Jeffrey AronsonWith apologies to Hamlet, the question had become, “To buy or not to buy.”
I’d owned “Gilroy,” my ’97 Discovery I SE7, for 7 years and it had put in its time towing landscaping gear, firewood and other people’s boats, and transporting me around the Northeast. As it approached 150,000 miles, it showed symptoms of a head gasket failure; without a shop, a shade tree mechanic repair in the chill and rain of early Spring loomed ahead.
A chance encounter with a Land Rover enthusiast on the mainland made my decision easier. “You might sell Gilroy,” he asked. “Can I buy it?” With apologies to Staples, “That was easy!”
Suddenly in need of another vehicle, online searches led me to Norfolk, VA, where I found two for sale by a genuine enthusiast. The owner offered up a ’98 Discovery I SE that had spent most of its life in Southern California. No evidence of undercarriage corrosion, working sunroofs (no headliner droop), cold air-conditioning, no dash or leather seat seam cracks, no oil or fluid leaks, no codes and a successful compression test. It even came with a working radio and retractable cover to hide items in the rear. A CarFax showed appropriate dealer servicing, no accidents and only 126,000 miles.
The owner called it, “Hands down, the nicest factory Land Rover I’ve had in my care without a restoration. If my daughter wanted to go to California tomorrow, I would send her in this Discovery.” I sent photos of the body, undercarriage and interior to Rovers North. “It’s a beauty,” Mark Letorney wrote. “It’s too nice for you,” said Creative Director Thompson Smith.
Visions of a carefree Discovery driving experience danced through my head. A decade ago, I had driven Rovers North’s Zack Griswold from Saxton’s River, VT to W. Springfield, MA, where, in the chill of a winter’s night, we had entered the sketchiest auto transport yard this side of The Italian Job. Zack paid cash to liberate a Discovery purchased from Doug Shipman in Portland, OR. Once jump-started, he drove it without incident 200 miles to his home in Burlington, VT. If Zack could do it, why couldn’t I?
“You’re an individual, unlikely to look kindly on those would try and classify you,” insisted Land Rover’s promotion on the 1998 Discovery. “Suffice it to say that driving a Discovery will change your outlook and, dare we say, increase your desire to tackle new adventures.” For me, it would be a “new adventure” to own a cosmetically pristine Land Rover again. (One critic had barked at me, “You’re the only person I know who details his Land Rover with a garbage bag.”)
Visions of a clean, shiny and tidy Discovery danced through my head; my driving wardrobe would suddenly matter. I would tempt fate by bringing neither tools nor a monkey suit. I would even get a haircut. What the Discovery didn’t do to my supercharged vanity, Cooper Murray of the Greenwich [CT] Land Rover Club did, in the form of an invitation to be their “Special Guest” at a March meeting. As the honor would coincide with my trip to purchase the elegant Discovery, I graciously accepted and planned my trip.
My fantasy included a flight to Richmond, VA, where Land Rover enthusiast Ralf Sarek would join me on the drive to Norfolk/Virginia Beach. I would then drive 400 miles to Greenwich, CT in my Rutland Red Discovery. There, members of the Greenwich Land Rover Club would ooh and ahh over my immaculate Discovery. After gracing them with my presence, I would proceed another 360 miles to my ferry terminal in Rockland, ME. Surely, if Zack could do it in his Discovery, so could I.
On St. Patrick’s Day weekend, Ralf and I drove to a storage warehouse where I finally saw the Discovery in person; if anything, it looked even more stunning than in its photos. It fired right up without throwing a code! “Everything works,” said the owner, so I opened the sunroof. “That’s brave of you,” warned Ralf, as I opened and closed it a couple of times. The automatic door locks flicked on and off randomly, but I blithely ignored them.
We set off to meet up with Michael Wood, the GM at Checkered Flag Land Rover Virginia Beach, and that let me enjoy 10 miles of carefree driving before Ralf, following me in his Defender 90 L663, saw the newly installed muffler dangling freely. Mike sent Service Tech Collin Glans out to effect a quick repair. Our vehicles drew the attention of two Defender 90 RHD enthusiasts; Tony Carvana, Norfolk, and Damon Samuels, Virginia Beach, who owned RHD Japanese market Defenders (first time I’d seen one!), stopped to chat.
The next morning, I started out for Maine. I marveled at the 17-mile expanse of the Chesapeake Bay Tunnel and Bridge. As I crossed over to Virginia’s Eastern Shore, I enjoyed the expansive greenhouse of my lovely Discovery. Like Ryan Gosling’s Ken, everything seemed wonderful in my Kendom — until it wasn’t.
Eighty miles from Virginia Beach, the Discovery mimicked a limp mode. It would not accelerate beyond 1,000 rpm. I steered into a breakdown lane and pondered my next step. Remembering a time when a wire parted from a connector in my Series IIA, I popped the hood release and, leaving the Discovery running, I stepped out to investigate. That’s when I heard a loud click and realized the doors had locked – with the engine running and my phone, coat and only key inside.
I walked to a nearby post office and asked the clerk to call 911 to unlock the Discovery. She came to my aid and called on her cellphone. After a few minutes, she said, “They want to speak with you.” The dispatch needed my name, state of registration and license number. I walked back outside, peered at the temperature gauge (all was fine), jotted down the Maine Transit plate number, and read it off to the dispatcher. “You’re not in the registration database,” the dispatcher said, “so I cannot send help.”
Taking pity on me, the postal clerk intervened; “I know a guy.” Fifteen minutes later, Joe Taylor of Oak Hall Tire & Wrecker came to my rescue. With an inflatable cuff, a wedge and a rod, he unlocked the driver’s door and, to my joy, the engine would suddenly accelerate without incident. I told Joe I would continue north; he said, “I’m heading that way, so I’ll follow you. Just in case you need help later, here’s my card.”
The card read, “Best Hookers and Rubbers in Town,” conveniently in both English and Spanish. Now, I’d like to believe that, in my advanced years, I’d dropped my “Frat Bro” persona and could demonstrate an appropriate level of social maturity — but instead, I burst out laughing. Once Joe saw that, he thought me eligible for his ultimate marketing move, a sealed condom with the same slogan printed on the packet. Brilliant!
After an all-too brief sojourn on Staten Island, NY, the Discovery took me to Greenwich, CT, ready for its debut at the Greenwich Land Rover Club the following morning. Only it never made it — the same running problem afflicted it when I attempted to show it off to friends. I called Cooper Murray for help finding a Land Rover specialist; he recommended Ronnie Tamburro in nearby Fairfield, CT. I arranged for a tow through AAA and met Ronnie at his shop. A copy of Rovers Magazine sat on his counter, which I found comforting.
Ronnie took a methodical approach to diagnosing the problem. The fuel filter was clean enough and the fuel pump pressure sat in the proper range. Replacing a filthy air filter and cleaning the MAF sensor resulted in no change. With the vehicle back up on the lift, Ronnie found the culprit: bare wires right above the crank sensor connector. He could see that coolant, leaking from the back of the left head gasket, had eaten away at the insulation near the crank sensor connector. Spraying it with brake cleaner and taping it up provided an acknowledged temporary fix. While reveling in the newfound engine power, the alternator decided to die. The nearest correct one lay 60 miles away but Cooper Murray and Ronnie managed to get it to Fairfield.
Without my Discovery, Cooper dispatched chef Geoff Lazlo to chauffeur me to the Greenwich Land Rover Club’s breakfast meet in his “working Rover” (‘95 NAS Defender 90) during an absolute deluge. I enjoyed meeting up with new Land Rover friends Jordan Baker (’93 Range Rover Classic SWB), Charles Joerss (’95 NAS Defender 90) and Phil Lauderdale (’93 Defender 90 Spanish import). Rahul Baig brought his ’89 Ex-MoD Defender. He had grown up in Mozambique, “where a Defender was the only form of transportation, albeit uncomfortable.” Ironically, Vir Menon had traveled north from the Virginia Beach area, where he runs a Land Rover shop, just for this weekend.
Back at the shop, Ronnie reminded me his wiring fix was temporary and showed me how to pull back the left front inner fender and carefully aim brake cleaner on the wiring. He also pointed out the location of the coolant leak. I bought an additional can of brake cleaner and oh, had extra keys made in case the door locks went haywire again. Over the next two weeks, the brake cleaner and extra key would prove invaluable.
As Land Rover predicted in 1998, my Discovery, named “Nadja,” “increased my desires to tackle new adventures.” But wait, there’s more! The saga continues in the next issue — stay tuned.