Last week it was our right-side carburetor deciding that it didn’t want to stay attached to the engine head (the flange/compliance fitting on that side is old and the rubber is stiff, making it difficult to crimp the pipe clamp down tight enough to hold the carb on securely), and now we have a hole in our fuel crossover line.

On Friday, Marc and I went out to install the new, louder horn we bought (the old one sounds like a sick goat), and were greeted by the sight of a thin stream of fuel spurting from the side of the bike.  Upon further inspection, it seems that the fuel crossover line (going between the tank and the reserve section of the tank) is made from rubberized cloth, and the pipe clamp holding it in place had rubbed and eventually cut a hole in the line!

Thankfully, the cut was a V-shaped cut, which meant it was just a matter of clamping the V back into place, which I did by lowering the pipe clamp a bit to be located over the cut.  We ordered a new fuel line and it should be here on Monday, along with new flanges.  So, both of those will be installed when we get them.

We have also found out that our carbs are idling too high, and that they need balancing.  If the new flanges/fittings seem to work well, we’ll keep our current carburetors and take the bike to the shop to get them balanced.  If they don’t seem much better than the old ones, then we may look into getting some Pekar K68 carbs, which bolt straight onto the engine head.  You can get a pair, plus all the cables, etc, for about $90, so it might be a worthwhile investment.

When Ken (the other Ural owner) came over, we also realized that one of our spark plugs was fouled (he gave us one of his spares), and that there was approximately a QUART of water in the transmission (which came squirting out of a hole when we started her).  We drained the transmission fluid (which looked like a latte – see photo) and the water (which literally gushed out) and replaced the transmission fluid (Ural motors actually use motor oil in the transmission.  Weird.).  Once we realized that the battery was not being charged by the alternator, we disconnected the headlight at Ken’s recommendation, as it’s the biggest draw of power other than the engine.  So long as we keep checking the battery level, we can drive her as she is (sans regulator and thus sans recharging) until the battery dies, which is about 100 miles on a Ural.  We’re keeping our spare battery in the sidecar trunk just in case. 

Water/transmission fluid draining from the engine.

Looks like a latte, doesn’t it?

The flanges (black seal on the left of the carburetor) have dry rot and will need replacing soon, or the engine will run too lean.

So, we have now ordered a new regulator, a new horn (the old one has rusted solid), some new air intake hoses (the ones we purchased were the wrong size), a new kill switch (since the old one fell off), some spare spark plugs, and some new flanges for the carburetors (the old ones have dry rot).  Amusingly enough, the Ural community is so tight-knit that the primary spare parts dealer (Holopaw Paul of Holopaw Corvette) works primarily on the honor system!  You tell him what you need, he sends it, and if it works, then you pay him.  If it doesn’t, you send it back, and he’ll send you something else that might work.  It’s kind of hilarious, but also awesome, as that way you don’t waste money on something that doesn’t work for your bike!  This sort of community-based attitude that Ural owners seem to collectively have is one of the things that really drew me to Urals.  Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised by the collectivism considering that it’s a community based around communist motorcycles!

We took Smutyanka out for her first real road driving yesterday.  Even though the regulator is kaput, we can still drive her based on the charge the battery already has, so we drove her around the neighborhood.  Though I have driven standard/manual vehicles all my life, Marc has relatively little experience with them, and our neighborhood is very hilly, so it was something of a trial by fire for him.  We drove over to his parents’ house, and we drove to the local family-owned grocery store to pick up some beer.  We also both just sort of drove randomly around the neighborhood for practice.  I really need to work on my arm strength – you really have to muscle that bike around, and I have a hard time with sharp turns.  Unlike a regular motorcycle, you can’t lean a sidecar bike, so you have to steer it, and unlike a car, you have to work against the fact that the sidecar wheel doesn’t turn with the front wheel (imagine turning your car if only your left front wheel turned and the other three were all in a fixed, straight position – not easy).  I did very well with shifting and clutch-work though, so that was good, and I only ran over one curb with the sidecar (it’s difficult to tell quite where the edge of the sidecar is, if you’re not used to it).  Marc did pretty well with his driving – he still has trouble knowing what gear to be in, and he has trouble kicking the shifters hard enough, but in general he did quite well for someone with very little clutch experience.  I think that our abilities could be summed up as that he’s better at steering the bike, and I’m better at driving it.

We did stall out the bike once, though, when we were trying to drive off from a stoplight that was on a hill.  We both jumped off the bike and pushed it over to the side of the road quickly, which I’m sure was quite an amusing sight for the folks behind us in the lane.  It was very reminiscent of a “Chinese fire drill”.  Unfortunately, because she doesn’t have an electronic ignition, when we stall out we have to push her to the side, because it takes at least 5 seconds to get her properly back into neutral and then started with the kick starter.  But, at least it’s amusing to watch.

I took a short video while we were driving through the neighborhood.  You can see what the view is like from the sidecar, and I also took a couple seconds of video of the scary, exposed shaft drive, for those of you who are mechanically inclined.  It’s very weird to sit in the sidecar, because you’re pretty low to the road, and you’re far enough away from the driver that you can’t hear a word either of you says.  Marc and I had to work out a hand signal system for me to let him know what gear he should be in, because shouting does nothing.  Anyway, here you go: