We watched The Nowhere Boy, the biopic about the young John Lennon last night. I warned Ali that she would probably cry, and the film did indeed leave her a wreck.
It was very well put together, and the feel of 1958 was pretty accurate (even though I wasn't around at the time, I spotted the strange fences that were common when I was young, oddly shaped lengths of wood bound together with wire, and buses and bus shelters that rang true. I don't recall ever seeing anyone hitch a ride on the top of double deckers though, but I was on the east, and who knows what those scousers got up to!
The tale of loss and betrayal John felt is well documented, but this film brought the relationship with John, his mother and Mimi into sharp focus.
Well worth watching.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Monday, 26 July 2010
Tan Hill Inn
The annual meeting of Sportster UK took place over the weekend. We all agreed that the group should now be called Ex-Sportster UK, as there wasn't a single example of Harley's lean machine in attendance, but that's not the point, the group provided a common point for friendships to develop, and after ten years we still gather.
This year the meeting took place at the Tan Hill Tavern. The weather hadn't been good, in fact it's been very wet since the modern day rain making-spell (also known as a hose pipe ban) was cast. It didn't stop the progress through the land from points as far afield as Perthshire and Derbyshire on a variety of machines though. Rob Pete and were the first to arrive, travelling a paltry 90 miles, and we were soon joined by the brothers Andy and Richard from Derby, who had the fore site to book rooms in advance. Not too long later two Ultraglides pulled up outside, and Jim and Graham from Perthshire had arrived to complete our gathering.
As we were erecting the tents, a gang of guys pulled out a chest fridge, obviously full of beer, from a old red transit and six of them carried it to a large tent/pavillion in the camping area. Further inquiries revealed we were sharing with a stag party, so at that point the possibility of a good nights sleep in the tents, which was always a remote chance disappeared completely
The Golden Sheep ran out, then the Black Sheep, so Old Perculier was quaffed while we waited for the barrels to be replaced. The food was very good, Rob and I choosing steak & a pint, for £13. The steaks were enormous and cooked to perfection.
An unexpected highlight was the fact that live music was scheduled, and the blue grass band Harpeth Rising played their final UK gig before returning to the States. An interesting combination, drunken Yorkshiremen (the stag parties) and a folk band, which resulted in men throwing themselves around the room in a desperate attempt to dance, which resulted in the expected spilt drinks, and much merriment.
Eventually time was called, much to everyone's surprise, but presumably as a way to control the stags, and we retired to the tent. Rob was sharing my tent which claims to be a two man, single skinned affair, but when two men are in it I soon began to doubt the description. The Inn is so high, it spends most of its time shrouded by clouds, and this night was no exception. I woke around 3am and apart from wanting to have a pee, noticed that my foot felt wet. The end of the sleeping bag had made contact with the wall of the tent and drawn the moisture, clinging in droplets to the tent, through onto the bag and then onto my foot. I rolled onto my side, curled up and went back to sleep until 6am, when the call of nature was too great to be ignored.
The sky was blue and the sun shone as I made my way to the toilet, realising that it was unlikely that I would get back to sleep. There were a few people up, and I decided to take advantage of the peaceful hours and strode out over the moor to take in the views over to the east.
Much later we forced our way in the pub for a much needed breakfast, and while enjoying the Tan Hill Sausage, I looked up and spotted the web cam ( http://www.purepcs-store.co.uk/tanhill/) . We speculated on the possiblity of viewers around the world taking bets on who would finish the meal first......
Andy and Richard left first, then Jim and Graham, and eventually after much more tea, Pete Rob and I completed packing and hit the road, heading down hill in a north-westerly direction to find the Hartside Top Cafe. Pete was riding a a newly acquired hard-tailed chopper , with no rear suspension and no front mudguard. He also hadn't established how much fuel the tank held, or how much fuel he had used, so finding a petrol station was a priority As we closed in on the target, the rain started. Having no front mudguard is fine when there is no water on the surface, but when it rains, Pete found that the front wheel fired a stream of water into his face. Not good. After re-fuelling, Pete decided to take a slow ride south rather than join Rob and I on the search for the Cafe.
Hartside Top Cafe is even higher than Tan Hill, at 1904 feet above sea level. The Tomtom took us through a variety of landscapes, then we began to climb, higher and higher into a cloud, the pattern of the weekend. We found the Cafe, full of motorcycles and cyclist, and warmed ourselves up with the traditional fare of steak pie & chips, then climbed aboard the bikes for the journey home, hoping the temprature would increase as we dropped down. It did.
As we passed by the Lake District, I suggested Rob could show me his new love, a sailing boat moored on Windermere, so we made our way there and found some mutual friends, Jon and Avril on their boat, moored near Rob's. As we chatted a Spitfire tore through the sky above the lake, part of an air display taking place.
Eventually we made it home, tired, but happy.......and dry!
Thursday, 8 July 2010
The disappearing ticket
Last weekend I tuned into Danny Baker on Radio 5. I didn't realise he broadcast on R5, so it was a pleasant surprised, marred only by the lack of music - his old shows on Radio 1 (or it could have been 2, so long ago I can't remember) were always entertaining.
One of the topics he was investigating and ranting about was how things can actually disappear. Common objects, like a cat walking out in the snow, leaving prints, then nothing. The cat in question re-appeared some time later, but the owner never found out how and why it disappeared. One explanation offered was that it was picked up by a large bird of prey, possibly an owl, who managed to carry it some distance before letting go. We will never know.
With this in the back of my mind I had to drive into Blackpool to find something, and chose to park in the Houndshill multi- story, and old concrete monstrosity that has had some work done to try and make it serviceable, but still has the worse one way system ever to plague a build intended to house cars, along with very narrow ramps that make ascending and descending an experience fraught with expectation of hearing the thud of a wheel mounting the kerb and then falling down 5 inches. I drove up, collected my ticket at the entrance and stuck it in my mouth, as you do, while I drove in and closed the window. I then found a queue of cars while someone crawled around looking at the gaps in the bays to see if their VW would fit in between. Eventually I moved on and climbed ever higher seeking a bay. On the roof, there was plenty of space. I slotted in and prepared for the Blackpool shopping experience:
Nothing on the floor, I prised the joints in the drivers seat apart, nothing. This was was worrying on two fronts. 1) How was it possible to lose a ticket in a car and 2) how much would I be charged for this foolishness.
Having exhausted the search at the drivers side, I walked around and opened the passengers side. Nothing on the floor or under the carpet. Then in desperation I checked the plastic trim on the door side of the seat and there was the parking ticket stuck deep in the trim. I've no idea how it could have got, but it must have been down to either a freak gust of wind while the window was open or poltergeist activity, because I couldn't lean over far enough to bury the ticket where it was hiding while I was in the drivers seat.
Relieved, I set out on what was to be an unsuccessful shopping trip, but I continued to check that the mischievous ticket was still fastened in my jacket pocket all the time I was away from the car....................
One of the topics he was investigating and ranting about was how things can actually disappear. Common objects, like a cat walking out in the snow, leaving prints, then nothing. The cat in question re-appeared some time later, but the owner never found out how and why it disappeared. One explanation offered was that it was picked up by a large bird of prey, possibly an owl, who managed to carry it some distance before letting go. We will never know.
With this in the back of my mind I had to drive into Blackpool to find something, and chose to park in the Houndshill multi- story, and old concrete monstrosity that has had some work done to try and make it serviceable, but still has the worse one way system ever to plague a build intended to house cars, along with very narrow ramps that make ascending and descending an experience fraught with expectation of hearing the thud of a wheel mounting the kerb and then falling down 5 inches. I drove up, collected my ticket at the entrance and stuck it in my mouth, as you do, while I drove in and closed the window. I then found a queue of cars while someone crawled around looking at the gaps in the bays to see if their VW would fit in between. Eventually I moved on and climbed ever higher seeking a bay. On the roof, there was plenty of space. I slotted in and prepared for the Blackpool shopping experience:
- mobile phone - check
- wallet - check
- car park ticket - ?
Nothing on the floor, I prised the joints in the drivers seat apart, nothing. This was was worrying on two fronts. 1) How was it possible to lose a ticket in a car and 2) how much would I be charged for this foolishness.
Having exhausted the search at the drivers side, I walked around and opened the passengers side. Nothing on the floor or under the carpet. Then in desperation I checked the plastic trim on the door side of the seat and there was the parking ticket stuck deep in the trim. I've no idea how it could have got, but it must have been down to either a freak gust of wind while the window was open or poltergeist activity, because I couldn't lean over far enough to bury the ticket where it was hiding while I was in the drivers seat.
Relieved, I set out on what was to be an unsuccessful shopping trip, but I continued to check that the mischievous ticket was still fastened in my jacket pocket all the time I was away from the car....................
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
LEDs
Some one commented on the horn cover of the bike a couple of weeks ago, suggesting that it would be more impressive if it illuminated. It's in the shape of a skull. part of the zombie/destroyer range of accessories. I had wanted to replace the chrome cover with something black, and this was the first one I found.
The idea lay dormant for awhile, then finally prompted me to research LEDs. This is the result:
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Fathers Day
I woke not toooo early last Sunday. Saturday had been written off after a Friday night out with the lifeboat crew. Too many beers and too much curry, but we were celebrating the impending nuptials of one of the crew. A good evening in the Taps in Lytham and the Red Fort restaurant. It was followed by an aching head on Saturday morning and a lethargic day while I re-adjusted.
Back to Sunday. The weather was good again and I wondered down stairs to be greeted by presents from Charlie and Tom. Once Tom was packed off to work, washed, fed and dressed, roughly in that order, I set off to visit my Dad, over in Driffield.
The 140 mile journey can be shortened by going cross country, but I thought it best to spend more time visiting than travelling, so stuck with the motorway and arrived in just over two hours.
Mum and Dad were pleased to see me, and spent sometime talking over how everyone was, checking Dad's laptop, which was running fine, then we decided to go further east to visit my Sister and Brother in Law in Bridlington.
By half past four, I was totally coffee and tea'd out and decided I needed to be setting off back home to spend some time with my family.
The weather was still fine and warm, and even though the traffic was heavy, and someone had overturned their caravan on the York bypass, I made pretty good time and was home by 8:30, all the better for having communed with the bike for a few hours and 300 hundred miles. It was nice to get back without feeling cold, and the bike had flown well, and I felt good enough to go for another couple of hours. Oh well, another time maybe. A good meal and a bottle of wine waited for me.
A good day.
Back to Sunday. The weather was good again and I wondered down stairs to be greeted by presents from Charlie and Tom. Once Tom was packed off to work, washed, fed and dressed, roughly in that order, I set off to visit my Dad, over in Driffield.
The 140 mile journey can be shortened by going cross country, but I thought it best to spend more time visiting than travelling, so stuck with the motorway and arrived in just over two hours.
Mum and Dad were pleased to see me, and spent sometime talking over how everyone was, checking Dad's laptop, which was running fine, then we decided to go further east to visit my Sister and Brother in Law in Bridlington.
By half past four, I was totally coffee and tea'd out and decided I needed to be setting off back home to spend some time with my family.
The weather was still fine and warm, and even though the traffic was heavy, and someone had overturned their caravan on the York bypass, I made pretty good time and was home by 8:30, all the better for having communed with the bike for a few hours and 300 hundred miles. It was nice to get back without feeling cold, and the bike had flown well, and I felt good enough to go for another couple of hours. Oh well, another time maybe. A good meal and a bottle of wine waited for me.
A good day.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
Beautiful weather in May?
The forecast was good, so I decided to get some riding in today. I left her indoors slumbering, and jumped on the bike unsure of any destination. It was warm, comfortable and bright, so I took the M55 and the M6 to the junction with the A59, which has to be one of my favourite roads for biking. I landed in Leeds by noon, and decided to call on a friend who is intending on holidaying in Thailand, to ask if he was prepared to sign up for the revolution.
He wasn't in, so I climbed aboard again, and made my way to Castleford, for no good reason other than thinking about where I could go next. I decided to surprise my friend Andy over in Hull, as it was his birthday. The sun beat down and the temperature rose, but the journey was fine with the bike beating out the its melody of power pulses. When I arrived in Newland Park, Abigail, Andy's daughter told me they had gone out on the bike! A quick nosy around Sutton in East Hull, then I decided to call on some other friends who live out east in Old Ellerby, Ann and Derek. This time the call was successful, and we passed a couple of hours in the garden, catching up with events.The clock headed towards 4pm, and it was time to make a move. I said my goodbyes to everyone then headed towards Beverley, then Malton, Helmsley, Thirsk and back to the A59 to traverse the Pennines, stopping at the Cross Keys in East Marton for a pint of Blonde Witch from the Skipton brewery, before making my way home.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Deeper into the damage.
The next step was to remove the clutch, crankshaft sprocket and primary chain to find out why the jackshaft wasn't returning.
Without removing the clutch, there wasn't enough clearance to take the jackshaft out, so it had to come off. The crankshaft sprocket is securely attached with a 1 1/2" nut, and the clutch with a 1 3/16" nut, and I had neither. Ten days later and I had acquired both tools and braved the sub zero temperatures to move to the next stage. After some heaving, the clutch, chain a crankshaft sprocket came off, and at last I was able to look into the housing of the jackshaft.
The mystery was revealed. The oil seal above had been installed incorrectly, with a lip that should have been facing the gearbox, projecting in to the primary instead, and preventing the jackshaft returning and the keeping the starter engaged. Inspection of the gaskets also highlighted that the clowns at Southport, while claiming to use OEM parts had used pattern parts.
Time to gather all the bits that I needed to get the bike back on the road. The following weekend, armed with gaskets and oil seals the primary went back together, and this time the starter retracted, but didn't have the power to turn the engine properly, irrevocably damaged by the run home from Southport. Another week slipped by while a replacement was procured. but at last the beast fired up and sounded as sweet as ever. Re-assembling the bike also provided clues as to why the business had made such a mess of what should have been a simple repair.
On replacing the oil seal the instructions advise that the splines on the clutch must be taped over before the Inner case is passed over the main shaft, or the oil seal will be damaged. It also stresses that the jack shaft oil seal must be installed with the lip towards the gearbox. The "business" don't use workshop manuals..............
Well the "business" have taken over £700 from me, £600 worth of parts and labour from Preston Harley Davidson, wrecked my starter motor - another £350, and failed abysmally to effect the repair they were contracted to deliver. When I began work on the problem the repair took me no more than 4 hours in total, and I've had to re-do everything the "business" in Southport did, and more. It's a sad indictment of the motorcycle business when anyone can claim to deliver a service without being qualified to do so.
Without removing the clutch, there wasn't enough clearance to take the jackshaft out, so it had to come off. The crankshaft sprocket is securely attached with a 1 1/2" nut, and the clutch with a 1 3/16" nut, and I had neither. Ten days later and I had acquired both tools and braved the sub zero temperatures to move to the next stage. After some heaving, the clutch, chain a crankshaft sprocket came off, and at last I was able to look into the housing of the jackshaft.
The mystery was revealed. The oil seal above had been installed incorrectly, with a lip that should have been facing the gearbox, projecting in to the primary instead, and preventing the jackshaft returning and the keeping the starter engaged. Inspection of the gaskets also highlighted that the clowns at Southport, while claiming to use OEM parts had used pattern parts.
Time to gather all the bits that I needed to get the bike back on the road. The following weekend, armed with gaskets and oil seals the primary went back together, and this time the starter retracted, but didn't have the power to turn the engine properly, irrevocably damaged by the run home from Southport. Another week slipped by while a replacement was procured. but at last the beast fired up and sounded as sweet as ever. Re-assembling the bike also provided clues as to why the business had made such a mess of what should have been a simple repair.
On replacing the oil seal the instructions advise that the splines on the clutch must be taped over before the Inner case is passed over the main shaft, or the oil seal will be damaged. It also stresses that the jack shaft oil seal must be installed with the lip towards the gearbox. The "business" don't use workshop manuals..............
Well the "business" have taken over £700 from me, £600 worth of parts and labour from Preston Harley Davidson, wrecked my starter motor - another £350, and failed abysmally to effect the repair they were contracted to deliver. When I began work on the problem the repair took me no more than 4 hours in total, and I've had to re-do everything the "business" in Southport did, and more. It's a sad indictment of the motorcycle business when anyone can claim to deliver a service without being qualified to do so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
