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Okay, so this one is ridiculously long, even after MUCH editing. So, I won’t be offended if you bail out. For those who are intrigued, go make some popcorn, grab a brew or two, and get comfortable.
A LITTLE BACKGROUND FIRST
In 2004, I bought from the original owner an old Dodge camper van – and when I say ‘old’, I mean it. This thing was 1971-vintage and in excellent mechanical and visual condition despite its 80,000 miles. Now, this thing was ideal for me at the time. We used it to go to various campgrounds in our area, the occasional NASCAR race or two, and so on. Because of its age, we pretty much limited our excursions to less than 500 miles, usually less than 200. It served faithfully all this time, with only minor (and completely normal for this vintage of vehicle) mechanical issues, but earlier this season I stumbled into a good deal on something newer and considerably larger. The Dodge had to go, so I slapped a ‘For-Sale’ sign in the window and also listed the thing on eBay. Of course, I took great pains in the auction listing to note the vehicle’s age, mileage (now well over 100,000, but still in good running condition), and location, as well as to indicate that the vehicle was being sold AS-IS – that is, with no warranty.
ON WITH OUR TALE
The auction closed with the winning bid, for $1300, coming from Wyoming – a mythical land that according to Mapquest is some 1500 miles distant. The bidder contacted me almost immediately, stating his plan to ride a Greyhound to my area and drive the camper back home, and asking if I could pick him up at the bus station.
Well, okay, not such an odd request, really – I live in the sticks, a considerable distance (taxi-wise) from the bus station. However, I noted in my reply, I felt it would be far more adviseable to have this thing transported rather than try to drive 1500 miles in it. Again, because of its considerable age. Nope, he was adamant about his plan, so I agreed to pick him up at the bus station.
I was more than a little shocked when the person who stepped off the bus wasn’t him, but his WIFE.
ALONE and completely ill-prepared for the endeavor she was about to undertake. I say ‘ill-prepared’ because the only thing she had with her was a small duffle bag which, judging by its weight, only contained clothing.
I seriously felt my stomach knot up. I’ve done shit like this – driving long distances in ancient iron – but I am familiar with the workings of an automobile and carry a fairly comprehensive set of tools with me, PLUS before I set out on my journey I hit the auto parts store and buy some spare parts. I also look the vehicle over thoroughly before I embark on my adventure and plan my route so it’s always close to some form of alternate transportation, in case the whole thing goes to rags. The point is – I ACCEPT that what I’m doing is kind of stupid, and at least make an effort to prepare for mechanical issues. And – although I may catch hell from the pro-fem types, I’m MALE. As in, less likely to attract unwanted attention if I’m stuck on the side of the road in a busted set of wheels.
Back at the house, I got on the horn and called the bidder and voiced my concerns over this – even offered to let him back out of the auction without penalty. I’d have been happy to drive his wife back to the bus station, airport, whatever.
Nope – he said his wife could handle driving that far (it wasn’t the driving part that was scaring me), and even SHE jumped in, defending her ability to do so.
Ooooookay, sez me. I’ve tried to talk them out of it, so I can either refuse to complete the sale and FORCE her to return empty-handed (which, in retrospect I probably should have done), or accept that I’m not either of her parents, which is what happened.
I got my neighbor (who is a notary) to notarize the title, signed it over to her, accepted the cash, and handed her all the paperwork and the keys. As she climbed into the driver’s seat, I dispensed my final words of advice, which have served me well these many years……
“Keep it under sixty. Keep a sharp eye on the gauges. And stop every couple of hours to check the fluids, especially the radiator.” (this vehicle did not have the coolant recovery system newer stuff has), so you have to top it off every once in a while).
And with that, I watched my trusty old camper van go bouncing down the gravel driveway and out of sight.
This was at approximately 5pm. That’s important.
A little before 10pm and I get a call from Wyoming. It’s the buyer, seriously pissed because he’s just learned that the thing had broken down. He basically told me he wanted his money back, which of course, I refused. ‘AS-IS’ and all that. Then he told me he was having the thing towed to a garage and I could pay for the repairs. Again, I declined, for the same reason. Frustrated, he hung up on me.
A little before noon the next day, I get a call from a garage in Joliet, Illinois. The mechanic is telling me the motor in the van is junk – a cracked cylinder block due to severe overheating – and that replacing the engine is going to cost about $2800. I asked him why he was telling ME this. Well, apparently, the young woman driving the thing told him I was going to pay for the repairs. Sadly, I had to bust that myth for him. I guess he handed the phone to her, because her voice was the next on the line, angry with me because I wasn’t keeping my ‘promise’. Ummmm, WHAT promise? I never said I was going to pay for any repairs.
Turns out hubby had told her I would, even after I’d clearly told him I WOULDN’T. Another myth I had to bust.
Moments later, another call from Wyoming. It’s HIM again, and now he’s angry because I’d made a liar out of him.
Whoa, chief, hit the brakes and slow this train down. YOU lied. THAT’S what made a liar out of you. See, that’s what a LIAR is – someone who LIES. It is, in fact, the very ACT of lying that makes you a liar. I had nothing to do with it. Again, frustrated, he hangs up.
It then hits me – the garage that called me was in JOLIET, Illinois. And the time in between when my van left this property and the initial call from Wyoming was only about 5 hours. Illinois was a pretty long way, I was pretty sure, for that van to have traveled in only five hours.
So, I fire up Mapquest and hammer in the pertinent data. 370 miles. In five hours. The raw math would suggest an average speed of 74 miles per hour,. That’s a fair bit faster than I’d advised, but not completely out of line. But hold on, sports fans. There’s more here than meets the eye.
See, the vehicle has a 40-gallon tank, which was, at the time she left here, only about a quarter-full (so, eight to ten gallons). NO WAY she traveled 370 miles on ten gallons of gas. So, that means that at some point, she had to fuel that thing. I figure a good 30 minutes for a fuel stop – getting off the freeway, gassing it up, paying, and getting back on the freeway. So in reality, that’s only about four and a half hours travel time.
To travel 370 miles in four and a half hours is an average speed of 82 miles an hour. I’d advised she keep it under 60, remember? I can tell you from personal experience that little Dodge van didn’t like high speeds. It take an awful lot of power to shove something with its size and aerodynamic profile (basically a large box made of wood and metal) down the road. I can tell you this: it wasn’t really built for that kind of speed.
So, apparently she was working this engine pretty damned hard, because I can’t imagine this thing was even capable of much more than about 85 at the very most.
So, the picture I have in my head is this engine being run pretty much wide-open for several hours. And any mechanic will tell you that’s a recipe for disaster. If she had looked at the gauges, she’d have seen a problem developing LONG before that motor got hot enough to split its block. And if she never glanced at the gauges, guaranteed she never stopped to check the coolant – a fact pretty much confirmed by the great distance she’d traveled in such a short time. So, in short – SHE IGNORED EVERYTHING I’D ADVISED HER TO DO. Odds are, if she’d have followed my instructions, the thing would have probably gotten her home.
But the saga wasn’t over. Over the course of the next week, the buyer kept calling me and badgering me in an effort to get me to either refund his money or pay for the repairs SO HIS WIFE, STRANDED IN ILLINOIS, could get home.
I will repeat that.
HIS WIFE WAS STILL IN ILLINOIS after a week, baby-sitting this busted camper in the vain hope that hubby could force me to pay for the repairs.
On his last call, I suggested that the wife catch a bus home, abandon that old camper, and chalk the whole thing up to experience. Learning a lesson is never fun, but you DO learn, hopefully. I never let on that I thought the wife was more to blame than anything else … in the interest of marital bliss. He can be mad at me all he wants.
When pestered AGAIN for a refund, I told him that I’d give him a refund – IF and WHEN he returned my van to me in exactly the same mechanical condition it had left in. No worries there – it would take far more effort and money than it’d be worth.
Haven’t heard from him since. I got clobbered in the feedback, though. Pfft. Like I care.
A LITTLE BACKGROUND FIRST
In 2004, I bought from the original owner an old Dodge camper van – and when I say ‘old’, I mean it. This thing was 1971-vintage and in excellent mechanical and visual condition despite its 80,000 miles. Now, this thing was ideal for me at the time. We used it to go to various campgrounds in our area, the occasional NASCAR race or two, and so on. Because of its age, we pretty much limited our excursions to less than 500 miles, usually less than 200. It served faithfully all this time, with only minor (and completely normal for this vintage of vehicle) mechanical issues, but earlier this season I stumbled into a good deal on something newer and considerably larger. The Dodge had to go, so I slapped a ‘For-Sale’ sign in the window and also listed the thing on eBay. Of course, I took great pains in the auction listing to note the vehicle’s age, mileage (now well over 100,000, but still in good running condition), and location, as well as to indicate that the vehicle was being sold AS-IS – that is, with no warranty.
ON WITH OUR TALE
The auction closed with the winning bid, for $1300, coming from Wyoming – a mythical land that according to Mapquest is some 1500 miles distant. The bidder contacted me almost immediately, stating his plan to ride a Greyhound to my area and drive the camper back home, and asking if I could pick him up at the bus station.
Well, okay, not such an odd request, really – I live in the sticks, a considerable distance (taxi-wise) from the bus station. However, I noted in my reply, I felt it would be far more adviseable to have this thing transported rather than try to drive 1500 miles in it. Again, because of its considerable age. Nope, he was adamant about his plan, so I agreed to pick him up at the bus station.
I was more than a little shocked when the person who stepped off the bus wasn’t him, but his WIFE.
ALONE and completely ill-prepared for the endeavor she was about to undertake. I say ‘ill-prepared’ because the only thing she had with her was a small duffle bag which, judging by its weight, only contained clothing.
I seriously felt my stomach knot up. I’ve done shit like this – driving long distances in ancient iron – but I am familiar with the workings of an automobile and carry a fairly comprehensive set of tools with me, PLUS before I set out on my journey I hit the auto parts store and buy some spare parts. I also look the vehicle over thoroughly before I embark on my adventure and plan my route so it’s always close to some form of alternate transportation, in case the whole thing goes to rags. The point is – I ACCEPT that what I’m doing is kind of stupid, and at least make an effort to prepare for mechanical issues. And – although I may catch hell from the pro-fem types, I’m MALE. As in, less likely to attract unwanted attention if I’m stuck on the side of the road in a busted set of wheels.
Back at the house, I got on the horn and called the bidder and voiced my concerns over this – even offered to let him back out of the auction without penalty. I’d have been happy to drive his wife back to the bus station, airport, whatever.
Nope – he said his wife could handle driving that far (it wasn’t the driving part that was scaring me), and even SHE jumped in, defending her ability to do so.
Ooooookay, sez me. I’ve tried to talk them out of it, so I can either refuse to complete the sale and FORCE her to return empty-handed (which, in retrospect I probably should have done), or accept that I’m not either of her parents, which is what happened.
I got my neighbor (who is a notary) to notarize the title, signed it over to her, accepted the cash, and handed her all the paperwork and the keys. As she climbed into the driver’s seat, I dispensed my final words of advice, which have served me well these many years……
“Keep it under sixty. Keep a sharp eye on the gauges. And stop every couple of hours to check the fluids, especially the radiator.” (this vehicle did not have the coolant recovery system newer stuff has), so you have to top it off every once in a while).
And with that, I watched my trusty old camper van go bouncing down the gravel driveway and out of sight.
This was at approximately 5pm. That’s important.
A little before 10pm and I get a call from Wyoming. It’s the buyer, seriously pissed because he’s just learned that the thing had broken down. He basically told me he wanted his money back, which of course, I refused. ‘AS-IS’ and all that. Then he told me he was having the thing towed to a garage and I could pay for the repairs. Again, I declined, for the same reason. Frustrated, he hung up on me.
A little before noon the next day, I get a call from a garage in Joliet, Illinois. The mechanic is telling me the motor in the van is junk – a cracked cylinder block due to severe overheating – and that replacing the engine is going to cost about $2800. I asked him why he was telling ME this. Well, apparently, the young woman driving the thing told him I was going to pay for the repairs. Sadly, I had to bust that myth for him. I guess he handed the phone to her, because her voice was the next on the line, angry with me because I wasn’t keeping my ‘promise’. Ummmm, WHAT promise? I never said I was going to pay for any repairs.
Turns out hubby had told her I would, even after I’d clearly told him I WOULDN’T. Another myth I had to bust.
Moments later, another call from Wyoming. It’s HIM again, and now he’s angry because I’d made a liar out of him.
Whoa, chief, hit the brakes and slow this train down. YOU lied. THAT’S what made a liar out of you. See, that’s what a LIAR is – someone who LIES. It is, in fact, the very ACT of lying that makes you a liar. I had nothing to do with it. Again, frustrated, he hangs up.
It then hits me – the garage that called me was in JOLIET, Illinois. And the time in between when my van left this property and the initial call from Wyoming was only about 5 hours. Illinois was a pretty long way, I was pretty sure, for that van to have traveled in only five hours.
So, I fire up Mapquest and hammer in the pertinent data. 370 miles. In five hours. The raw math would suggest an average speed of 74 miles per hour,. That’s a fair bit faster than I’d advised, but not completely out of line. But hold on, sports fans. There’s more here than meets the eye.
See, the vehicle has a 40-gallon tank, which was, at the time she left here, only about a quarter-full (so, eight to ten gallons). NO WAY she traveled 370 miles on ten gallons of gas. So, that means that at some point, she had to fuel that thing. I figure a good 30 minutes for a fuel stop – getting off the freeway, gassing it up, paying, and getting back on the freeway. So in reality, that’s only about four and a half hours travel time.
To travel 370 miles in four and a half hours is an average speed of 82 miles an hour. I’d advised she keep it under 60, remember? I can tell you from personal experience that little Dodge van didn’t like high speeds. It take an awful lot of power to shove something with its size and aerodynamic profile (basically a large box made of wood and metal) down the road. I can tell you this: it wasn’t really built for that kind of speed.
So, apparently she was working this engine pretty damned hard, because I can’t imagine this thing was even capable of much more than about 85 at the very most.
So, the picture I have in my head is this engine being run pretty much wide-open for several hours. And any mechanic will tell you that’s a recipe for disaster. If she had looked at the gauges, she’d have seen a problem developing LONG before that motor got hot enough to split its block. And if she never glanced at the gauges, guaranteed she never stopped to check the coolant – a fact pretty much confirmed by the great distance she’d traveled in such a short time. So, in short – SHE IGNORED EVERYTHING I’D ADVISED HER TO DO. Odds are, if she’d have followed my instructions, the thing would have probably gotten her home.
But the saga wasn’t over. Over the course of the next week, the buyer kept calling me and badgering me in an effort to get me to either refund his money or pay for the repairs SO HIS WIFE, STRANDED IN ILLINOIS, could get home.
I will repeat that.
HIS WIFE WAS STILL IN ILLINOIS after a week, baby-sitting this busted camper in the vain hope that hubby could force me to pay for the repairs.
On his last call, I suggested that the wife catch a bus home, abandon that old camper, and chalk the whole thing up to experience. Learning a lesson is never fun, but you DO learn, hopefully. I never let on that I thought the wife was more to blame than anything else … in the interest of marital bliss. He can be mad at me all he wants.
When pestered AGAIN for a refund, I told him that I’d give him a refund – IF and WHEN he returned my van to me in exactly the same mechanical condition it had left in. No worries there – it would take far more effort and money than it’d be worth.
Haven’t heard from him since. I got clobbered in the feedback, though. Pfft. Like I care.
is that she was still in IL a week later. If I were you I'd have told the man flat out that his wife drove the van into the ground...nothing but the truth, and let the chips fall. It's not your fault she didn't listen to you.
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