Range Rover Classic

Once upon a time I rather fancied a nice V8 Range Rover. It never happened.

This weekend we went to look at one.

It is a Range Rover Classic, year, 1991.

Naturally it is a V8 – 3.9. It sounds wonderful. It has a good chassis and seems rust-free. It has a beautiful walnut dash and a somewhat bizarre small sport-style steering wheel to match. In terms of colour and interior it is slightly faded, or worn, or however you want to describe it. It also has a crap new head-lining that in no way matches.

It costs 200€ a year to road tax in Spain (no road tax in Gib).

It has a few faults. Apart from anything else the ITV (Spanish equivalent of MOT) expired at the end of the month.

The water jets for the windscreen don't work. One doesn't even eject water, and the other sends out a pitiful trickle that doesn't hit the windscreen.

The support for the split upper rear door doesn't work. If you don't hold the glass up it drops down and hits you on the head if you haven't realised.

The small indicator lights on the side of the front wings don't work. Fuse?

Nevertheless they are not big things in the overall scheme of Range Rovers. Adrian drove it out of the underground car park where it lives so that we could have a decent look at it in daylight – where we discovered the above faults.

We also discovered as I was trying to get in – that it is not a five door. Or rather a two door as one can hardly describe the boot bit as a door. Now while I may have passed my lithe agile peak, I am not entirely immobile and it was hell to get into. It was the sort of situation where you open the door, dive headlong onto the back seat through the narrow gap (even allowing for pushing the front seat forward) and hoping the rest of your body clambers in after the first part. Not that I wear them, but it is no good for anyone who chooses short skirts or stilettos. Nor is it any good for anyone who wishes to look remotely elegant – woman or man.

I could see very little out of the front as the seats are high. I contented myself with looking out of the rear window. They are slidey windows so I opened it a tiny bit and decided I didn't have enough strength to manage more than a couple of centimetres. I leaned over to the other side and couldn't open that at all. Still, if we bought it, I wouldn't be sitting in the back. Neither would anyone else.

It sounded very nice as we drove a short distance down the road. We checked out all the usual suspect areas for rust. Think the owner was a bit surprised when we went through the routine of checking all the lights – like why would you not? Because we don't drive very much these days, checking all the lights are working (as well as oil and water) has now become standard practice before we set off anywhere – usually to Spain, as there is little point driving around Gib.

So. Verdict.

A good drive. Condition: good rather than very good, and defo not mint – chassis and engine were plus points, and they are what matters. Desirability: two doors, crap colour, and appalling new head-lining detract from it. Oh, I keep forgetting, it had air-con and a newish Blaupunkt stereo. I keep forgetting to mention them because they don't interest me but the owner seemed to think they were important. Mileage: 240,000 kms. Price: too much. Had a quick looky on eBay and couldn't find anything over a grand – he wanted more. He's not been able to sell it in at least the last six months if not more. What could we realistically expect for it if we wanted to sell? A few hundred?

So ….... whatever happened to my dream about Range Rovers? Guess I've been a leaf-sprung woman for too long.

Avoiding San Pedro - the toll road

Cruised up to the finca this weekend. Round trip is around 350kms.

Here we are at Chilches. We usually stop here to let the dog out for a walk.



For the first time ever we used a toll road in Spain for the section between Marbella and Estepona, to avoid San Pedro de Alcantara.

Cost - two euros 55 cents (one way).

Reason – roadworks that are apparently going to last for the next 18 months and are causing huge delays.

Verdict – very nice. Worth two euros 55 cents. Possibly made up for in fuel efficiency by not sitting in traffic jams.

Note – toll road costs go up over the summer period so according to Via Michelin this goes up to five euros 72 cents. Probably still worth doing to avoid delays which will be even worse in summer.

The stretch of toll road is around 23km with a rest area/filling station/shop/cafeteria/toilets/parking etc on both sides of the road. Note, the shop prices seemed somewhat dear, but they maybe don't get a lot of punters. Loads of space and great for dog walking. Clean toilets.





On non-toll roads in Spain the slip roads are terrible, you have to go from a standing start to meet traffic travelling at minimum 80kmph. Here, you actually get a decent slip road to get up enough speed to pull onto the motorway, plus there isn't too much traffic anyway.

Another observation, the tunnels on the toll road are so much better lit. How bizarre.

It was pretty scenery and a great bit of road. Naturally, less traffic, as we all want to save two euros and 55 cents. Not any more. We'll be using it again.

Mileage

Around 350 kms

Cost

Around £23 for diesel and €5.10 in tolls

As a comparison the bus trip is around €26 for one person (both ways), before you even think about getting something to eat, and takes around twice as long.

Tarifa - one more time

The Santana hasn't been to Tarifa before, although the Series III went there some years ago.

So after visiting Parque Centennial outside Algeciras we headed off to Tarifa.

Parque Centennial looking across the Bahia de Algeciras towards Gibraltar.



Parked up opposite the beach at Tarifa.



Costa de la Luz. Atlantic Ocean and beautiful beaches. Love it.



Mileage

Gibraltar to Tarifa via Parque Centennial and a trip round the nearby housing estate when we couldn't go back the same way we came in - 117 kms. Also includes driving past Rio Jara camp site in a fruitless search for somewhere to get some tapas on the side of the road.......

Cost

Around £10 - in Gibraltar.

Brake (stop) lights

Travelling up the coast last weekend back to the finca, Adrian noticed the electrics seemed to be playing up.

He couldn't tell whether the dashboard lights were coming on and couldn't see if the headlights were working in the tunnels.

As the tunnels are pretty well lit, it's virtually impossible to tell whether your lights are working or not.

Plus, the ammeter seemed to be swinging around a bit. Maybe it was a fuse somewhere - always nice to hope for something simple.

Anyway, we got there ok, but before setting off on the return journey, we went methodically through the light check. It seemed the brake (stop) lights were the culprit and weren't working.

Now - some two years ago, we had a problem with the brake lights. We had been checking everything before we took the vehicle for the Spanish ITV - and, the brake lights weren't working.

At the time, we had no idea which was the fuse for the brake lights. In fact we didn't know what any of the fuses were for. There is no manual with the vehicle and we have not been able to find anything remotely resembling one.

Santana fuse box


So trial and error was called for, and we methodically went through the fuses, trying to identify what each one was for. Out of 14 fuses, we managed to identify nine of them. But even with a full set of working fuses, the brake lights still weren't coming on.

We posted on LRUK asking if anyone had any idea about the Santana fuse box - hoping it might be similar to a Defender one, because it certainly is nothing like a Series III one. We discovered it is nothing like a Defender one either.

But, help came our way, with a suggestion that we needed to check the brake light switch and see if there was any current going through it. There wasn't.

Brake light switch - really convenient position.....


The next day Adrian cycled into town to see if he could get a switch. He did, at a cost of 9€. So far, so good.

Then all we had to do was to work out how to replace it. There was no way we could do it without a dismantle job, so off came the wing, out came the pedal box, the reservoir, servo, brake master cylinder blah blah...... All for a nine euro switch.

Everything out


Pedal box on kerb complete with new switch


Anyway, job done and back in and on. Auto-electrician was well impressed with our efforts and he told us it would have cost hundreds because he would have needed to pay a mechanic to do the dismantling job.

All back


So back to the present, and when the brake lights still weren't working we had that nagging feeling that the switch might have gone again.

But, after the fuses, the next step was the bulbs. Checked those, no, not working either. Not looking good at this point.

Adrian jumped in the Landy and shot into town to see our favourite auto-electrician.

"Arranque," said the auto-electrician. Adrian started it up. "Ponga los frenos." Adrian put the brakes on.

"Muy bien," said your man. "Funcionan."

Adrian jumped out looking puzzled, so the auto-electrician duly demonstrated to him that they were working.

At which point the penny dropped. The second time we had tested them - after changing the fuse - Adrian had turned on the ignition, but not the engine. So the brake lights didn't come on. Everything else did - but not the brake lights.

Anyway, he made up a really cool story about how his useless woman couldn't even tell which lights were brake lights......... and drove happily home.

At least we know which fuse is for the brake lights now.

The trip - the start of the adventure

Wednesday dawned. As do most Wednesdays. But this Wednesday was the start of our adventure.

I'd gone round the house marking stuff for the removals people about what was to stay. They had an extensive typed schedule of what to move and we had sent them the keys.

The theory had been that they actually came and packed stuff before we left but life doesn't work like that and they claimed double booking. So we told them to come and move us after we had gone. The stuff was going into storage anyway.

We couldn't change our ferry booking date because everything was finely tuned round the certificates from the vet for exporting the dogs. For anyone thinking of doing this in future - the key combination is ferry booking, vet's appointment, and getting the certificates from Defra which are posted to the vet for them to complete. When you are in the midst of selling a house - and moving before completion of sale - it is not an easy one to juggle. Believe me.

Our planned early start ended up being lunchtime. In fact we were so late that I ended up shooting out to the organic shop for a couple of sanis just before we left, to keep us going on the road.

The trailer was loaded up to the eyeballs with all the essentials that you need for a European trip. Tents, stoves, ex-mil 6ft trestle table, generator, chain saw, spare exhaust, spare manifolds, brake shoes, seals, angle iron (to feature later..) three spare wheels plus tyres, axle stands.......

We shut the door and got in. This was it. The big moment, and no I didn't take a photo. The Hillbillies cruised slowly down the avenue, waving regally at the odd few neighbours who were about. It was a great feeling to be on the road.

The good thing about setting off late was that there was no way we could contemplate a detour to see my parents and have a tearful goodbye scene.

We had allowed two full days to get down to Portsmouth to give us time for the unexpected. Which had now become a day and a half. The ferry left at some unearthly hour, 7 or 8 am or whatever, so we were booked into a guest house for the night before.

Leaving the city behind, we cruised down the A1 at a leisurely 50mph. The old girl didn't seem too bothered about pulling a trailer full of not-so-scrap iron and went well.

Until we got to the services outside Sheffield. The exhaust tail pipe was not looking too good. In fact it was rotto. Adrian twisted it off and chucked it in the bin. I stood there aghast wondering what on earth was happening. We resumed the journey without tailpipe.

As it was November it got dark pretty early. We started looking for somewhere to stop when we got to Loughborough. It seemed there was a conference on and everywhere was full - either that or they didn't like the look of the Series III and the hillbilly trailer.

But eventually someone directed us to what was presumably the old station hotel. It wasn't cheap - £50 a night for tarted up tawdry tat, but it was a bed, and we could take the dogs, and breakfast was included. Oh and there was a car park too.

We decided against the unbusy hotel restaurant, had a couple of drinks in the busy bar and then wandered out to find an excellent Chinese restaurant. Another walk for the dogs and an early night was called for.

The next morning, after picking our way through the largely inedible breakfast, Adrian set about finding a garage to weld the spare tail pipe onto the exhaust. (Always handy to carry spare tail pipe we find). As luck would have it, there was a decent garage not five minutes away who agreed to do it immediately - ish. Adrian marked the exhaust where he wanted it cutting, held it in position while the tail-pipe was welded on, and then bolted it on to the silencer.

Even if we had brought the welder with us in the trailer with all the other essentials, we couldn't have fixed it ourselves. We had no power source and the generator doesn't have enough power to support the welder.

I sat in the hotel room writing a couple of letters in my unexpected leisure time. The Landy was ready mid-late morning, and we set off again. Just as well we had allowed extra time.

We reached Portsmouth before dark. There was no-one in at the guest house. We parked up and Adrian looked at the electric fan. It didn't seem to be cutting in. We rang the RAC. They wouldn't be long.

It got dark. The guest house people returned and I booked in. The RAC still hadn't arrived. We rang them again. And again. And again. Seemed there was a computer breakdown. We risked leaving the vehicle and walked up the street for a quick take-away pizza.

The RAC guy arrived around 10pm. It was freezing cold at this point sitting in a Series III in November. I had wimped out and gone to the bedroom (which wasn't much warmer) but not much point in two of us shivering in the Landy.

As with all electrickery it was simple. A cable had come apart due to metal fatigue. Adrian came to bed looking brain-dead and frozen cold.

We were leaving too early in the morning to be served breakfast so there was a sort of offering awaiting us. Some naff cereal, instant coffee and some bread to toast. We toasted a couple of slices of bread and cleared off.

We reached the ferryport and joined the queue - things suddenly looked better. Ports are exciting, and the Landy had got us there in time, in spite of a couple of minor blips.

Time to embark. We drove on, clunkety clunk. Locked up the Landy and went upstairs to explore the ship.

And then we set off. We moved slowly through Portsmouth harbour in the half light, leaving everything behind, and heading out to sea.



Pic courtesy of Britanny Ferries.

Mileage

Home to Loughborough - 288 km

Loughborough to Portsmouth - 276 km

Total UK mileage: 564 km ie 352.5 miles


Landy problems

Broken tail pipe
Time taken - a couple of hours, but that was mostly waiting for the welder to be free. Cost, can't remember, but somewhere between £20 and £40.

Electric fan breakdown
Time taken - five hours waiting for the RAC. Five or ten minutes to do the job. Cost nil - apart from RAC membership cost of course.

Vandalism

Some time ago one of our neighbours had her car kicked in.



It was parked in a relatively safe place - or so we would all have thought - although not in a particularly busy (hence safe) or well-lit area.

Months later we parked up from there, in a well-lit spot where people walked past.

No problems for months - until....

.....one Saturday morning and a rear window was smashed.



Not smashed in, just suitably smashed with a tiny hole where whatever it was had been thrown at the window.

Needless to state, there were lots of broken bottles around the area.

Decided to seal it up for the journey back to Spain. Nice bag and some strong gaffer tape to get us through the border and avoid it shattering en route.



Just as well we did, because on the return journey it had shattered shortly before arriving in Gib.

Nice piece of board cut ready to fit while hunting down some glass. (Also carefully left in the pub so I had to go and retrieve it).



Still waiting to fit the board.

The wished-for Christmas present

Before Christmas we managed to take a week's holiday so drove up to the finca.

The last time we drove down to Gib, the engine cut out when we turned out of the lane into the main street.

Once back in Gib, it didn't get forgotten about, rather put on the back burner as work took priority, and we rarely use the LR in the city.

So driving up to the finca, all went well. A good journey. Leaving the main road to turn into the village, left hand indicator on - engine cut out.

Started up again, and we pulled up outside the house. Reversed back to park close to the kerb. Engine cut out again. Even Mr and Ms Non-Electrical could work out there was an electrical problem that happened when some lights came on (LH indicator and reversing light).

Rather than spending the week messing around trying to diagnose the fault, we took the easy option and booked her into the local auto-electrician's which is pretty good.

Needless to state it wasn't difficult and he diagnosed it in about two seconds flat. Those of you who know more than us about electrics - not difficult - will no doubt have worked out what it was. One of my internet friends guessed it correctly straightaway. Oh well, electrics are not our strong point.

It needed a new ignition switch and barrel ie complete unit. One advantage was that we got new keys - and we have needed a spare one since we got the LR.

It wasn't too expensive either as it obviously didn't take long. The only problem was that it needed to come from Málaga, and it was a holiday weekend. So sadly we had to extend the holiday and take a couple of extra days off work.

Obviously needing something to do during those extra days, Partner went to look at another Santana. Older than ours but the same model, diesel, 3.5, 6-cylinder. The intention is to buy it for spare parts - although it seems such a shame to break something that would probably work with a bit of TLC.

Mmmmm he was lusting after it. And still is.

Took a wander round the Ark Royal when it came into Gib as part of British Forces Open Day.



It is huge. Or rather the aircraft hanger is huge as you would expect. The aircraft hanger was as much as we got to see, but there was some interesting stuff in there.



Not least this. Being ignorant in all things military I had to ask one of my sources what it was. He told me it was an AWD tractor, used for moving aircraft both on board and on land. A Douglas Tugmaster apparently. Thanks and credit to my source for finding out for me.




Of course there were a couple of Defenders to look at too, parked up at the Royal Naval Dockyard on the Open Day.




Next up - latest on our Landy and what he wants for Christmas........

A few pix

A selection of Land Rovers seen over the last few weeks.

So first up, three LRs parked near to each other in one of the car parks. Two Discoverys, and a Defender SWB.



Note the Maggiolina on one of the Discos which Partner is lusting after (the roof tent not the Disco - there are limits).



In the background of the shot with the red Disco, is the British War Memorial.



Lastly, what looks like the same Landy I posted about back in March, although slightly different appearance. One day we will catch the owner to speak to them.

109 ambulance

Went for a walk this arvo, and set off down the street. Suddenly realised it would be more sensible to go uphill.

Whereupon, I spotted this fine 109 ambulance.

After chatting for a bit, I ran off down the street to get Adrian who needed to be alerted immediately to the presence of a Land Rover being fiddled on very nearby.

1981, fitted with a 19J four cylinder turbo diesel, Kenlowe fan, and Defender front end. Of course Adrian may have got some of this wrong. The engine looked very well fitted, pix next time maybe. Previously fitted with a V8.

Then I left them to it.

A good way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Yes?






Mine was spent taking pictures of Fedra - here.

No posts because no Land Rovering for ages.

But anyway she was looking a bit dirty and scruffy and abandoned so she got a wash down at the weekend and is now as beautiful as ever.

The price of petrol

Having very smugly written about the price of petrol/diesel back in March, when it was 54.9p a litre, I thought an update was in order.

I am not quite so smug now. Just as well we don't drive much. At this rate it will soon be through the £1 barrier.



Similar prices elsewhere, 89p (petrol) and 83p (diesel) at the BP garage.

Spanish bureaucracy

Today I decided to brave Spain and the long queues in Spanish banks and - to get the forms from the local traffic department to bajar the coche, ie take it off the Spanish system.

Taking it off the system means we won't keep getting bills for Spanish road tax, and I might even get a refund for what's left of this year ie six months, 30€ or so.

First I went off to pay the telefonica bill in the bank. My dear and faithful readers who are now familiar with the Spanish banking system, thanks to my incessant moans, will remember that you can only pay bills in a fifteen minute window on the one day of the month which does not have a y in it. OK, I exaggerate slightly. But at the bank I normally use you can only pay on Tuesdays and Thursdays between 8.30 and 10am. I think one of the others lets you pay on the days of the month that fall between 10th and 20th. Before 10 am, natch. As this is far too complicated for simple Kate to successfully remember I don't bother with that bank.

I cruised in at my usual time of just after 9.30pm having walked through Gib and crossed the airfield and the frontier. Normally this allows enough time to get seen by 10am. Sometimes it is 9.59 but I've always made that critical 10am deadline.

There must have been 30 people in the queue. Now, on a good day, the Spanish banking system is not so efficient that they process people at the rate of a person per minute. On a bad day I have stood behind four or five people for half an hour. While I can't remember the complexities of which different banks are open for bills on different days of the week and the month, I can do the sum that says, 30 people in front of me means I will not get to the cash desk before 10am.

I walked out. I tried another couple of banks. No, you need to have an account with us to pay bills. The second one however suggested I used the post office. The only time I have tried to use the post office before was to pay the water bill which naturally they wouldn't accept. And in our village in Spain the post office (open for an hour a day) is not automated, so I'm guessing you can't pay bills there and I always use the bank.

Well the post office was a piece of cake. Fast (in Spanish terms) ie a queue of ten meant I was only waiting ten minutes, efficient and friendly. In fact I was so impressed that if I want to open an account I might well use the post office. Inspired by this I skipped off to the Tourist Information Office to ask them where I would find Avenida Principe de Asturias which is where the traffic office is situated.

Of course there are two TIOs in La Linea. One for the town and one for the whole of Andalucía. Naturally I ended up at the one for Andalucía and not for La Linea. But I figured they would know where it was anyway and I didn't feel like walking to the other one.

Helpful woman beamed, and produced a map of La Linea. The traffic office was very near. I was on a roll. I skipped off yet again.

Traffic office found, no problem. There was the usual crowd of people all milling around and a take-a-ticket system for your place in the queue that wasn't working. Then I spotted an information desk that was also a dishing-out-of-forms desk. Exactly what I needed.

I waited patiently behind someone who seemed to have to come back later despite having all her paperwork. Then two people got some forms very quickly and it was my turn.

"The husband of mine would like to bajar his coche and I would like the forms for that," I said in best Spanish.

"Bajar el coche," said Mr Unhelpful suspiciously to The Stupid Foreigner.

"Si."

"You can't do that here. You have to go somewhere else. Where are you?"

I thought that was a very silly question given that I was standing in front of him so I said "Here".

"Well you need to go to Algeciras." Then he decided to make a bit more effort and asked his colleagues whereabouts in Algeciras I needed to go.

"Calle something or other," was the answer.

"Do you think you could write it down?" As five Spanish syllables rattled off in a very fast La Linea accent meant absolutamente nada to me.

Then he pointed to a list on his glass screen and a security guy came round to point out the one I needed.

Scrapyards and places to take your vehicle when it has come to the end of its useful life, it said.

"Oh no," I said to security man. "This is not what I want at all. I do not want to get rid of the vehicle. I want to take it off the system. I still have it, but it now has a number plate for Gibraltar."

Security man repeats this to his colleague.

I go back to Mr Unhelpful behind the glass screen.

"So what do you want to do?" he snaps.

Well I thought I had made this clear but I repeated it again.

"I want to bajar the coche." Then I added for clarification that it now had a Gib number plate and I didn't want to pay Spanish road tax any more.

Well, why did I not mention the money first? Of course the centimo then dropped. Muy rápido.

"Oh, you want to bajar the coche," he said. No sweetheart. What on earth did you think I asked you originally?

"Do you want to export it to Gibraltar?" I'm sure I imagined the surly look on his face that read that irritating place on the end of the Iberian peninsula that should really be Spanish. Or maybe he was just fed up with dealing with The Stupid Foreigner who hadn't said that she needed to bajar the coche. Much.

"It's already done. It has a Gib number plate," I smiled back.

At which point he wandered off and found some forms. He handed over four. Then he repeated everything all over again and asked if I was exporting it and if I wanted to bajar it.

"Si."

So then he took two forms back and said I only needed the remaining two.

I pointed to yet another notice on his glass screen. It said if you are presenting forms on behalf of someone else then you need bring their ID and signed authorisation. So I told him the husband worked every day and I wanted that form too.

And then off I went. Step one completed. Now all we have to do is fill out the forms and I go back to the hellhole of bureaucracy and try and well and truly finish this bajar the coche job.

I bumped into Adrian on the way back up Main Street (along with 50 million people who had descended from the latest cruise ship). I foolishly recounted the morning's achievements (?). I suggested we could take the forms in together. But it seems work is very busy and he won't be able to take any time off. Hmmm.

Oh I stopped at The Angry Friar for a beer. I figured I had earned it.