Hard Shoulder, Hard Lesson!

By Anon

Even Inspector Clouseau would have been dismayed at the lack of deduction, despite the vast number of apparently obvious clues, before the real culprit was brought to book. For the defence it should be pointed out that there was at least one ‘red herring’ scattered about to confuse those searching for the cause, including electronic code readers….. let me explain.

But first, to those not of a mechanical bent do not despair. Treat this as an insight into the strange neural processes of those afflicted with said mechanical bent, and the troubles and travails that can ensue. It may, if nothing else, get you to treat your chosen repairer a little kindlier when they seem perplexed. To those mechanically minded, do not judge too harshly. To quote some good book, ‘Let those who are innocent cast the first stone’.

We, that is, aged father-in-law and young (ish) son in law, names definitely withheld to protect the guilty, innocent and the financially invested, had, in early 2022, crawled all around the Keswick Green, 2006 TD5 110 SW, with a view to purchase. It was well set up, full length ‘Flat Dog’ roof rack, ladder and Flat Dog LED spotlights. Snorkel, NAS rear step, Land Rover bump bar and Titanic proportioned towing plate.

We did a 25 mile test drive round the local lanes testing everything we could think of. It behaved exactly like an 80,000 mile example should, and neither of us, both experienced users of Land Rover products, could find any more than a niggle, and it obviously had never done any serious off roading.

The price was right - no belay that remark - it was ridiculously expensive, but then all Defenders are ridiculously over-priced these days... unless, of course, I was selling mine, then I’d be a happy little bunny, and speak sagely of the timeless pedigree and all that conkers!

The deal was struck, (there’s always a bit to come off if you try politely) money was electronically transferred thanks to this brave new world, no carrier bags of cash here, and off home we headed, 120 miles back North.

All was well with the world, I was driving the new owner's works truck, a Nissan Navara pickup, in the mirror was the 110’s new owner, happily experiencing his first drive of what was intended to be their ‘forever’ 4x4, after their previous TD5 110 double cab having gone off to a new home across the seas.

We hit the M1 and the gentle rain started to get heavier. Then heavier still, until Derbyshire was experiencing something akin to a tropical monsoon; the HGV ruts in the inside lane looked like quadruple canals and spray was near opaque.

We were on the four lane section just below Trowell services when there was a flashing of headlights in the rear view and a 110 making a rapid exit stage left into a fortuitously sited emergency bay. Conkers!

I continued to the services a mile hence and the mobile was trilling (actually it’s so old it plays the Nokia tune - da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da, daaah. Bet you heard that in your head, didn’t you?) as I parked up.

In the interests of decency, I will gloss over the first part of the tirade, but it contained the words Land Rover quite a lot, expletives quite a lot, and some questioning of the parentage of many at Lode Lane.

The gist of the real matter at hand was that the TD5 diesel, normally a paragon of reliability, had started to misfire, then rapidly lost power. Seeing an emergency bay, he took the eminently sensible decision of pulling in rather than have the awful predicament of coming to a standstill on a live, spray filled, water logged inside lane, the engine dying as the 110 came to a standstill, refusing to restart.

It was a simple decision for me to head North, do a Huey, South, another Huey (spell check really doesn’t like that word), and join my chum, attach rope and tow offending 110 to the services a mile further North. Had it been any further we probably wouldn’t have done it, towing a power steering motor with a dead engine isn’t overly sensible. It was a Saturday, so traffic wasn’t quite as heavy as normal, and the monsoon had scarpered back off to tropical climes, leaving a more typical English ‘mizzle’ in its stead.

As a retired truck driver, I knew who would be looking far enough ahead to see the Navara’s indicator illuminating the emergency bay, and sure enough a DAF truck flashed me from a good distance, and then started to pull out into lane 2 to give me chance to get a move on.

Up to then the Navara had done nothing to charm me. Indeed, I had mentally put it way behind the Isuzu and the Ranger in terms of comfort, equipment and especially vision; competent but no stars. I forgave it somewhat for the excellent way it dragged the 110 off on a flying start, the auto making easy work of the changes, and the valiant driver at the other end of the rope gripping the wheel in a white-knuckle grip. By the time the DAF drew level and acknowledged my wave of thanks, I made sure he got past at his 56mph speed limit, and into the services we went.

After that little interlude of excitement we decided a coffee was called for, and then a calm discussion as to what might be ailing this new and expensive purchase. It had already done well over 100 miles no problem. We were both convinced that the seller and the car was genuine and this was just pure bad luck, not some dodgy motor. Still the beast wouldn’t start, and, with no jump leads to hand we didn’t overdo it to add a flat battery to our woes.

It was very heavy rain, but it’s a diesel, and it has a snorkel so that’s not going to be an issue. Plenty of fuel, no leaks on the fuel side or indeed smell of fuel. We had a recent service history, nevertheless the fuel filter guard was removed, Leatherman to the rescue as always, but the filter looked new enough. Draining a little diesel through the tap into a coffee cup ensured there was no water or crud lurking in there, but definitely spoiled the coffee. Still the beast wouldn’t start.

It is a Land Rover so, due to the monsoon, there was, obviously, a leak of water into both footwells. We mused that may be causing a problem behind the dash. The dash panel was duly removed and A, we knew where the water was coming in, the vent seals, and B, we knew it wasn’t causing electrical problems as Land Rover, in their infinite wisdom, had ensured there was a clear water run down the bulkhead missing all the vital little bits of electrickery.

Less so was the fuse box where there was a minor runnel of H20, but WD40 (that cost a whole leg in the services, but I suppose it was a lucky find in amongst all the croissants, cigs, wine, fresh bread, etc. . Who shops in the services??) sorted that.

Fuel pump was next on the agenda. The pump purred into life at the turn of the key, was allowed to pump until it cut off, so cranking was tried and…… she fired up cleanly as if to say, ‘What’s the problem boys?’

Blow me down with a wet feather? Wet Saturday afternoons on Trowell services aren’t high on anyone’s list of places to be. I know to my cost that the two-hour time limit for a stay in the services is camera enforced, and we’re already 90 minutes into that. The TD was revved copiously, ticked over endlessly and smoothly so eventually we decided to carry on, this time with me behind, rope in the pickup bed ready should it be needed.

A steady pace was maintained, and a collective sigh of relief was given once back off the four lane sections. The hard shoulder is a great comfort when your nerves are jangling. Home was reached, and some difficult discussions were had with the daughter/wife half of the purchasing duo. I chose to sit that one out, diplomacy never being my strong point, and, let’s be honest, it was fun not being on the receiving end for a change!

From that side of the table, it did seem like us two boys had bought, not just a pup, but a soggy pup. So, what to do? This was a private sale, no come back, Caveat Emptor and all that Latin stuff. A gentle call to the seller, emphasising the preceding and merely wanting to know if this had been a problem for him elicited, as we thought, a puzzled no, but he had only had it 6 months and put only just over a thousand, towing, miles on it, with no problems.

With fingers crossed, over the next few days we started to do the various jobs that needed doing to make it into the slightly more off road orientated 110 that was envisaged. This entailed a trip over the M62 to Lancashire’s finest 4x4 emporium, but one that insists on anonymity, so anonymous it is.

The rain got heavier in direct proportion to the altitude gained whilst crossing the Pennines, logical really - the drops haven’t as far to travel. Sixty mph in lane two, and the engine started to misfire. I know this scenario, said a little voice on my shoulder, so a smooth move into lane one, then the hard shoulder and it stuttered and coughed its way to the off slip at Windy Hill, and expired. This is the highest point of the M62, and called Windy Hill for a damn good reason.

With just a Leatherman for a toolbox (I know, I know believe me I said it all to myself, and vehemently too) a call was made to the owner to relay the bad news, and ask for a tow. Shortly after the Navara was there.

If a pickup can look scornful, then the Navara was doing it beautifully. We towed the bedraggled lump of Land Rover off the slip and on to a layby. No coffee was to hand, just gallons, true, soggy, Imperial gallons of water, and soon a half dozen soggy sheep as spectators, I swear they wore scornful expressions too.

I was CONVINCED it was the fuel pump, it just felt like fuel starvation, yet the pump was busy doing its thing, and still no signs of life were forthcoming. Removing the air filter, for no other reason than it was easy to do, found some water in the bottom of the air filter housing, though the filter felt dry, well as dry as it was possible to determine when we were sodden ourselves. Dried the water out, checked the ECU plug connections from the injectors, prone as they are to oil migration from the engine - a known problem that LR don’t acknowledge, now there’s a novelty…….. poked and prodded a bit, and once again the beast fired back up as if it had just been having a short nap.

The sheep learned some language their mothers would have preferred they didn’t, and the show was back on the road. Later investigation discovered the rubber drain valve (Americans call it a fanny valve - as they say, go figure,) in the intake hose was half gone. Nibbled by rodents is what the diagnosis came to, and that was blamed for the water in the

air box. Indeed said rodent, very deceased, was discovered under the second row of seats a few days later. I did have to question what the point of the snorkel was if there is actually a factory fitted hole in the lowest part of the air intake hose, but then snorkels have never figured in my accessory list for a 4x4.

Let us now fast forward several uneventful weeks. Once more the beast, which had crossed the Pennines successfully this time, had new injector seal washers fitted and a thorough medical exam via the computer version of a real mechanic. All was pronounced good.

On its return journey it died once more, on the M62, this time suddenly and with no hint of resurrection, the fuel pump having gone to meet its maker and the beast returning home on a truck.

At last, a proper, honest fault that can be fixed, smiles all round. New fuel pump fitted, quite a bit of debris about and a goodly splodge of snot, caused by diesel bug, so tank cleaned and another new filter installed, intake drain valve long since replaced, we’re good to go.

It had been a couple of months of drama, tempers had occasionally got frayed, and several false dawns had been and gone, but the process had continued, and much had been both added and removed from the beast to make it ‘their’ truck and put longevity into its many attributes.

All was now well. A trip away to Ullswater was planned for their family. This, at least for the first two days, involved myself taking the beast, my wife and daughter, granddaughter, caravan and all the toys that could be assembled. The latter list makes interesting reading - Canadian canoe, 4 metre Honwave inflatable, 20 hp Honda engine, bikes and bike trailer, to name but a few. What else is a 110 SW and full-length roof rack good for if not for loading to the gunnels on, in and behind? Actually, the answer to that is - it’s also a great platform for doing a very high privet hedge at the back of my house, and for that I am definitely a fan!

Duly loaded, we set off over the M62. A slightly nervous twitch as we passed Windy Hill was the worst that happened as we motored serenely past the scene of the previous debacle. I intended giving the sheep a sneer as we motored past, but they were being sheepish, serves them right.

Manchester was living up to its rainy city reputation, and got heavier as we headed North on the M61, becoming even harder as we joined the M6. Crossed the river Ribble and, just where a two-lane slip road comes in, making a grand total of six lanes, no hard shoulder and us in lane four, the engine starts misfiring and dying.

Both my lovely ladies are good drivers, and realise just how 'not a good thing' this is, and, apart from a blissfully unaware fouryear-old, a strained silence falls upon the interior. A strange calm descends in time with the nearside indicator, and me dropping a gear to try keep the revs as high as the stuttering fool of an engine will allow, but we’re still slowing as all three inside lanes are successfully negotiated to reach the relative sanctuary of the hard shoulder. We are now in second gear and I’m still willing the damn TD5 to stutter a little longer. Now there isn’t as much power being demanded the engine continues to run but coughing like someone with a ninety a day habit.

Over the years I’ve had far too many experiences seeing to recalcitrant trucks on hard shoulders, none of them pleasant, so the main focus was to reach the next exit a mile hence. We coughed, spluttered and hiccupped our way off the motorway and, in an almost divine Monty Python moment arrived outside the Jaguar Land Rover specialist centre, Preston.

Outside the fence the engine was turned off and a collective sigh of relief ensued. The four-year-old asked if we were having a new Land Rover, the rest of us decided that was an excellent idea, with only about fifty thousand drawbacks, all of them pounds.

Once again heavy rain had brought this mighty off roader to its knees. Cutting straight to the chase, removing the air box revealed a sodden air filter and water in the bottom of the air box.

That, in reality, is the end of the tale. From this you should be able to piece together the saga. I still hadn’t completely at this point, but by the time we got to the campsite near Ullswater the penny had, as they say, finally dropped.

I had removed the air filter, dried the air flow meter and continued on my way, slightly noisier (induction noise), slightly down on power, but otherwise running OK. A new air filter cured the noise, new air flow meter cured the power, though a later Pete Bell software remap did away with any complaints of lack of power, and the final piece of the jigsaw to finally, and completely, cure the rain = breakdown scenario was enacted once it returned home from their holidays.

We got to bring the Navara home when our son-in-law came to join us. It still doesn’t do it for me at all, but it never deposited me on the hard shoulder either, and that I do like.

Our answer to this mystery was as follows...

The diesel pump was on its way out, not helped by globules of diesel bug, probably caused by old diesel and not doing more than a thousand miles in six months. But the first breakdown was, I believe, the water down the air intake did cause the engine misfire. As it dried out, the air flow meter more than the filter, it restarted, the fuel pump probably did possibly put the boot in too.

The second time on Windy Hill was the fuel pump I’m convinced, BUT it coincided with a heavy downpour, so obviously that was leading us astray, the sheep didn’t help either. The fuel pump then went completely (good riddance), so that was OBVIOUSLY the whole problem, and that was that, until of course it wasn’t.

This is my complete belief. Both the Flat Dog roof rack and the snorkel are fine bits of equipment in their own right. Sadly, in this instance, the two together actually create a problem. The windscreen of the Defender is as near upright as makes no difference. The inverted intake of the snorkel sits at the top of the screen just below the roof rack, the first eight inches or so of which are a flat plate. Add in a TD5 being worked hard and sucking in copious quantities of air right where the rain and spray are roiling about under the rack and voilá, as my French sleuth would say in a determinedly Gallic fashion, you have the perpetrator of the heinous crime!

If you would like an example of ‘roiling’ spray just look at the back of a box van truck or a coach on the Motorway next time it is raining hard. One of them had to go to ensure the problem ceased.

My privets won. The hedge cutting roof rack stayed and the snorkel went on to a TD5 Ninety, which has no roof rack and therefore no incontinence problem. The beast has been out since, in similar conditions, and has been faultless. I rest my case!