GARY PUSEY
The Enthusiast
“We didn’t fancy our chances among speeding traffic looking for bits of black Bakelite”
What do you carry in terms of tools and spares? I have always tended to be rather minimalist, but recent experiences have caused me to carry out a drastic rethink.
Earlier this year, my wife and I had to go to Leicestershire and we decided to take our 1970 Range Rover. We burbled our way down quite happily, and were only an hour from home on our way back when the dreaded glow of the charging light appeared.
The headlamps were off, but the warning light got brighter as the sidelights got dimmer. As soon as the engine started misfiring I knew we weren’t going to make it, and pulled into a layby just as everything died. My spares box did not contain a replacement alternator or a fully charged battery, so the call went out to our recovery provider.
Although they logged the call, they managed to make a complete and very deceitful mess of things, and we were left in the lay-by for five hours, with my frequent reminder telephone calls only ceasing when the phone battery ran out.
I promised myself that in future I would at least ensure I had the means to charge the mobile, and bought a wonderful little set containing a small battery pack and cables with every possible connector you could ever need. It is also powerful enough to start a vehicle with a discharged battery.
On another occasion, a rotor arm sheared in two, flinging itself through the distributor cap and disappearing, together with chunks from the side and base of the cap. I had a spare arm but not a cap, and first impressions seemed to indicate that another recovery might be necessary. But I was near Berlin on a rally, and the idea of being the pass-the-parcel consignment for goodness knows how many recovery trucks from there to the ferry was not remotely appealing.
I sent my despairing navigator off to buy us a couple of cold drinks, and then cut open the empty cans and fashioned them into a double-skinned sheet, which was then fabricated around the jigsaw of surviving bits into a cylinder of the correct diameter and height, liberally covered with insulating tape, and attached to the head of the dizzy cap with tape and cable ties.
The problem was that much of the bottom of the cap – the bit with the indents that ensure the cap sits in the right position on the distributor body – was somewhere among the debris on the tarmac, and neither I nor the navigator fancied our chances hopping about among the speeding traffic, looking for bits of black Bakelite.
By holding the makeshift cap in roughly the right place and turning over the engine, we managed to get the car to start. A little more adjustment had it sounding healthy enough, so we marked the tin, snipped and folded the indents, managed to get the clamps on, and taped and tied it all together.
We managed to get back to the UK without needing to touch the makeshift repair, but a spare distributor cap was immediately added to the spares box.
The third incident happened on another trip, 100 miles north of Munich. Earlier that morning, during my usual check under the bonnet, I had noticed a drip from a carb fuel banjo, a not-uncommon problem on this particular engine. A quick nip-up with the spanner fixed it, and off we went. An hour or so later there was a distinct smell of fuel, and the same banjo was leaking again. I knew where this was going to end, and just as it was getting dark and we were pressing on for the hotel, a beer and dinner, more than a whiff of petrol meant that I pulled over pretty quickly.
Inspection showed the fuel was spraying out in a neat arc that encompassed the exhaust manifold, and a very gentle touch with the spanner revealed that the thread in the alloy carb top had disintegrated. I spent the next two hours working through my entire repertoire of bodges: PTFE tape, insulating tape, tinfoil on the threads; removing the fibre washers to see if I could extract a last millimetre or two of undamaged thread, but all to no avail.
A very nice German chap recovered us to Munich in time for breakfast. A friend couriered a replacement carb top to the hotel, and a day later we were fixed and on our way. A carb top is now in the spares box, and the banjos are drilled and wired.
I now have a single tool bag with everything needed for all my vehicles, which I carry in whatever car I am driving. Each vehicle also has its own dedicated and extensive spares box that lives in the relevant car. I should have done it years ago.
I have added a list of parts to this year’s Christmas list, but you can still guarantee that the next breakdown will show me what I have forgotten to pack.
Gary Pusey is co-author of Range Rover The First Fifty, trustee of The Dunsfold Collection and a lifelong Land Rover enthusiast. What this man doesn’t know, isn’t worth knowing!