At The Shop

If there is any justice in the world GANNET2 should no longer leak oil.

Wilmar spent Friday groveling around inside our Pentastar V-6 gasoline motor replacing the oil cooler which Amazon shipped to us here in Colombia. 

The plan is to finish off checking our brakes on Saturday (today) and install new rubber seals and plastic parts to protect our brand new rotors and pads. Then we will be ready to face the journey south.

The factory installed plastic oil cooler is notoriously prone to leaks in the Pentastar engine which was why 50,000 miles ago I had an aftermarket aluminum cooler by Dorman installed. That was supposed to solve the problem. We’ll see if this one lasts longer: 

New body, new gaskets, new oil temperature and pressure sensors (I kept the old ones for spares) and let’s see how this goes. Meanwhile a latch broke on one of our drawers so Layne called in the carpenter. 

If it’s not one thing it’s another. I also got a new screw in my indestructible Kermit chair after a screw came loose and bent the last time I folded it. This stuff gets tedious but it’s much easier to get stuff done here than in the States. They just take you in and see what can be done and you get to watch. 

A young couple from Québec showed up, our first Quebecois since we left the US and they asked to have their diesel Toyota serviced and without hesitation Ben the mechanic started work on changing their oil. Camille and Veronique from Montreal:

They have eight months to reach Uruguay to ship home. In three days they will be in Ecuador so we won’t see them again after they leave here. Our campground neighbors also showed up on one of their three motorbikes. Ben is on the right:

They picked up a piece of metal he had fabricated for them. Their huge expedition truck has an elderly diesel engine in it designed before modern synthetic oils were invented. He told me they use 40 gallons of oil each change every 3,000 miles in their truck:

I enjoy looking at other people’s machines but I do prefer the comforts of a van and the small footprint of our 21 foot Promaster. With front wheel drive we can get through narrow streets pretty easily which makes up for our lack of off road capability. I also like an automatic gearbox even though on done roads I would like an ultra low gear to slow us down to use the brakes less. First gear manually inserted still lets us roll faster downhill than done mountain roads allow. Still it’s a good van for us.

Sometimes it’s hardest having our home with us. Anytime something goes wrong the stress is higher because GANNET2 is our home not just a vehicle to get around in, but it’s a good place to live and travel, on the whole. 

And because we are retired spending time in the shop isn’t the worst problem in the world. We’ll get it fixed and move on as soon as we can. We are lucky that way as we have no deadlines unlike people with obligations back home. This was the arrival of the lawn mower at the shop where rain is making the grass grow. You don’t see this a lot in the US:

The irony of a rough dirt road to get to the shop! 

I can’t wait for a nice long lazy few days at the campground reading and walking Rusty, happy knowing GANNET2 is in tip top shape. For now at least. 

And then we return to central Colombia for a couple of weeks to see Medellin, drive some excessively high altitude roads and see some great scenery. A road test of our repairs. 

Then we’ll be ready for Ecuador, at our slow retired pace. 

Blockade

The curse of the traveler strikes again as the indigenous are protesting and the PanAmerican Highway is closed.

It was a grim gray day Wednesday when we left Cali to drive back up into the mountains toward Popayan with high hopes that we might have our much desired spare parts waiting for us in order that we might prepare our van to go south to Ecuador soon. Rain and road works greeted us on the PanAmerican Highway. 

We were spurred on by a photo a fellow overlander sent us from La Bonanza campground. Our multitude of packages awaits, all sorts of bits and pieces including I hope an oil cooler and brake seals for GANNET2. 

Layne found the perfect laundry on the outskirts of Cali, a self service hole-in-the-wall with powerful machines, hot dryers and the ability to wash our rugs, dog bed cover and seat covers in addition to our mountain of clothes. All for less than ten bucks and operated by Armando who runs a tight ship and speaks English. 

Rusty got a good long walk around town…

…and we got sausage and arepa for brunch. 

Street food with a smile. 

And then back into it. 

This overlander on a bicycle with a Palestinian flag passed us later in the traffic jam intrepidly pedaling up the hills. 

And then we were stopped about eight miles before our turn off for the campground. Apparently the government has failed to follow through on a promise to give an indigenous tribe some land so the rumor is they are closing the PanAmerican Highway for two days. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. The usual Teutonic traffic discipline prevailed…NOT. I have no idea where they went but cars, small trucks and buses passed the stationary line taking cuts  in a clump of chaos. Oncoming vehicles possibly tired of waiting came hurtling north back towards Cali. The snarls were epic. A tow truck who started out taking cuts all over the place gave up after he forced himself in front of us for a while and suddenly turned back.  

This guy struggled to make a u-turn in his tiny Renault Clio Campus as clumps of cars and trucks pushing ahead blocked even his ability to turn.  We sat tight hoping not to get hit.  

Rain poured down out of a black sky, mist rolled across the mountains. Layne made me tea and went to bed. Rusty snored curled up on her seat. I chewed the steering wheel as we lurched forward occasionally just a few feet as despairing souls turned around and as I sat there I dreamed up horrible torture for the perpetrators of this insanity. 

How we didn’t see miles of accidents I don’t know. I asked a snack seller what lay ahead and he said people were driving for a gas station with a rest area. I thought to myself I can do that.  

So with my heart in my mouth I took cuts.  Notice how tight the trucks are in line. If I had met one coming I had nowhere to hide.

We made it and stopped just five miles from our turn off. I spoke to the gas station attendant and she said the blockade was past Popayan on the road to Pasto and theoretically we could reach our turn off five miles away. 

I spoke to a couple of truck drivers and they looked dubious. Not only did we have to negotiate driving on the wrong side of the road but there  was a police checkpoint ahead to protect the protestors from angry drivers and the police were directing drivers off the highway. Pretty risky he shrugged. We parked for the night. 

We had cereal for dinner and watched some TV thanks to Starlink and wondered what tomorrow (today) might bring.

 The romance of the road. 

Tuluá And Highway 25

Tuluá is a city of 180,000 in the Cauca Valley, founded in 1741 and by no means on the tourist circuit. It’s a useful city full of stores and suppliers and a place you might visit in your van if you needed a new electrical plug. 

To get there on our way to Cali we rode Highway 25 a long smooth ribbon of asphalt sometimes four lanes and sometimes two. It’s sugarcane country and we were warned about “sugar cane trains.” 

Sure enough, a giant triple trailer was up ahead of us. I had to wait for a really long straightaway to pass it. 

A busy day roadside. 

Don’t be surprised to find farm animals grazing alongside the freeway. 

There are also lots of Venezuelans walking along the highway. These people are hoping to reach the US and find a new life away from the economic chaos of the oil rich Venezuelan chaos. 

You’ve seen the roads we’ve driven in comfort. These people are walking it with no money and their family members. I couldn’t do it. 

Coming to a border crossing near you. 

They don’t know they aren’t wanted in the US and they have no idea they are a valuable point of discussion in our national politics. They just walk for thousands of miles. 





Be warned as Tuluá isn’t much to look at, especially in the rain. 

The river down the middle of the city is the Rio Tulua. 

There are walking trails on either side, the most touristy spot we came across. 

Rainy season is in full swing. 

I saw a classic Vespa and I barely photographed it. But there it is. 

Rusty is weird and unpredictable. He refused to walk with me. Fine. 

This week we go back to La Bonanza campground in the mountains above Popayán. We’re hoping our oil cooler and brake seals arrive as scheduled so we can get GANNET2 back to 100%. 

There’s a bunch of other stuff on the way, tea, reading glasses, you name it the queen of Amazon ordered it. If we get the spares I’ll be happy. 

Meanwhile we’re checking out every last corner of Colombia. 

Ecuador in June is the plan.