George and the Wrong Gears
My dear Readers and Admirers, if you desire a dramatic story of great suffering and agonizing embarrassment then by all means, read on.
If you are weak of heart or have Land Rovers in your best interest I do suggest to refrain from reading on.
It all started when the Mister decided to visit a rustic camping site up in the Pyrenees.
This happened on the way up through Europe during a nice vacation I and the M&M were having.
When you are getting to a certain age there are certain parts of the whole which tend to wear just a little. If, or rather when these parts are put to the test in arduous conditions one has to take into account that something might give.
As it happened on our homeward-bound journey after we drove over and through the aforementioned Pyrenees and made it to the southern regions of France. A strong wind was blowing and the slopes of the low mountains were still steep enough for the M&M to change to a lower gear in order to make it to summit after summit.
A 20 odd kilometers under Clermont-Ferrand the Mister shifted up from fourth gear after a particularly fast ascend with a high tail wind. The second the Mister released the clutch we all felt a braking sensation from the front axle.
The Mister reacted by immediately pulling over to the hard shoulder and the Misses expected nothing less from the Mister.
First thoughts had to be a flat tyre, but, with the BF Goodrich All-Terrains this is highly dubious. After a quick diagnosis by the Mister nothing seemed wrong.., at least nothing in immediate line of sight.
Driving on proved that something was indubitably wrong. At this point even I could not tell exactly what was wrong but I did feel a certain unease.., I swaggered intoxicated over the road like a newly made Land Rover taking his first drive.
The decision to stop was made and we headed of the main road in order to take a pause, another look, and finally call our friends at the ANWB.
After being transported on a trailer the tending mechanic could not find anything with me. He checked all the suspension as we thought that might be it.., it wasn’t. The Misses proved to have an uncanny linguistic talent and was actually able to have something that might be considered a conversation with the mechanic. But, we did leave the garage unsatisfied and confused.., we did feel something.., we we’re quit sure.
Only a few minutes after leaving disturbing noises grew louder and louder and the M&M could even feel vibrations of some sort through my floor. Now we knew for certain something was very wrong and we headed back to the garage.
Again the mechanic lifted me and crawled under me to revisit his previous conclusions. This time more focussed…
When he put my two right wheels in the air, started my engine and released the first gear the noise was unmistakable.
The transfer box was shot, something had given way inside during my arduous adventure through the Pyrenees.
I could not be driven home. I had to be abandoned.., and so they did.
I am to be transported, again, on a trailer, but this time all 950 kilometers to British4x4 where they will.., again.., take care of me.
Stay well…
George
Resolve to be thyself: and know, that he who finds himself, loses his misery.
- Matthew Arnold -
Oct 19th 2007
Poor George. (shakes head sadly)