A lovely drive from San Pedro de Atacama, Chile across the Paso de Sico to Argentina. A beautiful salar sits nestled in the Andes. The beauty grows with each step closer. Hmm, seem to have dropped two wheels in salar Just got worse, now all 4 wheels are dropped through the crust of the salar into the saturated salt water below. Haven't seen anyone else since 400kms ago. Could be a problem.
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The Atacama Desert is well known for being the driest place on Earth. For some reason this means it should be a tourist destination. Having just escaped the altitude to Chañaral, we reversed direction and headed east back up into the Andes towards the popular town of San Pedro de Atacama. As we have no maps and only a GPS, it was set to take 'shortest route', which meant to not take the proper road, but instead a series of mining trails. After much fiddling and fuddling, we popped out onto the great Salar de Atacama, a giant lake covered with a thick hard crust of salt. After seeing the so much salt, we headed into San Pedro to see what tourists come here for, since you can get salt pretty much any place in the world. As we arrived in town, it started to rain. Rain in a place which is supposed to be the driest place on Earth. Very disappointing. The big talk of the tourists was the excursion to a geyser which explodes in the early morning, but was a few hours drive away. Wanting to get a head start, we did the cardinal sin and headed out to the geysers after dark with the intention of sleeping beside them. The geyser road was blocked by some police vehicles as the road was apparently in bad shape from the rains. One look at us, and mysteriously the impenetrable road block was opened for us to proceed.
There was no one on this road, and it was dark dark dark. We kept it slow, but the road was a real challenge with all the huge ruts and wash outs. It then became clear why we were waved on by the police, they were driving behind us seeing if we would show them the way. I like flattery, but as it was dark there weren't enough spectators to see me show my stuff, so I called it quits; I snapped a rear shock absorber in half to bring this fool's errand to a close, just as the road became near vertical. Enough was a enough. We headed back to town. Perhaps the next day we could visit some other small lakes around the area. After quickly boring with the city life of Mendoza, we raced north across Prov San Juan and into Prov Rioja to take the lead spot in the Dakar Rally at Chilecito. With my new 300tdi engine, R380 gearbox, and new brake system, I was unstoppable. I never saw another vehicle in front or behind me as we raced the sun to see who would be first to the continental divide of Paso de San Francisco at 4748 meters altitude. The road conditions were rough and dusty with the sun looking straight at us, but we were flying. Guess who lost it for us? Not me, Curt did. Yep, as we climbed the altitude, his driving became worse and worse. All over the road, stopping and starting, falling asleep (!!); the altitude did not bother me though as I powered on. As darkness fell, I could see that Curt was going to wreck us both, so I let him pull off the road for a sleep at 4500 meters. All night long he was tossing and turning, chewing aspirin, drinking water, but never sleeping. When the sun rose, we had to get racing again, but he was still so disoriented. We crawled like a drunken snake to the border crossing at the continental divide. Curt went into the small shack to do the papers, and when he came out, he was a changed man. Apparently they felt sorry for him and gave him some oxygen. Now the race was ours to be had again! As we raced along the moonscape road after crossing the divide, the altitude began to decline bit by bit. With gravity on our side, Curt drunk on oxygen, and a race to win, we were traveling at speeds far beyond LandRover safe. Then it all came to a halt with the notorious SAG; Chile Department of Agriculture inspections at Chilean customs crossing. It's obvious that SAG is in on the take with trying to influence the race by holding up we best with nonsense confiscation of spices, herbs, and salami. After the SAG mugging, we tried to make up for the lost time and race toward the Pacific Ocean and the town of Chañaral. We made it, and just like I expected, the race was over before we got there. Not even one supporter to greet us. $%*### SAG ! We'd come full circle. We had left Buenos Aires months ago, gone to Brasil for many months, and now here we were back in Buenos Aires; albeit with a different motor and transmission. Claudia headed for the airport, so Curt did what was by now second nature and took me to a mechanic. Despite the new motor, already the vacuum pump was misbehaving. There was also the issue of the loose wheel bearings, and loose axle bolts. While the work was suspect, the intention was probably good, so that is good enough for me and we headed out on a westward path to conquer the Andes. The Dakar was just starting and we needed to make up time fast if the world was going to have to chance to see the Zebra up close in technicolor.
Since we got to the beaches of Santa Teresa PN in Uruguay 2 weeks ago, there really hasn't been much to report. I've been sitting here everyday not moving, so not much chance to get into trouble. The slaves, however, have been smiling for the first time since I met them. They really seem to think that life is all fun and frolicking in the sands. Well, sooner or later we will have to leave, and then it will be my turn to have some fun. After the extreme surgery of Juiz de Fora, we headed south to escape the rains and mudslides of nearby Petropolis. Uruguay seemed to be south enough as a destination, so we raced south with an intention to spend a few days in Florianopolis on the beach. Now, sometimes fate plays right into my hand - we would be traveling right through São Paulo and since Curt had always wanted to introduce me to The Specialist, why not pay him a social visit. How is this achieved? Simple, throw a U-joint. Timed it perfectly; less than 5 km from the mechanic shop, I gave the tell-tale squeak of a busted U-joint. And just like predicted, we slowly crawled to exactly my desired destination. I can play these slaves like a violin. The slaves thought it would be fun to park in the street of Rio and sleep inside for the night. So when morning rolled around I gave them a taste of my fury; the motor would not turn over at all, nothing. I had all night to fill the tops of the pistons with water, completely freezing the motor in place unable to move a fraction. I thought it would be just like before, a little bit of give and take. But this time Curt tore out my injectors, pumped out the water, got me running again, and then drove with reckless abandon to a strange place: Juiz de Fora. We arrived at a LandRover used parts dealer. Apparently Curt had something planned all along, and I guess I just pushed it a bit too far with my Rio joke, because by that evening I was without a motor. The tricky slaves left me for a week with the mechanics for the installation of a new motor, while they took off to explore the state of Minas Gerais with a rental car. I wasn't going to take this lying down, so I did the only thing left in my power; I refused to mate the new motor with my old transmission. Oh, slaves, add the cost of an unnecessary transmission to your meticulous budget. By the time I was let loose from those mechanics, I had added US10,000 in regenerative surgery to my old body. For those interested in the cause of the ten's of thousands of dollars of repairs done on me in vain, my engine trouble was a cracked block - something no mechanic ever diagnosed. The engine should have been replaced 3 years ago. I learned a lesson in Juiz de Fora: don't push it too far or you'll lose a lot more than you expected. Much of my hold over the slaves has now been removed. With a nearly new made in Brasil motor they can find parts anywhere. I am no longer the only vehicle in the Americas with a unique motor. Now my heart is as common as a Ford Ranger, Chev S-10, and Mercedes Sprinter. Curt has even given away most of the big stash of spare parts since they are no longer useful.
Since we had left Curitiba just after Christmas, I'd been rather behaved (with the noted exception of brakes and electrical). My black and blue smoking was at a minimum, and I could almost pass for a normal vehicle. I even guided the slaves along the coast from Ihlabela towards Rio with lovely overnight beach stops, including the historical port town of Paraty. As we left Paraty, and the end of the day was drawing near, I knew that the slaves would be looking for a campground. So I promptly severed the copper oil line to my turbocharger. Oil spraying everywhere. With the help of a kindly man, the slaves used a mountain of twine to hold the line together enough to crawl a few meters to a shop where a mechanic made me a new oil line. You can't expect I was going to not get any attention today after a week of near perfect behavior.
New Years Eve was going to be great! We had been bush camping on the Atlantic side of Ihlabela near the isolated beach with Suzy the Kombi (Rose & Charly). The place was just fantastic, though the slaves were complaining (what else is new) this time about the barachugas (black flies). But then I overheard the slaves talking about how they were going to park me and Suzy somewhere and leave us while they had a good time in town! This had to be dealt with promptly. So I quickly ran down my two batteries (they thought that with two I would be unable to do such a thing), and then I sat mildly waiting for the exciting drive into town. Oh what a commotion when they found out the batteries were dead! It looked like we would all have to stay at the beach for the New Years. Suzy and another vehicle were attached with cables to me, but I would not start. Then they had the idea of Suzy towing me; which I knew was ridiculous since I am so overloaded with junk. But I had overlooked one thing, there was a small valley a few meters away in the dirt road, so with a tug from Suzy and a few pushes, they managed to pull start my motor. Well, I gave it my best that night, but I made up for it the next day with complete brake failure. After such a great time at Florianopolis, as Christmas was nearing I thought what would be a thoughtful gift for my slave. Yes, an engine overheating in Curitiba was in order. After my overheat we limped over to a mechanic and my engine head was promptly removed. When the mechanic saw our two head gasket setup, it was time again for a new proper head gasket. Even though we had two extra head gaskets with us, the mechanic insisted that a new one was purchased, which of course was not in stock and would require a week of waiting. In the hands of such a great mechanic with such great insight, it was clear we were going to make about 800kms before our next hiccup. My slave gave me a very nice gift for Christmas; a second slave. Yes, Claudia became a captive of mine on this day. It was appropriate that we meet in a mechanic's shop.
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Zebra Landy
Always noticed, always full of stories, and always looking for a mechanic! Archives
April 2014
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