Memories made in a van named Stanley: Road to ruin

A very poorly van.

It was a strange relief to be leaving the isolation of the farm. While we liked Streaky Bay, there was little else to really enjoy when you feel like you are being a little forced to see things. The roads in and out weren't roads, just dirt tracks and each trip in and out felt uncomfortable- we weren't sure whether Stan would be able to take it! So leaving felt relieving. We decided to make our way to Melbourne, passing Adelaide briefly.

Of course, we were only a few small villages away from being rewarded for our concern for our van. We'd already fretted over our disappearing LED dash display in Port Lincoln that had thankfully returned to us reasonably quickly (after having being given a $10 diagnosis of needing a brand new instrument cluster...mmm I think not!) and had hoped this was the last of our concerns for a while but as we joyfully sped away, our automatic transmission slipped into third, screaming with revs hitting well over 3000 and it refusing to reset after pulling over on several occasions. We knew this wasn't good but to be honest, we were in the middle of nowhere and we wanted to leave. So we hobbled away. We made it as far as Port Germaine for the evening, maxing about 80 in an attempt not to kill Stan.

We made some phone calls the following morning, most of which returned similar answers of "No, we can't really look at it...we don't really do European cars...look for a specialist." My favourite comment was that of "Ah well you shouldn't be driving at revs like that...". Mhmm, no sh*t! That's why we called to try and do something about it. We managed to find a specialist in Salisbury, just outside of Adelaide so decided to make our way there, slowly, very slowly.

When we were on the way to Streaky, we had passed some chalkboard signs for 'Humpalicious Milk' and we were inevitably curious. We didn't have time to check it out then but we decided to make a stop and see what it was all about. We purchased the smallest bottle of the Humpalicious Camel Milk, along with some kangaroo jerky. We ate the jerky on the journey- the seasoning was delicious, the texture was interesting. I think I will stick to my meat a little less dehydrated. The milk was saved for Adelaide- while not hideous, it left a less desirable taste on the palette and certainly not something we both fancy trying again for a while!

The drive was stressful. The rev needle was dangerously close to 4000 on too many occasions and the sound was dreadful. Try as we might to drown the perpetual ring of the engine crying to be put into fourth, it was mostly to no avail. Salisbury seemed ages away but we eventually arrived and shared our woes. A lovely gentlemen took poor Stan for a ride, lifted and lowered him several times and came back to us with "It's not good news." We already knew this. Transmission problems = bad news. But we held our breath none the less. "My computer won't read your van." It could have been worse. He gave us a quick summary of what he thought could be wrong and gave us the address for another specialist in Adelaide CBD. So off we went. Slowly.

In the short space of time after dropping the van off again, we received the news we hoped not to. Our transmission was at death's door. We had a solenoid fault but with other issues, they believed we needed a "new" transmission. I say new. I mean old, or mostly replacement as our van is somewhat of a pensioner now. It was going to be four figures. Pretty much equal to that of what we spent to buy and repair the van up to now.

It was a game changer and the week that followed was probably the worst we've had ever. Not because it was just a broken van that needed a lot of money. But because Stan had become our home. We'd broken him in, he'd become generally comfortable. We'd put so much time and effort into him, not only doing him up but also in terms of the hours and stress of the jobs in the UK prior to us being out here. We had barely started our time out here and we had to seriously consider scrapping him and losing our wheels. The mechanics hunted for a replacement trans for days but nothing was coming up. We even looked at getting Stan changed from auto to manual; anything that might get us going but there were no local garages that did such a change. After 4 days, they did find one but the cost of getting it and fitting it was eye watering.

I guess I'd mostly had enough at this point. I couldn't enjoy the week that we were effectively trapped in Adelaide; it felt like Adelaide was being punished for our sheer anger and frustration but also there wasn't a lot to do, as we'd been told many times. I made some calls and finally was given the number of a mechanic just outside of the city, whom I was told worked a lot with VWs and could rebuild transmissions. I gave him a call, rattled off our situation and after a test run, was greeted with positivity. "Yeah, I can fix that." Hallelujah. If the solenoid could be fixed, he'd fix it. If it looked more dodgy, he'd rebuild it instead. It was probably the first time that we'd felt hopeful in days.

Waiting for the part to be repaired, or at least waiting for the phone call to tell us it was looking bad, was like waiting for my exam results but 50,000 times worse. I think mostly because I'd already convinced myself that it was going to be option 2, rather than a simple fix, why would it be a simple fix? It feels like many things these days seem to run us around the mill rather than be simple. But I suppose it was my day to win. I don't often feel like I win much; there were many prize draws back in primary school. I only ever won two of the lunch time raffles. Once was a 'pull the ticket out of the box' thing I won and I moved to Cornwall before ever receiving my prize (gutted) and the other time, I won a star fruit for having the ticket taped underneath my lunch seat. But the phone call I received was a win. The solenoid was replaced, some oil cleaned out of a place it shouldn't be and replaced in the places it should and after a run around the block, was deemed fit to use again.

Stan was fragile but working, every gear was in play and he sounded so quiet when at the normal amount of revs.

We had decided that we wanted to make at least one more road trip in him, if he was going to become somewhat of a Russian roulette vehicle. We decided we wanted that to be the Great Ocean Road.