I’m also excited because my old friend Rob has decided to regain his motorcycle licence and ride the marque his grandfather rode, a Norton. Incredibly, he remembers the registration number of his grandfather's bike and even has the old man's diary, detailing his rides. It's a potent cocktail of history and belonging for Rob, whose path has not always been smooth. He speaks with longing of the time when he and his twin brother were young and indestructible, and kings of the Australian highway (Kawasaki GPZ 750 vs. Honda Bol D’Or 900, as I recall). He once showed me a photo of one of his favourite bends – now that is dedicated riding.
Just before Sille Le Guillaume I noticed a dreadnought of a car coming up behind me, chrome flashing in my mirror. It was like a scene from Monte Carlo or Bust when these two guys in their 1930-something Bentley Speed Six passed me by, waving excitedly. The Speed Six is a huge car, from an era before the book of standard sizes was written, it made them look like children. They'd pulled over for lunch when I caught them up and it looked more like mooring than parking. It was break time for me too and I went on a bit further looking for a slope to stop on.
As I climbed off I shut the gas tap but the bike smelled strongly of petrol. Then I noticed a steady drip coming from the carb end of the lawnmower pipe Rob and I had installed when we changed the fuel filter. It felt jellified, lengthy exposure to heat from the cylinder directly in front of it had softened it and wiggling it only made the leak worse. Fuel was now dripping at quite a rate and vapourising on the hot engine casing. The thought of fire made me step involuntarily away from the machine, “shit, shit, shit” I hissed, impotently. With both taps off the carburettor float chamber would soon run dry but this wasn’t good, I’d have to turn the petrol on again sooner or later.
Foolishly I wondered if the draw of fuel through the pipe while I was underway would reduce the actual leakage, and if I shouldn't just ride off. I also thought of only using the reserve tap but the carb union connected the two pipes, so fuel would still leak out of the left hand side. I should have bought the forty-quid two-in-one tap, blanked off one side of the tank and and ditched the two-way union, it made sense but I was too tight [TBB 5.14]. The hiss of vapourising fuel said I had to stop vacillating and do something.
I’d read on the boat that chewing gum could be used in an emergency to fill a hole in a fuel tank – I could get some, pull off the plastic pipe, block up the union and run on the reserve tap but this didn't fill me with much confidence. Then I remembered the garden wire I’d shoved in the onboard tool box on the recommendation of one of the old guys at Hitchcocks. I retrieved this and some pliers but trying to twist plastic coated wire, in a tight corner, covered in petrol, was tricky to say the least. Eventually I fashioned a crude tourniquet around the middle of the pipe and pushed it up on the barb until it offered some resistance. The drips slowed and stopped.
Phew, the bike needed to cool down and I needed a drink. I thought of the Lilliputians in the Bentley and wondered if they had any mini cable ties, to make a better job of it. I’d packed plenty, but in the back of Norm's camper. A bit of bad planning there but the wire seemed to have worked, so I walked back down the road for a Pastis.
Team Bentley were from Huddersfield and we swapped stories while I worked round to taxing them for a tie. They were very decent about it and when I returned to the bike and switched the fuel back on it all seemed fine. Wiring up the pipe when it was hot seemed to have produced a good fix so I twisted another piece on, pocketed the cable tie and promised myself not to ride without a break for too long. I considered fashioning a heat shield out of the foil my sandwich came in but the emergency had passed, I had a reserve fix in my pocket and I could even change the pipe for the thicker stuff that HItchcocks had supplied at camp, later that day.
All in all I was in a pretty good mood when I bumped her down the road again and we took off for a big green patch on the map, one with plenty of winding roads. I'd been looking forward to this from the moment I'd seen it, so much so that it didn't occur to me to check and see how much fuel I had lost.
