The Mild One
Well I've finally done it. I've killed my bike.
I suppose asking an aged high-miler to make the trip with me to Adelaide was too much. In its disgust the battery committed suicide in the middle of nowhere leaving me with that sinking feeling. I tinkered and fiddled as best I knew how to no avail. I then reverted to the "easy" way out and put my packs on and started walking. I was about 150 km from Albany in SW Australia and in the countryside. I was lucky to find the farm that I went to and asked to use their phone. As it happened the man was a keen biker too, but a traillie. I spent half an hour waiting for the RAC agent to arrive with him advising me to ditch the Kwaka and get a Suzuki whatchamacallit like he has. Nice. They were friendly though and the coffee was welcome.
He knew the RAC agent and they enjoyed teasing me about my choice of bike, headgear, etc. "Hey look! Going across Aus with a postie's helmet on!" It was a matter of simply jump-starting the engine though I could not stall as the battery was knackered to the extent that it could not turnover the engine. No chance of bump-starting either as it was all flat around me. It was nighttime.
I followed the RAC agent back to the town 45 km North of where I was on the bike which was now protesting loudly. My headlight was 1 candlepower so the RAC man went first. If anyone was going to hit a kangaroo I'd rather it was him and his roo-bars. I arrived at the town and checked into the only motel there. Basic rooms and service but okay. I was so knackered I would have used my tent out in the countryside but for the dog-size mosquitoes giving me funny looks and here they had beer. Sweet, nourishing beer.
I spent the night trying to sleep and being disturbed by the hoons out the front doing burn outs in their crappy Commodores and utes. Geezers here prefer the ute (truck) instead of the UK-Geezer who prefers the knackered hatchback.
The following day I got the RAC to jump the bike and while it was running I loaded it up with my rubbish. I got the last thing on it when it stalled. Nice. After wailing and gnashing my teeth for a bit I decided to try a bump start on the slope. It worked! Dead-smug now I started off to the next town for fuel.
As I pulled up on the forecourt it stalled but I got it filled and accepted a push from a nice local gent and his mate to bump it again. Got that and set off through the countryside. Even with the unscheduled maintenance I had suffered so far this countryside still stirred me. Very nice and pretty.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. At about 50 km from Albany I saw a tourist route sign which would have shown me a bit of the Stirling Ranges so I decided to take it. The bike was protesting on these slower roads and I tried to keep the revs high. I followed what I thought was the route up a bit of hill and then the bitumen petered out into compacted dirt. Blast. Not for these tyres even on a good bike. I carried on in second for a bit until a dead kangaroo blocked my path. I could still trace the tyre marks of the truck that did it. Kangaroos are stupid. If they hear a motor they still cross out into the road and stop. They never make it. You'd think they'd learn. I was never going to make it. You'd think I'd learn. I pulled up and the engine idled, coughed, then died. No lights on the console. Nothing. I sat there for a bit pondering the dead kangaroo and decided that this bike was probably never going to make Adelaide. The dead roo was the marker. "Turn back," it said. "Bollocks," I thought.
I was atop a hill so bumping the engine took a few attempts (no power = no spark) but I got it running, but as rough as a badger's arse, for the last 45 km into Albany.
Albany was a beacon of hope to me as it's a middle sized town with all the modern amenities like electricity, shops that open, and a Subway. I took my bike to the place that the RAC man recommended and asked what they could do. They were keen to help and replaced the battery with a new one. Got that charged and the engine would turnover but not fire. Why, God, why!
"Do you smell petrol?" he asked. Sure enough the airbox and oil sump were about 2 inches deep in fuel. Oil change immediately. Try again. Still petrol in the airbox. Why? Duff vacuum fuel valve. Why? Let's take it to pieces. He stripped the fuel system of its pipes and lo and behold the valve, filter, pipes, and (gulp) carbs were full of the sort of crud that covers the Titanic. "Meh," I said.
So, methodically and swiftly he worked through cleaning each part of the engine that was affected. Blowing air through the little holes, fixing other problems as he went. After 2 hours of this I had a bike with a working engine, cleaned fuel system, and clean carbs. Lovely. The strange thing was that all the work he carried out I could have done myself with a little gumption and the right tools. There was nothing "special" about what he did apart from looking in the right places from his experience with the only other bike like this in Albany with similar problems. From the beginning and with all the problems that the bike had in Perth I always knew it was a fuelling problem, not electrical. I felt vindicated.
So with the working bike I asked the mechanic's boss what he would offer me for the machine. The mechanic vouched for it and took it for a short spin and they made an offer of $1500. After a nanosecond I agreed and took the cash. The helmet, gloves, and the rest of my bike apparel I gave to a cash-converters for about $100. I then went out and had a nice beer.
Albany is a nice little town. I think it was Western Australia's only harbour for a while as it's a large natural one. The view from my hostel is nice, down the hill into the still waters of the harbour. This morning I awoke early and went for a short walk and could see the other side of it and the mists shrouding the hills and the low lying ground. Very peaceful.
I was knackered and a little cranky after those two days (only two days for all that!) but felt a weight off my shoulders. I've probably never felt fully confident in that machine and the tenseness in my shoulders would vouch for it. The distances here are terrific and for that I really need a big bike; a tourer. I should not have bought a small bike for the job, should not have bought such an old bike, and should have prepped myself better overall. But the limited experience I had this last 3 days was good. I met some interesting local people at my various stops offs. I met the farmers and spent a little time with them. I also discovered that everyone is full of good ideas when you're in dire straits. RAC membership is crucial too. So there are lessons learned.
I'm back off to Perth later this morning and then Perth to Adelaide by train tomorrow. Take it easy for a few days and try and figure out what to do next. There's always South Island. The roads there are supposed to be good. They even hire bikes there...
I suppose asking an aged high-miler to make the trip with me to Adelaide was too much. In its disgust the battery committed suicide in the middle of nowhere leaving me with that sinking feeling. I tinkered and fiddled as best I knew how to no avail. I then reverted to the "easy" way out and put my packs on and started walking. I was about 150 km from Albany in SW Australia and in the countryside. I was lucky to find the farm that I went to and asked to use their phone. As it happened the man was a keen biker too, but a traillie. I spent half an hour waiting for the RAC agent to arrive with him advising me to ditch the Kwaka and get a Suzuki whatchamacallit like he has. Nice. They were friendly though and the coffee was welcome.
He knew the RAC agent and they enjoyed teasing me about my choice of bike, headgear, etc. "Hey look! Going across Aus with a postie's helmet on!" It was a matter of simply jump-starting the engine though I could not stall as the battery was knackered to the extent that it could not turnover the engine. No chance of bump-starting either as it was all flat around me. It was nighttime.
I followed the RAC agent back to the town 45 km North of where I was on the bike which was now protesting loudly. My headlight was 1 candlepower so the RAC man went first. If anyone was going to hit a kangaroo I'd rather it was him and his roo-bars. I arrived at the town and checked into the only motel there. Basic rooms and service but okay. I was so knackered I would have used my tent out in the countryside but for the dog-size mosquitoes giving me funny looks and here they had beer. Sweet, nourishing beer.
I spent the night trying to sleep and being disturbed by the hoons out the front doing burn outs in their crappy Commodores and utes. Geezers here prefer the ute (truck) instead of the UK-Geezer who prefers the knackered hatchback.
The following day I got the RAC to jump the bike and while it was running I loaded it up with my rubbish. I got the last thing on it when it stalled. Nice. After wailing and gnashing my teeth for a bit I decided to try a bump start on the slope. It worked! Dead-smug now I started off to the next town for fuel.
As I pulled up on the forecourt it stalled but I got it filled and accepted a push from a nice local gent and his mate to bump it again. Got that and set off through the countryside. Even with the unscheduled maintenance I had suffered so far this countryside still stirred me. Very nice and pretty.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. At about 50 km from Albany I saw a tourist route sign which would have shown me a bit of the Stirling Ranges so I decided to take it. The bike was protesting on these slower roads and I tried to keep the revs high. I followed what I thought was the route up a bit of hill and then the bitumen petered out into compacted dirt. Blast. Not for these tyres even on a good bike. I carried on in second for a bit until a dead kangaroo blocked my path. I could still trace the tyre marks of the truck that did it. Kangaroos are stupid. If they hear a motor they still cross out into the road and stop. They never make it. You'd think they'd learn. I was never going to make it. You'd think I'd learn. I pulled up and the engine idled, coughed, then died. No lights on the console. Nothing. I sat there for a bit pondering the dead kangaroo and decided that this bike was probably never going to make Adelaide. The dead roo was the marker. "Turn back," it said. "Bollocks," I thought.
I was atop a hill so bumping the engine took a few attempts (no power = no spark) but I got it running, but as rough as a badger's arse, for the last 45 km into Albany.
Albany was a beacon of hope to me as it's a middle sized town with all the modern amenities like electricity, shops that open, and a Subway. I took my bike to the place that the RAC man recommended and asked what they could do. They were keen to help and replaced the battery with a new one. Got that charged and the engine would turnover but not fire. Why, God, why!
"Do you smell petrol?" he asked. Sure enough the airbox and oil sump were about 2 inches deep in fuel. Oil change immediately. Try again. Still petrol in the airbox. Why? Duff vacuum fuel valve. Why? Let's take it to pieces. He stripped the fuel system of its pipes and lo and behold the valve, filter, pipes, and (gulp) carbs were full of the sort of crud that covers the Titanic. "Meh," I said.
So, methodically and swiftly he worked through cleaning each part of the engine that was affected. Blowing air through the little holes, fixing other problems as he went. After 2 hours of this I had a bike with a working engine, cleaned fuel system, and clean carbs. Lovely. The strange thing was that all the work he carried out I could have done myself with a little gumption and the right tools. There was nothing "special" about what he did apart from looking in the right places from his experience with the only other bike like this in Albany with similar problems. From the beginning and with all the problems that the bike had in Perth I always knew it was a fuelling problem, not electrical. I felt vindicated.
So with the working bike I asked the mechanic's boss what he would offer me for the machine. The mechanic vouched for it and took it for a short spin and they made an offer of $1500. After a nanosecond I agreed and took the cash. The helmet, gloves, and the rest of my bike apparel I gave to a cash-converters for about $100. I then went out and had a nice beer.
Albany is a nice little town. I think it was Western Australia's only harbour for a while as it's a large natural one. The view from my hostel is nice, down the hill into the still waters of the harbour. This morning I awoke early and went for a short walk and could see the other side of it and the mists shrouding the hills and the low lying ground. Very peaceful.
I was knackered and a little cranky after those two days (only two days for all that!) but felt a weight off my shoulders. I've probably never felt fully confident in that machine and the tenseness in my shoulders would vouch for it. The distances here are terrific and for that I really need a big bike; a tourer. I should not have bought a small bike for the job, should not have bought such an old bike, and should have prepped myself better overall. But the limited experience I had this last 3 days was good. I met some interesting local people at my various stops offs. I met the farmers and spent a little time with them. I also discovered that everyone is full of good ideas when you're in dire straits. RAC membership is crucial too. So there are lessons learned.
I'm back off to Perth later this morning and then Perth to Adelaide by train tomorrow. Take it easy for a few days and try and figure out what to do next. There's always South Island. The roads there are supposed to be good. They even hire bikes there...