Date: Sat, 14 Oct 2000 23:36:13 -0500
Reply-To: Budd Premack <bpremack@WAVETECH.NET>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: Budd Premack <bpremack@WAVETECH.NET>
Subject: My New Westy (A Voyage of Discovery)
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It dawned (actually, it was past 8:30 when I first looked outside) as a
glorious fall day, way too nice to be cooped up doing taxes, even taxes with
a deadline two days away, so my son Ben and I went out to view and pay the
balance due on the 81 Westy that I had purchased most reasonably a few days
prior. The seller had previously agreed to give me 30 days free storage
until I could determine where to park it. This had seemed important to me
as the lack of power on the initial test drive was quite substantial,
suggesting that the 30 mile journey back home would be best accomplished in
some other mode than the normal innaugural drive of a newly purchased
vehicle.
However, upon arrival today, I noted with significance that I could not
engage 1st or 2nd gear unless I pretended to be going into reverse, at which
time they worked just fine. So, it seemed that my test drive had been in
3rd and 4th, with an engine that was spewing and leaking oil quite
noticeably. No wonder I had sensed a distinct lack of power.
With the sweet feeling of new ownership, and somewhat blinded by the
brilliance of the maple foliage, and still wanting to play hookey from my
work, it seemed eminently sensible to drive home today, rather than waiting
until the dark days of mid-November.
The drive home went quite well, at least it did after we filled up the 15/20
psi tires to a respectable 35 psi and put in a new 20 amp fuse in a vain
attempt to resusitate the gas guage and other dashboard functions. Failing
that, I put in some gas to assure an ample supply to reach the friendly
confines of my driveway. I just computed speed and distance through the
seat-of-the-pants method, as we all know that VW never even dreamed of
electronic speedometers back in 1981.
With my son following in the chase car, we drove merrily off into the autumn
afternoon, trailing a fine plume of smoke, and a cacophony of sounds. (Did
I neglect to mention that the exhaust system was notable for its structural
integrity? It seemed to me to be a minor miracle that it actually retained
its original shape with so little solid metal remaining.)
We puttered along quite well for about 20 miles, although I did have to
downshift more frequently than normal when the grade became a bit
pronounced. After an obligatory stop at a garage sale (where we both added
some treasures to our cache of possessions), just as I was becoming a tad
too complacent, I smelled the slight warning sign of more oil in the
exhaust, accompanied with a noticeable hesitation in the engine. I hastily
exited the highway, which in my by-now blissful state, I had selected as the
most direct route home.
I drove another two miles along the back roads, with heightened coughing and
chugging until the oil light began to flicker. Prudence suggested a pit
stop was now in order. The dipstick was starting to look pretty dry, which
was understandable considering the amount of petroleum I had watched wafting
away in my rear view mirror. (I had already suspected that this van was not
quite ready for the CA smog test.) After adding an appropriate measure of
oil, I started up again, this time with substantially more noise, and a
disturbing metallic vibration. In a last ditch effort to save any remaining
portion of the engine, I determined that immediate shutdown was the best
course.
Experience had suggested to me, just prior to the pit stop, that picking an
appropriate location might prove advantageous if this turned into something
a bit more expansive than anticipated. So, there we were, parked by the
side of a private lane, my new (old) Westy, my son in his SUV, me, and our
cell phone. A cordial conversation with AAA resulted in their promise to
have a tow truck visit in somewhat over an hour. Sensing a bit of futility
in a "Waiting for Godot" scenario, Ben and I drove home, promising to return
later to tow the Westy to a mechanical inspection. Before we left, I
informed the neighboring homeowner of the status of the new view out their
front window. It had occured to me that an abandoned older vehicle might
attract a bit of attention by the locals, which seemed prudent to deflect,
especially since the license tabs had expired 6 months ago.
So, we have a slightly less than perfect end to a glorious day. I do now
own a Westy, or at least it looks like one. Actually, considering my past
experience with a $300 purchase of a 72 Westy, this one drives and looks
like a champion. In fact, it gladdens my heart to be back in the land of
the air cooled, away from the incessant maintenance burdens of the
waterboxer. Time will tell, as it always does, but I am beginning to
suspect that this van may need more than a coat of wax before it is
roadworthy. Until then, I can still pop the top, pull a cool beverage from
the fridge, listen to the sweet sounds eminating from the 8 track, and at
least envision the joys of Westy ownership.
Budd Premack
86 Syncro, 73 Super
Minneapolis, MN (Land of Sky-Blue Waters)
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