Wed, 07 Jan 1998

Channel IX - disaster strikes the proud and haughty!

Forgive me, I have not caught up with all the latest digests - relatives from blighty - Xmas, New Year, work, alcohol (love that champagne & peach schnapps cocktail by the pool on Christmas Day!)

Season greetings to y'all anyway..

The disaster? - pin back your Pentiums for this one!

Friday morning before Xmas, polished her up, conditioned the leather, got showered and changed (us that is!) ready to go the airport to pick up the relatives - the gleaming beast at the arrivals hall doors will be just a treat for us - and them!

Off we swish down the highway - motor purring, sunroof open and a song in our hearts - "this is a very special day" (Peggy Lee).

About 10 miles on, I feel the engine labouring slightly - that chilling sensation creeps in, on top of that sinking feeling in the stomach... perhaps a bit of a hill? - nope, flat road. Oil? - crack on 45psi, temperature? - sweet as - on 75deg. No horrible noises. Tremble tremble in the fingers.

The labouring increases. A dab on the brake pedal and the jelly in my legs hits resistance straight away, none of the usual softness. An exit appears half a mile ahead. "Coming into land" says I - "there's a gas station up the slope from here". There is no sane place to pull over on the highway.

As we labour up the slope, the temperature gauge is 85deg and rising and we can hear this scary hissing noise emanating from who knows where underneath us...

There is a set of lights 50 yards away and the gas station 30 yards further on - a safe haven. We get to the lights crawling along, in low by now, the hissing getting much worse - there is nowhere to stop! we can't possibly stop here in the middle of 3 lanes of cars!

As we creep onto the forecourt, the radiator is bubbling bright green fluid and we can smell hot hot hot somethings. The brake pedal is as hard as... well, something that is very very hard. The car stops moving without any help from me - just inside the entrance to the gas station.

We leap out to see blue smoke billowing out from both rear wheels. The smell is appalling and the pall of smoke is scaring all the motorists at the pumps!

I have no spanners, no nothing. The gas station jockey has a hammer! - very useful says I with a grin that would slay Dracula...

The airport cannot wait so I send John off in a cab to go home and roll out the 420 to collect the rellies. I stay with the IX, now clutching an extinguisher. There is a pop! as the nearside tyre collapses in a soggy heap and white smoke starts drifting out combined with a sizzling, dribbly, boiling fluid sound.

SHIT! - does brake fluid catch fire? knees start knocking at 200Mhz - will I found out? - I daren't throw water on this lot - something might crack and if the fluid does catch fire the water will boil off and spread it even worse...

I reach into the boot (trunk) and grab the 2 tonne trolley jack (a very useful toy to have with these cars) and scramble to get the nearside wheel off - I need to be able to get at the seat of this drama - but quick.

The jack does not fit under the car! - the tyre is flat as a proverbial. I scream at the gas jockey to lift the car (!!!!) while I force the jack under the jacking point. I burn my fingers releasing the hub cap and boy oh boy you have never seen 5 wheel nuts come off so quick. The inner tube is liquid rubber and the paint on the wheel has bubbled...

Now the rubber boots on the brake calipers melts and more white smoke pours out - the bubbling brake fluid is spitting and dribbling on to the ground. "Is that stuff dangerous?" says the jockey...

Then a loud pop and a clunk. The piston rubbers have melted and released the pressure in the brake system. Arrrggh! the car starts to roll backwards!!!! I run round and throw her into 'park' - in the drama I had forgot...

By now the heat was dying down and the possibility of a 1666 ( the great fire for you non-history types) had disappeared. I put on the spare wheel, topped up the water (motor was fine thank heavens) and, thinking I could use the handbrake to stop her, started her up to move away to the back of the gas station - in 'low'. Whoa! handbrake as useless as a fart in a thunderstorm! I aim for the kerb and a glancing bounce off - managing to ricochet onto a gentle slope where, with judicious low/reverse swapping, I get her against another kerb.

A few tears escape down my cheek - I am kicking myself for not having overhauled that f***ing master cylinder properly - a "that will do" just "didn't do" at all. I reckon the little piston seal which is designed to leave the fluid line open to the reservoir had stuck and as the system warmed up, trapped the fluid in the brake lines. The hotter it got, the more the fluid expanded and the more the brakes came on and the more disaster.

John arrived 2 hours later in the 420, 5 people and the boot lid tied down with rope over piles of suitcases (the IX would have handled them with ease).

We all sat there waiting for the tow truck - what a welcome for the guests!

So, she sits forlornly in the garage waiting for me to organise stripping down the brake system. Reline the brake cylinders (stainless), new seals - (where shall we get them?) probably new pads, a new inner tube (the tyre seems to have survived) - and do something with the master cylinder (reline? new piston? - I won't be happy with a 'make do' this time!)

I am humbled for having taken the risk - but we did manage several hundred miles on the rally recently with no problems at all - sods law I suppose.

`1`1` - that's the cat on the keyboard - she's giving me solace

The end of the IX saga.

and Channel II? - she's very laid back (or should I say 'up'?) - $1,000 for front suspension parts can't be found in the coffers - Xmas has seen to that.

Channel 420? - see next posting - but she's purring along...

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Channel IX

Saloons

MK VII-IX