$175 alternator belt (long)

[Kent McLean]

My '89 200 TQ refuses to give up her maiden name.
On Monday, I made another run from NH to NC (~850
miles).

When I hit the NY border, the snow started to fly. When
I turned on my headlights, the dash lights (the remote
radio display and multifunction display) disappeared.
Headlights off, lights back on. I just shrugged it off as
a funky electrical problem.

A few miles later, with the snow having built up into piles
of slush, some warning lights on the dash would flash
as I changed lanes.  The second time it happened, I
noted that it was the Brake and ABS lights, and one
on the bottom.  I figured it was just the slush spraying
onto the ABS sensors, causing a temporary false
reading.

Then about 350 miles into the trip, I changed lanes
again, threw more slush around, and the warning lights
came on and stayed on.  The bottom light was the
"battery" light.  A quick check of the voltmeter showed
11V.  Oh, oh.

At this point it was a major snow storm (a record for
the day), I was in stop and go traffic, and had about
10 miles to go to the service area.  There was no
way I was going to just pull over and park it on the
side of the NJ Turnpike.  So I killed the heater, killed
the headlights, killed the radio.  I left the wipers on
intermittent.  The miles seems to take forever. I
thought the service area was five miles ahead, but
after five miles, there was no sign of it. Eight miles,
and nothing. Finally at ten miles there was a sign
saying the service area was two miles ahead.
Stop and go.  It took forever, but I made it.  I got out,
knelt in the slush expecting to find a loose alternator
belt.  Of course there was no belt.  Dang. And the
non-metric spare I used to keep in the car for just
such an emergency was missing in action.  Double
Dang. It was 2pm (14:00 to the rest of the world.)

As luck would have it (if I had any luck, I wouldn't have
been sitting there with no alternator belt), there was a
tow truck helping some other hapless soul. I asked the
driver if he was AAA. "No. They're not allowed on the
Turnpike. It's private property." I think to myself, I'm
f*cked. "Then how does one go about getting a tow?"
"Call the NJ Turnpike and let them know. They'll send
someone out."  So I went into the rest stop and made
my call. About an hour later, the same tow truck driver
showed up. Thank goodness he had a flat-bed.  It took
all of 10 minutes to put it on and tow me away. As we
are riding, I asked his shop  could fix it. "We don't do
repairs." Triple Dang. I had visions of calling a VW
dealer and being told, "Two weeks." We got back to his
shop. The girl behind the counter asked me what I
wanted to do with it.  I said, "Well, is there a VW dealer
nearby? It's a simple (Hah!) fix. Is there an independent
garage nearby?"  She replied, "What do you want to do
with it." Just what I needed, attitude. She realized I didn't
care, made a phone call, and found a non-busy shop
that could look at it.

Things like that scare me. If they're any good, they'd be
busy. If they're no good, they don't have any customers
and they can take you on a moments notice. But, as
sailors and Audi drivers know, any port in a storm.

I said, "OK." She said, "That'll be $110." "Can you at
least lube it before you shove it up my arse," I thought.
I paid the lady, and off we went to the garage.

It was Addams Family scary.  An old two bay service
station, with just one lift, a newer two pole job.  Bits of
engine were scattered about. There we antique fan
belts hanging from the ceiling. Nothing was clean.
The "technician" was all of 22, of middle Eastern
persuasion.  Normally, I wouldn't care. But given the
situation my country finds itself in now (or into which
my country got itself, take your pick), bad thoughts
crossed my mind. It almost felt like someone had
abandoned the business 20 years ago, and he
just showed up yesterday and started playing
mechanic.  But the other choices were worse, and
since he didn't tell me to stay out of the bay due to
insurance regulations, I could at least keep an
eye on him.  Rock. Hard Place. You decide.

Before he put it on the lift, he was telling me that he
had to look at it, as it may be something else. "Oh, oh,"
I thought, "another reaming with no lube."  But he saw
the missing belt (is that possible?), and agreed that's
what the problem was.

We went into his "office" where he stored all the sodas
for the Coke and Pepsi machine, called up AllData on
his computer, punched in some numbers, and showed
me the result.  $62.18.  "Do you want to proceed?"
Well, yeah. Do you think I want to spend another $110
to be towed somewhere else to have someone else
tell me $99.99?  "Yes."  The details were $7.50 to look
up the information!, .55 hours labor (at who knows how
much and hour), and $16 and change for the belt.

He called his supplier, who told him 45 minutes.  When
the driver showed up, I had this bad thought, that it
would be the wrong size.  It took me a few tries to get
the right one when I did this myself in better times.  I
envisioned myself sleeping in the office on cartons
of Pepsi awaiting the next day and a second try at
the right belt.

Back to the lift.  Mr. Technician loosens a bolt, then
takes out a 2 foot (.7m) screwdriver with a bent tip
that I think was really a pry bar, but it still looked like
a huge screw driver, and proceeded to shake the
car trying to move the alternator.  Me, "I think you
have to undo the nuts on that long connecting bar,
too."  He told me that he didn't need to, and spent
another few minutes fruitlessly trying to move the
alternator before he quietly undid the extra nuts.
Five minutes later, the belt was on and he was
tightening down the nuts.

He let the lift down, started the car, and revved the
bejesus out of it. I kept an eye on the voltmeter
and was pleased to see it register 13+ V. Of
course, he had to put his $300 Snap-On tester to
use. He had only half a brain, as he looked about
the engine bay for the battery.  I told him it was
just a big VW and the battery was under the
back seat.  I think he got some brain working,
as he asked if there was a remote jump post in
the engine bay.  He couldn't get his clamps in
the tiny area, so we lifted up the back seat, and
he tested the battery directly. Yup, that seemed
to have fixed the problem.

Yee Hah! $175 and 4 hours later and I'm on
the road again.

Cold, wet, but happy to be on the move with
headlights, heat, wipers, and radio, I had a
brainstorm.  At the start of the trip, I had to
reset the clock an hour ahead due to daylight
savings time.  Yes, the same knob that dims
the dash lights.  I gave that sucker a twist and
my lights came back on. I need to be more
careful who I call brain dead.

So "Night Train" is no more. My beloved Pearl
White 1989 Audi 200 Turbo Quattro shall
henceforth and forever be know as "Bad Puppy".
She's earned the name.

I'll tell you about being stopped by a NC State
Trooper on a deserted back road in the middle
of nowhere at 1:00am some other time. :-)

Respectfully yours,
Kent
'89 200 TQ, "Bad Puppy" (formerly "Night Train")