Beers Wed in Lechlade anyone?

Seeing as an Avebury meet was mentioned recently, & Avebury's gone a
bit shit since changing hands, & the weather's too nice to sit by a
main road getting attacked by the Avebury wasps, anyone fancy The Trout
on Wednesday instead? Weather looks good again Wednesday after a
possible blip tomorrow.

 

I can't say for certain just right now, but in the finest ukrm
tradition: "yes, I'm definitely interested".

 

Good man.

Not so bad for you either if you're on two wheels & coming straight
from work. Mmmm - Fish Hill...

 

Might just be up for that....

Note to self.... tax bike.....

 

Nice one.

I did a note to self about MoTing the MV a few weeks back - & promptly
forgot. I might come on the SV & sort out the chicken strips on the way.

 

What sort of time? I may bring the wife.

 

http://www.thetroutinn.com/ - food is served from 7pm

 

I'm obliged, but I wondered if the Midlands Mafia might get there
earlier or later, you see.

 

based on my past experience with that lot, put your money on later. Much
later.

 

I can get there whenever. I'll aim for 6.30 so any loners who turn up
early have someone to take the piss out of.

 

and I assume with your filthy habit you will be skulking about
outside...

 

Err... that's kinda the point of going to a pub on the river on a sunny
(hopefully) evening.

 

Right. Looks like there'll be three of us, now.

 

Possibly four.

 

I can't make this week unfortunately, both Horse and T have exams all
week so I'm chief cook and bottle washer etc.

 

Definitely four, possibly five.

 

You have mail, BTW!

 

With a high chance of sun, followed by darkness later.

 

<suspicious>

How tidy is your house?

 

We already own a combo, you know. The ex-Platy Ural which we own
jointly, currently in the process of refurbishment and MoTage.

There was a recent flash of hope on that front, as I found a guy who
not only sometimes (when he can be arsed) spanners for money, but is an
old BMW nut and a great combo enthusiast. He offered to sort out the
non-runningness for much cheapness, so I threw it at him on the basis
that its recalcitrance had already defeated my and Loz's resources:

Prob with fuel supply - replace inline filters, strip, clean and
rebuild fuel tap.

Running poorly, fuel system implicated again - strip, clean and rebuild
carbs.

Refusal to start - replace plugs.

Refusal to run for more than five minutes - Loz rewired the LT
ignition, while on the phone to a Man Who Knows.

Concern about back pressure - replace exhausts.

This went on, and on, and on ... it would play up, with backfiring,
refusing to start, then starting but cutting dead after a few minutes:
sometimes banging to a halt, sometimes whimpering. Sometimes it would
restart almost immediately and run fine, only to lose power or just
snuff out within seconds, sometimes minutes.

Every time we looked at a possible cause, there was a potential
problem, which may have been responsible. So we fixed it and then it
would start and run, then die again as if we hadn't done anything. We
got it to go the day we moved house, then it died at the bottom of the
road - but restarted, just as a couple of my mates had spotted me (and
abandoned their van in the middle of a junction to protect me) and came
across the push me clear - it fired, banged and took off ... up the
kerb, across the pavement and in response to desperate tiller input,
into tight circles on a grassy mound while I was shouting apologies to
all and sundry.

When I got it straightened out it seemed to be giving full (haha)
power, so I just kept it WFO and rode to the new place, ignoring all
other traffic. It died on the drive at the current abode, and hadn't
run since - for 18 months, it sulked in disgrace under a tarp.

When Chummy made his offer, he seemed surprised at the sudden loss of
his arm above the shoulder. I shot home, modded my three-bike trailer
to take a three-wheeler (extra channels, one either side and with a bit
of willpower, a hand winch and assorted blocks of wood it goes on -
just) and delivered it to him the next morning. That was eight weeks
ago, now.

His list so far (I gave him a full rundown on what we'd done and some
speculation on what needed doing) runs to:

Traced lack of response to starter button to be starter relay (a new
one that I'd fitted) - fitted new relay and it fired up. Died almost
immediately.

Found zero compression on LH pot - adjusted valve clearances and it
fired up. Died after ten minutes.

Found dodgy, corroded connectors to ignition switch. Cleaned,
de-furred, refitted - started straight up. Died almost immediately.

Found carbs to be 'not quite right' - stripped them down to components,
cleaned and polished internally, made new gaskets, soldered a float,
rebuilt. It fired up, ran, revved up, ticked over - and died in ten
minutes.

Decided the new fuel filters that I'd fitted weren't up to the job and
were restricting flow, so replaced them. Stripped and cleaned tank and
fuel tap. Hit button - fired up ... died after ten minutes.

By this point he was starting to get the idea. But I'd told him, and
he insisted. It had been his idea, so my sympathy was limited. I
offered to bring it home, he swore at me - quite inventively, as it
happened.

He went through the ignition system - you think it's fuel, it's always
sparks, right? Couldn't find a fault, but swapped the coil for a known
good BMW item and fitted new plugs. It fired up immediately and ran
for more than ten minutes, sounding as sweet as a Ural sounds - he rang
me up while doing The Happy Dance, so I could hear it. He slapped a
lid on and hooned (relatively) the beast around the bypass ... finding
out just how dealy an ancient design of combo threatens to be: not only
does it not want to corner where he wants it to, apparently it makes up
its own corners when it feels like it. And it doesn't exactly stop on
a sixpence - more like a whole line of counterfeit roubles.

The next day he was going to take it for MoT - and it wouldn't start.

He apparently kicked it in the chair and left it in disgrace - until
his Dad needed him to move it, so he could cut the grass (which was
pretty long, having spent two months growing industriously in
Russian-provided shade and iron deposits). He was down to kicking it
by then - and then they found it would fire up on the kicker if they
flicked the killswitch.

Now, he's going through the wiring. Again. With added prejudice and
attention to the killswitch.

You really didn't want to know that, didja? Hey ho, share my pain,
Brother.