Roadtrips, Festivals, Breakdowns and an Engine Rebuild. Part 3.

"How's the van running ed?" they ask. 

"Yea, pretty well! Touch wood" I say. 

Touch wood.

Ahh. The phrase that means everything will be ok. It almost guarentees that the engine will most certainly NOT die whilst you are travelling at 55 mph on a busy dual carriageway. 

Guaranteed. 

No, no wait. It really, really doesn't. It actually means nothing. The engine is all the way out back chugging along. It's made of metal. It can't hear you. 

Doris ground to a halt on the A5 just outside of Shrewsbury. At the time we did not know exactly what was wrong. She lost power. 55 mph become 40, my foot to the floor achieving nothing more. 40 mph became 25, followed by a drop down the gears, right foot remaining planted. I pulled over as far as  I dared and turned her off with smoke pluming from behind. 

Fire extingusher in hand I jumped out fearing the worst. I pulled the little engine access flap open, Nothing. Lucky. At least she wasn't about to go up in flames. 

Recovery took what seemed like forever to find us. Unable to achieve anything by the roadside, we had to start Doris up once more, and limp her for 3 miles to the next motorway exit. She was not happy. Once safely out of the way, the RAC set about once again achieving nothing and finally we had a recovery truck on the way. We waited once more. Almost 5 hours later it turned up. 

Come take it.

And that was that. Home and tired, with an almost dead campervan full of our stuff, looking sorry for itself. Breaking down at the very start of summer. Bummer.

I considered our options and figured the first job would be diagnosis. 

Stick with me on this one. It's a bit technical and none of it would have meant much to me 3 years ago.

Doris's engine has 4 pistons that go up and down, real fast. Little valves open and close at just the right time, letting air and petrol into the engine and exhaust gasses out of the engine. Each time a piston travels upwards it either squashes air and petrol together, making an explosive mixture that the spark plug ignites, or it pushes the used exhaust gasses out. 

The squashing of petrol and air is called "compression". The better the compression, the more power your engine can have.

I tested how well Doris was squashing her air and petrol mixture using a compression tester.

The result? One of the four pistons was doing nothing. No compression. No Power. 

Doris, meet Engine Crane. 

Seeing as her engine was now doing an impression of a boat anchor and couldn't be made any worse, myself and my brother took it out, and took it to bits. As you do. 

There's nothing like getting stuck in, is there?

Wires disconnected, fuel lines plugged and just 8 bolts undone. VW made things simple for a reason.  I'll spare you the bit about the engine crane breaking and us swearing rather loudly, man handling the engine out using wooden blocks and a trolly jack. Yea, I'll spare you that story. 

We got it out. Eventually.

The tally of bolts briefly remained at 8 as we set about getting to the engines innards. Without the use of any workshop manuals the process remained kind of instinctive. Things needed to be undone where possible, and cut off carefully where not. 

With most of the cooling system sprawled across the tarmac we began to find some evidence of what was wrong.

The oil cooler wasn't pretty. Had the engine overheated because of this? Possibly.

More nuts and bolts later and something catches my eye. This spring is for one of the valves on the "dead" piston. It shouldn't be sticking out that far. It should be level with the other one.

Off with her cylinder head. 8 more nuts and bolts, which incidentally were already slightly loose. Not cool. Dan, along with more engine know how than myself brought out the only special tool we had to use. A valve spring compressor. 

And bingo. This may not look like much but to an engine it is terminal. The valve seat, the seal that allows the engine to do its petrol squeezing etc etc, is gone. The cylinder head is also cracked. Consider this portion of the engine toast. It took a piston out too. 

That's an entire campervan rendered dead and out of action because of a piece about the size of a £2 coin. 

What lead to the failure? Heat. Caused by the cylinder head loosening and allowing extra air in, meaning the engine was burning petrol hotter than it should have. The blocked oil cooler was part of the story. This may have lead to the cylinder head heating, cracking and loosening in the first place. 

Enough science. The engine was in pieces. Toasted. Summer was upon us, which meant we were facing the sun filled months with no adventure mobile. 

"Volkswagen, turning owners into mechanics since 1937"

Now that is a phrase that means something. No wood touching required.

With only half an engine you can't travel far. I spent a few weeks debating what the next move would be. Another used engine? Risky. A new reconditioned engine? Expensive. Replace all damaged and worn out parts on Doris's broken engine? 

I asked our good friend Andrew, who runs a T25 specialist workshop called the "Campershack" in Grantham (check them out) and he helped me decide that a DIY rebuild was within my grasp. After all, we'd already taken the engine apart. Assembling it back together is just the same job in reverse, right? 

To be continued...  

Roadtrips, Festivals, Breakdowns and an Engine Rebuild, Part 2.

It's the reason you own a campervan, right?

To park it in a field and call it home. Loaded with food, beers, blankets. iPod full of music. It's a place to chill out in between exploring and enjoying what ever festival you're at has to offer. Yea, driving is cool. Parking up at a show is cool too. But the greatest, best thing a campervan does is become a home.

Doris was our basecamp at the Hay Festival, in Hay on Wye. We remember it as possibly the best camp out we'd had in Doris so far. In fact, to this day it is still the last camp out we've had in Doris. 

I have big withdrawal symptoms.

Hay is known as the town of books. Its festival is a place for lovers of books. Certainly a place for Kirst, she was quite literally in her element. She met Neil Gaiman, having ended up sitting right next to him whilst we watched his wife Amanda Palmer perform on stage. A special little moment. There was folk music, good food, antique markets, fireworks and gin. The gin was good. 

We spent our days exploring the town and our evenings soaking up the atmosphere. We used Doris's little gas burners for all our breakfasts, lunches and dinners, sourcing extra ingredients from a cool deli we found. 

The mixture of exploring, being entertained by festival goings on, and heading back to the bus to relax was just perfect. Good times. 

An awesome time was had by us both. Doris treated us well. Cool and relaxing in the day, warm and cosy at night. She took on the Welsh terrain, got us to our festival and became our home for nearly a week. What more could we have asked for?

Well as a matter of fact, getting us all the way home would have been nice, but things don't always end perfectly, do they? Blowing up her engine on the motorway was not part of the plan. 

Part 3 soon, oily guts and all... 

Roadtrips, Festivals, Breakdowns and an Engine Rebuild. Part 1.

Vanlife. That simple romantic fantasy that many of us crave.

We ditch the regular pace of life. We jump in the bus. We go. We Enjoy.

I bet that paints a sweet picture in your mind. Sunsets, beers, mountains, river crossings, star filled skies. Got it? Good. Let me spoil it for you. I'm jumping out of the bus with a fire extinguisher. It's limped to the roadside, smoke everywhere. It's a dual carriageway and the sun is setting. The bus is dead. More on that later.

Summer 2015 promised so much. Faith in the old bus was high and 5 adventures in, we were really getting into it. We'd arrived. Plans were ambitious. Road trips, festivals, camping spots in woodland and cities alike. Doris's tailgate was proudly branded with the Charity Route 67 logo; John O Groats to Lands End. This humble little blog was gaining followers.

Late May. Our destination was Hay On Wye, for the Hay Festival. Our camping spot, a small site just outside of the village. The journey was to be split it two parts. Nottingham to Shropshire for a stop over at Kirst's parents, then onto the winding roads of Herefordshire and Wales.

I cannot stress how enjoyable the narrow winding lanes of Shropshire, Herefordshire and Wales are when traveled via camper van. The trip was seriously enjoyable.

(Yes, I enjoyed the side mounted go pro experiment)

After a couple of phone calls and a bit of guidance we arrived at Gypsy Castle campground. From our spot we could see some of the Hay Festival tents, teepees and marquees. We popped open the roof and set up what would become our tiny home for the rest of the week. Our camperbus.

The camp site was perfectly perched on the hillside. Our neighbours for the week were close, but that wouldn't bother us. Everyone was like minded, chilled and ready to take in the sites, stories and tales that lay waiting for us. 

Part 2 soon... The Hay Festival, Camping, Cooking, enjoying the sweet life. 

This Is Our Open Road

Life on the road. By car, it's just another journey. Another motorway. Another A road. Sat Nav telling you where to go. The climate control keeps you cosy. The steering and gears so simple you don't even need to think about them. You jump in and you go. Press the accelerator and your car goes. It's almost a guarantee. No, it is a guarantee.

Our open road is different. It's a special place. After you've checked the oil level you jump in. You set the choke. Find the right key, turn the engine over. Smile when it bursts into life. You take in the roads, the scenery, the life. You learn gear changes. Reading maps, reading signs. Getting lost is part of the adventure. When the top of the next hill is in sight, you relax.

The engine. You think about it. That last repair you made, you hope it holds out. And it does.

There's not much to warn you it's going wrong. Your dashboard has two lights. Battery. Oil. Both mean nothing when it's too late. They only work when it is too late. Faith is what you have.

There is no air conditioning. There isn't even a heater anymore.

Pure simplicity between you and the highway. The windscreen becomes a picture frame to the world. You chat, you take it all in. When the camperbus is involved, when its full of supplies for the days ahead, you enjoy the trip even more. 

Roadtrips become part of the adventure. Part of the holiday. Just as important as the destination. 

You are travelling in what will be your home. In front, the journey is unfolding. Behind you is your room, your space. All the memories of where you've stayed before now. Your van was there. That space was there. You are inside the very same place, but you are taking it somewhere different. 

Plans become adventure. The adventure is what you lust for. The excitement and the relaxation. The slow pace, the rest stops, they make you explore. The places you'd have never known about by car become the places you return to by van.

This is why we do what we do. We don't travel by car. We explore by camperbus.

Our Top 20 Pictures from Stanford Hall 2015

I'm going to let the awesome VW's that were on show at Stanford Hall this year do the talking for me today.

A cool selection of our best snaps from the day. Go make yourself a drink, then come back and take a scroll down through these. Enjoy.