Date:         Thu, 22 Jun 2006 08:15:17 -0700
Reply-To:     Michael Elliott <j.michael.elliott@GMAIL.COM>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From:         Michael Elliott <j.michael.elliott@GMAIL.COM>
Subject:      The rewards (long) [LVC]
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1; format=flowed

I'm writing this on Tuesday, on the first cruise of the season, a
shakedown cruise, before inviting Mrs Squirrel to join me camping. This
year, I'm camping solo on Palomar Mountain, home of the world-famous
Palomar Observatory.

It's a steady, tough climb to the top, which makes it a good shakedown
for the engine. The weather is hot - mid 90's - so if anything is gonna
blow early in the season, it's here. Built in ____ to haul the 200-inch
mirror used in the big telescope at the top, this road was originally
named "Highway To The Stars," a romantic name, one that pays homage to
the endeavor, one that recognizes the scope of how darn big the 200-inch
Hale telescope really is. Think about it: 200 inches is 16 feet across,
about 5 meters. Imagine hauling a mirror 16 feet across, from its
factory to the top of a mountain. Now imagine that this mirror, which
weighs __ lbs ( kg), and has been ground to exacting standards, has to
be taken to the top of a mountain without jarring or shaking so it does
not lose its optical perfection. To bring this enormous piece of glass
to its new home at the top of a mountain, they built this road, the
"Highway To The Stars," which climbs, switchbacking, back and forth up
the mountainside at a remarkably steady 7% grade. In seven miles it
climbs nearly 3,000 feet.

Sometime later, the road's name got changed. Now it is called "South
Grade Road," a tedious, merely descriptive name, without romance or soul.

Anyway, back to Vanagon content. A couple of bugs surfaced: the temp
indicator lamp started blinking midway up. Knowing that this could be
trouble, I pulled off the road and checked the coolant level in the tank
behind the license plate: a smidge above "max," which the manual says is
normal for hot driving. I thought about this a bit, then pulled all the
camping gear out of the rear and opened the engine compartment and
started the engine. The V-belt was running smoothly.  Hmmmm. Considering
that the temp gauge never went more than a needle's width to the right
of the blinking lamp, I decided that I may be dealing with a faulty
indicator or sensor. I loaded the gear back in and continued on my way,
eyeballing the temp gauge, hoping I was not putting the engine at risk.
How could I explain to Mrs Squirrel that I managed to overheat and blow
up the engine?

The climb up (grudgingly) South Grade Road was nearly uneventful (what
journey in a Vanagon is without event?). A climb of  __%, requires
compassion for the engine: the1.9 liter WBX engine labors mightily to
lift a Westy with camping gear to the top of Palomar Mountain in hot
weather. I pretty much stayed in second gear (auto transmission) and
held a steady 2800rpm. The temp gauge stayed just to the right of the
lamp. But once I climbed above the 5,000-ft elevation level, Mellow
Yellow developed an exciting new behavior: it suddenly lost power for
about three to five seconds, then picked right up again. 60 seconds
later, it did it again. This may be the famous "surging," that the
archives are full of, and I will read the printouts that I brought along
to learn more about it. I seem to recall that this is caused by some
failed sensor or something trivial, so I am not worried. In the
meantime, I might also be able to solve the temp lamp issue with my
scout's knife, some duct tape, and these wooden spoons. We'll see.

Anyways . . . now I'm here. Not at Palomar State Park -- California
state likes to pack its campers cheek-by-jowl -- but rather at
Observatory campground. Here, in the jurisdiction of the Cleveland
National Forest, the sites are farther apart, the sense of quietude
greater. There is only one other site occupied on this sunny Tuesday
afternoon two days before the summer solstice,  the longest day of the
year. I walked around the campground and remembered. My mother and
father are here: when my mother died, my father brought her ashes here
and spread them under the incense cedars; when my father died, nine
years ago, my brothers and I brought his ashes here to spread alongside
hers. We stood under the same trees, we three brothers, with little to
say. Never a close family, we drifted farther apart after my father's
death.

 . . .

The new Norcold reefer chugs away in Mellow Yellow, keeping my produce,
cheese, and popsicles cold (it is hoped), despite the 90F temp outside.
I am recording its on and off times for the archives, for those
calculating their battery capacities down to the last ampere-hour, and
will post the results in a separate message, for the archives.

I think I mis-wired something when I installed the new refrigerator,
because the faucet isn't working. I can work around that: I've been car
camping since I was a kid, took up backpacking as a teenager, have
horse-camped in the Grand Tetons, done ski-camped in the snow, been
caught in blizzards atop mountains, trailer camped with a Coleman tent
camper and a vintage Airstream. . . . It's like this: I can deal with a
failed faucet. But it's important to me to get it working before I bring
Mrs Squirrel camping this season. For some reason, camping with Mrs
Squirrel is nicer than all the other camping I've done, and I like to
make things comfortable for her.

The point is this: now I'm here, sitting in the shade, eating a bowl of
fresh, cold gazpacho I made from tomatoes, cucumbers, garlic, olive oil,
peppers, salt, pepper, and some onion, all blended in a mini food
processor I picked up this morning from my local Tru-Value hardware
store. Dipping a fresh ciabatta with Kalamata olives chunks in it,
sipping a glass of California syrah wine, I know that life is, as they
say, good. These are the rewards.

--
Mike Elliott