We left Lins two days ago heading for Curitiba, and yesterday we moseyed over to the beaches of Florianopolis; about 850kms in total since my wonderful engine overhaul. This morning I had a little surprise waiting for my slave - a puddle of water on the ground under the engine. There was a bit of shock to say the least after it was determined that there was water under me and I was low on coolant, yet there were no leaks. Nevertheless, onward to the beach.
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Since we left the Pantanal, Curt's been on a mission to get me to the big city of Sao Paulo and into the arm of a LandRover specialist. I'd been reluctantly cooperating, until something caught my eye. When we passed by a town called Lins, I promptly overheated and called it quits. My valves were rattling louder than my exhaust, and I ran the temperature to red instantly on start up. I was not moving until I got my fill of Lins. So in to Lins we crawled. We were shown the royal treatment by two wonderful Lins 4x4 fanatics. A shower for Curt, and a heavy duty diesel mechanic for me. I had been thinking about this sort of treatment since 2000kms ago when I had a complete engine rebuild in Buenos Aires. Sure there was that head gasket replacement in between, but it was time for something a bit more intimate; a full overhaul. Curt took the bus 7 hours to get parts in Sao Paulo for me. I got to spend one full month in the capable hands of these mechanics; why they even put one head gasket on backwards, warped my head, and put on two head gaskets to compensate. After my month long massage and therapy, we drove out with only slightly less black smoke. Destination Curitiba!
From Iguazu we headed north to the ultimate adventure-land in the Americas - The Pantanal:The world's largest swamp. We stopped for an afternoon at the tourist town of Bonito near the southern edge of the swamp for some spelunking and swimming with the fish. But then it was a beeline for heart of the Pantanal: Passo do Lontra. There are essentially no roads in the Pantanal, just trails from one ranch to the next. Thousands of kilometers of opening and closing fence gates. Since the Pantanal is such a wonderful place to visit, I made it as difficult as possible for Curt. I was throwing as much black smoke as a smelter. The entire rear of the vehicle was covered in oil. Yet, despite this attempt to scare off the animals, even a Jaguar showed its face to us; albeit the Jaguar didn't seem very afraid of this oil spewing Zebra.
When I added knocking valves and overheating to the black oily smoke, Curt broke down and suspended the Pantanal siege. We headed east for Sao Paulo and the fabled work shop of The Specialist. We made it from Monte Caseros to Iguazu Falls; blue, white, and black smoke the entire way, but we made it. Since Curt had seen the falls before, we focused our time on showing off my gear in the campground. It was pretty humiliating to find out that I was the malnourished runt of the overlander crew at the campground compared to all the multimillion euro German land yachts. So change tactics, play the sympathy card; drop a U-joint right there in the campground for all to see. Yup, I've still got it. With a quick stop in town at the only mechanic (there wasn't even a building to call a shop), the U-joint was replaced, and on we went to cross the border into Brasil for a visit to the mighty Itaipu Hydroelectric dam. The dam claims to be the largest of its kind in the world. So I guess the dam and I have something in common; being #1. After all the TLC I received in Buenos Aires, we headed north on our big adventure. The first day I gave no troubles; everyone was happy and I even showed off my roof tent in Colón. The next day we had a short drive to the lovely termas of Concepción and spent the night in the park. Just as we pulled into the park, I gave a little oil burp through the oil line on top of the valve cover; spaying oil all over my rebuilt motor. There were some confused faces, but all went to bed without worry. The next day we headed north again; where we we going? No one had told me! I had better slow this train down before things get too out of hand. So I over heated; right to the point of smoking rubber hoses. That got their attention!! After cooling down, and giving me a drink of water, we continued on a little more, and I kept them on their toes with the heat gauge constantly approaching red. Stop, cool down, drink water, go a bit more, stop, repeat. They were getting the message who is the master in this relationship. Strategy is my strong suit, and I made sure that the only town withing striking distance was the one horse outpost of Monte Caseros. We limped into town and the search was on for a mechanic. Ha! No mechanics were found, though there was a man whom everyone said had some tools and had once used them on a vehicle. So we limped directly in front of his home and promptly shut down for good. Let's see how you handle this one, slaves! The mechanical man said I needed a new head gasket. So all hands on deck to get my head off. And to our surprise we found where one would expect a head gasket, was instead a custom fabricated copper gasket of much higher thickness than the factory one would have. Curt proclaimed that it was nothing to worry about as he stood forth with 4 factory gaskets he had pulled from the spare parts boxes. The mechanical man would have none of this. As he had never seen as engine like mine, and a passing neighbor said all Defenders have the Brasilian made Maxion motor, then of course only a Maxion gasket will do. At this point someone reasonable should have been there to assist, but as there was no one, the insanity continued. The mechanical man installed the Maxion gasket, put the head back on, and poured 30 liters of water into my coolant system. He only stopped when water was coming out the oil filter cap. Clearly a Maxion is a different engine so the gasket is not the same. Perhaps better to use the correct gasket since we have 4 of them.
The head was removed, oil and coolant drained, and 2 head gaskets sandwiched together and installed with the head back on! The thinking was that I was just too powerful, too much compression for only a single gasket, I needed two. The slaves were too broken at this point to even resist the madness of the mechanical man. If I can run with wrong pistons as I did in La Paz, I can certainly run with two head gaskets; and I did. The slaves were so excited to see me running, albeit smoking white, blue, and black to beat the band, they paid the mechanical man and we left him to his tinkering. I had achieved my goal, full subservience of my slaves. Things have really turned around. After 3 months of having my motor laying on the cement floor of still to be determined mechanic shop, my slave Curt walked through the doors with bags and bags of auto parts and accessories! And he was not alone; two friends Jason and Dave were here to help as well. Once they showed up, there has been action on me non-stop for a month. One of the guys who owns the shop turned out to be an engine specialist who has re-bored my cylinders and installed new pistons. I've now got the correct head gasket as well. A new fuel pump, rear diff protector, Mantec snorkel and wading kit, Maxtrax sandladders (just like the Dakar guys), a Tirfor TU-16 hand winch, a new windshield, new batteries, 3 plastic military grade Scepter fuel cans, a Hi-Lift jack, new front shock absorbers, new rear brake shoes, reconfigured roof rack, new oil change in all my spots, and a new Sony super duper stereo. Not to mention all the spare parts and expedition equipment which got stuffed into my cargo boxes. I've been resurrected many times, but this was the biggest attempt at sweet-talking me I'd seen so far. The Phoenix of La Paz has now added the title Phoenix of Buenos Aries! I was right. A few days ago I was rudely awoken from my sleep in the barn when the horn driver Wolly started me up and drove me to the city of Buenos Aires. We went to a small building on a nondescript street with no sign where there were various vehicles in states of being stripped down. Wolly drove me into the building and left me alone with the sorry old vehicles hulks and three mad men brandishing power tools. Immediately they attacked me like a piece of fresh meat; ripping off my hood, and then gnawing away at my motor like termites until I was nothing more than heartless corpse. My parts lay strewn across the floor of the building without any hope of repair. I don't know why this happened. I have behaved so well for months now. There is a rumor that I am here for an engine overhaul, but that seems strange as I had one in La Paz less than a year ago. It might have something to do with those strangely wrong sized pistons and incorrect head gasket which I got in La Paz. Nothing to do but be patient I guess; maybe one of these mad men will turn out to be a mechanic after all - they do have the tools.
Things seemed to be going so well after the new slave brought me to Argentina. I had a nice warm night in a locked garage with an attendant, I behaved, and we visited some auto parts stores. Now that I reflect on those few days, I think I can pin point it exactly to when Curt and his friend Cooper took me to the auto parts store, and I had a few exhaust farts inside the cab; Cooper looked very sick and he was clamoring to get out of there fast. I thought we were all friends, and what's a little gas to pass between friends. Apparently Cooper didn't see it that way and promptly vomited. Next thing I know an Argentine man named Wolly gets behind the wheel and proceeds to attempt to drive by using my horn. Curt and Buenos Aires disappear as Wolly horns out of the city to a dark old barn in the countryside, teases me with a few spins around in the mud, and then abandons me. Just when things were looking up, here I am alone and probably destined for the scrap heap. The relationship between myself and Frank & Sylvi had gotten rather rocky recently. They had even sold me a few weeks ago to a man who ripped out nearly anything of value from me, before handing me back to Frank & Sylvi in a fit of buyer's remorse. Ever since that day, I knew that our days together were numbered. Frank & Sylvi pretended to be nice to me with rub downs and pep talks, and I pretended to listen and behave. When they left me with some nice older people in Colonia for a week, I thought it was the end. But then at the end of the week, who should come by but Frank! No Sylvi, just Frank and two unknown men. I know from prior experience that this is exactly the type of situation when I need to really put on a show and razzle dazzle them; no unnecessary farting. It appeared that only one of the two unknown men was interested in me, so I set my charms on him alone. He kicked my tires, opened my hood, probed at my innards, and then he want to go for a drive! Frank started me up, and backed me up out of the driveway. Now normally I would give Frank a bit of fun with grinding gearbox and inability to get into gear and that sort of thing, but not today. Today I smoothly transitioned to reverse, and then we set out down the road for the 'test drive'. I never smoked much, just ran like a purring kitten. The test driver, Frank called him Curt, seemed to be really taken with me. The third man was not interested, just trying to get out as fast as possible. Curt really got into things and we all drove into town. When Curt drove straight to an automotive parts store, I knew this was going to work out very well between us. A few darts around town and then we got on the ferry and arrived in Buenos Aires. What a joy to be back in the land of high priced parts and licentious mechanics! Frank got out and Curt and the other man drove me to a parking garage for the night. I am pretty sure that Frank will be back to see me, maybe not today but someday. This Curt guy should be alright though; a good start anyways. |
Zebra Landy
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April 2014
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