There were no drips. But a loose wire with its end stripped blank protruded from the bottom engine cover. Geez, I thought, I must have ripped off a connection when a branch got caught under the van on our rough access road through the bush.
Somewhat alarmed, I studied the German manual that covered the T4 as well as similar models in the range. The 5-cylinder diesel engine, it seemed, had a oil pressure/oil temperature sensor under the sump. Dammit! I may have done incalculable damage to the engine already!
That was yesterday (Sunday) afternoon. Today I rang the VW Hotline first thing in the morning. "Can't say off-hand if there's a wire there or not", a Rick from customer service told me. I mentioned that the oil warning light in the dash behaved normally, so perhaps I could risk driving the van to the nearest dealer? "How far's the dealer?", Rick asked. Told it was 60 km he advised that yes, I could risk it, "but if anything unusual crops up, maybe strange noises, stop, ring us and we'll pick up the van and take it to the dealer."
Rick may or may not have had my service history in front of him: a week after I bought the van, new, from an interstate dealership and drove it to our place from some 2500 km away, officials refused to register the van in my state until I had fixed a fuel leak from the hoses near the fuel pump. The VW Hotline person at the time had told me not to drive the vehicle under any circumstances, and, under its three-year, no-worries warrantee, VW Australia promptly despatched a flatbed-truck and ferried the van to the nearest dealer for repairs. All fuel hoses were replaced. (Hence my occasional check under the vehicle for drips.)
I rang the local dealership and arranged to take the silver beast there on Wednesday, when a hoist would be free at 1300 hours. But faced with the prospect of still having to call the VW emergency line while enroute to the dealer, I decided to have another close look at the strange loose wire.
I jacked up the front and placed concrete blocks and solid timber supports under the designated points, then slid under the van. I tugged gently at the wire, to see how far I could pull it out - and perhaps re-attach it to wherever it needed to go.
Another piece of badly squashed wire came into view, then I spied what appeared to be a nest of wires, perhaps part of a wiring loom, lying somewhat loosely in the protective bottom cover.
Cursing the dealership girl who'd performed the last service and oil change back in April 2004, I gripped the entire 'nest' of wires and pulled it free.
Dangling it from the original one loose strand, a blank piece of spine protruding about a centimetre from the normal insulation of its tail, I held a flat, dessiccated and thoroughly dead RAT!
After showing the 'evidence' - though no longer of patent malpractice - to my wife, I rang the dealership, cancelling the appointment for the hoist. "Thanks for letting us know, mate," said Phill de Stefano, the service manager.
Now, I still wonder how capable Phill would have dealt with the 'loose wire incident' if I HADN'T smelt a rat... An hour's labour would surely have been the minimum charge!
Bianca wondered how the rat might have got into this tight spot and died there. My guess is it was not feeling too good in the first place after consuming some rat poison in the shed, so it picked a nice warm place to recover...
I washed my hands thoroughly, then sat down with a piece of Danish blue cheese on my own home-made full-grain bread, and washed it down with a nice glass of Montana Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc. Salute a noi, as a Sicilian might say when a hearse passes.
And Harley's dad can eat his heart out, too - he doesn't know what he's missing! Fancy visiting his son and not calling in. But perhaps he's been served with orders by CyberBrat to leave his quasi-in-laws in peace?
Cheers!
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