Another roadtrip tale :)

So, with our plan we started to make arrangements, got both vans day cover insurance and even had the cheek to pay the extra pound for relay assistance even though we doubted the AA would believe we were driving 350 or so miles to an mot
We had to figure out how we were going to get down to west sussex, in order to drive both vans up we would have to train or bus it, the chances of us both being sober and in the same county doing that was next to nothing so we wiped that plan. Then we asked tom and mark..... they know us two pretty well so found excuses to be doing something else Then we phoned our good buddys Steve and Gary. It was Steves birthday but he still agreed to help out (top bloke) Gary got grounded as I suspect he isnt allowed to play with us ;D
I should point out steve is used to our practical jokes, senses of humour and the like but doesnt know about our roadtrips and what they entail.... poor sod!
We wanted to take the minx, he refused not really seeing the adventure to be had and instead borrowed his other halfs BMW on the condition we were in clean clothes and didnt mess around in it...... we thought this was reverse psychology again ;D
So......
Plan was, early night saturday, set out at 5 in the morning, Steve would take us the 270 miles to the first cf, drop us off and head for home arriving at a decent enough time to still enjoy his birthday with his wife and kids, we would do the deal on the van, drive along the south coast to Dover, get my van, and get back up the road as soon as possible...... simples!

Our early night saturday went tits up, me and dave sat up drinking bitter until stupid o clock and sending random curse word texts to steves phone all night to scare him, it seemed the thing to do at the time.
5am and my phone woke me, you know that feeling when you open one eye and the first thought in your head is "why did I have a drink?" well, that was my awakening, the phonecal was Steve saying he was outside so got dressed and came downstairs, Dave was up and making Steve a coffee so I sat down for a smoke. I could hear Dave giggling to himself and guessed what he was doing.....

Did you know dave is lactose intolerant? it makes him stench like a sewer, even the hint of milk sets him off.

Dave was giggling because he had just arsed a pint of milk.....deliberately. Steve looked a tad confused and didnt understand why milk was so funny..... he would after several hours in a car......

And so we set off, 2 minutes down the road and steve nearly stopped the car with the smell, Dave giggled and i put my head out of the window. Jesus it was bad. Steve wasnt happy at the thought someone had just crapped in his wifes car and I cant blame him for thinking it. Every services we demanded curse word stops and coffee, we made rude gestures to every single other vehicle on the road, we discussed a competition to see who could fill an empty coffee cup with spit first...... steve went quiet.......and the smell? the constant gut churning smell......

By 8 oclock Steve had had enough, he flew into services and demanded Dave get himself inside and take a curse word, no argueing just do it, Dave protested that 9 was a much better time for it but there was no reasoning with Steve. Dave duly accepted he should and as he got out the car broke his glasses in half. So we went into services but dave insisted on wearing one half of his glasses, went to the shop first for some bits and bobs but Dave kept farting, standing there in the stench giggling with only half a glass on...... steve was suicidal.

The trip should have been simple, M6, M42, M40, M25, M3 and then we were pactically there, and it was going well until one of the overhead signs on the motorway said there was a closure on the M3, i insisted we still take it and follow whatever diversion was in place but steve didnt want to, daves started again, I moaned constantly about not being on the M3 and insisted we then take the A3 which we did.... for a little while at least..

For some reason the satnav had lied all the way down, I know these roads pretty well so kept overruling it but as soon as we were on the A3 Steve decided maybe satnav was right and ended up dragging us through every single godforsaken curse word backwoods village in the south of england. We were all ragging for a curse word and there were trees everywhere but he wouldnt stop, eventually he pulled into a country park car park so we could take a curse word... we had just driven miles of deserted woodland and he stopped in the one place there might actually be other people and kids? we questioned his logic and he went teararsing out the park and back down the road stopping at the first layby. me and dave jumped out and ran to our respective trees as fast as possible....... Steve drove off and left us......

So there we were, we decided to give the van a chance so I phoned the people and told them we were 5 minutes away, this was a shock to them as I had told them I would call before leaving lancashire but its good to keep folk on their toes!
I had assumed from talking to them on the phone they were lowlife and we werent dissapointed, both about 5 foot tall, she had some stained dress she had got when she was 18 (she was about 65) and wellys on, straggly greasy thinning hair and was as round as she was tall, we could tell in the first few seconds of looking at her she was a nasty, cruel piece of work..... work, theres a word neither of them had ever used before.... he had his wellys, the same hairstyle as his missus, skanky suit trousers tucked into his wellys and pulled over his holy, stained nitted cardy that was straining behind his bodys unhealthy bulk. they looked like a nasty couple of rotten pears, between the stained clothes and their shape and size thats what they looked like, a pair of rotten pears with straggly greasy hair.
And the van, bearing in mind this was described as having a hole in the passenger door and had been brush painted... well, it hadnt been brush painted, someone had poured emulsion over it and spread it with a stick! maybe the same person that had been using a cement mixer to mix batches of filer before they smeared it everywhere. well, when I say everywhere they missed all the holes and rust and just concentrated on the dents.
A quick look revealed a really good chassis so all was not lost, a proper look at the cab revealed it would need both doors, both wheelarches a bonnet, repairs to the roof, the windscreen surround replaced and thats before we start digging out filler to see whats under it.
The interior was complete although it did smell like dead people. Dead people who had curse word themselves.

At this point we mentioned it wasnt quite as described and the little unhygenic curse word got really shirty, we said it was described as having "a hole in the door" he pointed out it did have one, he didnt seem to understand the concept that it was still the best panel on the van! we hummed and haa'd at it and said it wasnt worth the money and wasnt what we wanted, he started slamming doors and swearing saying we were wasting his time, Dave pointed out all he had done was walk outside from his skanky house whereas we had driven 270miles to be confronted by a heap of scrap, whos time was being wasted?
Anyway, negotiations took place, we figured it was doable for the right money, they dropped a huge amount of the price without prompting, which said they new it was wibblepoo, and we seemed to strike a deal. I went back to the car to sort money whilst Dave chatted to them. secretly I was quite pleased because it meant dave was gonna have to go into their house and sort paperwork and that was more than enough payback for the milk trick, I was actually giggling to myself thinking about it.
I had just counted the money out when Dave came over to the car, he looked worried. Turns out as he chatted to them he had asked how it was on the motorway, bearing in mind how well Murv goes and this one had the same engine in it. "its ok when you get up to speed" the seedy little dwarf said to him, "oh, and what speed is that?" he asked "45, 50 if you really thrash it!"
Well that was that, they got told to stick the van, we got in the beemer and buggered off quick sharp. Steves dreams of being home with his loved ones was vanishing as we now needed a lift to kent, the dwarf couple were left scowling at the side of the road and me and dave considered ourselves bloody lucky not to have bought the damn thing before we found that one out!

So we found Murv, heres how he used to look....





Now, for those that don't know, I love this van with a passion, everyone who has ever met Murv loves him, he is just one of those cars. ive got loads of memories tied up in him, been up and down and across the country in him more times than I can recall, When I had the accident and had to sell of all the stuff I had at the time, he was the only one I was determined to keep, and I did, despite certain friends trying to profiteer and sell him on etc I managed to keep him and tucked him away until such a time I could do something with him.

The slotmags have long since been sold, he had been half rubbed down and left in primer, had only moved 12 miles in three years and hadnt even been aired out or checked in the last 14 months.

We turned into the field and looked through the trees....it wasnt pretty. He had sunk into the mud, rear tyres were half deflated, the rags of an old tarpaulin were hanging off him, leaves, mildew, mud..... he was looking very sad. as we pulled in Steve said out loud "no curse word chance" but unperturbed me and dave looked at each other and said "this might be do-able" Eternal optimists, thats us! :lol

So we got out and went through the mud and trees, a quick glance over him showed he was pretty complete apart from wiper blades, his locks were solid and looking inside there was a complete hammock of spiderswebs right through him..... it looked grim.

A pop of the bonnet showed he wanted oil, strangely his water level was fine and in general the engine and ancillaries didnt look half bad. Its had alot of money spent on it in the past so internaly the engine should be good.I was confident he would fire up, Steve piped up with "no curse word way" but me and dave set about the basics, fresh oil, fesh battery, deoderant down the carb.
He was very lazy on his starter but eventually gave a cough, we hooked on some jump leads for a bit of extra oomph and tickled the choke.... he only went and fired up then sat there idling like he did this every day!!
That was the first hurdle, Steve was in disbelief and was still voicing serious concerns about trusting this vehicle to do 350 miles on a half baked theory of travelling to an mot, he said even if it was legal the van was a copper magnet and we had no chance... but Murv was alive now

This was when we discovered the brakes were siezed solid, Steve was happy, this meant all jump in the beemer, go home and forget this ever happened......

WRONG!

We towed him backwards and with a huge bang the brakes released, happy days!

this was when we found the clutch was siezed, we towed him about in gear until once again, it freed off!!

By now the engine was sitting at temp, oil pressure was good, he was still on old fuel but running happily but 350 miles? you would have to be mental.......

At this point Steve was very worried, me and Dave watched him walk off down the road looking up driveway and down sidestreets, we didnt have a clue what he was doing but could tell his natural urge was to run in circles, waving his arms shouting "don't panic mr mannering"
He eventually came back to the van telling us we should drive further, get down a side street, hide behind bushes etc.....we don't do panicing so calmly told him to go to the boot of his car and get a philips head screwdriver whilst we rolled fags, when he came back we dismantelled the dash panel, twisted the headlamp wires together in sequence and hey presto, lights!!
The indicators were having none of it so we figured we could go with out them and argue a fuse had just blown if we got a pull. two minutes later we were on the M20, we stuck at about 55 as we didnt want to strain the old fellow, he loved it at this speed, ticking along like clockwork. every now and again there was an odd noise but a small prod on the throttle cured it every time, we figured given how many components had been seized up we could live with that wink

The M20 was fairly easy, within minutes it didnt feel like we were in a vehicle of dubious legality, we held a steady pace and just drove. I was keeping a good eye on vehicles overtaking us and at one point a traffic officer volvo went past in the outside lane, we waited and waited but the lights never went on and he dissapeared into the distance. that is lucky!

The M26 was much the same, dropped in behind a truck and held pace with him until we hit the M25, two Motorways down and not been tugged, we never expected to get this far.

Love this story.
Just read it, and still laughing

So we hit the M25, that annoying noise we were hearing earlier seemed to have got a bit worse but we still werent overly concerned, Steve phoned from behind us to say he needed Redbull as he was getting tired, we all were so we decided to pull in at Clacket lane again, this was our first stop so we figured we would give the van the once over, top up with oil and if a squad car pulled up we would argue that a warning light had flashed on the dash and although we were on route to an mot, we decided that we should pull in for safety reasons...... not a jury in the land would convict us for that!
So we ran into the shop, grabbed redbull and took a curse word, got some oil and popped the bonnet, topped up, jumped in and nothing! Murv was dead!
Quick check of what we did have gave us a bad charging system as the main culprit so a jump of Steves car was in order. Now, fuel stations get really curse word about you doing that beside fuel pumps but luckily the beemer has a boot mounted battery so we would be shielded from view by that.... me and Dave both realised at the same time we had both lit ciggarettes aswell so we quickly put them out. pair of clowns!
Once the jump leads were on Murv roared into life again, we packed up and hit the road.
The annoying noise had gotten worse so I did the usual checks, accelerate, slow, clutch in etc to trace it. I eventually figured we had a slipping fan belt but we couldnt risk time on the hard shoulder to check it out.
Murvs vital signs were good, he has several gauges that give you a good feel of what hes thinking so confidence in him was building, every now and again we would open him up a bit overtaking, Steve following and getting more impressed with the way he goes by the minute, then, a red flash on the dash caught my eye, The charge light was on, voltmeter was dropping so right away we knew we had snapped the fan belt, there was a tight hard shoulder at this point so keeping an eye on the temp we carried on looking for a safe place to pull in, a large blue sign loomed through some Bushes "SERVICES" it read, but a bush had obscured the second part "7 miles"......doh!!
What was there was a "police patrol vehicles only" sliproad so we sailed up it and stopped........

Eventually we got onto the M40, still no cops and we were feeling quite good we had managed this far, miles turned into miles and about half way up it we needed fuel, so we pulled into services again and stopped by a pump, I offered to get the coffees in while dave filled up. Tried to get the keys out of the ignition and they were having none of it, we pulled and pushed, wiggled and waggled, rocked the wheel back and fore but the buggers wouldnt come out, even worse they wouldnt turn either so we were stuck. We figured wd40 may help so dismantled the keyring and got the tank key off, Dave topped up while me and steve went in for coffee and WD. Somehow, while we were in there Dave had manage to get the key out using a cross between brute force and the dregs from an old engine oil container... just as well because services don't stock WD! porno mags, furry dice, plug in coffe cups and every confectionary known to man but not WD? theres something wrong with that.
We came out, Dave had parked round the corner of the shop and we stood for a bit chatting, thats when Steve noticed the burning smell, it was pretty strong on the passenger side, we flicked through some possibles, seized caliper etc but the hubs were all cool, then I remembered the oilsplash i had seen earlier, figured maybe when I filled up I let some drip on the manifold, it sounded plausible so keeping our faces out of the way we opened the bonnet.

Does anyone remember when I infamously set fire to the 110 going through glencoe about 10 years ago? Remember the cause? well, I had done it again...... why oh why do I always forget to put the oilcap back on? there was our culprit and once again, completely my fault. Still, nothing a polythene bag and some sellotape wouldnt sort, this was an absolutely inspired repair from Dave.... Dave with his half glass on....

After this things went quite well, I did flip out on the access to the M42 when some pratt in a red clio cut us up whilst gesturing..... have you ever had 2 tons of rusty bedford hunt you down at 90, in the dark, with two overly aggressive welders in it? We got alongside and dave let our feelings be known. I very much doubt he will do it again. then dave piped up with "hope we don't get a puncture" so I backed right off again. The M42 passed and onto the M6, miles into miles again and we eventually found our exit, we were BACK!!!!
This in many ways was the worst part because technically for the last 2 miles we werent heading direct to an mot, if we got stopped we had nothing we could say and if they asked where we had come from "Dover" wasnt high up on our list of things we wanted to use as an answer. But we trundled on and eventually got to the workshop, It was 1.30am, Old Murv had done us proud and I think Steves parting words as he drove off that night summed it all up


"you two want to be buying lottery tickets" ;D

you lucky sod

glad it all went well, every few hours that sunday I would remember your plans for the day, shame about the dropside, maybe it was just too close ;D