Never Missed a Beat

I recently claimed that Angie's YBR125 'never misses a beat.' Well guess what: spoiler alert!

It missed it's first beat on a soaking wet, icy cold Monday. I thought little of it. Nearing work after a clear run, I gently rolled over the bridge and disengaged the clutch as I came to a halt. The motor stopped! It started right up again so I assumed it was me being a bit useless. Saying that, it was idling a little low, perhaps 1200. That was it though, until the end of the week.

The week dragged on and when the final bell rang on Friday, it felt a few days overdue. The ringing was somewhat drowned out by rain drumming on the skylights. Fed up and tired, what I want wanted to do was get on my bike and ride. What I didn't want was to get soaked through only to arrive home at the moment storm clouds gave way to bright blue sky. Thus daylight gave way to indecision.

By the time I left, there was virtually no light and still plenty of rain. The YBR125's single 35w/35w lamp is already useless in the face of oncoming traffic. The heavy cloud annihilated what little twilight remained and I was fighting a loosing battle to clear my visor. In such situations you're pretty much riding on a wing and a prayer when anything but a YBR125 comes the other way.

Not five minutes in and already soaked, I met a particularly well lit car coming mid road. Obviously I slowed right down and aimed for the darkness left of the blinding headlights. That's when the engine stopped. Instinctively I thumbed the starter but this time it didn't start right back up. “Oh great!” (possibly words to that effect)

After I pushing to a nearby driveway, it started up again so I rode off but with confidence in the bike utterly lost. Anyone who's been there knows how it affects your riding. Loosing confidence in your bike on a dark, blustery and wet night isn't quite a nightmare but it's super stressful. I soon found that the engine would cut out at speeds over 50 if on full throttle.

Anyone who rides a YBR will know that any slope means full throttle at speeds of over 50. Anyone who rides a YBR around these parts will know that we don't really have roads that aren't sloped one way or t'other. Only your wrist notices them on a big bike. Generally, there's way more thinking involved in getting a learner bike from Harrogate to Ilkley. Each gear change is anticipated well in advance so, ideally, timed to perfection. When you roll on to full and find the motor cuts, blood pressure rises just as fast as the oil pressure drops.

Thankfully I got it home. I've since washed it and can't find anything looking like the culprit. Stand back a bit while you're hosing it off and that bike looks fairly new. However, get in close with the sponge and a soapy paint brush, it starts looking long in the tooth for sure. The swinging arm and parts of the frame are rusting heavily along with the whole exhaust system. The whole rear end could do with pulling apart, stripping back to the bare metal and painting. I might do all that. I thought I might do that last summer. It really needs it now so I really might. Then again, I might not.

One thing's for sure, the bike I once trusted to the point of abuse can never again be described as having 'never missed a beat.' Now it needs some Alan time. He'll probably tell me off about one thing or another but I know we'll most likely get it back in a fit state to see the winter out. That way when spring starts getting serious I'll be able to ride it to work just like I could when I filmed this two years ago.

Riding My Motorcycle in the Snow Part 3

In which I make it home, repair and reflect.

At the end of part two I had just been picked up. I missed an important bit out though. After I was dropped in Otley by a passing farmer and his wife, before I had breakfast, I had the presence of mind to call work and let them know I’d not be joining them that day. Then, I settled down to breakfast. Dunnie’s give you a lot of breakfast for just £2 or £3 but what you get is pretty dire. You get what you pay for and I couldn’t pay for breakfast in the kind of cafe that can brag about the butchers they use. For less than £3, you don’t feel sure what’s in the sausage never mind which high class family butcher it came from. For the first time in a very long time I found myself staring at bacon, sausage and egg unable to bring myself to eat it. Just for once, Dr Buckley would have approved of a lifestyle choice. And it was at just about that time that an email arrived making everything just a little less worthwhile.

Safely home and seemingly intact.

The email was to break a 25 year tradition. Our previous head, who had lead the school for a quarter of a century, didn’t drive. She never closed for snow and expected staff to get in if they could. Until then I had never failed either. Our new head, who I think comes under category c/d without the tyres (see this post), has a different mind. As the snow continued to fall, she closed the school, by email. My journey was now not only a failure but also unnecessary.

Spot the difference.

Good news soon followed. A man, tasked by the AA, called to let me know he was heading my way. I offered to get him a cup of tea if he picked me up on his way past and that was enough to get him to flout company policy. Another forty minutes and I was on my way back to the bike with a nice chap who had spent his morning jump starting cars or pulling them off drive ways. Mine was the first brake down as such. As usual, he was quick to tell me that he knew little or nothing about bikes. His car got down the hill to the bike with no problems even though the road was even worst now than it had been when I first came a cropper.

Within a minute of arriving at my stricken motorcycle I spotted the problem. I could have beaten myself senseless for not looking for it earlier. Back then I didn’t spot it because it was too dark. If I had looked for it though, I would have found it for sure. You see, I mentioned in my last post that the bike wouldn’t crank at all, just as though I had forgotten to pull the clutch in (required on a DL650). I didn’t mention that the bike fell on it’s left side. Nor had I mentioned that it was the clutch side of the handlebars I had to use to lift it. The problem was so obvious, I reckon many or most will now have guessed it. In broad daylight, the clutch interlock cable hanging below the clutch lever was plain to see. With it back in place, the bike started and ran instantly. The only remaining problem was the road, now totally impassable to anything without four wheel drive.

Alan's simple repair to the gear lever works great.

I’ve no idea how many of you will have ever been towed on a bike. It’s nothing like being towed in a car. Though perfectly possible, it's best done right, by two people who know what they are doing. Even then, it’s terrifying. The very nice man who came out to help me had never towed a bike and I had only ever done the towing. For both of us this was going to be a learning experience and neither of us would have chosen for that lesson to take place on snow.

We had to look the rope around the forks and back to the hitch leaving a little too short for comfort. As the rope took the strain and as my bike began to carry me but someone else in control, I’d never felt so uncomfortable. In seconds I was screaming, “Slow it down, I’m gonna have to paddle this thing.” The front wheel was dancing from side to side so I needed time to correct each shift. The driver obliged and we crawled to the top of the hill, my heart trying to beat its way though my sore rib cage, probably in a bid to find a more sensible owner. Several times I was sure I was going down. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

Alan's new pinion bolt
cover looks like
Suzuki put it there.

The main road, when we reached it, was far better. We could say our fair-wells and sign paperwork. Finally, about seven hours after I left, I was in a position to make my way home. He could get back to dragging people off their drives and I could start a very slow ride home, not the way I came though. The longer way. The one with fewer steep bits and more traffic. The way I should have come in the first place. My destination, G. W. Johnson’s Motorcycles in Harrogate, home of Alan Johnson.

Alan wasn’t busy. My snow caked Vstrom, it’s indicators hanging off, handlebar ends at a jaunty angle and gear change leaver partially absent went straight in. He went to work immediate, rummaging though a box of assorted indicators for bikes long since scrapped for one he could bodge on. The lighting repaired, he went to work drilling a hole through the remains of the gear change pedal, sticking a bolt through and covering it with the rubber part of a kick starter. The resulting repair so good I’ve forgotten it’s there. The bar end bolt was straightened and a new cover for the Swingarm Pinion was fashioned for a box of old rubber bits. Within the space of an hour, my bike was fully roadworthy again and I had been charged for half an hour’s labour if that.

That’s the thing about Alan. He puts things right and knows his customers. He knows my bike works for a living and that I couldn’t give two hoots what it looks like. For me he keeps it working. For other, he keeps them working and beautiful. My good friend Kev always says, “I take my bike to Alan because when I get it back, I know it’s right. Simple!” And he’s right.

I wonder what kind of bike
this item started its life on.

In the mean time Sandra is upstairs booking them in, finding parts for anything and everything and every so often, if you look like you’re in no rush to
be somewhere else, making a cup of tea, good and strong with a splash of milk. Just like Alan, she knows her clients, mostly by name. For goodness sakes, she knows my children by name and doesn’t seem to mind too much when they rearrange her displays for her. I’ve counted on them for the last 13 year and I hope they will still be there for me to count on for many more to come.

So, what did I learn from the whole experience? Darn it. I did say I would write this section and I kinda wish I hadn’t. Please don’t read anything I write as being a ‘Learned Opinion.’

Thanks to these, the bodywork survived
our little adventure and all they asked in
return was a lick of paint.

Ok, first up, the decision to ride is about more than just whether or not it is possible to make progress on a bike. What happens when conditions change? What happens if you brake down? Can you mitigate these concerns with a different route choice? I would have been fine if I had taken a different route.

Next up, the old scout motto, be prepared. A head torch (flashlight) would have prevented any need for recovery. Well, a head torch and a folding shovel. The first now lives under the seat. I’m waiting to find the perfect shovel.

Finally, reading this month’s Ride and recent editions of MCN, it seems my belief that the engine braking on the VStrom is good in the snow, isn’t. I thought it was giving me more control on descents but all others writing about the topic want less torque and no engine braking. Having not tried it, I don’t know. So what have I learned? I’ve learned that a little experience, like a little knowledge, is a dangerous thing.

Lessons learned. This time I turned around.

In future I’ll probably not ride into untreated snow again. Since I started this writing project I’ve had plenty of chances for a repeat and taken the car most times. With parent’s evening, an Easter production and diocesan inspection, I couldn’t risk down time so I usually drove. Then, on my way to work, up the same road that got me last time, I came upon snow and ice. I panicked a little, let the bike roll to a halt, got off and considered my options. That time I took the picture, walked the bike back to the black and found another way. It’s not the coming off I wanted to avoid. It was the cost of fixing and the embarrassment of putting others out. It’s not that I won’t ride if it’s snowing. I can't afford to drive nor can I stand not riding. I will probably head out in snow. I'll just be a bit less adventurous. No, that not fair. I’ll be a little more cautious.

Riding My Motorbike in the Snow Part 2

In which it goes more wrong. 

In my last blog post I told of how I decided to make my way up a moor on an unploughed moor road. If you haven’t read it and intend to read this, you really ought to read that first so give me a click. If you are like minded, it may mitigate the lunacy of what I will cover below.

You see, one Monday morning, a little after 5am atop a moor, I arrived at my turning. Adrenaline was still pumping following the rubber-side-up moment I’d had a few hundred meters previously. The road descended gently and should have been less of a challenge than where I’d come from though the snow was all fresh, no tracks to follow. Thinking back, from where I was, it was probably the best available route to ride back down off the moor anyway. I’m pretty sure that’s not what my prehistoric brain was thinking though. That just wanted to fight through and finish the job.

Things started just fine. The V-twin motor on the Vstrom allows you to make a pretty slow descent just letting it tick over. The front wheel seemed to meet plenty of resistance with the snow as well and that helped me control speed. It helped that the road was straight.

Then I came to a dreaded snow drift and ground to a halt, stalling the bike. Somehow, I also managed to slip as I put my foot down. Once again, I found myself lying in the road feeling an utter twit. In a strange way, it mattered less that time though. I was beginning to accept that falling off was not going to do much more damage than we had already sustained, especially as they were both dead slow or stationary drops.

The problem was, having again heaved the stricken bike to its feet, this time, it didn’t start. Crumbs! (I actually said something else but, you know how it is.) In fact, it was behaving like a Suzuki VStrom or SV does if you don’t pull the clutch to start it. Quite possibly it’s a Suzuki thing. 

I was going nowhere without help and that’s what I pay the AA for. However, before I called them, I wanted to be sure I wasn’t missing something. My former life as a Armoured Vehicle Mechanic (not an especially good one) had taught me that too many break downs are driver error. One particularly memorable event saw me called out in the wee small hours, driving a rover blacked out through rough and muddy ground (wasn’t much cop with that either) to a non-starter. In that case it was a Challenger (i). Exhausted and cold, I climbed into the drivers compartment, removed his helmet from the gear selectors, placed it in neutral, pushed the started and woke up the neighbourhood.

When I climbed out of the compartment the driver asked, “What was wrong with it?” As I recall, I didn’t say anything. Just threw his helmet at him and drove off. He knew just as well as I do, Chally won’t start in gear. Then again, I’ve since learnt you make mistakes in the cold dark hours.

(Another similar event was a Chally with no drive. When you removed some or all of the gash that the driver was carefully storing under the handbrake leaver, it went surprisingly well.)

Not wanting to count myself amongst the cavalrymen I’d come to disrespect, I began to run though the checks. Am I pulling the clutch in? Yep. Check for neutral. Yep, that’s there.  Kill switch? That’s fine. What then? Seat off, I checked the various cables. In the cold light of dawn, I couldn’t see anything that should stop it cranking so I’d little choice but to call for recovery.

At that point I felt like a thoughtless moron. Thanks to my little adventure, some poor patrol driver was being dispatched up a moor in the snow, no doubt pulling him away from many other category B (see previous post) people who just need a quick tug off their drive and a boost. Poor chap was doubtless going to have a busy day as it was. There was however, nothing to be done but make the call and get the bike to somewhere a bit safer.

Did I mention there were two falls? This final one is a real doozy. You see, the Wee’s v-twin motor makes descents a doddle. It’s brakes, which are pretty much just brakes, they aren’t so easy in the snow. When I had the bright idea of sitting on the bike to coast it a bit further down the hill to a gate I didn’t consider that I hadn’t an engine to coast with. I’m pretty fortunate that that was the last misjudgement of the day.

I tried desperately to prevent the build-up of speed that had me travelling faster than I had for miles but it was no use. The gateway past and speed built up. I prayed that I could just keep it upright until the dip in the road, perhaps 200m ahead.

It didn’t happen though. A snow drift and incompetence saw me sliding beside the bike as I’ve done so many times before but usually with a cheep plastic sledge. I’d hit the ground hard this time. The grinding noises as the bike ploughed through soft, pristine snow to the significantly more abrasive black top, they hurt to. This was just getting silly. I lifted it back up one last time, carefully pushed it to the side of the road and removed my helmet, beaten by the snow. As I did so, for the first time since the the car in the ditch, I saw another vehicle. The Landrover cruised to a halt. “Are you waiting for the AA?” I explained that I was and the bike wouldn’t start. “Well, I’ve just seen him back in the village. He can’t get through, even with chains on.”

Well that was great and frankly, fair enough. Sure I’d got the bike there but a Transit was another thing all together. It didn’t make much difference anyway. Having ridden two particularly unreliable bike the last few years, I’ve learnt that all too often the first thing they say when they arrive is, “I don’t know anything about bikes. You’ll have to wait for a recovery truck.” One of them wasn’t likely to get up there for perhaps a day. My predicament was starting to look really quite bad. A phone call to the AA confirmed that they would be sending a local firm and their 4x4 vehicle me. No ETA.

There I was, stuck on a hill. Having food, coffee and excellent cloths for the conditions, I was safe at least. For about 45 minutes I kept myself busy check twitter, listening to and audio book and building a snow man. Eventually the AA rang me with an ETA a mere two and a half hours away. “You won’t mind if I hitch a ride to Otley then I guess.”
“Yes, the driver will call you when he’s ten minutes away,” came the obviously stock reply.
That wasn‘t going to work but I need a cooked breakfast and a cuppa. “It’s gonna take me longer than that to hitch a ride back again. Can’t you ask him to pick me up on his way through Otley?”
Another stock reply. “That would be against our policy but I will ask him to call you as soon as he is on his way.” I figured that would work.

It did to. Within minutes of the call I was sitting in the back of a farmers pick-up forcing the dog to share with his wife. They kindly dropped me off at Dunnies in Otley, home of 30p tea and breakfast for less than 3 quid. It wasn’t anything like two and a half hours before the local 4x4 recovery driver called. The bribe of a cup of tea was enough to get picked up from the cafe. Thus fed, watered and with adrenaline at an all time low, things were moving. Unsurprisingly, the guy didn’t, “know anything about bikes.” Turned out that wouldn’t matter. All we need was a rope and some daylight.

That’s enough story for one night though. It’s not the end of the story though. In part three I’ll get to the mechanical bits. I’ll get to;

• The little, tiny, easily identified (in daylight) fault
• Being towed
• My awesome mechanic Alan at G.W. Johnson’s
• What I should learn from it all.
• Other stuff maybe.

Thanks for reading my post. Please leave a comment if you have time, just to let me know you were here and what you think, warts and all.