Riding on.

 

Ruby is still going strong. She is pretty much back to original specification now with"green"  136ps camshafts and red petrol tank reinstalled. 

Gonna ride on. Ride on. 

Post lockdown and Ruby breathes again

It is strange to think my last post before this was back in March 2020. That was just one week before the (first) UK Corona virus lockdown. My girl and I managed to get away for a camping holiday at the start of July. We went up to Scotland to see friends, camping in their garden as the Scottish lockdown rules then permitted. After that, we could stay at a freshly reopened camp site in Northumberland, near Hadrian's wall. It was very cold but absolutely wonderful to be able to get out again. 

Ruby went well with the Daytona 1200 (red profile) cams and lower gearing but she was noticeably thirstier. Also, and more seriously, on the fast trip back down the M6 and M5, she disgraced herself by leaning engine oil over the rear tyre. Oh dear. Once again, she had overwhelmed the capacity of the engine breather to keep oil in whilst letting blowby gases out. Plus I could see oil escaping from the cam cover, the rubber seal not seeing properly. 

The breather arrangement on the very first engine is via a catch chamber just behind the cylinder block. The so called"hatch engine". Most people who know these engines will be aware that there's an inspection cover under the carburettors. It lies over the starter gears and was also initially a breather chamber. It contains a wire mesh condensing element, intended to minimise oil transmission to the airbox. Gases enter the chamber in two ways: one past the starter gears, and the other bits a short link pipe from the clutch cover. A second breather pipe then links this chamber to the airbox for blowby gas recycling. I do wonder if the disappearing oil problem reported in there contemporary review by Fast Bikes was due to the inadequacies of this arrangement. In any case, there must have been issues with this system or cost savings to be made because the breather function of the chamber was deleted in 1992, in favour of a single pipe linking the clutch cover to the airbox.

I've had problems with oil expelled from the breather several times before, usually when riding extended periods at motorway speeds. The thing seemed to happen if running at or above 4000rpm for more than half an hour. I really wanted this early arrangement to work. I like the idea and a similar chamber above the gearbox was used on Kawasaki motorcycles. Sadly, I have not been able to do make it work reliably. So I have now blanked of the condensing chamber in favour of my own catch tank, currently a bottle cable tied to the left side of the engine. 

We went out on another camping trip in Kent and Cornwall in September 2020, and this breather catch bottle arrangement was problem free, including several motorway hours riding from Whitstable to Bude.  Just not tidy too look at. I'll find a better place to site it, now I know it works.

I also changed the cam cover seal and reinstalled the original, green cams. Ruby feels just great line this. At the mostly gentle speeds so far enjoyed on the lanes of England, in warm weather, she is returning about 47 miles to the Imperial gallon. Perfect.

A treat for my engine after failed Crank Position Sensor.

When all goes well, it's hard to find a reason for me to make a blog post. Things had gone very very well with ruby for a long long time. Until 85,000 miles had passed beneath her wheels. Then, in July 2019, there came a day when her motor simply stopped when at idle. I had a total fail to restart whilst away from home. Oh dear. The motor was spinning well on the starter, plenty of fuel in the tank, neutral light glowing brightly, fuses all good. Not a single sign of life at all. What slightly freaked me was that I'd come back from a European tour three days previously. Lucky then that this breakdown had happened not too far from home.

After trying lots of possible causes, it turned out to be my crank position sensor - CPS (or ignition pickup of you prefer). Unfortunately, this can only be fixed by replacing the part. Not too terrible, except that the swap requires the carbs to be removed. It is at the right hand end of the crankshaft, under a circular cover. It's basically the electronic equivalent of ignition points. But the wiring connector for the CPS is buried away under the centre of the carbs. That's not at all easy to do in a car park away from tools etc. As a result, I had to get recovered home in a van.

The CPS part is readily available and costs about £50 at the time of writing.

https://www.triumphparts.co.uk/product/trigger-coil-crank-position-sensor-pvl-trident-trophy-sprint-900/

I was sure I didn't want to be stuck like this again so determined to rework the wiring so I could get to the connector at the side of the road. One thing lead to another and quite s lot of work ensured all round. Finally back on the road at the start of January 2020.

I had the engine covers powder coated, fitted and shimmed up red cams after finding a second hand Daytona 1200 head on eBay, put on a later petrol tank with a fuel sender, feel gauge and clock from a later trophy, heated grips, extra fuse box to manage this new kit. And a new CPS ...

The tank is green so the bike looks like a bitsa now. Not very happy about that but I'm enjoying messing with the fuel gauge. I've had the tank off and sender out a few times, bending the actuating arm this way and that to improve accuracy. It's pretty good now. The bike goes on to reserve just when the needle hits the red zone of the guage. The clock is nice but stupidly I didn't think enough about it's visibility when I chose where to mount it. I need to do some on-bike yoga to check the time!  I should have put it on the left hand facia panel, not on the right side with the fuel gauge.

The connectors for the CPS, alternator and side stand switch are all routed so they lie on top of the gearbox sprocket cover now. I wrapped them in a rubber sheet, secured with cable ties, to help protect them from water etc. It would still be a fiddle to switch the CPS but it is now possible without having to remove the carbs and I'm happy enough with that.

So, Ruby lives. And spring is almost upon us. Very good.

Still rolling, July 2017: 71500 miles and counting

This is Cape Cornwall. Ruby rode here through torrential rain and fog, no hesitation, no problems. It's the English summer time! Ideal for camping.

I had a broken wire to repair before I set off though: my neutral light had been intermittent for some time so I chose to investigate, whilst replacing yet another headlight bulb. It's a bit of a pain getting inside the instruments but I'm pleased I did. The feed wire to the neutral light had fractured inside the insulation, about 2cm from the connector. But easy to find or to access.

I had just enough room to solder in a short new section of wire, to bridge the fracture, yet without having to strip back the black tape loom wrapping. Now I get a lovely green glow every time I select neutral.

Cape Cornwall is a national trust beach and fishing jetty. Very dramatic jagged rocks between stark headlands. Nothing more in the way from there but Atlantic ocean before North America.

My records show I've ridden 10,000 miles on Ruby since this time last year. Not bad for a pair of antiques 😊

Easter trip to Wales

Ruby took Rory and i to the edge of the Brecon beacons this Easter. The trip was not far but all avoiding motorways and outing for back roads as much as we could. We did use the motorway briefly​ to ride the old Severn bridge to Chepstow because it's epic. Then B roads up to Monmouth. Really beautiful in early spring.

We enjoyed a couple of days camping, and walking up Skirrid Fawr and Sugar Loaf mountain.

Approaching Sugar Loaf peak

Spectacular views from Sugar Loaf

It felt as though we could see right over to the lost lands

Ruby has 68300 miles under her belt now. Still going strong, giving the lie to her 26 years. She coped with us six-footers and camping gear with relish.

Add caption

A Run for the Wintry Sun

I've Probably written this before but I do remember wondering what had happened to bloggers I'd followed for their rebuilds and then  gone quiet. 

Ruby is still used most week days and for the odd big trip.  This weekend was just such an occasion.  I departed in fog, heading down to the deepest south west, via Glastonbury through the Black Down Hills to Taunton,  skirting past Exeter in Devon. 

December sunset, jurassic  coast 

The days are damp and short now we are towards the end of December. I ride with many jumpers, thermal ,  scarf.  So much gear, it is hard to breath at times :-)

Ruby runs very well,  smooth and creamy power delivery in this weather.  I'm using high octane fuel the whole time now to make starting as easy as possible.  that's maybe contributing to the way she is running when up to temperature.

Ride safe,  all who read this,  and may 2017  be a great year for you and all our fellow travellers on planet Earth

Day seven: final stretch, Cheshire to Somerset via Wales

The completion of the story of my journey lead me a meandering route along the borders of Wales.  one place I really wanted to visit was Powys Castle.  It's significant for personal and now rather sad reasons.  My former partner and I had some happy times here and in the county,  decades previously.

The  gates of the castle are super,I think,  for their wonderful Dragon castings.  There is something a little dragonish about Ruby too.  The red emphasizes this for me,  fuel for my imagination at least.

Flexible side panels held back to fix leak

Speaking of fuel,  the biggest problem of my trip came to light aroundCraven Arms. I became aware of a very strong angel of peril as I was peering along in slow traffic. I looked down and could see my right leg looked a but damp on what was a dry day.  Fuel leak!  Fortunately I was right next to a cafe and ready for a break so I pulled in and switched off,  ready to run if things got fiery.  My luggage was pretty easy to get off the seat so I could pull the side panels away and then lift the rear of the tank.  These early polypropylene parts are super flexible so I could hold them out of the way just with bungee straps.  the leak was because one of the peril pipes had softened and partly split where it pushes over the fuel tap spigot. I had not used a clip because it interfered with a screw on the rear of the tap assembly.

So then there I was,  back in sunny Somerset. I had ridden 1660 miles of mostly A roads in England, Scotland and Wales on my adventures. Avoiding motorways had added many hours to my trip. But the roads WERE my trip. My rear end was sore, certainly. The humming of the road had reverberated deep within me, a special kind of fatigue. A special kind of understanding.

Would I do it again?

Yes,  without question.  Motorways are a grind,  necessitating hours of concentration on the manoeuvres of cars and lorries  with a constant wind roar. A roads are always changing, in and out of towns, villages and cities,  winding through vallies and  over moors.  More concentration on junctions and traffic,  including  pedestrians and occasionally crazy parking shenanigans. But more character by far.  And with a big torquey  motor,  is not a slog, it's a  lumbering dance to be mastered and within which much satisfaction may be derived.

Thanks Ruby.

The  End

Day six: 450 miles from Ullapool to Whitchurch, Cheshire

To be continued...

Day five: Stromness to Ullapool; Thunder and lightning can be frightening but it takes gusting Orcadian wind to scare me

On Wednesday, I awoke to another world. A world of Orcadian wind. The tent was whipping around me, the entrance sheet cracking as it was flicked back and forth above my cooking gear. So this was what the local lady had told me about yesterday. The wind that defines the character of those who make there lives here.

I'd already decided it would be too hard to spend another day on Orkney because I had a personal commitment to be in the Warrington area on Thursday night. I'd been enjoying the experience so much, I was tempted to try for an early ferry and do the journey in a single day. But I also felt I'd cheated myself out of a ride along the north-west coast of mainland Scotland. So instead, I'd already decided to spend the morning riding down to the southern tip of the island to St Margaret's Hope where another ferry company runs a vehicle catamaran to Gill's Head near John O'Groats.

My phone battery died around this time so I could not blog on the move any more or get weather forecasts.( I'm now writing this after the fact, also because I was straight back into the hurly burly when home).

The forecasts were grim though: hail, torrential rain and high winds throughout Scotland, moving West to East. No avoiding them then.

I got my tent and gear stowed just as the first big drops started to fall. Lucky. Then I made my way out of the Stromness camp ground around the town and out towards Kirkwall. The gusting wind was emphasized by the concentrations of rain sweeping across the road in front of me. Could this really be the same place as yesterday?

Trucks and buses bearing down towards me on the little A road created white eddies in the spray and sheets of rain as the came on. Ruby and I were pushed and pulled a meter side to side by the wind, judderingly buffetted by the wash of the other vehicles.

A tractor ahead, 10 mph and the rain hosing us down. Gloves leaking badly now. Two sponges rather than rain gear. Ruby rumbling along, unperturbed. I was purturbed. Clear road ahead, down two gears and leaping past staying as upright as possible to avoid wheelspin weaving. Past. Onward to Kirkwall. The lightning begins. Sheet lightning, flashing across the sky above us. It's twilight illumination at midday in July. Through Kirkwall, heading south now up a long long hill. Reach the top and it is now forked lightning. Brilliantly illuminated. Cracking down to my left at intervals. I've never seen anything like this before. And still the gusting wind and rain. But the intensity of the rain easing. And stops. The eye of the storm. Lightning left and right now. No hail yet. The wind is still strong but not gusting. Down the mountain. Rain again but lighter than before. Into St Margarets Hope. No ferry until 6pm. I'd misread the timetable. Typical me.

With four unexpected hours to spend, I ride further south to the tomb of the eagles. Managed to find a spot of charge in the phone for a couple of photos.

Looking back inland from the tomb site

Burnt mound site. Sauna, probably.

View from the tomb out over the north sea

Another astonishingly old site, early bronze age'burnt mound! And burial chamber. Three mist and wind added to the ancient air of the place. The little museum is very cosy indeed with artefacts that are talked through and can be held. Such nice people running it.

Late pub lunch, on to the catamaran ferry with the rain finally peering out. Bike lashed down, ready to leave with the west coast road firmly in my mind. The ferry wad sure in at 7pm. It would be quite a erode to Ullapool but that was what I'd set my heart on.

I met a wonderful woman on the deck who was on the look out for orcas. Found myself talking and talking about life the universe and everything. I must have been a horrible bore. The journey was lovely, for the company, the wild life and the scenery.

I got my ride across the north coast, filling up in Thurso. About 150 miles of beauty beyond words.I'm not even going to try to explain the primordial splendour of that journey. I arrived in Ullapool at 11:30, exhausted from the concentration and wonder of it all. Tent up in 30 mins, for only for the oblivion of sleep.

Day four: Skara Brae is 5000 years old and Brough of Birsay is Beautiful

On the fourth day, I was looking at the world with different eyes. I'd achieved my aim in effect: I'd ridden as far north as I could in the UK without taking a long sea journey. Shetland is a lot further north but much more traveling by sea is involved. So on this day, I decided to do no more than amble around, trading in the atmosphere, discovering something about the island and it's culture. It was a good decision.

Camp cooker brewing tea, under an Orkney sky

The weather wad just beautiful. I was hearing takes of impossible heat in England and elsewhere. It was perfect on Orkney. All the more perfect after getting soaked doing Loch Ness yesterday. So after breakfasting on fried egg sandwiches ascends a gain of tea, I saddled up and rode out of Stomness campsite with the simple idea of taking small roads north, towards Skara Brae and Birsay.

Isle of Hoy in the distance

Ruby is 25 years old this year. I am 50 years old. Skara Brae is 5000 years old. There's some kind of mathematical rightness about this.  It is a Neolithic settlement on Orkney. Ruby and I visited it yesterday. That label, Neolithic, makes it sound as though it is a crude mound of boulders. Not at all. It is a network of homes connected by covered walkways, with spaces for beds, hearths and even display shelves built in to their sides. The stone work is clean and neat, with slim interlocking blocks like modern dry stone walling. I was super impressed, needless to say, by this place. 

Orkney is a fertile place that belies its northerly location. Apparently the gulf stream does it's work up here too. I was told I'd come on the nicest day of the year, with unprecedented views out over the Pentland Firth and across Skapa Flow. My ride took me first down a dead-end set of tracks with views out towards the Isle of Hoy. After a lovely chat with a local lady, I retraced my steps back to Stromness and headed north. My northerly mission could hardly end without visiting the most northerly point on this island. So I meandered along single-track farm lanes to Brough Head.

Paddling at Brough of Birsay, towards the northern tip of Orkney, was an incredibly peaceful experience. The rocks are hard and craggy, sloping into the sea with their strata creating ridges like frozen waves. 

The Brough is a headland accessible at low tide by walking across a causeway over a stretch of these ridges. Each of them the creates long tapering rock pools, about a foot wide and may be as deep. I took my boots and socks off, stretched out my toes and plunged them into the sandy pools here.The water was reasonably warm, having stood in the Orkney summer sun for a couple of hours. Little hermit crabs wandering along beside me in the crystal clear water. A family with a couple of children, 18 months and 4 years old, were enjoying the same experience next to me. That's what I call peaceful: being a parent myself, I could appreciate the discoveries they were making and hear their utterances as a kind of twittering song. 

I continued to ride around the main island for about 50 miles, enjoying bright sunlight that only faded to black at 11:30pm. It is an agrarian landscape, a jewel of gently rolling fertile hills in the North Sea.

But my visit. I'm told, hides the nature of the place. It might be temperate haven but the winds are legendary. No trees can stand against them except some willows in a few relatively sheltered spots. I was to discover this the next day.

Day three: Stromness is a long way from Somerset

I'm pretty tired right now. I've seen some amazing sights today, riding in the Scottish Highlands. I've had literal goose bumps twice from the awesomeness of it all. 722 miles ridden since I filled up in Bath on Saturday evening. The last 200 have had it ask, mountains, desolate valleys, fertile valleys. Rain. Mist. Rain. Fog. Wind. A golden patch of sunlight high on a hillside in the great Glenn. The smell of bracken and pine.

And now I'm camped in an impossibly ancient isle.

Wonderful.

Day two: from Abergavenny to Ardlui

I astonished myself by achieving consciousness at my normal time, 6am. Astonished that is because of the very long day in the garage, the excitement of the journey, troubled sleep, and after a late night in the golf club bar. Oh dear, that wasnt the plan...

6:30am in Abergavenny, Sunday July 17th 2016

 I couldn't stomach the thought of breakfast so decided I'd hit the road after a shower. So at 7:36am, tent and clothes stored again, I was off with my trip meter showing only 50 miles since filling up near the Bath exit of the M4. I'd treated ruby to Shell Formula Nitro+ It's her favourite beverage, so now you know.

Surprisingly early in Abergavenny

I'd decided to ride over to Hereford and then follow the A49 all the way up to Liverpool, then the A6 all the way to Carlisle.

That plan worked until Shrewsbury when the road was closed for some reason and I found myself diverted towards Telford. Very annoying because it was on one of those dual carriageways with no exits for miles. Still the splendour of the countryside, in and out of Wales in these border areas made up for the way I was feeling. Ugh - grotty to say the least.

And yet Ruby was just purring away like a lion cub (very big kitten). That diversion also gave me cause to reconsider my route. I'm using two paper maps this trip and running my fingers over them seems to help me get ideas as I go. A cafe stop at The Lazy Trout made the world seem a calmer place, but for some amazingly obnoxious old men at another table. They looked to be in their 60s and were extolling the virtues of driving whilst drunk. One was boasting about the cuts on his arms from where he fell out of his car drunk the previous night. A very dangerous pair of idiots. Let's give the young a break when thinking about driving ascends road sense.

I'd wanted to ride over the Runcorn Mersey bridge for years so that's what I did. It lead me into a maze of bypasses and post-indusrial chaos in Widness and St Helens so I decided I would go by the M6 until just past Preston.

hen I referred to the A6 firm Garstang wher Ruby got another draft of formula shell with 243 miles showing on the trip.

Unfortunately I had to get back on the motorway at Lancaster because the road had been freshly "surface dressed". That means the road is sprayed with tar and covered in piles of stone shrapnel.

I was also feeling so grim I pulled into a service station the M6 to get some sleep. I just lay on a grassy bank next to the car park and closed my eyes. An hour had passed by the time I opened then again

Feeling much better for it, it reinforced my spirits still further with a pot of traditional English tea and a cake.  I then I returned to the A6 for lovely Kendall and the run up to the top of Shap Fell.

Carlisle is an impressive proper city. I am glad I stated on it all the way through to the A7 .

Right in the centre of Carlisle next to the railway station

I'd thought about camping near Carlisle but by note my head was clear and Ruby was on her element so I just kept going north on the A7 until Longtown near the Scottish border. 

Hooray for Bonnie Scotland!

I was thinking I  might as well camp just south of Glasgow, ready for a big day on windy Scottish roads tomorrow. But then I thought, maybe I could get to Hellensborough. It was about 6pm and I wanted to be camped for 8pm. It's a long wad from the border to Glasgow. So I cut across to Gretna and got on the A74. Fast progress meant more replanning. This sort of shilly shallying went on for the next hour and I was over the Erskine Bridge. The Clyde and The Mersey in one afternoon. How cool is that?

Finally I stopped at a farm campsite at the northern end of Loch Lomand, near a village caked Ardlui. 475 miles on the trip, making 425 mainly A-road miles today. Fantastic. 

And more tomorrow as I see how far north I can go.