TheBanyanTree: Van troubles

[PJMoney]

We hadn't meant to spend the first night in Katherine. We had thought to get
all the way to Timber Creek but our slow start had put a dent in my hopes.  

Darwin to Katherine is 313km and Katherine to Timber Creek is almost exactly
the same distance. We've done the trip to Katherine comfortably in 4 hours
but that was with hitting top speeds of 140kph (about 80mph) or more. The
van felt comfortable at 120kph when the road was smooth, flat and straight
but it had something of a roll and a bounce so most of the time we were
content to be doing about 110.  

By 3pm, with sundown at around 7, we were still a long way out from
Katherine.  We'd certainly get there long before nightfall but I began to
worry about driving on to Timber Creek through the dusk and early evening
when kangaroos might come down to the roadside to eat.  The poor silly
things get startled by headlights and then they're just as likely to jump
into your way as out of it.  Many years ago, on a dirt road south of
Dampier, a kangaroo did just that to a car I was travelling in.  It wasn't a
big kangaroo but it took out the fan, the radiator and the headlights and
there was no more travelling for us that night.

With that in mind I suggested that perhaps we'd be wise to stay in Katherine
that night but Paul was keen to stick to the plan.  Time went on and my
anxiety level kept creeping up.  Again I mentioned that I wasn't happy with
the idea of travelling on through.  Again Paul expressed his confidence that
we could do it; it would be all right.

Just before 4pm, when we were maybe 15k outside of Katherine, the van
suddenly lost power.  We couldn't go faster than 80.  Irritatingly slow
people we'd passed a while back were all passing us.  That sealed the deal.
Into Katherine we limped and pulled in at the service station just over the
bridge.  I searched through the documents to find out what to do when the
van goes bung and found a phone number which we called.  The man said he'd
find the name of a local mechanic and call us back.  Thank God in heaven for
mobile phones.

So we waited.  Paul filled up the tank.  I went to the dunny.  Paul went to
pay for the diesel.  I hung around with the van.  A taxi pulled up.  

Being female I have no qualms about asking for help so I went across and
asked the driver if he knew any caravan parks close by and how to find them.
"Take that road up there on the right," he said, "the one that goes to
Western Australia.  There's the Riverside one and another one a few ks
further along."  That was good news.  At least we'd be able to limp along in
the right direction.

Paul came back.  I told him about the van parks.  The vehicle hire fellow
rang back.  He hadn't yet raised the mechanic.  He said that when he did
he'd give the guy our number so he could ring and arrange a park call.  So
we set off to see where we could get a site.

Strangely, once we started the van up again it seemed to be working
perfectly.  We found the first park easily, got a site, found it, went
backwards and forwards a few times while my parking-perfectionist husband
satisfied himself that the van was lined up all straight and neat in the
space and then connected all the connections.  I climbed up into the tomb
and crawled around making up the bed and then, just as I got down to start
thinking about dinner, I glanced out the window and saw some guy in a truck
with a AANT* logo on the side.  He was peering from side to side as he drove
slowly down the road away from us.

"Paul," I yelled.  "I think he's here.  There he is over there.  He's going
down that road that way.  Maybe he'll come back this way."  Through the gaps
between the vans and trees we watched his progress.  He turned right, then
right again and again right and so began heading right towards us on the
right road until, at our signal, he pulled up, got out and made sure we were
the right people with the right van.

He opened the bonnet and poked around in there.  He fiddled with the
throttle and checked the revs.  He couldn't find anything wrong.  So then he
wanted to take it for a drive.  OK.

We rushed around disconnecting all the connections then I jumped inside to
turn off the water pump and fan and suddenly the van was moving.  I didn't
know what to do with myself.  My mind was yelling, "Seat belt, seat belt,"
but the only seat belts in the back were currently occupied with holding
suitcases and the laptop in place and I couldn't see myself manhandling
those in a swaying van so I just sat down and hoped for the best.  

He took the van out on to the road and roared off in the direction of the
border.  Outside the town limits he took it up to 120.  Everything was
perfectly normal.  He confessed himself unable to say what might have been
the problem.  Rotten, nasty, intermittent faults!

Back to the caravan park we went.  If it happens again in the morning, he
told us, we should call him again.

It didn't happen again in the morning so, though slightly anxious, (because
you do not want to be broken down out there without a satellite phone) we
continued on and made it safely past the robber border quarantine guards who
took all the fresh vegetables we'd purchased in Darwin for the trip (they
even take honey!) and into Kununurra.  Nevertheless, it did happen twice
more during the trip.

First it happened on the way to Halls Creek.  I was driving, Paul looked
over and then he asked me, "What's that 6?"  I had no idea what he was
talking about and looked around blankly.  He said, "The 6.  There should be
an A there.  There on the dashboard.  When you start the engine you have to
have the stick in N and then you can move it across to A."  And there it
was.  6.  What could it mean?

Paul thumbed through the manual and couldn't find anything about 6 on the
display.  We decided N must be Neutral, A must be Automatic, so 6 must be
6th gear?  The stick had marks for N and A with little horizontal arrows
pointing to them.  It also had vertical arrows pointing to + and - signs.
If 6 was 6th gear maybe I could move the stick down to 5.  So I gave it a go
and, sure enough, down it went, up went the revs and 5 appeared on the
display.  I moved it up, 6 appeared and down went the revs.  Well, I
thought, if I can move it down into 5 and up to 6 maybe I can move it across
to A.  But the stick refused to move side to side.  It would only go up and
down.

I thought some more, remembered how everything had worked properly when we
started the van up again at the service station in Katherine and suggested
that we should stop at the next parking bay and try turning the engine off
and starting up again.  Why didn't we pull over right where we were?
Because, come the wet season, the rainfall around these parts can be so
tremendous that widespread flooding occurs.  Even this, the (only) sealed
road through, can get cut.  To maximise the possibility that it will stay
open there are drainage ditches cut on both sides and while I would have
chanced the slope with a normal, low-slung car I did not want to try it with
such a tall vehicle.

On we went till we found a place to stop.  I cut the engine and climbed out.
Way off on the horizon to the west there were some low purple hills.  All
around were flood plains covered in yellowed Spinifex and the odd low shrub.
The sun was hot but there was a beautiful cool breeze.  We drank some water
and waited.  A grey nomad couple pulling a pop-top drove past.  We waited a
few minutes more and then decided to try starting up again.  It was fine.
The stick slid into A just as it was supposed to do.

The last time it happened was between Fitzroy Crossing and Derby.  It wasn't
scary any more.  It was a chance to stretch the legs, have a look around,
sniff the air and enjoy the silence of the GAFA**.

Janice


*Automobile Association of Northern Territory
** Word I heard from an army wife who said that was where her husband was on
exercises.  It is an acronym for the Great Australian F*** All which is a
pretty good description of vast stretches of the place.