Jack Dobson

Jack reminisces about a road trip that nearly broke him

The first part of 2018 has been really busy, starting with a move interstate from Sydney to Canberra, which equates to about a four-hour drive in a Series IIA, or three in a regular car. Moving is hard enough, but when you add to it a Land Rover missing its front axle then it becomes a little more challenging. Anyway, we got there and all three are now parked on the most pristine driveway you have ever seen. Despite three drip trays there was no preventing the inevitable marking of territory which occurred within moments of arrival.

The other day Facebook kindly reminded me of a 2014 trip that very nearly ended my love affair with Land Rovers. I thought I would share with you my misery because I am sure we have all had similarly trying moments with our vehicles.

The plan was to drive from Sydney to Adelaide where we would spend Christmas with some family before taking The Great Ocean Road followed by Melbourne on our route home. The trip was to be a respectable 3500 kilometres so by old Land Rover standards quite a significant undertaking. Knowing it would be an incredibly hot time of year I spent a considerable amount of time preparing, which included replacing the water pump and flushing the coolant (otherwise known as rusty water) in favour of bright green stuff that at least looked the part (though it was to destroy my white t-shirt towards the end of the trip).

All went well on the first day, though with standard gearing it was incredibly noisy and that night we went to sleep to the sound of ringing in our ears.

The nightmares began the following day as we approached Broken Hill (the irony was not lost on me). I made the grim discovery that the engine had actually vibrated loose from the gearbox. Depressing the clutch pedal did something, but it certainly did not engage the clutch. There were a couple of options, either attempt a bush mechanic repair or continue on with no clutch. On the basis that it was close to 40 degrees and at this point we did not know exactly what the issue was, we opted to persevere. Now driving with no clutch is not particularly easy, especially when we were having stop frequently for fuel (did I mention the fuel gauge had decided to stop working, too?). Each time we stopped, long-suffering Leah would have to get us rolling again so I could gently find a gear with some forward momentum. Perhaps I should I have been the one pushing.

Anyway, the absence of clutch was reasonably manageable until we reached Adelaide, where we were confronted by a sea of traffic lights. By this point we were escorted by Leah’s parents in their Discovery and the plan was for them to give us a shunt from behind if we had to stop.

Somehow we made it to the intended driveway, which was to be our home for the next three days. Upon separating the engine and gearbox – what a pain it is getting the floor and seat box out – I found that the clutch cover securing bolts had come undone and were rattling about in the bottom of the bellhousing. Amazingly there was no other damage, and yes, I am sure they had been assembled with a locking compound!

Managing to get it all back together it was time to hit the road Jack... It was then I found that the engine was running terribly with a misfire and smoke. Perhaps in the excitement of driving with no clutch I had overlooked this major issue? The problem was tracked down to one of the hydraulic lifters (it is a Holden engine) which had essentially fallen to pieces. Once again there did not seem to be any damage and I was able to reassemble. Ignoring the leaking oil pump, we were back in business.

Looking back at our time in Adelaide I cannot remember much about it, though I do recall with great detail the driveway.

The next part of our journey came with a new ailment – one of the rockers kept working loose, which meant continued stops to put it back in place – and was that a drumming sound coming from the rear diff? A day or so later as we pulled into our campsite, the first thing we were greeted with was: “Your diff is shagged mate.” He was right and a short while later I was on my back removing the rear propshaft. The rest of the trip was to be in front-wheel drive.

Some 350 km from Sydney, the end was in sight. The focus of the trip was no longer about the adventure and sightseeing, it was about getting this wretched vehicle home. For just a moment I thought we might just make it. Then the engine died. I looked at Leah as we coasted to the side of the road. “Can you fix it?” she asked? Met with silence, she then asked: “Did you renew the roadside cover?” Again more silence (except for that ringing in our ears). We were to spend the next two weeks stranded in the small country town of Yass awaiting an engine transplant.

What is it they say? A Land Rover will take you anywhere and everywhere. Not always it seems.

“The nightmares began as we approached Broken Hill (the irony was not lost on me)”