Marina No.9
The van started quite promptly, but only on a few cylinders. I had to give it quite a few revs - despite the obviously low gearing in first - to successfully negotiate the climb up Mark's drive. Once again a doubt flashed through my mind. Was this folly? We had quite a load aboard, and unless another cylinder or two joined the party, the prospects of crawling up some of the terrain ahead looked a tad dubious. We had passed a petrol station on our walk in just nearby, and I thought to head there to gas up, but instead we joined the flow of weekend traffic and began to find our way through unfamiliar streets in a general direction that I hoped would lead us to the southern exits of the city.
To my great relief, the motor finally found all its cylinders, and we frantically wiped at the foggy windows in an effort to glimpse our surroundings for recognisable directions. I was trying to familiarise myself with the quite different dashboard layout in the van, and quickly had most things sussed apart from one obviously non-standard knob which did not seem to do anything at all. The heater was not responding to any combination of lever position, so we zig-zagged our way possibly south-west hoping to find the Pukekohe road and thus avoid the motorway.
JR2570 had lived outside in a rather damp climate and had thus suffered from a bit of the dreaded rot. Mostly in fairly obvious places, but the worst area was in a favourite spot just below the front windscreen rubber - and would require some extensive treatment.
These were the things that became obvious when I first examined the van on a wet weekend in Auckland - having flown up from Christchurch that morning. I had walked from the nearest railway station, and spotted the van parked outside the address that my friend had supplied via email. I felt some misgivings about the prospect of driving it all the way down the islands with a weighty cargo of Marina parts.
My companion and I knocked at the front door and met Mark in person for the first time. After some introductions we had a cuppa then headed out to the garage to uncover the treasures. Mark has a serious Rover collection, but had managed to accumulate a few Marinas along the way, and their remains were surplus to requirements. The van had belonged to a friend of his, and it had been driven over to await our arrival - albeit without the niceties of warrant or registration. I would run the gauntlet of possible Police intervention rather than try to arrange any immunity by the usual means - time would not allow it, with only 3 days to cover the 700 odd miles, and half of the first day already done.
The rain finally let up near Waingaro, so it was good to get out for a stretch. The afternoon was racing away, and my hopes to reach Cambridge or further looked a bit touch-and-go. However, the van was running well, and starting perfectly, so I was gaining confidence with every mile.
Darkness came at Hamilton, and with it came the rain again. It was a constant battle to maintain a bit of clear visibility. I had discovered that the heater cables were not connected to the levers, but with some manual adjustment of the heater end of the cables, I was able to elicit a very small amount of warmth. Presumably the thermostat in the cylinder head was either not working, or not present, so there just wasn't much heat to be had.
Stroll we did. About a mile until we found a shopping centre with fuel. I hired a container, and we trudged back to the van - which was looking about as bedraggled as we were. Most of the fuel in the tank, but I also filled the float chamber rather than risk running the battery down by cranking until the fuel came through. It started immediately, and the points obviously had been a problem, but before I could move off, it stopped again. Blast. Looks like fuel pump. I had no idea where we were, and hence no idea where Mark's place was. I figured that a taxi would be the answer, and hope that Mark had a spare pump - as the one on the spare motor was broken. In case a fuel line was split, I took a last look under the bonnet. Halfway between the carb and the fuel pump was a solenoid valve. I remembered that the van had once been dual-fuel, but the gas cylinder had long since been removed.
Arrgghh! The knob on the dashboard! I rushed around and turned the knob back to its original position. The motor started almost immediately. Bugger! I had turned the bloody fuel off. Of course - it stopped just long enough afterwards that I had not associated the two events. We cleaned up and drove to the station to return the fuel container. This time I also filled the tank, and now I had some cover - also made a more professional job of the points gap. I checked the map, and realised that we would have to join the motorway for a few miles until we reached the Pukekohe turnoff, so off we went, urging the little van along and trying to keep ahead of the trucks that impatiently snapped at our heels.
I stopped at several service areas to check under the bonnet. The motor was very noisy at speed, and I figured it might be feeling the heat of such a demanding test. The heater felt devoid of warmth, and I was concerned that we might be low on water. It appeared full, and I found what looked to be a shutoff valve in the heater hose. As soon as I moved it, the bolt came loose, and immdiately began leaking. It was just a blanking bolt in some sort of joining piece, and all I had to try and seal it was some electrical insulation tape, which I wound around the threads. It seemed to work, and was still watertight at the next stop - so I decided to leave well alone and forget about the heater.
With the aid of a chainblock, we slid the complete 1800HL motor amidships, and the BW65 auto behind it. Torque converter, propshaft and a few other bits were wedged in, and I wove a web of rope about it all - to try and ensure that nothing had any option about changing position. The last thing you need during an emergency stop, is a spare engine joining you in the front seat!
When all was secure, we stowed the bags we had carried with us, thanked Mark for all his help in arranging it all, plus a few maintenance items he had already carried out on the van, and prepared to do battle with the Auckland traffic and weather - either of which can be hazardous to one's health even under the best of circumstances. Here goes nothing..!!
We skirted Hamilton and made the final stint to Cambridge. It didn't take long to locate a motel, and soon the jackets and overalls were drying out, along with their occupants. Apart from the self-induced glitch - things were on the up-and-up. The ferry crossing was booked for early Monday, and this was Saturday night, which left a whole day for the trip to Wellington. Hopefully, it would work out - but it didn't leave much spare time for any more breakdowns. We bought a lotto ticket and settled down for the night.