Thursday, December 29, 2005
The reason for it all...
I knew there had to be a good reason…
In recent days and weeks, I’ve had cause to reflect, for no good reason really, on the whole bus (camper van) experience in general. Actually, that may not be strictly true. I think I can maybe pinpoint the reflective period to the point at which I was able to properly get behind the wheel of the bus again. Following our October break expedition to Skye – of which still no sign of any writing – the van hadn’t really been used for a few weeks until a wood-collecting expedition in late November,
It was around this time we noticed that the starting and running problems which had caused me to book the van in for a check up in Edinburgh (how lazy am I? No mention of that on this blog either…) were back with a vengeance – it had cut out three times in the quarter mile or so between Ben’s nursery and the house. Club 80-90’s web-forum was, as has so often been the case, our salvation. My message went something like this:
Posted: Thu Dec 08, 2005 11:09 pm Post subject: Automatic chokes
________________________________________
Hello all, first up van details:
1982, 2litre Aircooled automatic, petrol. Sorry, can't remember engine code.
Now for the science bit...
I'm technically inept and have no tools anyway (except the ones for my electric guitar and my chainsaw). The van is our second vehicle and needs to be in use quite a bit at the moment - my wife is nearly 8 months pregnant and the weather here has been freezing of late so she needs to get the toddler to nursery in the van...anyway...IT'S NOT WORKING PROPERLY!
Seems to be a problem with the chokes - had it into the blokey who used to look at it for us in Edinburgh (before we moved hundreds of miles away) back in October. He did his best to fiddle with settings and so on but as it started first time for him, it was hard to know what to do.
The problems:
not starting well - battery & starter checked by AA about 4 weeks ago, all fine. SERIOUS petrol smell and high idle speed - chokes too high I guess. Fine once it's going for a bit (i.e. runs okay if a bit heavy on fuel consumption) BUT if you turn off the engine for even a minute or two - enough time to stick a tenner of petrol in say - it can take an age (15 minutes!) to get going again.
Cold weather NOT affecting it - started first time last Saturday with minus 2 on our garden thermometer.
OPTIONS:
1 - sort it myself (see technical ineptitude above)
2 - local VW dealer (who won't quote, "it will be an open book job sir...")
3 - cry
What would be worst case scenario, new chokes? What sort of money might I be looking at?
Any suggestions please? All help gratefully received as ever.
The replies were, to say the least, worryingly bizarre.
(from Drew)
This probably won't help but my van is a bugger to start when hot also. My trick is:
When cold, 3 stamps of the throttle then start
When hot, foot to the floor while starting
Bryan
Drew's starting techniques are pretty close to what the VW owners manual says for these engines: from cold one "stamp" sets the chokes to "on" - the next 2 of his "stamps" also squirt neat fuel into the intakes - so it has enough to catch and get going. From hot: holding pedal down means the throttle is fully open and gets going, whereupon you ease back on the throttle and it should idle ok.
Even more worryingly the advice seemed to be stunningly accurate, the technique causing, as it did, the Banana Bus to roar into life on a frosty morning. Not on its own, of course, Gail was in the driver’s seat at the time, it’s not as if we’d fitted some sort of T25 remote starting device or something…though no doubt there’ll be someone on 80-90 who has, or at least could if they wanted to.
Anyway, having established that the bus could, once again, be made to start on demand – a novelty I appreciate but it’s the little things and all that – I took the bus to work one day in mid December, a twenty seven mile round trip to Ardgour along a fairly twisty but thankfully non-single track road. Within about thirty seconds of pulling out of the car park next to the house I could feel myself grinning like an idiot and enjoying the height and that massive steering wheel again. In my journey to school I was suddenly transported back to August 2003 and the first ever time I’d driven a camper van…
We’d been kind of keeping half an eye out for a while, checking out – in a sort of blindly stumbling fashion – the Caravan & Boat section of Auto Trader (on the shelves you understand, I thought the couple of quid or so saved by perusing rather than purchasing could go towards a van) . A trip to Mull in early August had stiffened our resolve – every second vehicle seemed to be a Volkswagen camper, and all of them T25s at that. I’d already decided on going for the T25 – being a handless fool when it comes to mechanics I had no solid “business case” as they say for this decision but, more eye-catching looks and mass-retro appeal aside, the impression I’d gleaned of the Bay windowed vans (from the Just Kampers web forum) was one of unreliability, cramped living quarters and general cash-swallowing potential.
I even asked an old bloke in Tobermory if I could poke my head inside his slider, as it were, to have a look at his high top. It was luxuriously appointed with a telly mounted in the roof space, loads of cupboards and storage and comfy looking seats. Though his was a two-berth model (white, that’s all I know!) he assured me that we could find one to accommodate Ben too. That was all the incentive we needed, on our return to Edinburgh the web-based version of the “Yellow Papers” was trawled and I came across a Devon Conversion (a name I’d seen on the JK forum) with a pop-up roof, four beds, porta-potti and a 1.6 diesel engine for a couple of grand, just outside Paisley.
The bloke on the phone, Danny, sounded alright – whatever that means and how one judges on the phone anyway I’ve no idea – and so I arranged to nip over and take a look. Knowing nothing at all – other than a hastily printed off “what to look for in a camper van” list that I’d found online I’d taken the wise precaution of provisionally pre-booking an inspection by a Glasgow based air-cooled specialist just across the river from Danny’s van, I figured if I liked the bus, I’d take it over to them for an honest opinion. How organised.
The bus, a 1986 C-reg if I recall, looked lovely, Maroon and cream with an immaculate side elevating roof and in great nick inside. The exhaust and the “undercarriage” looked good too and I’d even taken a magnet – as recommended in my list – to check for filler. Although it was only the first van I’d been to look at I could already feel my hand reaching for the chequebook but common sense prevailed and I mooted the inspection. Surely an honest seller with a van in as good condition as Dan the Man insisted his was in would have no objections to anything that might help seal the deal? “Well, it’s not really convenient, I’ve a few things to do.” Don’t worry, I reassured him, I’m fully comp, I’ll take it – it was, literally, 10 minutes drive to the garage. “Nobody drives my van.” Oh. Really? What about at least a test drive then? “Sure, jump in, I’ll take you down the road a bit.” So you’re not going to let me try it for myself then? “Nobody drives my van.”
As you can imagine, in spite of the excitement at potentially becoming a camper van owner at long last, a fairly large rat was making its stinking presence felt by this stage. Nonetheless, in I jumped for what was a very smooth, speedy and enjoyable ride up a few miles of the M8 and back. The gear changes seemed smooth, the ride was comfortable and the van easily reached and held a steady 70. But how to be diplomatic?
The van seems great but I think you’re dodgy as f**k by the way. There, no point beating about the bush, was there. Of course I didn’t phrase it quite that way but I assured DtM I was definitely interested and would call him later when I’d sorted out money. He in turn didn’t seem bothered either way and for all I know the van is still sitting gathering rust, brakes and engine seized outside his flat as he stumbles towards his old age pension because “nobody drives his van.”
This rare outburst of common sense on my part was balanced the very next week. The process went something like this:
Friday lunchtime: spot van ad on Yellow Paper website;
Friday pm: phone bloke to arrange visit; pre-book inspection at Edinburgh specialist;
Saturday am: go to look at van:
Saturday lunchtime: drive van to specialist;
Saturday afternoon: haggle a bit;
Saturday teatime: drive T25 home, 1900quid lighter.
That Saturday lunchtime part was where I was taken back to on the way to Ardgour (remember that far back?) When I went out to Dalkeith to see the van, I’d never (a) driven a campervan, and (b) driven an automatic. Oh well, in for a penny…
I got the van out of the narrow street and round the corner out of the owner’s eyesight easily enough; it was actually the turn onto the main road that demonstrated the ability of the van’s big wheels to mount a kerb easily. It’s not half bigger than a Fiesta is it?
In no time at all I’d sussed out the brakes – not quite ABS stamp’n’stop – and the steering – note to self: put any left or right turns and evasive manouevres in the diary at least a day and a half in advance. Being an automatic, you’d have thought that getting to grips with the gears wouldn’t be a problem. And indeed, who among you could fault my logic whereby “1” would get the vehicle going, “2” would be selected when we’d got a bit of speed up and “D” would be ideal for those long straight bits?
I’m not too proud to admit that it wasn’t until I’d met up with my wife in town and told her how I didn’t think too much of these so-called automatic boxes, that I found out the truth.
The journey from Dalkeith into town was a bit of an event – featuring, as it did, blind panic on my behalf over the worry that I would either not be able to stop the van quickly enough for the lights or that I wouldn’t get it going again afterwards. Or that it would break down. Or that I would crash it. Or that it would be adjudged, by the specialist, a “heap of crap” and that I’d not know what to do as I’d already fallen in love with it after about 200yards.
In the event, the garage people decided the van was basically okay and there was nothing that a couple of hundred quid wouldn’t sort. In retrospect and knowing what I know now, particularly knowing of the vast expertise available through Club80-90, I probably wouldn’t have bought the van: dodgy pop-top, dubious chokes and carbs, knackered heat exchanger bits and cables…the list goes on and on. Still, if I’d taken all that into consideration I’d probably still be out there today, looking for that elusive perfect van.
After that Saturday afternoon “haggle a bit” business, the van was mine and later that day we drove back out to Dalkeith to collect the Banana Bus, having given the previous owner a chance to clear out the last of his bits and bobs. The journey back to Balerno was made at a fairly sedate pace through the twisting urban and suburban byways of Edinburgh and its surrounds – I didn’t feel I was quite up to the rigours of the city bypass at such an early stage. I’m sure I must have looked a right pillock, grinning away through Colinton, Juniper Green and Currie but I was – and still am – happy.
I don’t know that curtains were actually twitching as we entered our street in suburban hell – I’m sure most of the inmates had vertical blinds and full laminate flooring at any rate – but I do know that many an eyebrow was raised and many a head shaken by those walking past the van in the days and weeks to come. For these accounting and banking types, a Volkswagen clearly has to be a Passat or at the very least a Golf to pass muster. Philistines! Why deny your motoring heritage? The Big, Noisy Bright Yellow Volkswagen Suburban Transporter – the last true rebel?
I knew there had to be a good reason…
In recent days and weeks, I’ve had cause to reflect, for no good reason really, on the whole bus (camper van) experience in general. Actually, that may not be strictly true. I think I can maybe pinpoint the reflective period to the point at which I was able to properly get behind the wheel of the bus again. Following our October break expedition to Skye – of which still no sign of any writing – the van hadn’t really been used for a few weeks until a wood-collecting expedition in late November,
It was around this time we noticed that the starting and running problems which had caused me to book the van in for a check up in Edinburgh (how lazy am I? No mention of that on this blog either…) were back with a vengeance – it had cut out three times in the quarter mile or so between Ben’s nursery and the house. Club 80-90’s web-forum was, as has so often been the case, our salvation. My message went something like this:
Posted: Thu Dec 08, 2005 11:09 pm Post subject: Automatic chokes
________________________________________
Hello all, first up van details:
1982, 2litre Aircooled automatic, petrol. Sorry, can't remember engine code.
Now for the science bit...
I'm technically inept and have no tools anyway (except the ones for my electric guitar and my chainsaw). The van is our second vehicle and needs to be in use quite a bit at the moment - my wife is nearly 8 months pregnant and the weather here has been freezing of late so she needs to get the toddler to nursery in the van...anyway...IT'S NOT WORKING PROPERLY!
Seems to be a problem with the chokes - had it into the blokey who used to look at it for us in Edinburgh (before we moved hundreds of miles away) back in October. He did his best to fiddle with settings and so on but as it started first time for him, it was hard to know what to do.
The problems:
not starting well - battery & starter checked by AA about 4 weeks ago, all fine. SERIOUS petrol smell and high idle speed - chokes too high I guess. Fine once it's going for a bit (i.e. runs okay if a bit heavy on fuel consumption) BUT if you turn off the engine for even a minute or two - enough time to stick a tenner of petrol in say - it can take an age (15 minutes!) to get going again.
Cold weather NOT affecting it - started first time last Saturday with minus 2 on our garden thermometer.
OPTIONS:
1 - sort it myself (see technical ineptitude above)
2 - local VW dealer (who won't quote, "it will be an open book job sir...")
3 - cry
What would be worst case scenario, new chokes? What sort of money might I be looking at?
Any suggestions please? All help gratefully received as ever.
The replies were, to say the least, worryingly bizarre.
(from Drew)
This probably won't help but my van is a bugger to start when hot also. My trick is:
When cold, 3 stamps of the throttle then start
When hot, foot to the floor while starting
Bryan
Drew's starting techniques are pretty close to what the VW owners manual says for these engines: from cold one "stamp" sets the chokes to "on" - the next 2 of his "stamps" also squirt neat fuel into the intakes - so it has enough to catch and get going. From hot: holding pedal down means the throttle is fully open and gets going, whereupon you ease back on the throttle and it should idle ok.
Even more worryingly the advice seemed to be stunningly accurate, the technique causing, as it did, the Banana Bus to roar into life on a frosty morning. Not on its own, of course, Gail was in the driver’s seat at the time, it’s not as if we’d fitted some sort of T25 remote starting device or something…though no doubt there’ll be someone on 80-90 who has, or at least could if they wanted to.
Anyway, having established that the bus could, once again, be made to start on demand – a novelty I appreciate but it’s the little things and all that – I took the bus to work one day in mid December, a twenty seven mile round trip to Ardgour along a fairly twisty but thankfully non-single track road. Within about thirty seconds of pulling out of the car park next to the house I could feel myself grinning like an idiot and enjoying the height and that massive steering wheel again. In my journey to school I was suddenly transported back to August 2003 and the first ever time I’d driven a camper van…
We’d been kind of keeping half an eye out for a while, checking out – in a sort of blindly stumbling fashion – the Caravan & Boat section of Auto Trader (on the shelves you understand, I thought the couple of quid or so saved by perusing rather than purchasing could go towards a van) . A trip to Mull in early August had stiffened our resolve – every second vehicle seemed to be a Volkswagen camper, and all of them T25s at that. I’d already decided on going for the T25 – being a handless fool when it comes to mechanics I had no solid “business case” as they say for this decision but, more eye-catching looks and mass-retro appeal aside, the impression I’d gleaned of the Bay windowed vans (from the Just Kampers web forum) was one of unreliability, cramped living quarters and general cash-swallowing potential.
I even asked an old bloke in Tobermory if I could poke my head inside his slider, as it were, to have a look at his high top. It was luxuriously appointed with a telly mounted in the roof space, loads of cupboards and storage and comfy looking seats. Though his was a two-berth model (white, that’s all I know!) he assured me that we could find one to accommodate Ben too. That was all the incentive we needed, on our return to Edinburgh the web-based version of the “Yellow Papers” was trawled and I came across a Devon Conversion (a name I’d seen on the JK forum) with a pop-up roof, four beds, porta-potti and a 1.6 diesel engine for a couple of grand, just outside Paisley.
The bloke on the phone, Danny, sounded alright – whatever that means and how one judges on the phone anyway I’ve no idea – and so I arranged to nip over and take a look. Knowing nothing at all – other than a hastily printed off “what to look for in a camper van” list that I’d found online I’d taken the wise precaution of provisionally pre-booking an inspection by a Glasgow based air-cooled specialist just across the river from Danny’s van, I figured if I liked the bus, I’d take it over to them for an honest opinion. How organised.
The bus, a 1986 C-reg if I recall, looked lovely, Maroon and cream with an immaculate side elevating roof and in great nick inside. The exhaust and the “undercarriage” looked good too and I’d even taken a magnet – as recommended in my list – to check for filler. Although it was only the first van I’d been to look at I could already feel my hand reaching for the chequebook but common sense prevailed and I mooted the inspection. Surely an honest seller with a van in as good condition as Dan the Man insisted his was in would have no objections to anything that might help seal the deal? “Well, it’s not really convenient, I’ve a few things to do.” Don’t worry, I reassured him, I’m fully comp, I’ll take it – it was, literally, 10 minutes drive to the garage. “Nobody drives my van.” Oh. Really? What about at least a test drive then? “Sure, jump in, I’ll take you down the road a bit.” So you’re not going to let me try it for myself then? “Nobody drives my van.”
As you can imagine, in spite of the excitement at potentially becoming a camper van owner at long last, a fairly large rat was making its stinking presence felt by this stage. Nonetheless, in I jumped for what was a very smooth, speedy and enjoyable ride up a few miles of the M8 and back. The gear changes seemed smooth, the ride was comfortable and the van easily reached and held a steady 70. But how to be diplomatic?
The van seems great but I think you’re dodgy as f**k by the way. There, no point beating about the bush, was there. Of course I didn’t phrase it quite that way but I assured DtM I was definitely interested and would call him later when I’d sorted out money. He in turn didn’t seem bothered either way and for all I know the van is still sitting gathering rust, brakes and engine seized outside his flat as he stumbles towards his old age pension because “nobody drives his van.”
This rare outburst of common sense on my part was balanced the very next week. The process went something like this:
Friday lunchtime: spot van ad on Yellow Paper website;
Friday pm: phone bloke to arrange visit; pre-book inspection at Edinburgh specialist;
Saturday am: go to look at van:
Saturday lunchtime: drive van to specialist;
Saturday afternoon: haggle a bit;
Saturday teatime: drive T25 home, 1900quid lighter.
That Saturday lunchtime part was where I was taken back to on the way to Ardgour (remember that far back?) When I went out to Dalkeith to see the van, I’d never (a) driven a campervan, and (b) driven an automatic. Oh well, in for a penny…
I got the van out of the narrow street and round the corner out of the owner’s eyesight easily enough; it was actually the turn onto the main road that demonstrated the ability of the van’s big wheels to mount a kerb easily. It’s not half bigger than a Fiesta is it?
In no time at all I’d sussed out the brakes – not quite ABS stamp’n’stop – and the steering – note to self: put any left or right turns and evasive manouevres in the diary at least a day and a half in advance. Being an automatic, you’d have thought that getting to grips with the gears wouldn’t be a problem. And indeed, who among you could fault my logic whereby “1” would get the vehicle going, “2” would be selected when we’d got a bit of speed up and “D” would be ideal for those long straight bits?
I’m not too proud to admit that it wasn’t until I’d met up with my wife in town and told her how I didn’t think too much of these so-called automatic boxes, that I found out the truth.
The journey from Dalkeith into town was a bit of an event – featuring, as it did, blind panic on my behalf over the worry that I would either not be able to stop the van quickly enough for the lights or that I wouldn’t get it going again afterwards. Or that it would break down. Or that I would crash it. Or that it would be adjudged, by the specialist, a “heap of crap” and that I’d not know what to do as I’d already fallen in love with it after about 200yards.
In the event, the garage people decided the van was basically okay and there was nothing that a couple of hundred quid wouldn’t sort. In retrospect and knowing what I know now, particularly knowing of the vast expertise available through Club80-90, I probably wouldn’t have bought the van: dodgy pop-top, dubious chokes and carbs, knackered heat exchanger bits and cables…the list goes on and on. Still, if I’d taken all that into consideration I’d probably still be out there today, looking for that elusive perfect van.
After that Saturday afternoon “haggle a bit” business, the van was mine and later that day we drove back out to Dalkeith to collect the Banana Bus, having given the previous owner a chance to clear out the last of his bits and bobs. The journey back to Balerno was made at a fairly sedate pace through the twisting urban and suburban byways of Edinburgh and its surrounds – I didn’t feel I was quite up to the rigours of the city bypass at such an early stage. I’m sure I must have looked a right pillock, grinning away through Colinton, Juniper Green and Currie but I was – and still am – happy.
I don’t know that curtains were actually twitching as we entered our street in suburban hell – I’m sure most of the inmates had vertical blinds and full laminate flooring at any rate – but I do know that many an eyebrow was raised and many a head shaken by those walking past the van in the days and weeks to come. For these accounting and banking types, a Volkswagen clearly has to be a Passat or at the very least a Golf to pass muster. Philistines! Why deny your motoring heritage? The Big, Noisy Bright Yellow Volkswagen Suburban Transporter – the last true rebel?
