A hint of daylight still on the horizon, an evening chill descending, recent drizzle in evidence. My phone rings. “Help! I’m on the side of the freeway – out of fuel!” Diesel, of course, with all the issues that that entails.
The good part of this story – he was only about forty minutes away. “Yep OK, I will get a jerry can and fuel at the servo, as we leave town. I’ll bring some jumper leads and the snatch strap, just in case. Yep, no worries. OK, yep. What, what was that?” He mentions that there had been a bad accident on the eastbound lanes – a bus and truck collision, and traffic backed up for kilometres. “Yep, when you get to Gordon, turn off, head inland a few clicks until you see the old Ballan Road, turn into it and at Ballan, come back onto the westbound freeway. You will see me ten k’s up the road!”
It’s been ages since we went out at night. Catherine keeps me company, moral support as we set off into the dark, dankness.
It has stopped raining by the time we arrive. God, how I hate diesel fuel! The jumper leads provide umbilical connection between our cars. There is an asthmatic whirring, nothing else. “There’ll be air in the fuel line, I betcha!”
A long story, cut short. Caravans and camper trailers, trucks whizzing past, inches from my window as we crawl along the emergency stopping lane. Our orange emergency blinkers hopefully illustrate our plight to the relentless holiday traffic. 20 kilometres per hour, ten k’s to get the car off the freeway, to gain some overnight refuge, relative safety from vandals stripping an abandoned vehicle.
He bled the lines next morning. His car fired, first thing.
It has been many years since I towed anything, let alone at night, but tension, a little fear and a good dose of adrenalin brought memories of another distant, diesel encounter. Fifty years earlier!
Docker River – Kaltukatjara, 240 kilometres west of Uluru, against the Western Australian border. Saturday morning, Tjungari, the designated generator refueler, in his rush to join a hunting party, had forgotten to pump up the fuel. The community’s power went down.
In the early 70s, the three traditional bush encampments, the Pitjantjatjara, Ngaatjatjarra/Pintubi and the Yankuntjatjarra areas had minimal electrical reticulation – mostly just our small shop’s chillers and freezer, the lean-to shed, serving as our medical clinic, the Ganger’s house and several, clustered caravans housing the nurses, teachers and I. I waited in my caravan for something to happen. Evidently, others did the same.
I wandered down to the generator-shed. The 6 KVA Southern Cross sat forlorn; quietly cooling down, waiting. OK, so what do I need to do? I’ll refuel the bugger, for a starter.
I roll two 44-gallon drums into position and pump the fuel up into the overhead tank. I hit the ‘Go’ button. The battery was good, but a phlegmy, throaty grinding noise was all it could manage. I cursed passionately.
For six hours I dicked around with that bloody motor. I fiddled with the red handled lever, I turned a green knob on and off. I prayed for instructive help, even divine intervention would have been acceptable! I sporadically hit the ‘Go’ button to no avail. Nobody else came across to the shed. My knuckles, wits and spirit were bloody.
Our monthly Alice Springs supply truck arrived at 4pm. Ian Lovegrove saw me in the shed, stopped and listened to my woes. “Have ya bled the injectors?” “What?” “The injectors, ya gotta bleed em, to get the air outta the fuel lines.” I had no idea what he was talking about.
Ian figured that, as he found the wrench and undid #1 injector. He pumped the little handle on the side of the motor. “See that frothy stuff? Air comin’ out!” He retightened the injector and went along the other five cylinders, cracking and pumping each in turn. “Give her a belt now” and with a deep throated, purposeful grunt, the little green machine churned back into life. Did I just see a withering look pass between the gen set and Ian? Ten minutes against my six bloody, fucking hours!
God, I hate diesel engines. Wouldn’t ever own a diesel car, not on your bloody life!