Defeat Snatched From the Jaws of Victory

A Syncro Tale of Woe

It was 10PM and I was humming along I-70 through the empty desert of southern Utah, driving my new Syncro Westfalia with the cruise control set at 70 and the tunes cranked up on the Alpine CD changer.  I was disappointed to be passing that fantastic southwestern landscape in the darkness, but I needed to be back in California in a couple of days.  I consoled myself with self-congratulations for having pulled off the Vanagon deal of the century: snagging this incredible vehicle - a clean ‘89 with 90K miles - for only $12,000.  Whoo-hoo!


And that’s just about the time that the oil pressure light came on.  Turns out I’d be seeing that desert landscape by the light of day after all...


But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Just a few days before, I’d been visiting my girlfriend in Boulder, Colorado, when around the corner from her house my Vanagon radar (perpetually on ‘seek’) detected an ‘89 Syncro Westy parked on the street.  An appreciative comment solicited the info that it might be for sale.  Hmm!  From the maintenance records, the owner seemed not to have used it much (only a few thousand miles, but enough to have replaced one head gasket) and it was too wimpy to haul his growing family around.  Extensive test drives confirmed that it wasn’t as peppy as the non-Westy ‘89 Syncro I already owned, but no more sluggish than I’d expect due to the extra camper gear.  I got more serious.


A local VW shop in Boulder did a thorough pre-purchase inspection on it and gave it an A+ rating.  Good compression, CVs, and 4-wheel drivetrain, clean coolant and oil, and the brakes, steering and tire wear all checked out (spare had been rotated with the rest.)  A/C cooled, sink pump worked, stove lit up and the fridge got cold.  Check, check, check and check!


The only scintilla of doubt I had was focussed on that oil pressure light.  After one long test run on the freeway, I had been idling in a parking lot and I caught a *brief* flicker of the warning light out of the corner of my eye.  *%@?*!!  I shut off the van and immediately restarted it (hey, I’m a computer guy: reboot at the first sign of anomalous behavior)  but I never got it to light up again, nor at any other time during the next couple of days.  It was unnerving enough, however, that I paid the VW shop an extra hour of shop time to give it a thorough oil pressure check.  Again, it passed with flying colors - musta been a faulty sender. So much for due diligence.


After some dickering with the owner, during which I convinced him how much trouble he was saving by not having to advertise the car, detail it, deal with the barrage of phone calls and tire-kickers, etc., we settled on a price of $12K.  I moved heaven and earth to generate a cashier’s check and cash from my out-of-town account by a local bank’s close-of-business on Friday, and Saturday morning we sunk the deal. 


By Sunday morning my girlfriend and I were on the road, climbing up over the continental divide on I-70 through the Eisenhower tunnel, over Vail Pass and cruising down beautiful Glenwood Canyon.   Performance was as-expected: poky but steady, no hiccups at altitude, and temperature needle solidly mid-gauge.  After a celebratory dip at Glenwood Springs, I put my girlfriend back on the bus to Boulder and headed west towards Utah, passing Grand Junction, Moab and Green River...


Now, perhaps I was pushing it a *bit* too hard - for sure, I wasn’t babying it: drove it just like I do my van at home, topping out a little above 4K RPM.  Or maybe the gods just looked down at my happy ass and decided a little comeuppance was in order.  In any case, I was climbing up a grade in the darkness about 90 minutes west of Green River when that oil light came on, and I knew in my heart-of-hearts it was all over.  The strident oil warning buzzer came on too (didn’t even know there *was* a buzzer), adding to the overall atmosphere of catastrophe - I wouldn’t wish that sound on anyone!  Providentially, at that very moment a “Scenic Viewpoint” sign appeared on the right, so I peeled off, coasting in neutral into a deserted, service-less rest stop. 


A peek with the headlamp under the engine didn’t reveal any oil leaking (nor did it the next day) and the dipstick showed the oil level square between the dots.   Everything *looked* right in the engine compartment.  And while the engine seemed to idle OK, pulling it up to about 2K RPM generated a frightening clattering sound and relit the warning light.  I shut it off, popped the top, and spent a grand first night in my new van.  Oh boy.  Between the stress, the caffiene I’d pumped myself with in Green River and the cycling compressor of a big-rig reefer that pulled in behind me at 3AM, you can imagine how much restful sleep I got.


The next morning, the cooled-down engine exhibited pretty much the same symptoms.  I experienced the joy of my first van-cooked breakfast - that Westy kitchen is sure great! - and caught a ride with a long-haul trucker 70 miles west to the nearest telephone, in Salina, Utah.  A frantic 9AM Monday call to my insurance company in California - God Bless you, State Farm! - connected me with the local agent, who was suprisingly sanguine considering he’d last heard from me at 4:55PM the previous Friday to confirm that the new van was indeed covered under my existing policy.  He made a comittment to cover the towing charges 200 miles back to Grand Junction, Colorado, where I was confident of finding a competent VW mechanic.  


The tow driver and I had quite a pleasant ride back through the high desert with the Westy on top of his flatbed, and we dropped it off in the yard of Foreign Aid, the best little VW shop in Grand Junction, Colorado run by the gracious (and loquacious) Steve Stewart. 
His aural diagnosis confirmed the ones I’d gotten by describing the symptoms to other mechanics over the phone: a salvageable core, but otherwise useless.  Complete rebuild or replacement.   I left him, awaiting further instructions, and a combination of busses and planes actually got me back to California by my deadline.  And there the matter rests.


SO, Vanagon Listees: I open up the floor to any and all advice, suggestions, and purchase offers that could help me dispose of this diamond-in-the-(very)rough.  At this point, I’d just like to get my $12K back out of it, so consider that a firm bottom-end sales price (the other expenses I incurred in the purchase go into the karmic write-off column.)  In the interests of full disclosure, here are the particulars:


1989 Syncro Westfalia


Pros:

* Metallic blue, blue westy top

* 90K miles

* Power windows,locks, mirrors

* After-market awning

* Alpine 10-CD changer

* Brand new battery

* All working camping gear, A/C and cruise control

* No rust, no leaks, good boots, clean interior

* Prepurchase inspection reports (ha ha!)


Cons:

* Dead motor!

* No rear diff lock

* Partial service records only (last 3 years)

* Plastic sunroof cracked

* Missing rear wiper, dead motor

* Passenger-side mirror non-motorized

* Slight 2-foot crease rear driver’s side (maybe possible to buff out - see pix)

* Scuffed rear bumper corners

* 2 inch tear in pop-top canvas, mosquito netting torn.

* 49-state emissions cert. means $300 smog fee for Calif registration.

 

Boulder Colorado, June 1999