Saturday: The First Run
Saturday: Disaster Strikes
Saturday: Dinner
Sunday: The Rescue
Sunday: The Repairs
Sunday: The Conclusion
After most of a good day's work, (drug dispensing software, if you're really interested,) I packed up at about 3:30. I ran over to the local BP to fill up on gas and air. With 60psi in each tire, 30+ gallons of gas, 10 gallons of water, ~40+ sausages, ice, chairs, port-a-potty, two coolers, clothes, etc., I toddled off to meet Rachel at Walnut Creek Bart at 4:00pm.
From there, we headed out towards Concord, stopping briefly at Beverages and More for beer. In Concord, we stopped at Brad Blevins' home to pick up a LROA clock he had had a sample of made, some brochures, and some paperwork for the club VIPs that would be at Plost. We chatted a bit, and then made a quick stop at Wells Fargo to make them a little happier. (Can't have the sausage check bounce, now can we!)
Then we were on our way. At least as well as one can be at 4 mph. Unfortunately, it was now about 5:30pm, and rush hour traffic was crowding the roads. Eventually, though, we did get past the range of S.F. commuters, and I found myself having to keep an eye on the tachometer to make sure I didn't go over ~70mph.
We headed through the valley, relying somewhat on the directions, and somewhat on holistic navigation (find someone who looks like they know where they're going and follow them; you may not end up where you wanted to, but chances are you'll end up someplace you ought to have been) and eventually found ourselves in Paradise, just as it was starting to get dark.
A quick stop at an Arco/AM/PM let us make the acquaintance of a seemingly charming young woman, but her self-confessed homophobia put a damper on the evening. We followed this with a disappointing visit to KFC, where they had none of the tolerable "Rotisserie Gold", but only the "Original Greasipe". Further, they had no Macaroni & Cheese (don't ask me; Rachel likes it) and only one piece of corn left. We did, however, manage to spot a yellow D90 going through town which, we later discovered, was the Piners from Marin (or Napa?) County.
After this, we continued on try and find our way to the campsite. We again realized of how little use directions written in the daytime by someone who knows the way can be at nighttime for someone who has never been there before. Mileages are especially useful when you don't have an odometer. Next time I'll get a GPS so I can follow the coordinates. (Of course, I had loaned one copy of my DeLorme to my roommate, and had misplaced the other copy.)
We did meet a rover-full of folks who were headed back to Chico(?) to pick up forgotten supplies and gear. They indicated we were headed in the right directions, and told us simply to keep going straight, or go right if you have to make a choice.
Eventually, we pulled into camp at about 11pm, a mere 7 hours after picking Rachel up at BART. Unsure of where we should camp, we pulled over next to Spot, and upon later discovering that it was fairly flat, (and being too tired to move the rover,) decided that that would make a nice campsite. Of course, bedtime was nowhere near, and we immediately ventured over to the campfire to meet new faces and re-meet some we had met previously.
An hour or so later, Gerry Mugele and Weasel showed up to be welcomed warmly by a fair-sized group of stargazers. Weasel especially enjoyed the attention and petting. Gerry was followed shortly thereafter by Eric and Brigid Cope in an immaculate sIIA 109" 4-door. After much ooh-ing and aah-ing, we finally allowed the Copes to pass and the went off to set up their pop-up tent trailer.
Finally, exhaustion got the better of us, and we crawled into bed.
After a quick breakfast of bagels and whatnot, Rachel and I climbed in to the rover for a quick lesson in how to drive a stick shift. Those watching us going back and forth in low range must have been pretty confused, but it was a good way to handle a first lesson. Being in low range, there wasn't much worry of stalling the vehicle, and it moved slowly enough that we didn't really have to worry too much about hitting anything.
But as everyone began lining up on the trail behind us, we closed up school for the day and got in line. We started off back towards civilization a bit, then took a turn off onto the road that would lead us deeper into the countryside, and to a meeting with destiny.
At the end of the maintained part of this road, we found the abandoned cars of backpackers, or perhaps ghosts of Charlies past? Here, we faced our first challenge, a slight hill covered with deeply rutted snow and slush. The first vehicles through had a bit of a problem, but some quick work with a shovel smoothed things out, and subsequent vehicles managed to stay out of the ruts.
Immediately after the first hill was more snow, and this caught a group of four young LRO's by surprise. Bouncing around in an 88" on what must have been one of their first off-highway trips, (not that I'm much more experienced, mind you,) they managed to end up with their right wheels deep in a collapsed snow tunnel. Further attempts to extricate the vehicle only succeeded in digging them in deeper, until the right rear rim had completely disappeared beneath the snow level and the vehicle was tilted at more than 30 degrees!
Not surprisingly, the owner and passengers seemed to be enjoying themselves to no end, and had a ball hooking up the winch to get out. The winch on the vehicle was not strong enough, so a D90 was called for. I believe it was Jeremy and Samson to the rescue. It's amazing how easily the future is foretold in hindsight.
After extricating the 88", branches and logs were placed to fill in the resulting hole, but it seemed to me that the easier thing to do was straddle the hole and go right over it.
I'm not sure if it was this patch or another, but in crossing some snow I found myself traveling sideways rather than forwards, ending up having sexual relations with a tree. (I believe this was due to not airing down to past 45psi rather than the tread of the tires themselves.)
The damage to the fuel filler cap was nowhere as distressing as the new dent in an otherwise straight body. Was this a sign? Should I have known at that point that I should have turned tail and headed for home? Or was it just a teaser, an appetizer before the main course?
Whatever the case, I continued boldly onward. Surprisingly, much of the day continued uneventfully. We enjoyed lunch next to a beautiful lake with a majestic hillside behind it; one that we had just come down, in fact.
At one point, we faced a reasonably steep hill with enough large boulders that the recommended path was to snake around them in a wide S curve. I tried, but had to back up after the first curve to make it around the second. At the top of this hill there lay a steep downhill that had some obstacle lying in wait, though I never saw it.
It was here, however, that I noticed the ingenious set of steps attached to the back of John Hong's 88". Two slatted metal steps extended backwards on either side of the tow ball, connecting with a bar parallel to the rear cross member. The same bolts holding on the tow ball held on the steps. I decided I had to have a set. (Tow balls are not exactly comfortable to step on in bare feet.)
Later, we hiked a short distance from the trail to the Lost Garnet Mine, where we found plenty of gorgeous garnets, as well as rocks that weren't gold, serpentine, and meteorites. Rachel found many heavy specimens to take back to her classroom, and we returned to the vehicle with my pants nearly around my ankles.
Whilst we were playing with rocks, Geoff Tobin was busy rebuilding his carburetor. Bad gas (sitting lo these many years) had managed to clog it up. He was able to get it going, though, and we all began taking off. Unfortunately, shortly after leaving, we heard Geoff say over the radio that there were two people back at the meadow with no ride, and he didn't have room for them in his loaded 88".
One of the advantages of having a 109" is that there is plenty of room (though as John Hess pointed out, it disappears quickly.) Rachel and I turned around and went back for a Greek gentleman and his daughter (who knew more about cars than I did, I think!). After clearing stuff off the bed (which doubles as a couch,) we helped them in and we took off to catch up.
We caught up with the group shortly, and our passengers returned to their original vehicle. The line was moving slowly as vehicles worked their way up a particularly steep and rough stretch of hill.
As I did, someone who had been behind me said that my back wheels weren't moving. That clinched it, and I got on the radio to let those ahead know that I had broken an axle.
I knew what to do, though I'd never done it. The first step is to remove the offending axle and see how bad it is. This is, of course, much easier if your tools are placed nearby, rather than 6 hours away in San Francisco. Luckily, Jeremy Bartlett had some tools, and Geoff Tobin had even more.
Somewhere in the midst of this, I took off my Ottawa Valley Land Rover club cap and put it on the roof rack so as not to get it too dirty. At the time, I made a mental note to remember it before driving off, as I had already lost one hat that way in Utah a few years back. Needless to say, I forgot.
Not knowing which axle had broken, I had to make a guess. I pulled the left side axle first, mainly because that was the one that wasn't broken. So I pulled the right side axle, hoping that it had broken on the outside so a repair could be made if someone had a spare axle.
Unfortunately, it was not an outside break, and I was destined to take it all apart. So out comes the left side again. With the axles out, the differential is now disconnected from the wheels. This means that as the wheels turn, they won't turn the diff, and all those broken little bits of axle that are still in there won't ruin the gears.
Next, I crawl underneath the vehicle to take the prop shaft off. With the drive shaft disconnected, the differential is no longer connected to the transmission, so it won't turn when put in gear. Now isolated, there is no chance for further damage to occur. To the diff, anyway.
Unfortunately, the prop shaft is quite happy where it is. The bolts attaching it to the transmission are recessed, and between the recession and the U- joints, it's hard to get a wrench on the nuts. Luckily, Geoff has some high quality tools, and I'm eventually able to get them all off.
I learned later that if you disconnect the rear end first, the drive shaft can be moved out of the way making the job of removing the front bolts easier. Hopefully, I'll not need to use that bit of knowledge. So it's on to the rear end of the drive shaft, and surprisingly, the bolts holding it to the differential come off fairly easily, and so I'm ready to continue on.
With two Defender 90's (with the big V8 engine) right there, I had no doubt that I could make it back to camp. How easily we fool ourselves!
So we hooked one D90 to the other, and the second to my 109", and started on up the hill and back to camp. As we climbed the hill, I noticed I was having real problems controlling the steering, but I attributed it to a combination of being towed, being in front wheel drive only, and the rough terrain.
We made it over the hill, and started down the other side when Gary Piner, in the lead D90 comes on the radio and indicates we should stop. We pull over and he come up to me and says I have no steering. My wheels are wandering all over the road, it seems, so we go up front to take a look.
The piece of road we're on at this point is covered with lots of loose rock, and fairly steep. We take a look up front and discover that the tie rod that connects the two front wheels together so that they point the same direction has come off. So I've gone from four wheel drive to two wheel drive to one wheel steering.
At this point, I think the Rover decided it had had enough abuse, and leaped forward in an attempt to crush me into the back of Jeremy's D90. What actually happened is that the rocks started sliding beneath the wheels, and the 109" followed along. Jeremy and I leapt into action to hold the vehicle, and called for the others to put large rocks beneath the tires.
Now, with the Land Rover more or less stationary, we returned to the subject of what to do. Since there was nothing really that could be done that evening and it was already getting late, we decided to head back to camp with just the D90's. Just ahead at the bottom of the hill, there was a widening of the road, where the vehicle could be left without blocking the trail. We managed to get the vehicle there, and began loading Rachel and my gear into Samson, Jeremy's D90.
Rachel and I then climbed into the back of the yellow 90 with the Piners for the ride back to camp. I must admit I was not a happy camper as we abandoned my Land Rover in the middle of nowhere.
Rachel had the presence of mind to track the time it took to get first back to the dirt and gravel road (about an hour) and then back to camp (another half an hour) so we knew just how far from civilization the vehicle actually was.
Somewhere on the road back to camp, I suddenly burst out laughing, as something amusing about the situation finally occurred to me. So I had to tell Rachel and the Piners, and radio back to Jeremy, that I should get in contact with Charlie and see what 4-wheel drive tow company he had used...
Which then meant that I had to explain to the Piners who Charlie was. On a previous Land Rover rallye in the Mendocino National Forest area, we had come down some rather steep and challengingly muddy hills to find a brand new Ford Taurus SHO perched upon a rock by a stream bed. Miles from anywhere, we found a performance sedan and a rather dazed Charlie. He had apparently spent the night there after getting himself stuck, and asked if perhaps we could pull him off the rock.
So while some of the folks crawled under the car to find a suitable tow point, Charlie got out his owner's manual to see what Ford had to say on the matter. Needless to say, the manual didn't cover being winched off a rock on a 4WD road... But Charlie was happy for the help, and declined any further assistance. Seems he wasn't too concerned about his fate, since part of the deal he got when he bought the car was roadside assistance should he get stuck somewhere...
Later that evening, we returned past that place to find Charlie and the Taurus gone, but the car was discovered a short distance on, parked neatly at the top of a hill. Charlie, we learned later, had gotten a lift back to the main road from a late arriving Land Rover owner. I can only hope that once he made it back to town, Charlie was able to find a four wheel drive flatbed tow truck to come and get his car, and that Ford did foot the bill.
Next, we put out the huge bag of tortilla chips and bottle of salsa for appetizers, then laid out the rolls and condiments for the sausages. Then it was a matter of getting some food into ourselves. Unfortunately, Rachel was still recovering from having all four wisdom teeth pulled, and was unable to eat much. That, combined with a sensitive stomach to begin with and all the stress of the day's misadventures, left her in less than a celebratory mood.
The utter chaos that is my cooking style helped me to avoid thinking about the disastrous situation I and my vehicle were in. I was able to enjoy some of Morgan's excellent Foccacia, the Hesses' excellent vegetable stir-fry, Geoff Tobin's fine garlic bread, Granville's delicious grilled (perfect!) steak, and even a couple of the sausages I had brought.
But as dinner began to take care of itself, two questions drilled their way into my consciousness. What was I going to do with the extra sausages, and what the hell could I do about my Land Rover?
Luckily, I was in the company of Land Rover Owners, and help was not long in coming. First, Granville Pool welcomed Rachel and myself into his home (tent) for the night, so that took care of that problem. Next several folks discussed the problem of the tie rod. Some thought that because the threads on both the rod and the rod end where it had separated seemed unharmed, it might be possible to put them back together enough to get the vehicle out.
Others, however, questioned that, and in the end, Bob Bernard volunteered to return to his home in Paradise and get a spare tie rod and ends he had. Granville offered to drive Bob home and back, leaving at about 10pm. Rachel and I turned in fairly early so as to be up first thing in the morning.
The first task of the day was to round up some help in retrieving my rover. Jeremy had already volunteered Samson to be the tow vehicle, so all I needed was someone with more mechanical skills than myself to help with the actual replacement of the tie rod. So I turned to the king of roadside repairs, the man of a thousand cross-country trips, Ben Smith.
Rachel rode with Ben, giving her an opportunity to experience off-highway travel with someone who knows what they're doing, while I climbed in the back of Samson with Jeremy and Susan. Believe me, I'm thankful for the lift, but if it were my 90", I'd do something about covering the bolts in the tailgate.
Remember that "S" hill I mentioned earlier? Well, I had spent a good deal of processing power worrying about that and how to get the 109" down it, and up the other side as well. The consensus around the campfire the night before seemed to be to just go straight down it, but this was worrisome, since I didn't know what sort of further damage I might incur going through it.
That hill was the subject of my thoughts again was we headed out to get the vehicle. But suddenly, Jeremy interrupted my agonizing indicating "we're here." "We can't be", I exclaimed, "what about the S hill?"
It turns out we had already come over it the day before. In fact, that was probably what had gotten the steering. Which just goes to show that there's no point in worrying about something you can't do anything about. Deal with it when you come to it.
When the tie rod ends are put in, the retaining nut pulls their tapered shaft into the arm connected to the wheel until they are nice and snug. This, I assume, is to avoid any play in the system, and to hold them in place. It also means removing them requires the correct tool.
Luckily, Morgan had sent one along, a sadistic looking little device that slipped into place and pushed the tie rod out by tightening the appropriate bolt. It didn't fit. Ben, however, knew the working man's solution; pound them out with a hammer.
Much to everyone's surprise, both tie rods popped right out with a single tap of the hammer. Then it was a simple matter of dropping Bob's replacement into place and tightening the nuts to hold it in place.
Whilst Ben, Jeremy, and I were dealing with the tie rod, Rachel had wandered further down the road to see if she could retrieve my cap from the day before. Alas, she returned empty handed. Good thing I hadn't brought my good hat.
Somewhere about this time Ed King showed up to join in the festivities. It seems he was getting ready to join the rest of the group for the day's touring, but turned his back for a moment, and when he looked around again, they had gone and left him. He had the last laugh, though. His passenger had left his lunch in Ed's cooler.
Well, with the tie rod in place, we were able to think about returning to camp. I passed out cold sodas and beers from the cooler we had left behind (there was still a large chunk of snow floating in it) while we discussed the plan and caught our breath.
With only the single D90 to pull my vehicle, I was a bit worried, but Jeremy seemed unconcerned. Whether to reduce the strain on Samson, or to avoid being in the 109" in case something else went wrong, Rachel elected to ride back with Ben.
We hooked up my Indy1 to the back of Samson and headed off. After a bit, we came to some easy, relatively smooth terrain, and decided that I could drive over those sections in front wheel drive, thus lessening Samson's work.
We took it slow, so it we were definitely ready for lunch by the time we reached the lake we had eaten at the day before. I took the opportunity to do a bit of wading, and found the water to be cool but refreshing. Were it not for the fact that we were trying to get a disabled vehicle out of the middle of nowhere, I would have liked to have gone for a leisurely afternoon swim.
But we pressed onward, alternately towing my vehicle, and driving it under its own power. Susan volunteered to travel on foot for the parts where the terrain changed frequently from smooth to rough, in order to take care of hooking up and disconnecting the tow strap and rope.
Soon we neared the beginning of the 4WD road. We were able to travel around the worst of the snow patches, thanks to the other group having moved some large logs out of the way. But that still left the long snow hill at the very end.
After some discussion, we decided to tow my vehicle to the top of the hill, and let gravity do its thing. Surprisingly, it worked. I drove right down the hill with no problems. After that, we were back on gravel and dirt roads, and we had no further problems returning to camp.
Jeremy and Susan convoyed with us on the way out to make sure the replacement tie rod held at speed. The steering seemed fine, but Rachel and I both smelled something odd as we drove along. Once we got into town we pulled into a gas station to fuel up, and I popped the hood to see smoke coming out of the ventilation cap on the engine.
Not knowing at the time that it was a ventilation cap, I scratched my head and went about the task of filling up. Jeremy finished fueling while I was still pondering over my engine, and I told him to go on. For some reason, I decided to take a look in the radiator, and when I couldn't see any liquid, decided to fill it up. Good thing that I did, as I put in a couple of gallons of water. I may not know a lot about engines, but I'm sure it's not good to drive through the central valley heat with no water in the radiator!
With that problem cleared up, we had a straight shot home. Of course, I wasn't paying attention, and we found ourselves on a different road than we had planned to take, but we managed to get pointed in the right direction eventually. Our next stop was the Nut Tree on I-80, near Davis. This used to be (and may still be) a large working nut farm, but was opened up for picnics and tourism after the highway was put in.
We pulled into the parking lot, and popped the hood. There, a little over done on one side (I should have flipped them) were the leftover sausages. I popped them in a bun and happily munched away on dinner as we wandered around the grounds. A bit of Nut Tree fudge for desert, and we were more than satisfied. A quick stop at the toy store turned up several examples of the Corgi 110 2door hard top from the Corgi City line, so I picked up a couple extras to play with at the office.
The remainder of the trip proved uneventful, and we made it home in what was left of one piece. The next weekend, I pulled the differential, and managed to drop it on my hand and verily smash my index finger, but that's another story...
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