Stuck on Vancouver Island in a Westfalia
This was my first real test after having a 2.3 liter installed in my 1986 Westy. It would be a long one. The idea was to drive from Southern California to Vancouver Island in British Columbia. Up and back that’s about 6,300 miles.
My Vanagon was a first-class ride back in the ‘80s when freeway speeds were safely under 65 miles per hour. The population was about a tenth of where it is today, and people were generally friendly. Today, dodging traffic traveling 90 mph on the freeway seems like the national pastime. Vanagons aren’t known for speed.
The plan was to spend as much time as possible on the road. I always wanted to drive to Canada and visit the forests of Oregon and Washington along the way. Even though it was thousands of miles from our home in Southern California, I had the confidence that the Vanagon would be no trouble.
The trip would take us onto Vancouver Island. I was excited. So was my wife Janey and our dog Jersey. The van was running perfectly. I had it inspected, and everything looked good. The first hiccup happened in Northern California. The alternator failed. I got it replaced and thought nothing of it. That’s not a big deal. But that fix would later cause another issue.
Getting to spend so much time in the forests of Oregon and Washington was unbelievable. Janey, Jersey, and I spent weeks camping in the Vanagon in some of the coolest forests. Some for as little as $10 per night. That’s the advantage of a Vanagon camper. Fewer hotel bills.
We had finally arrived on the western side of Vancouver Island in the small town of Ucluelet. We rented a cabin next to an inlet of the Pacific, mostly for the shower. This trip was going to be a hybrid of Vanagon camping and cabin.
We had just taken a short hike and were climbing back in the Vanagon. I drove only about two blocks away when a noise of fingernails on the chalkboard got my attention fast. Metal to metal sounds were grew louder. I saw a puff of smoke, and the red check light on the instrument cluster went mad. I pulled off the road. I went out back and opened up the engine bay cover.
Holy crap, I thought to myself.
The drive belts were melted and wrapped around the engine. Adding to my worry, the belts had broken my oil engine dipstick and the alternator bracket had sheered in half.
I believed I had prepared for every mechanical disaster. I had not.
I did have the AAA road service card with 200 free towing miles at my disposal. I’d been a member for 21 years. I also had an extra set of engine drive belts stored neatly in a case above the cab. I was feeling better but still stranded. It wasn’t a fix I could make that’s for sure.
The voice on the phone at AAA made every attempt to let me know that a flatbed was dispatched to my location. Don’t worry, be happy, she kinda said.
The Weather
It started to rain. I fumbled around the engine compartment to see the damage close up.
The emergency flashers were lit as Janey and I (and Jersey) waited for a flatbed.
Adding to the stress, the three of us were supposed to check out the cabin in less than 12 hours, and couldn’t reserve it for another evening. I loved that cabin. It overlooked an inlet to the Pacific.
If the rain did anything, it cooled me down. Janey was calm. That helped tremendously. She decided to walk back to the cabin with Jersey while I waited for the tow. While there I retraced in my head what had happened. The problem probably started back in Northern California, where the alternator failed. It was likely vibration failure. Maybe the pulley was out of round, or the alternator bracket bolt had loosened to a point to cause vibration. Or the bracket was simply too old. Metal fatigue.
Night had fallen by the time the tow truck arrived. The driver was snippy. I could sense it the moment he stuck out his chest and refused to engage in small talk. He was late for dinner, and I was an inconvenience. I quickly called around and found one open shop that agreed to look at the van. If I could get it there before they closed.
Only His Second Vanagon
The tow truck arrived at Ukee Automotive Service, located on the outskirts of Ucluelet. Things could have been worse, I had convinced myself, as the tow truck driver pulled up to the shop doors. That’s when the proprietor, Greg, came out and immediately shouted over the torrential downpour, “This is only the second Vanagon I’ve ever worked on.” He laughed. I wasn’t amused.
He had just opened his shop two months prior, and I had to trust that he alone would get us back on the road. I left the Vanagon with Greg and got a lift back to the cabin.
I was up the next morning by 5 a.m. waiting impatiently for my $70 taxi to the nearest car rental agency in Tofino. Tofino is a port on the northern edge of the island. The airport there is the only place you can rent a car.
With the Vanagon at the repair shop, I figured it might take days before Greg figures out how to get us out of this mess. The alternator bracket could be ordered, but that would take more than a week, and no place on the island had one for an ‘86 Vanagon. Greg had two pieces of the original alternator bracket that I salvaged, and that’s all he had.
No sooner had I pulled into his shop in my rental car than the sound of a VW four-cylinder engine pierced the air. Could it be my Vanagon?
“Up since 5 a.m.,” he crowed loudly over the engine’s idle. Me too, I shot back. I texted my wife. She was thrilled and surprised. Greg assured us his early morning welding job would work to get us back home.
And true to his word, it did. The three of us traveled from Ucluelet to Vancouver and into Seattle, crossing the upper half of Washington onto its Eastern side on the return home. Next, we drove along the Sierra range down Highway 395 for hundreds of miles, past all the ghost towns and wobbly antique shops, and finally into Southern California.
Two months on the road. 6,300 miles. We got 17.5 miles per gallon on average. Even with the slight problem in Ucluelet, I would do it all again… it was one of the best experiences of my life!
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