White lines and Bacon butties
Another café gets the Barnsley Biker Greasy spoon award
Way out east to Bridlington with Lance
Sunday 4th September 2016.
The view from the back
“It’s not a perfect day” Lou Reed would have sung if he had been with me, the next few lines would have been. “My engine’s all over the floor, not a perfect day, I’ve two sparks, instead of the four, not such a perfect day, but it keeps on going on, but I don’t know for how long.”
The answer was until I raised Doncaster, not a bad old nail really, and it lived up to its name.
More of this later.
So, let’s rewind seven hours. The clock went off, but the milk was alright, and the roads were still wet from Saturday’s downpour.
I left the waterproofs at home and roused Victor. In deference to the neighbours I wheeled the bike to the road prior to starting up so every one could share the joyous sound to accompany the morning birdsong.
I brimmed the tank at the North Bridge, but the “Ron 95” must have been a little rich for the dear old thing for as I left the petrol station there was a leak from a float bowl. Never mind, turn the petrol off start the engine and ride away, count to twenty turn the tap on count to ten then turn the tap off and repeat. Perfect.
Lance was waiting at the Keel with Stuart who was riding Colin’s 500 Kwack, we were then joined by Pop, Carol, Colin, Giles, & Mrs Giles as pillion.
Eight strong on seven bikes we set off. We twiddled the lefts and rights to Ferrybridge to Brotherton past the Fox, now an Indian, and off to Cawood. There was a cycling event on and we must have passed 5-600 cyclists riding against us between Cawood & the A19, but that didn’t put us off, Lance put us a left and a right then the next thing you know we are at Elvington. There is a nice caravan site here but there is nowt to do but fish for fish, Pop says.
Anyway we were off to Pocklington then Driffield showed its face and on to the coast and. Stop.
This is Bridlington.
Just as well really I had pressed the old bike hard and it was wheezing a little, and would not tick over without a blip on the twistgrip.
So Pop made room for me at the hitching rail and we locked the bikes up while the day trippers laid on the rail and watched on.
Lance led the way to the café where we commandeered two tables.
With our appetites slaked we inspected the harbour, then and we sought to enhance our fortunes at the gambling tables and wheel em in machines at the first amusement arcade we found. I only wanted a Minion, we all left crestfallen and poorer for the experience, oh well there’s always the lotto.
We returned to the bikes. First stop Tesco’s for £7.00 worth of their finest unleaded. See I didn’t call it “Ron 95” this time but it’s the same thing. We set off again and at the lights at the top of the road I counted our numbers twice and twice I was two short. Where are Mr & Mrs Giles. I snook to the front & asked Lance. “They were with us at the car park, didn’t you wait for them at the petrol station?”
OOPs Sorry Giles my fault.
We followed Lance to the scenic route, me marking the end of the line.
Occasionally my Honda coughed a bit and hesitated, oh dear could there be a bit of dirt in one of the carburettors, a blip on the throttle seemed to clear its throat and off we went again. Until we got to Sledmire and turned right. The engine died on the approach to the junction, I bumped it and kept the revs up. This was no muck in the carburettor. I turned right and followed the road.
I could only manage 40 MPH and the engine was miss- firing and coughing with the effort.
“Chin up Ginger we may have to ditch the old kite”
Hoping for help further down the road I plugged on but there was no one waiting.
Oh blast! 50 plus miles from home, one bar on the mobile phone three pound coins in my pocket, what should I do?
With a slight quiver on the bottom lip I steeled myself and muttered the old bike riders’ prayer in my helmet.
“Please God, Let It Get Me Home!!.”
I promise I’ll never miss another oil change as long as I have it
On the downhill bit towards the roundabout I fished a whethers original out of my pocket, flipped the petrol tap and popped it into the tank, a few beats later I thought I got detect a slight improvement. I hoped so, that was my last one.
It was fraught at the junction at Fridaythorpe, keep the revs at 3000 and slip the clutch, don’t look left don’t look right, follow the car in front. Phew.
Going down Garrowby hill I powdered a Fisherman’s friend and offered it to the air filter. The downdraft sucked it in and the misfire calmed down a bit.
Keep going we will be back for lunch, on Sunday I hope.
The traffic was kind in Stamford bridge, and I got on and off the A1075 without any grief, and then over the “Bs” to Howden.
I dare not try the M62 & M18 so I opted for theA614 to Thorne, and followed the river.
The gods had smiled on me and I made it home. The old String Driven Thing was still running but it would catch me out if I didn’t give it all my attention. The Four hundred four had been a two hundred twin for 61 miles, and it was pinged and ticked in its self generated heat, as it cooled in the garage. It was 2.30 and lunch was ready.
Thanks Lance for a great ride out, and every one else.
I had a blast. Cheers
NB a new 41 year old coil put the spark back in the number two and three cylinders, so we are ready again.
Who fancies a ride out?
Barnsley Bikers Club
Rolling since 1985