Well, that was a long and completely fruitless day
Posted: Fri Feb 01, 2019 8:47 am
We value determination in society. We use manly words like "grit" and "drive" to remind us this is the way that real men's men are. But just like power is nothing without control, determination is nothing without the bloody common sense to know when you're beaten.
Yesterday's task was to drive from Edinburgh to Tilbury docks in Essex to collect an F3 racing hovercraft. The plan was to head off early (6ish), get to Tilbury for 2-3ish, spend an hour loading up and chatting, then head back up the road to my godmother's house in Wakefield. If all went well, I'd be pouring a nice glass of red by around 9-9.30 ish. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, the weather, for starters. On the basis that the Disco is pretty unfazzed by a bit of snow, I ignored the forecasts and pressed on anyway. The fact that it was -7 when I left the house didn't put me off, neither did the fact that the Disco's heater has only partially worked for the last couple of months (flushed the system and added some K-seal the previous day, which made a substantial improvement, but still not 100%).
So all was going swimmingly, until Leeming bar (50 miles or so south of Scotch Corner), when my now well-trained eye saw the first northwards flicker of the temp gauge. Got it pulled over straight away and found a 2" rip in the top rad hose. Bugger. I had tools, but no replacement pipe, so it meant a call to the AA. Give them their due - they were there in under an hour and immediately recovered me to the nearest services. But then they wanted to stick me on a truck back to Edinburgh. How I now wish I'd taken them up on this offer! But no, I insisted it was only a hose ('tis but a flesh wound
), and persuaded the local recovery guy to take me back to his yard. A small unofficial donation to the recovery drivers' benevolent fund allowed me to raid a written-off Astra for a suitable bit of hose, and the boys were kind enough to top me up with anti-freeze. I was back on my way and mentally readjusting the timetable - it was all still do-able ![Very Happy :D](./images/smilies/icon_e_biggrin.gif)
All was good for the next hour and a half, until there was an almighty bang front under the bonnet, and another visit to the hard shoulder. The expansion tank had burst. It was at this point that a lack of common sense verged on stupidity. I've run with cooling system issues before, and I was only 3 hours from my destination, so I made the highly suspect decision to bandage it up with tank tape, keep going and just keep re-filling with water. Or at least run it to the next services and assess the rate of coolant loss.
So I soldiered on for the next hour, undeterred by the fact it was snowing, I now had no heater at all, and all the service station water taps were frozen solid (begging 15L at time from Costa/Subway!). However, by somewhere around Grantham, the rate of water consumption was getting unmanageable and with another 2.5 hours to go, I finally threw in the towel, and decided to try and limp home.
At this point I was very cold. Very very cold (no comments about arctic preparations at the back
) Splashing from the constant refilling had left me a bit wet, I still had no heater and the temperature was dropping fast. In the next two hours I made it 100 miles or so back north, but by this time the stops were getting very frequent (less than 5 minutes between), and the final straw was when the neat washer fluid started freezing solid on contact with the unheated screen. I hobbled to the next "rest aea", which just happened to be the same Leeming Bar services I'd been at with the AA 6 hours previously.
Except now, they were a lot more reluctant to offer me a ride home. Despite pleading and trying to sound as technically competent as I could, they insisted on sending a patrol to "assess". Another hour and a half unheated in what was now seriously sub-zero temperatures, only to be booked in for a two hour wait for a truck. And by the time it arrived, it was too late for a full ride home, but I felt nothing but joy for the lovely warmth of the cab.
By the time I was deposited in an empty Morrisons carpark in Berwick at around midnight, outside temp was showing a parky -8. Lack of mobile reception, and the fear that they'd made some logistical cock-up, made the lonely wait for my relay was the longest 20 minutes of the whole sorry story. I eventually fell in my front door some time after half one, with some fairly dented pride and no hovercraft to show for my troubles.
Looks like there was an underlying slight HG leak, and the K-seal the previous day had seized up the pressure relief valve. When the pressure built up, something had to give. The rad hose was the warning, but I ignored it. Now the HG is well and truly FUBAR (if the head is even recoverable at this point). Warmer clothes might've been a good idea too, given the weather.
TL;DR - 800 miles through a blizzard in a shonky 20-year old land rover is a bad idea in the first place, but when it does go wrong, accept defeat graciously, and ride the big yellow taxi home.
Yesterday's task was to drive from Edinburgh to Tilbury docks in Essex to collect an F3 racing hovercraft. The plan was to head off early (6ish), get to Tilbury for 2-3ish, spend an hour loading up and chatting, then head back up the road to my godmother's house in Wakefield. If all went well, I'd be pouring a nice glass of red by around 9-9.30 ish. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, the weather, for starters. On the basis that the Disco is pretty unfazzed by a bit of snow, I ignored the forecasts and pressed on anyway. The fact that it was -7 when I left the house didn't put me off, neither did the fact that the Disco's heater has only partially worked for the last couple of months (flushed the system and added some K-seal the previous day, which made a substantial improvement, but still not 100%).
So all was going swimmingly, until Leeming bar (50 miles or so south of Scotch Corner), when my now well-trained eye saw the first northwards flicker of the temp gauge. Got it pulled over straight away and found a 2" rip in the top rad hose. Bugger. I had tools, but no replacement pipe, so it meant a call to the AA. Give them their due - they were there in under an hour and immediately recovered me to the nearest services. But then they wanted to stick me on a truck back to Edinburgh. How I now wish I'd taken them up on this offer! But no, I insisted it was only a hose ('tis but a flesh wound
![Wink ;)](./images/smilies/icon_e_wink.gif)
![Very Happy :D](./images/smilies/icon_e_biggrin.gif)
All was good for the next hour and a half, until there was an almighty bang front under the bonnet, and another visit to the hard shoulder. The expansion tank had burst. It was at this point that a lack of common sense verged on stupidity. I've run with cooling system issues before, and I was only 3 hours from my destination, so I made the highly suspect decision to bandage it up with tank tape, keep going and just keep re-filling with water. Or at least run it to the next services and assess the rate of coolant loss.
So I soldiered on for the next hour, undeterred by the fact it was snowing, I now had no heater at all, and all the service station water taps were frozen solid (begging 15L at time from Costa/Subway!). However, by somewhere around Grantham, the rate of water consumption was getting unmanageable and with another 2.5 hours to go, I finally threw in the towel, and decided to try and limp home.
At this point I was very cold. Very very cold (no comments about arctic preparations at the back
![Wink ;)](./images/smilies/icon_e_wink.gif)
Except now, they were a lot more reluctant to offer me a ride home. Despite pleading and trying to sound as technically competent as I could, they insisted on sending a patrol to "assess". Another hour and a half unheated in what was now seriously sub-zero temperatures, only to be booked in for a two hour wait for a truck. And by the time it arrived, it was too late for a full ride home, but I felt nothing but joy for the lovely warmth of the cab.
By the time I was deposited in an empty Morrisons carpark in Berwick at around midnight, outside temp was showing a parky -8. Lack of mobile reception, and the fear that they'd made some logistical cock-up, made the lonely wait for my relay was the longest 20 minutes of the whole sorry story. I eventually fell in my front door some time after half one, with some fairly dented pride and no hovercraft to show for my troubles.
Looks like there was an underlying slight HG leak, and the K-seal the previous day had seized up the pressure relief valve. When the pressure built up, something had to give. The rad hose was the warning, but I ignored it. Now the HG is well and truly FUBAR (if the head is even recoverable at this point). Warmer clothes might've been a good idea too, given the weather.
TL;DR - 800 miles through a blizzard in a shonky 20-year old land rover is a bad idea in the first place, but when it does go wrong, accept defeat graciously, and ride the big yellow taxi home.