Utah or Bust
Now that we were armed with plenty of information and a wee bit of experience with off road recovery (as well as a long shopping list of recovery items we needed to buy), we felt much better about going remote, solo and international. However, we still had a few things we needed to take care of before we could head off into the wild.
First up: a scheduled visit to the Moby1 factory to have the trailer suspension modified. When we ordered the trailer I had checked the published specifications to make sure it would fit into a standard-width shipping container, but unfortunately, I had not considered the extra width of the 35 inch tires. Sure enough, when we picked up the trailer the previous month I had discovered that the wider tires put us about two inches over the interior width of the container!
Consulting with Moby1, we determined the best approach would be to simply replace the A-Arms with ones that had been customized to move the axles in a few inches on each side. This would give us just the clearance we needed to squeeze into a container. Now, with word from Moby1 that the new A-Arms were ready, we headed directly to Springville, UT for the refit.
To save time, we elected to take the freeway and make the drive in one, long, haul. We arrived late into Springville, which is about 30 miles south of Salt Lake City, and grabbed a hotel room. The next morning we dropped the trailer at Moby1, then drove to Just4Fun Motorsports.
One of the items on our shopping list was a Hi-Lift jack, and Charlie at Just4Fun happened to have the exact size we needed. He also had shackles for sale, so we grabbed a few of them as well.
After the stop at Just4Fun we made a visit to Teraflex, just up the freeway in West Jordan, to get a few spare parts for the Jeep. I had also arranged for a brief tour of the factory. As before, Dennis Wood and all the guys at Teraflex were gracious and welcoming. Once the tour was over we made a brief promotional video which you can watch here.
Factory visit complete, we headed over to Four Wheel Parts to do more shopping. We picked up the ARB Hi-Lift base as well as some soft shackles and recovery straps.
By the time we got back to Moby1 it was nearly dark and the guys were just finishing up the A-Arm refit. While the fabricators completed the work, we bought a couple spare brake drums and got a quick demonstration on how to install and adjust them. We didn't really need complete drum assemblies--normally only the pads wear out--but because it is easier to replace the whole assembly than replace just the pads, we decided it was worth the extra weight.
Then it was back to the hotel for one more night, primed for our adventure!
Do or Die in Death Valley
Ever since our breakdown in Escalante, UT the previous spring, we had been itching to get some extended rough-road hauling with the Jeep and trailer. All the fixes and subsequent testing had been done without towing (and mostly on paved roads), and we were keen to see how well the overheating problem had been resolved.
The guys at Just4Fun Motorsports told us that we were still prone to overheating, simply because of the challenges of pushing the total weight of Jeep and trailer up long, steep grades. The 392 V8 had more than enough power and torque--it just wasn't intended to be shoehorned into a Jeep JK engine compartment without consequence.
We needed to learn from experience how hard and far we could push. We needed to find the thin line between love and heat.
We decided to head to Death Valley, where nighttime temperatures were still moderate, and where we could get "remote and solo." Death Valley was also on a direct line to San Diego, our next intended stop. Perfect.
The next morning we got an early start, and by evening we were chasing a brilliant sunset past the Funeral Mountains on the Nevada-California border. We dropped in to Death Valley and arrived at Texas Springs campground well after dark. Just before we turned out the lights it suddenly hit us--this would be our first night camping in the trailer.
The next day dawned clear, bright and warm. Instead of just heading out into the hinterland, we decided to swing by the visitor center to pay our entrance fee and talk to the rangers about the backcountry roads. I wanted to go out to a place called the Racetrack, which is a dry lake bed in the north part of the park.
The Racetrack gets its name from the odd tracks on the playa's surface made by rocks driven across the lake bed by high force winds. I had seen photographs of these rocks and their tracks decades ago, and although the images were now cliche I wanted to see (and yes, photograph) them for myself.
The ranger told us the road to the Racetrack playa was quite passable, but beyond that the trail south climbed steeply and became technically difficult. The lake bed was also at 4000 feet where night-time temperatures would be below freezing. I looked at Karen with a hopeful eye, but her expression needed no translation. We'd go to the playa, but retrace our route to the relative warmth of the valley floor for the night. Fair enough.
After a quick lunch at Stovepipe Wells we drove the paved road 50 miles north to Ubehebe Crater where the pavement ended. We aired down, softened the shocks, and started the 26 mile drive to the Racetrack.
The trail started out smooth enough, but soon became heavily wash-boarded, and alternated between soft sand and hard, sharp cobble. After crossing the moonscape of the crater basin, we began a long slow climb, and as we climbed, so did the temperature, both outside and under the hood.
We were running in four wheel high, and when the engine temperature hit 233 I switched to four wheel low. The Jeep seemed to like that better, and by the time we crested the pass at 4600 feet, we were running at a steady 225--quite acceptable, I thought.
Still, after the long haul up to the pass I pulled over to give the engine and transmission a bit of a rest. Oddly, when we started back up a few minutes later, in spite of the downhill run to the playa, the engine temperature quickly climbed back into the mid 230s. What?
Karen and I debated whether we should continue on or abandon the journey. Although the sun was now setting, we had come so far and were so close. With a cautioned eye on the temperature gauge, we hurried as best we could to the playa.
Unfortunately, as far as I could tell, the "rock racing competition" was over. Then, in the dimming light, we saw some black specks in the distance. Figuring them to be "racers", we set off on a quick march across the hard, crackled surface of the lake bed.
As we approached, what we had hoped would be the famous rocks turned out to be just a few small clumps of bushes clinging tenaciously to the otherwise blank, inhospitable surface. Disappointed, we marched back towards the rig.
Near a tall island of rocks called the Grandstand (where spectators watch the race?) we found a few small contenders lying about, but they were sans tracks. Clearly,these rocks were imposters--the Rosie Ruizes of the playa rock-racing world--likely placed there by other folks who weren't about to accept a half day, rough road drive without something to grace their Instagram pages.
We shunned the fake racers as if they were PED-laced juicers. As a consolation, however, this was the night of December's "super moon", and it soon rose as splendidly as forecasted over the darkened hills. We took a few pictures, then fired up the Jeep and started the long haul back.
Five minutes later, with the headlights dancing across the desert night and barely a half mile from the Playa, I shut off the motor. The engine temperature had climbed quickly past the 230s and was now threatening 250. Something was clearly wrong.
I climbed out, had Karen start the car once more, and my ears told me the unfortunate truth--the engine fan was not running!
This didn't make sense. We had run all the way from Salt Lake to Death Valley in the heat of the previous day without issue. Even the 230s on the way up to the pass were not a concern, as normally, once the grade lessens, the temperature quickly drops to normal. The fact that the gauge had stayed in the 230s on the descent to the Racetrack suddenly figured heavily in my mind. And now, with the fan as mute as a ghost town windmill we suddenly found ourselves in a real-live "recovery situation." Remote, solo, and...dead in the water. Well, dead in the sand to be precise.
Another blown fan? A bad fuse or relay? We needed to find and fix the problem or we would be stranded in the desert backcountry with winter's chill bearing down. A tow from there would be costly, if it could even be done.
I popped the hood and tried to pull the fan fuse, but couldn't get a grip to dislodge it. A second attempt with the pliers resulted in a cracked fuse casing. After a fair bit of pulling and prying, I finally extracted the fuse, popped in a replacement, and...nothing.
Next I checked the continuity on the fan motor itself, and it was good! At least that was encouraging. It meant the problem had to be somewhere in the control circuit. But what? Either way, I figured I could hard-wire the fan to the battery and get us going again, but with the onset of night and the temperature dropping precipitously, my fingers had numbed into useless stubs of flesh and bone.
Our off-road recovery instructor Bob Wohlers had taught us that when stranded, don't just jump into action. You need to Stop, Think, Observe, Plan, then Act. Here, in our first "live fire" situation, I had skipped right to the last step.
After a few deep breaths, we calmly evaluated our situation. We had food, water, and although we had never tested the trailer's heater, presumably it would work and keep us warm. We had our DeLorme InReach Explorer and could communicate with the outside world. We had a set of tools and some spare parts. We just needed plenty of daylight and some warmth. And so, even though we were stopped dead in the middle of the road, we decided to wait for morning. We messaged the boys and settled in for the night.
Escape from Death Valley
The morning dawned clear and cold. We had kept warm during the night thanks to the little propane-fired heater in the trailer and although the fan created a bit of noise and would awaken us every time it cycled on and off, we were happy to trade that annoyance for toasty comfort.
After waiting for the sun to crest the eastern mountains and bring some needed warmth to this cold and cheerless place, I set about to make repairs. Unfortunately, I didn't have the right connectors to hard wire a connector between the fan and the fuse box, so was unable to secure the wiring.
About that time a couple appeared in a truck and stopped to see if they could assist. As luck would have it, they had some pre-wired alligator clips I could use to make the connections! The wires weren't very substantial, but I hoped they might do the trick. A few minutes under the hood of the Jeep and we were ready for the test. Karen turned the key and the fan came to life!
We thanked the couple profusely and bid them farewell.
The night before, I had been able to communicate with our boys, thanks to our DeLorme InReach Explorer, and they in turn had contacted the park service. The rangers had promised to send someone out in the morning to check on us, so we knew that even though we were remote, we would not be solo for long. I sent another message to let the boys know we were now underway and would call them once we got back to "civilization."
The Jeep performed well all the way up to the pass. Near the top, we ran into the ranger, who turned around and followed us back to the paved road. Once there, we figured we were out of danger. We thanked him and sent him on his way.
As we were airing up our tires I checked on the wiring. Immediately I noticed that the insufficient wires on the alligator clips had almost completely melted through! Now what? Without the fan we could only cover a half mile or so before the motor started to overheat. We also had one significant hill to make before the long descent to Furnace Creek. Proceeding slowly now without a fan, we kept the RPMs to the minimum, frequently stopping to let things cool down
Over the top of the rise we pulled into the parking lot of a rest area. When I shut off the motor and opened the hood, another couple who had been parked nearby stopped by to help. Together we inventoried my spare parts kit to see how we might "McGyver" a more suitable repair.
Soon another truck pulled in, this one driven by a park service employee. The truck happened to be a maintenance vehicle with a back-end full of tools and equipment, and with racks of compartments running down each side. The driver welcomed us to sift through the contents to see if we could find anything of use.
I soon had enough heavy duty wire to make the repair, but still lacked the correct size of spade connectors. We needed a setup that hardwired the fan to the battery, but which could easily be disconnected whenever I stopped for gas. It was a long haul back to Salt Lake City and we needed to be sure we could get there without getting stranded again.
Unfortunately, our search of the truck came up empty. Luckily, the driver mentioned that there was a park service maintenance shed nearby, and as far as he remembered, it had all kinds of electrical repair items. He offered to see what he could find.
Within a few minutes the park service employee was back with various boxes of electrical pieces and parts, and sure enough, among all the options I found just what I needed. Ten minutes later the fix was complete.
Now we just needed to get back to Salt Lake City for a permanent repair. As the day was already late, we decided to spend one more night at Furnace Creek and hit the highway in the morning.
Furnace Creek sits at sea level and Salt Lake City is about a mile high. In between are numerous hills and valleys, but the general trend is always up, the worst of it coming right as you head south out of the park. I figured if we could make that climb, the wiring would prove adequate. It did, and for the rest of the day we ran cool. Every time I stopped for gas I would perform the same little dance: turn off the motor, leap from the driver's seat, open the hood, and disconnect the fan. Then, after filling up, I would do the same dance only in reverse.
Late that evening we pulled into our now-familiar hotel in Springville and breathed a long sigh of relief.
Death Valley Take 2
The Jeep fan repair went well, at least as far as we could tell. Charlie quickly diagnosed the issue as a bad high-speed fan relay. After a lot of discussion we concluded that when the original aftermarket fan blew out the prior Spring, it most likely had compromised the high-speed switch and wiring, and that had eventually failed.
Charlie wired in a complete new pigtail and moved the location of the relay from behind the driver's headlamp to a more accessible location where we could easily replace it in the future, should the need arise. Repair completed, we put the Jeep through its paces. We ran up a steep hill then down the other side, turned around, and came back over again. Everything seemed to be in order.
Well, almost.
The prior week, on a rare occasion I had heard a strange grinding noise whenever I turned the steering wheel hard right during a stop. This was accompanied by a slight vibration I could feel in the steering wheel and the brake pedal. During the hill-climb test, Charlie had noticed this too. We pulled into a gravel lot for more tests, but the braking seemed fine. Hmmm.
Back at the shop, co-owner Curtis pulled the front wheels and looked for issues with the brakes, but couldn't see anything obvious. As far as he could tell, the only other potential source was the ABS system. Either way, until we would get the problem to consistently show itself, there wasn't much else they could do. So, with yet another shadow-of-a-doubt lurking in the back of my mind, we hit the road and headed back to Death Valley.
Southbound
Back in Death Valley we spent the night at the campground above Furnace Creek. We decided to skip any more remote and solo trail testing and head straight to San Diego. We had a commitment for a one month house-sit in San Miguel de Allende and we weren't yet comfortable with the integrity of the Jeep. So, with only a week until our start date, rather than haul ass overland to SMA, we decided to fly instead.
With a few extra days before our scheduled flight, we stayed with our good friends Pam and Dennis Mudd, who were gracious enough to accommodate our comings and goings. Now we could finish our shopping (we still had several recovery must-haves we needed to purchase), pack, and with whatever time we had left, relax by the pool in the warm California sunshine.
The "relax" never happened. After returning home from one of our errands, Karen had noticed a fresh oil stain on the ground underneath the Jeep. Now what? I spread out a tarp underneath the Jeep, and within a few minutes several drops of red transmission oil had collected onto its surface. I scooted in with a big wrench and dropped the skid plate. Another small puddle spilled out. This was Not Good.
I made a quick call to Charlie at Just4Fun, who consulted with Teraflex, and that call led us to shop they recommended in Escondido. The next day, when the mechanics pulled the oil pan, they saw that the edge of the pan was bent ever-so-slightly, opening a small gap where the pan met the face of the transmission. The only thing we could figure was that either the pan had been bad from the beginning (we had purchased the transmission used but had it rebuilt "as new"), or it had been impacted during shipping or installation.
Either way, had we discovered the issue after going remote, solo and international, things could have quickly gone bad. Thankfully, we had discovered the problem within minutes of a competent mechanic, and all we needed a new pan and gasket, parts which were readily available. This also meant a complete transmission oil service, and although the repair was quick, it was not cheap. Still, it was better than having to search for a tow somewhere on a lonely stretch of road in the deserts of Mexico.