The Busses of Burning Van.

For the record, we are not burning a van. There have been times where an engine block was burnt, for an idea of what a magnesium block would look like on fire, you tube has a few videos of just how bright that stuff gets.

Each year a group of busses (mostly vanagons) show up and hang out, a bon fire is done later. Last year we have somewhere in the mid-20's. This year we had 38 at maximum.

Photos here, and some of the betters ones are posted below.

Twins

Since I haven't had much to say for a while, I thought I'd add a short update and some thoughts about the fellowship of VW bus owners.

These pictures were taken yesterday on my drive home. The other vehicle was a 1971 - same color, same options, and slowly being restored (much like mine).

Where I live I can count 30 VW's of various flavors and vintages within a 20 block radius. This one is located at a house in Sea cliff (one of the more expensive areas of San Francisco.

And then there is that guy who keeps putting flyers on every aircooled VW out there telling us about the problems with 009 coils and how he can make them better. His bus is looks like it is about to fall apart, it's not exactly the best advertising. I'll find the picture, but I'm sure I'll see him at burning van on Saturday.


There is a hobie cat vanagon out by the zoo, and a couple of syncros scattered in the outer sunset district. I'll post pics later when I can find them.


One of the pacifico busses is currently parked on fell street.

I live in a city where the VW bus was arguably raised to an icon, what with the Haight Ashbury days, the hippy living, and the weather all contributing to an icon that I love to drive. I get waved at daily, I wave back. Other buses drive by me slowly, I do the same.

I like our little club. We are weird. I like weird.

A Tale of Three Generators

Most VW's these days use Alternators. For some reason, I've stuck with the generators. I'm not sure if it is some sick desire to stick with old tech, but I think it is a combination of being gun-shy with electrical matters, and not wanting to deal with a fuel pump. (Alternators require a larger stand, which also requires a change of fuel pumps. See this blog as to why I hate fuel pumps.)

My last road trip killed my generator. It was old enough that it might have deserved to die, but it died and that is all that matters. So I had it replaced.

And on it's maiden voyage home from the shop, it died. The generator light came on, it was not charging the battery. It just wasn't doing what it was supposed to do - generate power. So I headed back to the shop who gave me a quizzical look and said "they never break that quickly, that's weird". They installed another new one.

And less than a thousand miles later it died. Full death. The engine just stopped running less that 10 blocks from my house, so I pulled over and saw smoke from a melting fanbelt. Better yet, I didn't turn the engine all the way off, it was in the start position, so power was running to the generator. It was arcing and sparks/electrical cracks were coming of the pulley. (Yes, the pulley) The generator not only epically failed, it was competing for most spectacular failure ever on my bus.

Punchline to this was that I was only going a few blocks away, so I didn't bring my cellphone. I borrow some random guy on the streets phone, call the tow company, and three hours later, I'm back in my garage. I might have just pushed it, but I live in San Francisco, we have hills.

Big Sigh. Here we go:
Step one, pull off the failed parts.

Step two. Remove generator

Step three, bring generator back to shop, swap out, get replacement pulley, fan belt, and spare woodruff keys.

Step four, put it back and start it up again.

So I'm running again, and this time, it sounds as good as it did when I was driving through Nevada a couple of months ago. The sewing machine sound is exactly what is it supposed to sound like. Let's see how long this lasts. ;)

Some notes - When you put a generator/fan assembly back in the car, it is important to shim it correctly. The fan has about 1/8 of an inch of room in the fan housing, and will rub if it isn't perfectly straight and if the fan housing is not lined up correctly. When I was repositioning the fan housing, I noticed that the fan shroud had some rubbing where there wasn't supposed to be any, indicating that the shop may have not lined it up correctly. It's a difficult thing to do, and easy to over look is it isn't visible on the back side. But, it accounted for the inconsistent "fan rubbing sound" that I was getting when the car was cold starting.  Bottom line - engine tin is designed to go in one way and one way only. Double check that it is right, then triple check.

Annual Pre-thanksgiving campout

Bothe Napa State Park is just outside of the town of St. Helena, in the Napa valley. It is known for the old Christian Brothers Castle that is now the California Culinary Academy.

Beautiful place, changing leaves, and full of the kind of scenery that gets turned into postcards.

The Camper family does a couple of yearly campouts, this has become one of them.

I missed last years campout, but made this one. Pics ahead. Short summary here: lots of rain. Some thunder and lightning. Warm fire helped, but the winner was the return of the deep fried turkey. Much thanks to the duo of mandolin players.

There are more pictures here.

We like to laugh a little at ourselves at these campouts. It's cold, it's wet, it is not hospitable to most campers. We have our little portable homes, our turtle shells. And thanks to John, we have a big tent to keep our food dry, our fire warm, and our alcohol unwatered.

The constant snare-drum rattle of the rain on the fiberglass roof is a mild annoyance. The gusty wind makes it hard to sleep, and here in the back of the bus, I am warm, dry and content. It's a moment of victory against the elements that promise to make my drive home slow, full of traffic, and a mild fight against the cross winds on the golden gate bridge.

For now, I have a full belly, and happy amount of beer keeping me warm, and several friends nearby.

The Return. 1.5 days. 2.5 Failures

It's Saturday, October 9, 6:30 PM and I'm heading out the door. The car has been loaded up, tuned, valves adjusted, oil changed, brakes checked, and I have to do 1200 miles in two days. Tonight's plan is to head to Highway 80 and go as far as I can before I have to pull over.

Juliette is with me. She just finished a five day rotation at the clinic, and now needs to head to San Francisco for a three day externship, so she is coming along with me on the drive.

North on 287, we hit Laramie about an hour into the drive. We made it to Rock springs around 11:30, check in at the easiest to get to hotel, sleep and are out the door the next morning around 6:00am. We averaged about 70 MPH, which is better than expected.

Quick calculation time. Rock Spring to San Francisco 925 Miles. At 65 MPH that's 14 hours, putting us in at 8:00. Assume an extra couple of hours for gas and food, and we might be home at a reasonable hour.

Evanston. They closed the Starbucks.

Utah. We blow through the canyon outside of Park City, descend into Salt Lake and we don't stop until we pass the Salt Flats. This guy passes me and we share a moment.

We refill in Wendover and start across Nevada.

It's a little more boring out there. I start tweeting where I am since we have nothing else better to do.

And the inevitable road gremlin attacks:
Then the generator light goes on. I pull over and look at the engine(while noticing the feint smell of smoke). It's not a broken fan belt, I wish it were.

It is clear that the generator brushes have ground down, and I am no longer charging the battery. For some reason I ignore that smoke smell, and write it off to "something else". We make it to Reno and fill up once more. Once I hit the sierras, the sun has gone down, and I have to turn on the lights. I know that they are going to fade out once the battery dies, but right now, I'm aiming at getting as close to home as I can.

I'm also calling a friend to see if he has spare brushes. He does, he is in Sacramento, and if I can make it there, I'll be fine. My wife is pretty tense about this, but does a good job of keeping it to herself.

The lights completely die just outside of Sacramento. I drive for about two miles with no headlights on the freeway, everyone is flashing their highlights, and I'm realizing that this is both dangerous and stupid. I pull off the freeway and ask my friend to guide me to his house with his car lighting the way.

We make it to his driveway, and I start removing the generator brushes. I drop the screw. I try to keep my cursing down to a minimum. My friend loans me his car. We drive to San Francisco with the intention of returning the next morning.

I head back the next morning, finish installing the brushes. The generator light is still on. It's not the brushes.

Kombi house is less than a mile away, I drive the car there and have them install a new generator and voltage regulator. Little did I know that I've had a 38 Amp voltage regulator on a 30 amp generator for the past 12 years. Honestly, how often do you look at that thing and read the numbers on it. I can't remember who installed it, I can't remember when I replaced it. Regardless. It's dead, so is the generator. They get replaced. While it's there, the window regulator dies. The internal gears are stripped, I need to find a replacement. Kombi house has one, they give it to me and I replace it the next weekend.

So I'm driving in back home, and the generator starts making a noise. The bushing in the generator is bad. I now have generator grease all over my pristine engine. Sigh.

I drive back the next day, they replace it, but now the fan is rubbing. I hear it every time I start the engine, it makes that high pitched whirr sound that is similar to a loose fan belt on a water cooled engine. I have no time to return to Sacramento, so I adjust and tweak the generator positioning until I get it as close to correct as I can. For the record, it left Kombi house fine, and somehow started rubbing after I drove it for about 40 miles.

I'll fix it properly once I have more time.

Up next: post failure analysis and update.

Moab to Ft. Collins. Day 5

I'm still a little under the weather. This damn head cold has been around for a week and a half. A night in a hotel room has helped, but I'm still stuffed and not sleeping well. I'm awake and fighting getting out of bed. I still haven't seen any of Moab other than some cliff silhouettes lit by the night moon.

I check my oil, fill up the tank, grab a coffee, and head to road 128 that runs along the Sorrel River. I start out thinking that I need to move quick to make up for a slow morning, but the road tells me otherwise. It's time to slow down, enjoy each turn, and admire it.

This is red cliff country. It's stunning, and each turn of the road is another reveal of natural art. It's hard to keep your eyes on the road. 

I turn off the radio, and listen to nothing but the sound of the wind and the engine. The air smells like sage. My road trip was worth this road.

So I reconnect to highway 70 and work my way into Colorado. I've driven this road three times now, almost always at night, and each time in the middle of summer. The Aspen leave are just starting to change, and this is likely the last weekend I'm getting over the pass before the early snows start to hit.

The air is dry. I pull over to fill the tank and the air tells me just how dry it is - I have to sit in the parking lot for about 20 minutes to stop a bloody nose. The nose bleed is bad, the view isn't.

Back on the road, twists and turns through the mountain passes.

I'm getting passed by everyone, some of them slow down and stare. Some smile and wave. One trucker gives me the finger. I can see him mouthing an obscenity at me as he passes by. I can still picture his face, his scrunched up red cheeks, and the irrational fury that was behind the wheel screaming at me impotently. I remember it, because every other trucker out there has been a gentlemen of the road. Passing gracefully, reaching a distance that his draft doesn't make me bounce around, some waving, some with big smiles. At night they have flashed their lights to let me know when I could pass them. I have to drive in their lane, they share it with me even though I'm not one of them.

Vail. Breckenridge. Other mountain towns. And now the big hill.

The Eisenhower-Johnson memorial tunnel is 60 miles outside of Denver, and is 11,158 ft high. The only higher tunnel is in China, and you have to take a train through it. Coming from the west, the climb is a two mile ascension. I'm moving at 20 MPH, and drafting and being drafted by, a semi. We are all in this really slow boat together, and only patience is going to get us over this hill.

I reach the top. The bus finishes its chorus of "I think I can" and begins the "I thought I could" song as it reaps the reward of a downhill descent to 5280 ft.

The rest of the ride is uneventful. I'm in Ft. Collins at 7:30 that night.

For those who asked, full sized pictures can be found here.


Next. The drive back. Far less enjoyable. At least I had company.

Nevada to Moab - Day 4

It's about 9:00 am and I'm stepping out of the hot springs. The bus is already packed, and I decided that a quick splash before I hit the road sounded like a good idea. It was.

Note to self: put a hot tub in the garage so I can always take a nice mellow dip in the hot water before driving. It's better than beer.

I head out on the dirt road and see evidence of the old silver mine before I make it back to Highway 50.

Now begins the long drive to Moab - 528 Miles, several mountain passes, two desserts.
There aren't many signs out there, but when you see them, they have something to say.

I practice my rear-view mirror photography skills, there are no radio stations that I can get, and I have nothing to do other than stare at the horizon and try to remember the words to American Pie.

Mountain pass after mountain pass:
Pinto Summit -7376
Pancake summit -6517
Robinson Pass - 7607
Sacramento Pass - 7154

I'm climbing some of them at 40MPH, some at 20. Grade and momentum matter in this car.

Your imagination can run wild out there. You start remembering books that you read where people were alone and left to survive on their wits. Movies of people climbing from the weapons-tested rocks. I'm starting to think that much of this looks like Red dead Redemption. (Obilgatory video game reference)
After a while, the rocks start having faces.

Fortunately, they are smiling.


I reached the town of Ely NV. It is a small silver mining town with a couple of brothels (look for the rows of trucks with Utah license plates surrounding the buildings) and a few older victorian houses.

A quick note about fellow travellers on this road. There aren't many of them. The last time I took this road, I was travelling much like these two. They were heading from Moab to Reno - opposite of my drive, and twice as fast I'm sure.

I stopped in the middle of a dessert to help a Miata that had a flat tire. He couldn't find his jack and put the spare tire on. It was in the trunk - under the little flap on the right. He offered me a cold soda as thanks, I accepted. I had two grandfathers that taught me a little about self reliance. I'm driving away and thinking that I have never driven a car that hasn't had a jack and spare tire. I'm also thinking that I miss my grandparents.


Just outside of Ely, you head to Hwy 6 - The Grand Army of the Republic Highway. Its a grand name for a long straight a road that looks like this:

The sun starts to set and I use the light to my advantage. Yeah, I like long shadows.

The drive on Hwy 70 is normally beautiful, but I hit the turns too late to see the epic sunsets that light the buttes in Maxfield Parrish style.
It's getting late, so I pull into Moab around 10:45 and get a nice room at the "give them away" price. (About 40% less than the price of the room 30 minutes prior.)

Next: Day 5 - into Ft. Collins.