The new battery gets the company of a new alternator and with this problem solved we’re ready for the next part of the paper mill.
The next step is passing the state operated Vehicle inspection. This annual feast is as close as U can get to a trip to the formal Soviet Union with it’s workers moving around as slow as a three toed sloth (and this is an insult to this lovely creature).
It takes some luck to pass the inspection without too much trouble. The mood of the inspector has some impact, big boobs and a short skirt are a definite plus, owning a Porsche or other exotics puts their sting out.
The first passing attempt is a short one. With me not being present, they can’t find the vin and after closing the hood the car won’t start. So it’s towed away from inspection back to the garage. It is still the shortest inspection ever known to mankind.
The non starting issue went away as quickly as it came without knowing why it occurred, so we’re ready for a second attempt. This time I join the party, at least there will be 2 to give a push :-)
It took 2 hours and 5 different people to disqualify the car. Excessive play on the steering rack, a weld on the bottom they could not see because of to much anti-rust on it and, the biggest joke of all, they were still unable to find the VIN. I couldn’t find it either but they should be able 2. It’s part of their job!
Another night of whisky drinking eases the pain but doesn’t answer the question why there’s such a big difference between Dutch and Belgian vehicle inspection. What was the basic idea of a unified Europe again?
The first job is clearing the weld of anti-rust but the weld I get to see is proof of pure incompetence. A befriended garage owner made sure the weld got fixed but burned a brake line by accident while doing the job. While bleeding the brakes a nipple breaks and a used brake caliper replaces the old one.
He confirmed the excessive play on the steering rack and ordered a new one after we’d made a final attempt to come to terms with the car dealer where we’d bought the car. We’ve tried to be constructive but according to him, everything that’s wrong with the car is our fault. Don’t argue with assholes but use the power of internet to make them known is my policy since then.
My first real job on the car proved not to be too difficult but putting the dust boots back on with all the grease made sure heaven is not to be, thanx to all the swearing I did. I’m not even sure if replacing the steering rack was necessary since the steering rack stops on the old one were washers glued together with silicone!!!
The start/stop problem reoccurs every now and then but on the upside I was able to locate the vin. It’s hidden underneath some wiring harness but the letters are BIG.
Thanx to the find, the final obstacle for a new inspection attempt is cleared and on december 20th the car passes vehicle inspection.
Two days later the license plate finds its way to my mailbox and the front of the car.
A nice christmas present and some solace for the fact that a christmas trip to Paris got cancelled due to a strike. Somehow I find pleasure in driving around in a symbol of capitalism on the day when there’s people in red vests shouting out in the streets that not enough money is being stolen from those who work for there money.
But it’s also revenge on Belgian Law for fining me 800£ while the car was publicly parked for 2 minutes without it being road legal.
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