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 Part IV - A wing and a prayer
Broken down on a campground in the south of France, the bike now came into it's own as we made numerous journeys to the hardware store for autoparts. The owner was also great for ignoring the oily tarp we spread under it and trips back and forth with oil draining kits etc. With the deadline looming, the regimentation of the french lifestyle began to really bug me as an extra day was lost for the fourth public holiday in 3 weeks. Great way to run a lifestyle, lousy way to run a business and "manyana" doesn't cut it with the american INS!
The gearbox was the vauxhall type which can be opened without dropping it out of the engine, thank goodness. Sarah finally got the bottom of the gearbox off and were rewarded with the smalles trickle of oil, barely covering the bottom of the sump! The mechanic who did the servicing hadn't topped off the gearbox! Cursing, we started up the engine while I was under there and I located the source of the noise. One of the larger cogs looked like the bearings had gone and was being repeatedly struck from the other side. Close examination of the CF Haynes manual indicated that this was the third gear syncromesh, not vital but I really didn't like to think about what this was doing to the cog that was hitting it! In the absence of anything better to do, we decided to close it up with liquid gasket, refill it with oil and make a run for it. This was about the limit of our mechanical abilities anyway.
Refilling proved to be a problem. The screw was recessed and on the side. Pressing in some modelling clay revealed a hex bolt somewhere around 8-10mm. A trip to Monsieu Bricolage, a large hardware store, got us an allen key set with an 8mm and 10mm key and a 9mm to counter Murphey's law. Sure enough, it was the 9mm we needed. A trickier problem was finding some plastic tubing to fill the thing with. The big store had kits for just about everything but a distinct lack of what could be called "generic useful stuff". I had to corner an assistant, show him some copper central heating pipe and ask for "meme ca, mais en plastique". I got the now familiar "non".
Some radical thinking and a visit to the vetinary supplies section (ignoring the puzzled look from the assistant) provided the solution and we artificially inseminated the gearbox, 55ml at a time!
The next morning in the rain we set out on the 600 mile journey north with the gearbox sounding as bad as ever. The sites owner looked at us like we were mad to even attempt it and I made a mental promise that there was a new gearbox in it if she got us home, or at least into AA coverage. The plan was to do the whole run in one swoop, working on the semi-logical principal that vehicles tend to not start more often than they suddenly stop or maybe it was just to get back quickly before she broke down. Either way, it seemed a good idea at the time as we rattled through town and onto the nearest motorway.
By the time we stopped for petrol, the rattle had stopped and 3rd gear syncromesh had gone completely. This was actually a relief as we could both stop wincing at the terrible mechanical torture going on beneath our feet, as was the fact that she started up afterwards. Not wanting to tempt fate, it was two hours before either of us dared comment on this.
Following the motorway North, the plan was to bypass Paris by following signs for Versailles or one of several major roads. Wrong! None of these were forthcoming, all of the major exits were from the fast lane and our motorway suddenly ended dumping us and the behemoth into the narrow streets of Paris.
For the first time, sitting on the wrong side of the vehicle was a real problem. Once or twice we were forced into the bus lane, something I noticed not even the most anarchic parisian did and it was a real struggle to get back into the narrow legal lane. We tried to follow main roads north watching the temperature gauge, changing to 3rd slowly, trying to avoid crazy lane changers, and look for any kind of signposts. Unfortunately, once in Paris only the landmarks are posted. They take "all roads lead to Paris" a little too literally since this means that there is no need to signpost anything leading from Paris.
Following the main road worked until we crossed the Seine and it ended in a T junction with one of the narrowest streets encountered yet. Our course became a zig-zag until we hit a massive junction with 7 roads meeting and great difficulty figuring out which traffic light was for ours. On the other side was a slip road to a motorway. At this point, any motorway was good so we cut across traffic onto the slip road and followed it South while trying to figure out how to get North again.
Night was falling by the time we passed Charles De Gaul airport and it was 2am by the time we reached the ferry terminal. English immigration officials climbed over the kayaks, searched the toilet for illegal immigrants and examined our passports under a microscope. Then we grabbed an hour's sleep over the cab while we waited for the ferry. Sarah woke me up as the line next to us started moving and we had to drive on barefoot and barely able to keep our eyes open.
One more or less straight forwards crossing, a few minutes with an angry customs official (I had joined the wrong line for non-EU citizens like Sarah) and dumb questions about the purpose of our visit. Keeping things simple, I gestured to the kayaks filling the rear and replied "Kayaking". A break for a couple of hours more sleep and then we made our way back to Derbyshire.
Not knowing if or when I would be back, I had to sell the beastie. I didn't have the "2000 trouble-free miles" tag-line I was hoping for but she did get her recon gearbox and the new owners are very happy with her. Now I'm staying in Maui for a while, tropical paradise, sun, beaches, surf but I do miss the beastie. I still have my ebay search on my favorites and the equivelent for the US. I even asked a friend if I could work on theirs which had been standing for a few years and every time I drive past one with a "For sale" sign in the window I get the same tugging of temptation. I know I don't need one any more, but wouldn't it be nice if...?
Mike.
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