Breakdown cover anyone?

    I have occasionally seen letters in the club magazine, from members who have broken down whilst holidaying abroad and were writing in praise of the club breakdown service that had come to their rescue. The letters usually end with “we don’t know what we would have done without them”. Well I can tell you from my own experience exactly what happened to us.

I’ve never had breakdown cover in all my 30 years of driving, why would I? I’m a mechanical fitter by trade, so if I broke down, I could fix it myself, right? Read on!

We took our campervan over toFrancefor two and a half weeks at the beginning of August to catch some of the summer sunshine that had been so blatantly missing this year in Blighty. The first week was great; we headed south and visited some of the places we love in that part of the country. On the Sunday at the end of the first week, we were travelling on the motorway near the south coast when the campervan engine suddenly cut out and the engine light came on. I pulled over onto the hard shoulder and stopped. I restarted the engine but when I tried to increase the revs, the engine just cut out again. It seemed like fuel starvation but I hadn’t run out of diesel. We put on our hi-viz waistcoats and climbed over to the safe side of the crash barrier. This is where my natural inability to resist trying to fix things myself takes over. After struggling for some time with unsuitable tools, I managed to remove the fuel filter from its housing to take a look. It looked clean enough so I gave it a wipe, refitted it and tried the engine again. Still the same. I had a multimeter on board the camper, so checked all the fuses. Nothing wrong there. The fuel tank lift pump is accessible from inside the cab, between the seats, so I removed the cover so that I could listen and see if the pump was running when the ignition was turned on. I couldn’t hear anything but wasn’t sure that I would with a modern pump. So I decided to remove the delivery pipe and flicked the key on and off quickly. I thought the ignition had jammed on as the diesel jetted up the inside of the windscreen, down the dashboard, onto the seats and carpet, covering my hair, t-shirt and getting in my eye. I’ve since found out that these modern pumps deliver a six second supply of fuel when energised, however briefly. I trudged down the hard shoulder to the S.O.S telephone after I’d finally calmed down, cleaned up and exhausting my entire repertoire of expletives. My French isn’t brilliant and the guy on the other end of the phone wasn’t that hot with English so I just kept repeating the S.O.S phone location number and saying “camping car S.O.S.” He went away for a minuet, then came back having spoken to someone, repeating his newly learnt English instruction that he would get someone to help me. Sure enough, within an impressive twenty minutes, a young chap pulled up with a large breakdown wagon and loaded the camper on. We then experienced a nine kilometre white knuckle ride as the driver texted and made calls on his mobile whilst driving us to the nearest service depot. I then paid him the requested two hundred & forty Euros for the privilege, it was a Sunday remember. We spent that night in the van, parked on the edge of a roundabout, outside the service centre on an industrial estate nearToulon. The roundabout had no curb and was entirely covered in block paving. It rose to a mound in the centre & from time to time cars and scooters would come up from the fast food outlet at the end of the road and screech round it or fly over the top accompanied by the sound of bodywork scraping and shrieks from the occupants or pillions.

Next morning, once the manager had opened up, he got straight on the case. He was down on his usual number of three technicians to just one, as one was on holiday and the other was off work with a badly gashed hand. The technician replaced the fuel filter & tried the engine again, as expected it was still the same, no go. He then plugged in his diagnostic equipment and declared a fuel pressurisation fault to be the problem. A new pressure regulator was ordered, so the camper should be ready for collection the following afternoon. We were informed that there were a couple of cheap hotels at the end of the road so we packed some things into bags and headed off to look.

The first hotel we checked was full, although they said we could try again after five o’clock in case there had been any cancelations. The other hotel next door was also full, so we set off in search of other hotels in the area. By mid day we’d walked a good many miles in the heat without managing to find another hotel. This was when my wife had a brainwave. We had seen a couple of signs pointing to camp sites on our travels so why don’t we just buy a cheap tent and camp for the one night. Brilliant idea, problem solved. After several more miles in the now burning sun, we finally found a supermarket with a tent for only 20 Euros, although my wife thought we ought to also get some mattresses so as to be comfortable for the night. The mattresses were another 30 Euros making the total more than the cost of a room at the cheap hotels but of course that wasn’t an option as they were all full anyway so we set off again with our bags and now the additional camping gear to find our way back to the sign pointing to the campsite. After a few more miles in the burning sun, weighed down with our bags, tent and mattresses, we found the campsite up a steep hill. We dropped our gear and crashed out on a bench in the shade of a tree outside the campsite office for a few minutes while we recovered before I went inside to check us in with the campsite owner. Unfortunately the campsite was full. After explaining our dilemma, the owner radioed out to double check with other members of staff who were out and about on the site but the answer came back that they were definitely full. We picked up our stuff and headed back down the hill to try to find the sign to the other campsite that we’d seen earlier. After a few more miles, we had crossed over to the other side of town, with all our gear, in the baking sun, to find the other campsite at, of course, the top of a hill.

We were by then completely exhausted but at least we would be able to relax once we had checked into the campsite. This campsite was also full……….

Eventually, after some time, our despair wore off enough for us to be able to pick up our stuff again and trudge off back down the hill. We decided to go back to the first hotel again, on the off chance that they had by some miracle, had a cancellation, so back across town we traipsed with our bags and our tent and our mattresses, in that burning sun that had been so blatantly absent back in Blighty, beautifully cool Blighty, eventually arriving at the hotel from which we had set off from, earlier that morning, It was now about four o’clock, we had walked at least 10 miles in scorching heat and were just a little fatigued. Unbelievable, our luck had changed and they did have a room. So we checked in quickly, had a shower and crashed out almost comatose till midday Tuesday.

We had to be out of our hotel room for midday and the camper wouldn’t be ready till later in the afternoon, so we walked down to the garage with all our gear and chucked it in the back of the camper, before going on to spend the afternoon looking around the nearby shops. We walked round and round the shops, all of the shops, but it didn’t matter, because soon the camper would be fixed and we’d once more be on our merry way. When we got back to the garage after our afternoon of shop sightseeing, we were told that there was a problem. The new pressure regulator had made no difference, the pressurisation fault remained the same. It could well be a fault with the injection pump, but as this was a rather expensive item, 800 Euros for a reconditioned part, the manager had contacted headquarters in Paris to make sure that it couldn’t possible be anything else, before ordering the pump and we would have to wait till he heard back from them which would probably be tomorrow now, but so long as they got the go ahead and ordered the pump in the morning, then it would arrive and be fitted the next day and then we would be on our way again. So we collected our things again and once more headed back up the road to check in to the hotel again. The hotel was full again, and the one next door. We decided to go back to the garage and have a word with the manager. As they wouldn’t be working on the camper until the next again day, would it be possible to park it outside on the edge of the roundabout again so we had somewhere to stay for the next two nights? The manager agreed and eventually got the camper back outside on the edge of the roundabout for us again, the van stalling six times in the process. He also very kindly let us fill the water tank first so that we would be able to use our shower and he also produced an electric extension lead so we could have mains power. So that  night we once more listened to the sound of occasional speeding vehicles, tearing around and over our otherwise quiet and lonely roundabout on the industrial estate in the south of France.

The next day the manager suggested we try the water park on the edge of the industrial estate, so we packed some things and set off. We somehow managed to go wrong and ended up taking the long way round but once we were there, we were able to relax. It was quite a good water park. I had a go on both of the water slides, after making it to the top of the queue, constantly swelled by the children pushing past in true continental style. The pool and Jacuzzi were also sampled before retiring to the grassed area to eat the salads purchased from the bar there. Unfortunately, the salads had been drowned in dressing, continental style, so we only managed to eat about half of them before feeling bilious, but at least we could relax in the sun on the grass, safe in the knowledge that by afternoon the following day, we would once again be on our way in the campervan, oh for the open road! We called in on the garage when we returned to the camper van only to be told by the manager that we had many black cats! We realised this meant more bad news. Unfortunately the factory inItalyshuts down completely for two weeks in the summer holidays, that means a replacement pump would be at least a two week wait but the manager was ringing round all other dealers to see if anyone had one in stock. The next day we went back to the water park but didn’t feel much like swimming or sliding so just sat out on the grass again. We took our own dinner with us that day. Later in the afternoon, we went back to the garage for the latest news. They could get us a reconditioned pump for Tuesday or if we wanted to pay the extra, a brand new pump could be here for Monday but that would be 1600 Euros! I enquired about the guarantees on the two pumps, they were both the same, two years. That made the decision easy, instead of paying the full price of the new pump, we would have the reconditioned one and fly home rather than spend the next five days and nights stranded by the roundabout, especially as there was no cast iron guarantee that the camper would be finished and ready by the Tuesday evening in time for us to make the journey back up to our ferry home . We’d already spoken to our son back at  home who’d looked at the cost of flights online for us and apparently we could get a plane back home tonight for about £50 each. Unfortunately it was too late to make it for the flight that evening but the manager offered us the use of the garage computer to book our flight home for the following evening and even offered to take us to the airport as it wasn’t far from his home. So I booked the flight, which of course was more than double the price on a Friday, and printed off the details. The only slight snag was that we would have to go that night if we wanted a lift as the manager wouldn’t be finished in time on the Friday to get us to the airport for the afternoon flight, but that didn’t matter as we figured we could just crash out in the airport lobby for the night safe in the knowledge that we were there well in time for our flight home the following day. I remember remarking to the wife, as she rapidly packed a couple of bags that at last the bad luck was over and we were on our way home now, albeit without our campervan. I added that she needn’t pack anything for me as I would be ok in my t-shirt and shorts and we had to get a move on so as not to miss our impending lift to the airport, due to leave any minuet. So the bags were grabbed, the contents of the fridge emptied into a wheelie bin and we jumped into the back of the managers car ready for the off. We chatted to the manager on the drive to the airport, laughing about all the bad luck we’d had that was now thankfully behind us. He wished us a cheery bon voyage as he drove off waving having dropped us off outside the airport entrance. We sat down on some café seats. At last we could relax and reflect on all that had happened, safe in the knowledge that we were at the airport ready well in time for our flight home again. I looked through the booking paperwork. Now we’re used to travelling abroad by ferry, obviously with having the campervan. You just book it online, print off the details, show them at the ferry port and you’re on. Not being used to flying, I hadn’t noticed in the small print that you also have to check in online and print off a boarding pass which has to be presented at the time of boarding or else you are charged an extra £50 each to have them print it for you. I went inside the airport and asked the lady at the information desk if there was anywhere that I could go online to book in and print our passes. She told me that the nearest place would be the town 6 kilometres from here,  pointing that way and by the way the airport was closing now so we would have to leave. I went back outside to tell the wife that things had took a turn for the worst again and that we were now effectively homeless. I think the term generally used is, hero to zero.

We picked up our things and headed out towards the airport entrance and walked along the coast road until we came to the buildings along the front. I asked at the first hotel if they had a room, they hadn’t. I asked if I could pay to use their internet to book in our flights, internet is for guests only. Thanks. We walked along to the next hotel and the next but the story was the same, it was the height of the holiday season and everywhere was full. After asking at the half a dozen or so places along the sea front without success it was starting to get dark. We sat on a bench to watch the sun go down. My wife pointed out a bus going past and suggested we catch one to take us up to the main town where there would bound to be more hotels. Brilliant. We picked up our stuff and followed the road around the corner which the bus had taken and walked to the top where we found a bus shelter with time table. The bus we had seen was in fact the last bus. We sat down in the bus shelter. It was getting colder, remember I had told the wife not to bother packing any clothes for me, bad decision. I borrowed some of the clothes she had  brought for herself and wrapped them around my legs. We sat there on the bench with our bottle of water, inside the glass bus shelter with the strip light shining down on us in the twilight. People were driving past staring at us, I wanted to rush out shouting  “It’s not what it looks like, we aren’t really tramps” but the fact that I could only say that in English would probably make it look worse. So we sat there, for seven hours we sat there! Eventually, sensing dawn was drawing closer, we gathered our bags of belongings again, like tramps do and walked back down to the bench on the sea front to watch the sun come up again. I paddled in the shallows trying to forget the fix we were still in. Once the shops and cafés started to open up, we walked around looking for somewhere we might be able to get internet access. Eventually we found an internet café. I asked if they had a printer I could use, they didn’t but they kindly pointed me in the direction of a place that would so I headed off across the way to a tiny internet place at the bottom of a block of flats. The staff were very helpful and I checked in our flight and printed off the boarding passes all for the price of  2 and a half Euros, somewhat cheaper than the 50 Euros each that they charge at the airport. After getting something to eat, we walked back down to the airport, stopping at the beach opposite a while to paddle one last time before the heat had us beat. We crossed the road to the airport where we managed to crash out in the lounge and catch a little sleep before our flight was due to leave. The boarding didn’t start until after the departure time had past and we were delayed a little further when a young boy insisted he had to use the toilet before the plane took off much to the embarrassment of his parents. We eventually landed at Stanstead an hour late followed by another hour at passport control, much to the annoyance of the family members that had come down to collect us, followed by an uneventful two and a half hour drive home. We got a right good telling of by our 18 year old son, teenagers are supposed to end up sleeping in bus shelters, not their parents!

The next week was spent trying to contact the garage to see if the camper would be ready for collection on the Friday. Frustratingly my e-mails received no replies. I tried phoning later on in the week but rather embarrassingly, I found it impossible to make myself understood without the aid of the hand gestures used when face to face and had to abandon the phone call. Eventually I received an e-mail to say the van was finished, albeit too late to get across to collect it that week, apparently there had been an additional problem with the central computer which had to be reconfigured. A flight was booked for the next Friday so that we could drive up country over the following weekend and catch a ferry back to Blighty on the bank holiday Monday.

We were at the front of the queue for the flight out to Marseille on the Friday and so got seats near the front of the plane after the priority passengers had boarded. Unfortunately the luggage lockers above our seats had been filled with the baggage of the afore mentioned priority passengers who had then gone to sit elsewhere on the aircraft, presumably in seats where your chances of surviving a crash are supposed to be better, so our bags had to be shoved in lockers a little further down but once we had landed I was quick to grab our bags and as we had no other luggage to wait for, we were out of the airport in minutes. I then went for my wallet, kept in the pocket of my fleece which I had stuffed into the top of one of our bags, as I had a business card for the garage in there with the address I would need to show to the taxi driver to get us to the garage before it closed at 5.00pm. The fleece wasn’t there, or the wallet, it must have fallen out inside the locker on the plane. I went back inside the airport and spoke to someone behind the desk. They would send someone to look for the fleece once all the other passengers were off the plane. I had to wait about half an hour. In the meantime I got talking to a chap from the airline and asked him which way I needed to go for the taxi rank. He suggested we would be better off taking the shuttle bus into the centre of town were we could get a taxi to the garage much cheaper. I mentioned we had to get to the garage before it shut at 5.00pm as they wouldn’t be open again till Monday morning but he advised me a taxi directly from the airport would be about 150 Euros, so once my lost fleece turned up complete with the wallet still in the pocket, thankfully, we headed down to the shuttle bus stop. I purchased the required tickets for 16 Euros but the bus was now full and left without us so a wait of twenty minutes followed until the next bus turned up. We were first onboard the next bus as once again we had no other baggage that needed to go in the luggage hold. We sat there in our seats watching the luggage of the other passengers slowly being loaded into the bus hold, occasionally glancing at the time as one by one the passengers came on board until finally the bus was full and could set off for the town centre. The nearer we got to the centre of town, the heavier the traffic became. We cursed every car that pushed its way in front of our bus as it crawled along the streets full of traffic, as did our bus driver, though no amount of horn blowing seemed to deter the other road users from barging in. We slowly came nearer to our destination, constantly checking the time and trying to work out how long we would have to then get to the garage. If we weren’t there by 5.00pm we would be stuffed as they don’t open at the weekend. Eventually the bus made it to the central station and we leapt out and raced inside. We spotted the sign for the taxis and shot out the other side again to find a cabbie with the door open ready. I showed him the card with the garage address on it and asked him “how much?” He pointed inside the taxi and exclaimed “meter” so we jumped inside and tried to impress on the driver how important it was that we made it to the garage before 5.00pm. He seemed to understand and made good progress through the busy central streets. Once we made it onto the auto route I noticed the meter had speeded up, it was now going up 10 cents every second, 6 Euros for every minute! On top of that, I also had to pay for the tolls when we came to a toll barrier. Credit were it’s due, he did get us to the garage before it closed but with a fare of 120 Euros plus tolls plus the bus tickets, we hadn’t really saved any money at all and may as well have taken a taxi directly from the airport and saved ourselves the risk of nearly missing our deadline. The next expense was the garage bill, 2400 Euros! That was for the fuel filter, recon pump & computer, new belts and labour. There wasn’t anything I could do about that, I would still of had to pay that if I’d  been at a garage back home, even with breakdown cover but I would have probably had the pump off and in bits in my garage myself if I could have got  it back home.

We didn’t get too far up country that evening, staying in an aire overnight before travelling up most of the way the next day, leaving us an extra day to enjoy one of our favourite sites and areas just belowBoulognebefore catching the ferry on the Monday. The ferry crossing and journey back up north fromDoverwas uneventful, thankfully, though you do notice the huge amount of traffic onBritain’s roads when you return from abroad. The campervan performed faultlessly and has continued to do so since although I still can’t get my head round why the central computer would go if the injection pump ceased up.

And the moral of this story is? If you own a campervan more than just a few years old, especially if its made by a popular foreign company as most are, don’t expect to be able to fix it yourself if it breaks down abroad. You probably ought to invest in breakdown cover before you go. I wish I had!