy. If my car breaks down my attempts to get it running again is limited to a few loving strokes across the engine. If that does not work I need to get a mechanic in. Up to now my endeavours in this regard have not yet been successful, I may add.
In any event, maybe to cut a long story short, I may inform you that not all rubbers respond favourably to “patch and solution”. Solution does, however, bond very enthusiastically with human skin. At the end of a tiresome exercise I found myself glued to the outside of Miss Daisy, with the rubber seal still having this gaping smile where it was torn.
There comes a time one has to admit defeat. A new washing machine was installed, and Miss Daisy was moved outside the kitchen door where she stood, awaiting fresh plans.
My wife came up with the new plan. The dogs’ blankets need to be washed, thank you. You see, apart from the fact that our second hand bulldog is extremely stupid, she also wets her bed. And when she’s done with that, she simply moves over to the comfort of the Jack Russell’s bed and, if nature calls, repeats the exercise.
So arriving home after work one evening my wife told me that she started washing of the dogs’ blankets, but that I just need to fix the plug. The washing machine did such a violent song and dance in its spinning cycle that it pulled the electric cable clear from the plug. The plug was still in the wall socket, only with no cable attached to it. Our nine-year- old saw the whole incident and thought it was mighty cool. Could we maybe do it again?
So I fixed the plug and restarted the washing machine. Man, what a performance!
The moment Miss Daisy went into a spinning cycle she was dancing around like mad. It was quite a racket, too. I got on top of her, but of no avail. It sounded like she was really getting knocked up inside. She simply did her merry dance with me on top. Beginning to feel the onset of motion sickness I got off. Miss Daisy was in any event heading straight for the sink basin and I thought it a better plan to rather steer her away.
Now, even empty, a washing machine is a bit of a weight. Add the centrifugal force of the spinning drum to the mix and it becomes an untamed animal. Miss Daisy won the race to the basin, bumping against it so violently that the drainage pipe came loose, causing an additional water spill. I managed to steer her away from the basin, and did my best to keep her from damaging the wall. I could not dare leaving her to reach for the wall plug, for fear of her causing some other damage.
By the time Miss Daisy came to a standstill, I was exhausted, and somewhat shaken – literally.
It’s rather amazing, I thought, how this machine managed to do its thing inside my kitchen without breaking everything to pieces. In the current state it is clearly unusable, except if you have someone with a Code 10 driver’s license at hand to keep it from flattening everything near it. I was rather puzzled.
“But did you not fix those transit bolts that keep the tub from swinging and bouncing when in transit?” my wife asked.
“Of course not,” I responded. I mean, goodness, I’m not stupid, you know.
Later, discretely and under cover of darkness, I slipped out at the back door. I forgot: with a view of transporting Miss Daisy to a remote location, I did, in fact, fix those transit bolts. I quietly removed the bolts and started Miss Daisy up again, just to check whether the problem was solved. It was. Miss Daisy then ran like a song!
To my wife I mumbled something about having made some minor adjustments that fixed the problem.
Miss Daisy need not be driven anymore.
PGJ…
There’s a fly in my …..
By PG Jonker
[Published on Leisure Wheels’ blog on 10 November 2011]
Ja, gory stuff, getting a fly in your soup. Not appetizing at all, except, maybe, if you are a cannibal. I do suspect, though, that even cannibals have their pride. Certain things are just not on, you know. Universally, kind of.
But no, the fly I’m writing about is not in my soup. It’s worse. After all, this is a motoring blog. So let me get to the point. One day I’m driving my bakkie, minding my own business, and enjoying the rumble of the big six. [Although sometimes I imagine hearing the liters of petrol fighting each other to get to the carburetor first].
Then a movement inside the speedometer cluster caught my eye. And there, ladies and gentlemen, sat a fly behind the glass. Well, he did not do much sitting. Appearing rather flustered and agitated, he would fly from the one end of the cluster to the other. Admittedly, it was more like a STOL kind of exercise: Short Take-off and Landing, given the confined space.
Now, you will not believe how annoying this 3mm sized little fella can be. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the road, my eyes kept getting drawn to this spectacle. Now and then I would bang with my knuckle on the speedometer to get him to calm down. He would not listen.
Now I ask you, how this fella got there in the first place! Later, back home, the fly and I sat eyeballing each other. It’s a bit like having an itch somewhere that you just cannot reach. And the fact that you cannot reach there causes that itch to become an annoyance out of all proportions.
I assume the fly must have had similar feelings, only his might have bordered more on the panicky side of emotions. Bearing in mind how stupid my bulldog is then, given the size of the fly’s brain, I have to assume that he would not even have remember how he got himself into this mess in the first place.
Over the next few days the fly disturbed me every time I drove my bakkie. However, as time passed, the fly ran out of energy, and eventually passed away (well, he probably sommer just died).
Some locals from around here sport oranges on their aerials, fur on the dash and those little doggies with the heads that bounces up and down when you drive. But I reckon I’m the only guy I know of who sports a dead fly in his speedometer cluster.
Sometimes driving on corrugated road the dead fly would still draw my attention, merrily bouncing up and down. But otherwise I have since made peace with him.
He also seems at peace now. It’s just a pity I can’t show him off, you know, being quite a unique feature in my car.
PGJ…