Jeffrey AronsonLet me continue with the saga of my life with “Nadja,” my new-to-me ’98 Discovery I.
As you may recall from my last column, Land Rover specialist Ronnie Tamburro, Fairfield, CT, had waved me off with a “temporary repair” of my crank sensor wiring. “You will need to correct the coolant leak on the cylinder head,” he said. “That’s the reason for the eroded insulation.” The Discovery ran wonderfully on the 360-mile trip home, even averaging 18 mpg. The sunroof opened and closed, the radio played tunes, all the windows went down and back up. These successes lulled me into believing that “temporary” could mean “forever.”
Reality struck when my EMS pager went off on a rainy day.
I jumped into Nadja to respond to the call and came across a deep puddle on the road. I went through too fast and splashed water onto the crank sensor wire with the “temporary repair.” Sure enough, the wiring shorted and thoroughly confused the ECU. The Discovery started to slow down and sputter until I inserted the red straw into the brake cleaner, squinted as I took careful aim (think the assassin in Day of the Jackal) and sent a shot directly onto the wiring. The electronic messages now dispatched the right signals to the ECU and the Discovery ran smoothly.
I stretched out the “temporary repair” for a few weeks. When I took the Discovery in for a mandatory inspection (it passed), the mechanic noted the need for a coolant leak repair through replacing the head gasket. Rovers North sent me a complete head gasket kit and I printed off the replacement tips from the Rovers North website. I left the Discovery with Nate Parker of Copeland’s Garage in Warren, ME. While attending Rovers at Wintergreen in Virginia [see p. 40 -ed.], I received a call from Copeland’s that Nate had uncovered a cracked left-side exhaust manifold. Calls to Woody Cooper at TWS Motors, Will Tillery of RoverGuy and an in-person appeal to Land Rover guru Charlie Haigh resulted in me returning to Maine with two left-side exhaust manifolds with a third shipped directly to the shop.
A week later, I took the ferry over to retrieve Nadja. This island’s narrow, twisty roads don’t tax the engine very much, but on 200-mile mainland trips, the engine temperature sits just below the ½ mark on the temperature gauge and the 4.0 L engine runs smoothly and briskly (well, as briskly as it ever did).
Remembering Creative Director Thompson Smith’s observation that “It’s too nice for you,” I’m treating Nadja as a Royal Family ceremonial vehicle, not as an estate workhorse. I even purchased a hand-held vacuum for the carpets and floor mats, leather treatment product and extra car wash soap – and have used them on the Discovery!
Rovers North’s Gene Schubert once excused his rude behavior — elbowing me away from the driver’s door of a ’97 Defender 90 — by claiming, “I’m doing you a favor. If you drive this one, you’ll only want one.” Later that week, I snuck into the driver’s seat while Gene wasn’t looking, and sure enough, I did feel like I would want one – rather badly, actually.
My dream of a Defender 90 L316 almost came true this summer when enthusiast Stuart Johnson (San Francisco; Jaffrey, NH and this island) stopped at my house to ask a favor: “Could I leave my Defender 90 at your house while I’m off island for a week?” His request made sense for two reasons: one is that his island house sits miles away from the ferry terminal, which has no long-term parking. The other reason lies in my vanity. If I hid his New Hampshire license plates, passersby might think I’ve moved upscale from my “patina” Series IIAs.
While Stuart locked the doors, he did leave me a set of keys. The temptation overwhelmed me; I had to get behind the steering wheel. His LHD ’97 SW did have a couple of oddities. Before entering, I saw the front side marker light did not match the rectangular rear one. Climbing into the Defender, I saw the speedometer had an overlay that converted mph to km/per hour readings. Indeed, upon his return, Stuart confirmed that his was a Japanese-market Defender imported into the US.
It’s often said we don’t own our Land Rovers; we’re just stewards or custodians of them [see p. 29 of this issue -ed.], but for one week, I felt like a Defender owner, too.
In May, Jaguar Land Rover graciously sent me to the Defender OCTA Reveal in Brooklyn, NY, one of many global events organized to get reactions to the Defender’s new halo vehicle [see p. 1 of this issue -ed.]. While in Brooklyn, I met up with documentarian Brendan Mason and “Kyler,” his ’97 Defender RoW Station Wagon.
Brendan had found his first Defender, a ’95 Defender 90 300 Tdi, in Maine during the Covid pandemic. He drove it around the state, from the coast to Acadia National Park to the mountains and lakes of Rangeley, ME. “As a child living in bucolic Dutchess County, NY,” he said, “I gravitated to the more rural regions of Maine.”
Despite the many miles of peaceful enjoyment he had logged behind the steering wheel, Brendan recalls, “When a buyer made an offer I could not refuse, I sold it – and quickly regretted the sale.”
That’s when Kyler entered the scene.
“I came to realize how much I missed the experience of owning one,” Brendan mused. “As a filmmaker in Brooklyn, I had been working on an 8-year project that culminated in the Netflix film, A Secret Love.
I needed the therapy that a Defender could provide. I had held onto the sale proceeds. Enticed by the lure of currency conversion, I found Automobili Veloci in Villongo, Bergamo, Italy, through a social media group. The owner made it clear: ‘I will build whatever you want, but I don’t go inside the engine.’ His craftsmanship on the interior fittings looks spectacular and I’m delighted with his work.”
Brendan wanted a variable speed turbo [more torque at lower rpm, smoother operation -ed.] for the 300 Tdi, which led him to Sean Lawler of Artisan Autoworks, Manchester, NH, whom he also found through social media. “70% of being a good guy is his considerable knowledge and expertise; 30% is that he worked with his father.” After a couple of months, Brendan picked up his upgraded Defender with its considerable engine work. To help the R380 transmission run more effectively, Sean had installed a Discovery transfer case. To accommodate Brendan’s 6’5” frame, Sean moved the seat bulkhead back.
“Babies look at their mother and bond instantly,” Brendan reflected. “I felt the same the moment I started up my refurbished Defender.” Other owners have an emotional relationship to his Defender 90 too. “People always stop and ask questions about Kyler, then they will tell me a personal story. As a filmmaker, you have to dial into people when they’re going through their personal stories. Land Rovers are not just ideas, but the real thing.”
My seasonal work as a property manager – a fancy title for handyman, cleaner and landscaper – goes much easier and far more effectively when I can find a crew. My Series IIAs, the “QE I” (’66 88” SW) and “Rickman” (’67 109” SW) help with the recruitment efforts by masking my shortcomings behind visions of riding in two “cool vibe” vehicles.
When University of Michigan student Parker Boyden returned to her family’s seasonal house this summer, she brought with her 4 Wolverines interested in earning some quick money. A work crew of 6, plus their gear, meant Rickman would become the designated work vehicle. Other summer commitments meant the Wolverines soon returned to their hometowns, but Parker and a friend, Elsie Hildreth, remain as part-time crew.
Naturally, each has received their complimentary copy of Rovers Magazine in the hope that they would acknowledge my off-road experience within the Land Rover Community. To quote Otis Redding and the Black Crowes, “actions speak louder than words,” and that’s where I embarrassed myself.
Departing a worksite, I saw I would have to maneuver the 109” around a tall rock in the middle of a driveway. Instead, I high-centered Rickman over the wedge-shaped rock; it fetched up against on the center crossmember with a loud “bang.” Reversing off the rock would mean bashing the front differential. Of course, my high-lift jack was safely stowed at home some 10 miles away.
Elsie had the look of someone who wondered, “Why aren’t I back at Colorado College instead?”
Together, we scoured a barn on the property for planks and palettes and placed them under the front wheels, elevating the 109 to gain additional ground clearance. The trick was to move the vehicle forward enough to gain some height, but not strike the crossmember. A mere 20 minutes later, I drove off the rock, patting myself on the back to the sounds of silence from Elsie. Once back at my house, she insisted that I return the high-lift jack into Rickman and now checks for it before each work session.