- Dec 24, 2014
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- Ever since lighting was by Calor gas.
Following on from my previous saga at post no. 48 (a few posts above)......….
“I’ll have to rewire it then” muttered Peter, pulling a handy foot of spare wire from his tool bag. Clearly there was no option but for me to ride back with my tail between my legs to the dealers that had been scene of the earlier heated confrontation.
Upon arrival back at the garage at Vittel I was met by Christoff! the owner. Although out of range of his rather attractive wife he agreed to supply me with some wire, but with perhaps a final act of belligerence he said he could only let me have one 15m roll of wire and it would have to be blue. Overhearing our conversation Patrice, a customer who had trailered his race MV Agusta 180 miles from Martigny (and had previously shown us some sympathy) sidled over and asked me what the problem was. He generously offered to recover Peter’s bike to the safety of the dealer’s car park where the rewire could begin. This was a blessing as dark clouds were gathering.
Shortly after arriving back at the garage it began to rain and surly Christoff! begrudgingly allowed us to put the P11 just inside the workshop door. After four hours we had finished the rewire, using most of the 15m roll of blue cable, twisting each length on to short wire tails retained on the salvaged connectors before taping the joins.
However, when completed at around 5 p.m. the bike refused to fire up. After painstakingly checking the wiring we removed one plug cap and from the bare end of the HT lead we got a good spark. Curiously, the resistors in the plug caps had burned out but two new plug caps sorted it. Christoff! And his staff were evidently awed by these resourceful and determined Englishmen and being now late in the day offered us the adjoining field to camp in with access to a water tap and their toilet. However, since Luky’s Triumph was ready we beat a retreat to a nearby camp site.
Next day after a late start we packed the tents and left Vittel, pressing on into Switzerland, still a bit weary from yesterday’s shenanigans so by the evening after 186 miles in blistering heat and starving hungry we were happy to check in to a posh site near Bern but to our dismay the pool had been drained, the showers needed tokens from the closed office and the restaurant was shut, however the bar served us a few beers. The site was remote but the barman suggested a Pizza place on the main road a short walk from the site. It was just closing but they reluctantly served us a couple of beers and pizzas. I endeavoured unsuccessfully to remove the raw egg slopped on my pizza in order to eliminate any risk of salmonella poisoning whilst trapped in full riding kit.
At a fuel stop approaching the snow-capped Alps there was a poster with a timetable for the Simplon Tunnel train which we thought would be rather fun so decided to give it a go.
Boarding the train at Kandersteg involved riding along the platform, over a plank and 50yds along a flat open unit to the covered bike carriage.
Just onto the unit I stopped in order to see Peter safely aboard. There was an identical flat train close alongside which just then began to move off causing me to become disoriented and lose my balance. I rather enjoy the distinction of being one of few people to have fallen off a motorbike whilst stationary on a parked train.
Without further ado we strapped the bikes into the bikers' carriage ready for the 20 minute train ride.
After camping overnight at Lake Maggiore we completed the 897 miles from home and joined another 150 participants at the glorious mountain site near Borgo Priolo without further (mechanical) incident. After checking in we were soon bantering with old friends and the rest of the Sussex contingent, including the itinerant ‘Spares’ Dick, resembling a fleeing refugee complete with his bike in a jumble-filled trailer of spares, only to discover that rather than finding sanctuary and a peaceful refuge after his arduous migration he had merely stumbled into an unstable regime of boozy bikers.
A 70 mile ride-out was organised for the next day, culminating in a six police motorbike escort into a village to be welcomed by the Mayor and an alfresco lunch. Seven miles into the run Peter’s bike gearbox gave trouble. We rode gingerly back to camp and stripped the gearbox, finding that two teeth had gone AWOL from the 2nd gear pinion. Clearly that would need fixing before the long ride home……
(Bear with me, I haven't much else to do during this lockdown ).
“I’ll have to rewire it then” muttered Peter, pulling a handy foot of spare wire from his tool bag. Clearly there was no option but for me to ride back with my tail between my legs to the dealers that had been scene of the earlier heated confrontation.
Upon arrival back at the garage at Vittel I was met by Christoff! the owner. Although out of range of his rather attractive wife he agreed to supply me with some wire, but with perhaps a final act of belligerence he said he could only let me have one 15m roll of wire and it would have to be blue. Overhearing our conversation Patrice, a customer who had trailered his race MV Agusta 180 miles from Martigny (and had previously shown us some sympathy) sidled over and asked me what the problem was. He generously offered to recover Peter’s bike to the safety of the dealer’s car park where the rewire could begin. This was a blessing as dark clouds were gathering.
Shortly after arriving back at the garage it began to rain and surly Christoff! begrudgingly allowed us to put the P11 just inside the workshop door. After four hours we had finished the rewire, using most of the 15m roll of blue cable, twisting each length on to short wire tails retained on the salvaged connectors before taping the joins.
However, when completed at around 5 p.m. the bike refused to fire up. After painstakingly checking the wiring we removed one plug cap and from the bare end of the HT lead we got a good spark. Curiously, the resistors in the plug caps had burned out but two new plug caps sorted it. Christoff! And his staff were evidently awed by these resourceful and determined Englishmen and being now late in the day offered us the adjoining field to camp in with access to a water tap and their toilet. However, since Luky’s Triumph was ready we beat a retreat to a nearby camp site.
Next day after a late start we packed the tents and left Vittel, pressing on into Switzerland, still a bit weary from yesterday’s shenanigans so by the evening after 186 miles in blistering heat and starving hungry we were happy to check in to a posh site near Bern but to our dismay the pool had been drained, the showers needed tokens from the closed office and the restaurant was shut, however the bar served us a few beers. The site was remote but the barman suggested a Pizza place on the main road a short walk from the site. It was just closing but they reluctantly served us a couple of beers and pizzas. I endeavoured unsuccessfully to remove the raw egg slopped on my pizza in order to eliminate any risk of salmonella poisoning whilst trapped in full riding kit.
At a fuel stop approaching the snow-capped Alps there was a poster with a timetable for the Simplon Tunnel train which we thought would be rather fun so decided to give it a go.
Boarding the train at Kandersteg involved riding along the platform, over a plank and 50yds along a flat open unit to the covered bike carriage.
Just onto the unit I stopped in order to see Peter safely aboard. There was an identical flat train close alongside which just then began to move off causing me to become disoriented and lose my balance. I rather enjoy the distinction of being one of few people to have fallen off a motorbike whilst stationary on a parked train.
Without further ado we strapped the bikes into the bikers' carriage ready for the 20 minute train ride.
After camping overnight at Lake Maggiore we completed the 897 miles from home and joined another 150 participants at the glorious mountain site near Borgo Priolo without further (mechanical) incident. After checking in we were soon bantering with old friends and the rest of the Sussex contingent, including the itinerant ‘Spares’ Dick, resembling a fleeing refugee complete with his bike in a jumble-filled trailer of spares, only to discover that rather than finding sanctuary and a peaceful refuge after his arduous migration he had merely stumbled into an unstable regime of boozy bikers.
A 70 mile ride-out was organised for the next day, culminating in a six police motorbike escort into a village to be welcomed by the Mayor and an alfresco lunch. Seven miles into the run Peter’s bike gearbox gave trouble. We rode gingerly back to camp and stripped the gearbox, finding that two teeth had gone AWOL from the 2nd gear pinion. Clearly that would need fixing before the long ride home……
(Bear with me, I haven't much else to do during this lockdown ).
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