Exactly how to remove the linkage, with its attachment bolts hidden from easy access and unmovable, defied my best efforts. Enthusiast and restorer Kevin Murphy, visiting the island from Ridgefield, CT, stopped by to witness the surgery and even lent a hand. Finally, it succumbed to gallons of penetrant, decibels of cursing and a wide variety to tools. Once exposed, the clutch plate revealed a lot of life left, but the pressure plate demonstrated it had little spring action remaining [Mark Letorney would later confirm that, “It’s rare for a Series Land Rover clutch to wear out since you don’t have to slip them very much.”] I prayed that the problem did not lay deeper in the clutch linkage, reassembled the new disk and pressure plate, sat the seatbox loose on the frame and started it up. The clutch worked perfectly—job well done! One glance at the jar of oxidized and/or snapped nuts, bolts and screws and I knew fresh ones would speed up the job. Fortunately, Rovers North has a seatbox/floorboard kit of the correct number and sizes. Some proved as difficult to insert into hidden-from-view holes as they were to remove, but within a day the QE I was ready for its next duty—or was it?
Fuel sending unit.
Prince Harry probably laughed when I enjoyed nearly one-tenth of a mile of carefree driving before the Rover stumbled and nearly stalled while returning to the shop. The fuel gauge read half-full, which made sense considering the time spent on the clutch job. The fuel pump seemed to work, but Todd, the mechanic, insisted that I run the car from a gas can to double check. Of course, he was correct—the Rover ran perfectly. So off came the right side seat cover to expose the tank. I removed the fuel sending unit to discover no gas in the tank. Oops! Once filled with gas, the QE I ran as if it were on Royal Parade Duty.
During the fall, the fuel gauge continued to behave like Prince Harry—either full up or empty—instead of steady-as-she-goes Prince William. With a long winter trip looming ahead, accurate fuel readings would be essential. So off with the right seat cover and the ring that holds the sending unit in place. The sending unit did not appear knackered; it sent a signal of some sort to the rheostat that connects to the fuel gauge. I opened up the rheostat, sprayed it with cleaner and reassembled it, but the reading did not correlate with the fuel level. Then I remembered a bit about Land Rover electrics [“always check the grounds”] and added another ground wire at the sending unit. Job well done! With this early winter of snow and cold the QE I continued its Prince Harry moments. Like much of the northeast, we enjoyed a spell of “polar vortex” (meteorological lingo for “freakin’ cold”). One morning I yanked hard on the door handle to open the frozen driver’s door and jumped onto the seat squab. I gazed at a sheet of ice covering the inside of the windscreen and the entire fascia panel. I tried to turn the key to start the car, but it sat frozen in place. Nor could I remove the key from the ignition. Absent a hair dryer, I had to move an electric heater into the Rover and plug into an outlet from the house. After a while, I could actually remove the key and spray some lubricant into the ignition. I left the heater on for a while until all the ice melted and the moisture evaporated; then I started the Rover, set the hand throttle, and when warm, turned on the heater motor so the Mount Mansfield heater could tackle the ice floe covering the windshield. In December, with a snowstorm looming, the QE I undertook a 715 mile voyage to visit friends in Connecticut. The snow began to pile up on I-84 when entering the state, and not long afterwards traffic slowed to a 20 mph crawl. A normal 4-hour ride became a 6-hour trek in four-wheel drive. The noise level inside the Rover rose as the exhaust header nuts loosened over the long drive. By the time I reached my destination, it sounded like I had installed Glasspaks; it was a noisy drive home at the end of that week. Prince Harry would have been proud. ///
Rovers Magazine
29