(Continued)

There seemed to be no place to stop.  No overpasses, no exits.  The
visibility was so bad in the torrential downpour that I didn't trust
the side of the road.  Finally, an exit sign miraculously appeared --
one half mile ahead.  I decided to go for it.  It took what seemed like 
several hours to reach that exit with the oil light getting brighter 
every foot of the way.  Lightning was now striking on all sides of us, 
and the rain and wind was so bad that tractor trailers were pulling over.
Finally, the exit!  My wife followed me off freeway, and at the end of
the ramp we pull onto the shoulder.

I sat there waiting for the weather to break, thinking about how I
should have checked the oil earlier.  Especially in this heat. 
Thinking about what I could do next.  Meanwhile, the lightning was 
striking closer and more frequently, while the wind rocked the van to 
and fro.  My 12 year old daughter, who regularly shrugged off earth-
quakes in California, was awakening to the forces of nature and our
own mortality while whimpering softly in the back seat.  The cat was
no longer tranked.

The rain stopped for a few seconds, so I jumped out and ran back to 
check the oil dipstick.  It was too dark to see clearly, so I got the 
AAA-cell Magnum flashlight out of the glovebox and ran back again, 
just as the rain began to pour down once more.  Hastily, in the 
darkness and rain, I convinced myself that the oil level on the dip-
stick was low, -- too low.

Now, I KNEW that no mere mortal can read a water-cooled Vanagon oil
dipstick accurately unless he has let the vehicle sit overnight or 
has divine insight.  And, I KNEW that it was especially hard to read
in the darkness and rain that evening.  And I also KNEW that lots
things can cause the oil pressure light to come on besides low oil.
But, at the time and place, circumstances and fate would have it
that these things didn't matter.  I decided the van needed oil.
And not one quart, after checking the dipstick again -- but two.

The engine started smoothly and the oil light went out.  Everything
seemed normal.  The rain was tapering off, and although nightfall
was upon us, everything seemed brighter.  We took off across the 
road to the freeway on-ramp.  Halfway up the ramp, the engine coughed
several times, and then seemed to go into convulsions.  Clouds --
large, LARGE clouds -- of smoke enveloped the rear of the van.  I
couldn't see my wife in the car behind me.  Letting up on the gas,
I coasted to the side and the engine seemed to recover.  

After a quick conference and because there was NO traffic around any 
more, we decided to back slowly down the side of the ramp to find a
safer place from which we could seek help.  The van engine idled 
fine as I rolled backwards.  But when I needed to use the engine to
keep going, it again would cough thick clouds of smoke.  Finally 
we made off the ramp and I limped down the secondary road to a 
gas station which advertised "mechanic on duty".

The mechanic turned out to be incapable of removing a gas cap with-
out someone helping him.  

So we limped several hundred feet further to a Circle-K, with the van 
again intermittently coughing and bellowing clouds of smoke.  I 
could not tell where the smoke was coming from; my wife helpfully
observed that it came from "everywhere in the back, and smelled like
a refinery".  It did not yet dawn on me that I added too much oil.
In fact, I was more concerned that I drove it too far with no oil, 
cracked a head or something, and the smoke was vaporized coolant.

We ate hot-pockets and fudge bars at the Circle-K while waiting for
the tow truck to come.  They were busy that night because of the bad 
weather, which we discovered was called a "monsoon" by the natives.
The tow truck took us to Tucson and left us at a La Quinta.

The following morning I decided to assess the damages first hand,
get as much information as I could, and then start looking for a 
repair shop in a strange town.  First, thing I did was check the oil
to see how close I was by putting two quarts in the previous night.
There was LOTS of oil in there.  

A quick trip up the street to FLAPS and I drained and refilled the
oil myself in the motel parking lot.  There REALLY was lots of oil 
in there.  Probably was full, even before I put the two quarts in.

And then the van ran great.  We spent the day confidence building, 
checking out both the Vanagon and Tucson.  Everything was A-OK.  
Not once did the oil pressure light come on.  So, the following
morning we gave the cat another tranquilizer and started out again.
And we had a very uneventful trip, as far as Vanagon adventures, 
that is.

Wondered about that oil light, though.  Maybe it was the electric 
storm.  I once had an Audi and got caught in a bad summer thunder-
storm in the hills northeast of Santa Fe.  One strike was a little 
too close and caused all my instruments lights to come on and the 
seat belt buzzers to go off.  But that's another story.

Epilogue.
Eleven months later, I'm driving through Austin on another 100+
day and the engine's running OK but a little hotter than usual.
The oil light again comes on!  This time I checked the oil REALLY 
carefully and it was OK.  So I drove it home and started checking 
everything.  Finally I discovered the oil pressure switch wire was 
pinched going around to the bottom of the head.  It was hard to 
see the wire at that point and the pinched area was covered with 
grease.  Apparently the insulation and grease kept it from shorting 
out until a 100+ day --  when the insulation stretched maybe a 
little too much, and the grease began to run maybe a little bit more.
 
John Clavin     jjc@bga.com
Austin, TX