11.01.2006 | The Piston Ring Blues

If you have to pit more oil into your container than petrol into your tank then it could be cause for concern, but we'll let the bus tell this story for itself…

After just having been surrounded by a collection of wild looking men, I'm now in a small lorry surrounded by 4 iron walls. I'm tied up like roast beef, motionless.
My rear view mirrors were taken off and the air was let out of my tyres. Getting me on the lorry was a difficult procedure, martyrdom for all involved, especially for me.
Countless volunteers pushed me onto the lorry up a slope which served as a ramp. The lorry was to be my ambulance to the VW garage in Nairobi.

I wouldn't have had the power to make the 180km from Nyahururu to Nairobi. I was powerless and my cylinder went on strike at every small uphill climb. Actually it all began back in Karthoum (Sudan). I developed a secret passion for piston rings which tasted so good that I had to nibble on them from time to time. That's how I ended up drinking more oil than usual but Rupert soon discovered my little secret. He whisked me off to a garage where I got some new piston rings. I really tried to resist temptation and not nibble the new piston rings but I just couldn't do it, they tasted too good! So in Addis Abeba I was taken to another garage where my motor was fitted with new piston rings once again. This time there were to be no more relapses. I was determined and sadly sniffed a piston ring which smelled temptingly good. But I stayed strong.

The road through the Nechisar National Park in Arba Minch is really only meant for 4x4 vehicles but I mastered it like a mountain goat up to the point when I see-sawed over a large stone and made a huge puddle of oil. Once again the oil filter attachment had fallen apart, the same thing which caused our late departure in Golling. But I was lucky and Rupert was able to get the aluminium part welded at a technical school and get me out of my sorry state.

In Arba Minch, a huge reserve petrol canister was attached to me due to a lack of petrol stations, it was a 200 litre shell oil barrel. I felt like a big tank lorry and proudly transported the red and yellow barrel on my roof.

The trip from Ethiopia to Kenya via Turmi at Lake Turkana turned out to be very challenging for me. I had to deal with deep sand passages and steep rolling hills which kept appearing. I often only made it due to help from John or Erik's landrover (they were also travelling this route).

It was during this difficult time that it happened again: I had a relapse, those damn piston rings just tasted too good! At first I could cover it up but then the blue smoke from the exhaust and the increasing oil consumption gave me and my disgraceful deed away!

On top of all of that, my battery started smelling like bad eggs because it was overcharged. I wasn't only lame but also smelled like a Kenyan warthog! A disaster. I longed for a garage, I longed for loving mechanics' hands but far and wide was only sand. I chugged my way to Loyangalani (a small village at Lake Turkana) with my last power.
In my desperation I even let the village mechanic take a look at me, but he was wearing a skirt and flip-flops. Nevertheless he seemed to know his stuff and he was able to cheer me up temporarily. But in my frail condition I couldn't take Lena and the kids with me, they were taken to Maralal in John's Landrover where they waited for Rupert and I.

If there is a hell for VW buses then I imagine it to be like this part of our route. After every hill came another and another and out of sheer frustration I started drinking more oil that ever! It was true, I drank like a fish! That's how my spark plugs kept getting covered in oil and had to be cleaned or changed all the time. I think Rupert changed my spark plugs more often than his socks! But with a lot of luck and help from men who pushed me I finally made it to Maralal and to Lena and the kids. But I was at the end of my tether. Crawling along at snail's pace on the way to Nyanhururu I had to stop a few times due to exhaustion and had a frustrated nibble on my piston ring.
A few times I didn't want to or couldn't start and I eventually had to be towed. And now, well now I'm driving to Nairobi, or let's say I'm being driven. And if my prayers are answered then I'll be fit again in a couple of days and ready for the last part of the journey, and I won't eat up my new piston rings straight away.

I promise!

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