This is the original hose. Note how it is cracked and stiff-looking. We had already removed the pipe-clamps at this point.

Here's what the carburetor and air filter intake look like without the hose. The air filter actually has a manual override for the choke on it! It's that little tab on the hole on the right, and it's pretty nuts.

Marc decided to wedge a section of the smaller but stiffer rubber hose *inside* the larger, flexible aircraft hose at each end. It was a tight fit, but it's extremely secure.

Then he made sure that when cinched down with a pipe clamp, it doesn't crease. All clear!

Ta-da! Franken-hose!

Attaching the hose to the air filter first.

Man-handling the hose until it properly fits over the carburetor.

The new hose, properly clamped down around the two openings. Success!

Now onto hose #2!

The righthand-side hose is a little more difficult. The engine isn't 100% symmetrical, and so the carb is further forward than on the left, and the air filter opening is higher as well, meaning a longer hose is need, which also means there will be more tension on the hose.

The original righthand-side hose. Note the more extreme angle.

Whee mold!

Trying to wrench the hose into place.

More fussing. This one was really stubborn.

Ta-da! More curves than a Swiss mountain road, but it works!

Duck Boards

Urals come with a rubber mat that fits in the floor of the sidecar.  It provides some nice traction, but water gets underneath and if you don’t air it out regularly, you can get some pretty severe rust underneath.  During WWII, the traction problem was solved by putting slats of wood, called “duck boards”, into the floor.  We ordered this stained oak set from Heindl Engineering and they are quite beautiful and work perfectly.

Hopefully they will help with keeping the sidecar dry.  I prefer them to the rubber mat already because they also make a nice ridge to brace your feet against.  On righthand turns it really helps the driver if the monkey (sidecar passenger) leans strongly to the right, and it’s much easier to do this if you have something to push against with your feet.  These do the trick nicely.

Kill Switch

Some of you may remember that our engine kill switch cover fell off a few weeks ago.  Well, for $2.50, Holopaw Paul sent us a new one.  We couldn’t find a screw quite short enough, so we had to punch through the other side of the plastic.  It’s fine for now, but some time soon we will get a metal file and file down the end of the screw that sticks out.

For a tiny piece of cast plastic, it was quite a surprising pain to attach, as you can probably figure out from the photos.

Trunk Lock

One of the great things about having a sidecar is the instant storage it provides.  Behind the seat is a trunk of sorts, in which we keep our toolkit, voltmeter, wire cutters, test lamp, spare battery, WD-40, oil funnel, tarp, spare tonneau (sidecar) cover, paperwork, tie-down ropes, and helmets.  With all that in there, you really want to be able to lock it, and thankfully there are a few after-market solutions folks have come up with, from ghetto to sophisticated.  We chose the sophisticated route and bought a lock system from Delaware Dave.

Installing it was a pain in the ass (and involved drilling a 1in hole in the side of the sidecar), but the lock works quite well.  It’s a bit counter-intuitive because you turn the key the opposite direction from what you’re used to, but it’s sturdy and it looks professional.  Installing it has made us both wonder why Ural doesn’t just include them straight from the factory.  I’ll post some photos of the inside of the trunk tomorrow, but by the time we were finished it was too dark.

Tarp

Smutyanka’s engine isn’t the most watertight thing in the world, and folks on the forums really recommend keeping Urals out of the rain.  Water can quite easily get into the carbs, air filter, transmission, etc, just by nature of the way these engines are assembled (which is to say, by hand and not very precisely), so it’s good to keep them under some sort of protection.  A few weekends ago we went to a reenactment and it was supposed to storm that weekend, but I couldn’t find a tarp that wasn’t massive.  So, I improvised:  I bought a $1.50 poncho at Target and punched some holes in the plastic around the edges, ran some rope through it, and managed to completely cover the engine and important bits:

MacGyver would’ve been proud.  Marc said it reminded him of stuff he saw when he was living in Africa, but it did the job, and now we have a real tarp:

Eventually we will buy a Ural-specific cover (they’re about $80), but for now, the tarp will do.

Air Intake Hoses

I have mentioned our need for new air intake hoses several times on this blog.  Our old ones were ill-fitting and full of dry rot, and if you don’t have a tight seal around your carburetors, the engine will run too lean and you risk getting dirt and debris in your engine.  Plus, the location of the air hoses on Urals is not the best, and they are very close to where your foot sits on the shifters, making it easy to knock out of place if it’s not secure:

Since this post is long enough already and the frankenstein-style tactics we had to use to create new air hoses and install them were quite complex, you will have to wait until the next post to get more details on that.  I’ll try to get that posted later tonight or tomorrow morning.

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:

We did finally get some photos (albeit with my iPhone) of us on the bike, though.  Here’s one each of me on the bike and Marc on the bike.  It’s a good thing there’s a sidecar, because there’s no way in hell my feet would touch the ground on this thing.  Marc, on the other hand, is fine.  Damn tall people.  Anyway, here you go: