As morning came, accompanied by frosty windows and sour memories of recent events, we woke up the kettle for the last time. After breakfast, we kicked over the motor and started out of Holland with a few stories and headed for home with our new towels safely stowed and a bag of peanuts for snacking on along the way.

Off the boat, back in the UK, fate had one final treat in store for us, and it came in the form of steam; I noticed the engine was getting hot and pulled over to investigate. The water bottle was low, so I topped it up with water, following assurances that the coolant was the mix-it-yourself type and had been adequately filled.

Sure enough, a little while later, the same thing happened again. Now, it seemed more like a problem. We consulted on the issue and decided that the problem was due to a dodgy filler cap. We needed to seal it. Now we weren't just cruising, we were looking for a pit stop to buy Thread Seal Tape. And we found one.

Excellent.
Problem solved.

By the third time, it was revealed that the coolant wasn't actually 'mix-it-yourself', it was ... well, missing. See, pops had been in a bit of a rush and figured that water would be fine. And for a while, it was. But not on the open road, where the engine heats up beyond the boiling point of water, because then, it all evaporates in seconds.

So now we were looking for coolant.
But by the time we found some, it was too late. The heat had reached such incredible highs, that the engine block had cracked. Yes, that's the solid iron bit. By chance, however, we found ourselves just around the corner from a Ford workshop and were able to pull in and have someone look at the problem. Some cups of tea and a few card games later, the estimate came back for the new engine and labor. Since we didn't have that many thousands in our back pockets, we had to think about other options.

And that's when Burtdad remembered he'd bought Asda's cheapest European roadside recovery package before hitting the road. We were saved! He got straight on the phone and I listened intently to the side of the conversation I could hear to determine when they were going to arrive. Was it going to be minutes or hours before we'd be back on the road?

He hung up the phone and gave me his "Well, I gave it a shot" face.
"Hit me."
"They offered us two equally excellent options."

I cued my unimpressed face and prompted him to continue.

"Do tell."

"Well! One, we can pay the enormous bill for the new engine out of our own pockets, but we have to wait here on the garage forecourt for the eight-to-ten days it would take to arrive..."

[pause for enjoyment]
"...Oooorrrrr... We can abandon the van on the side of the road and hitchhike home."

Now, I don't mind telling you, at this point, I was a little less than impressed at the 'recovery' options Asda had provided.

"And how much did this recovery policy cost, may I ask?"

There was one more round of the "Well, you know..." face, and then he answered.

"Three pounds." [big cheesy smile]

Back out on the road, we took turns replacing water every two miles, as it poured out of the side of the engine at almost the speed we were putting it in. And somehow, we made it to a motel, where Burtdad called in a favor and had me shuttled home by an excellent young gentleman whose generosity, I will not easily forget. Burtdad chose to stay at the motel for the night and found alternative transportation the following day, after a leisurely stroll and a spot of brekky.

All in all, it was an exceptional outing.