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Holiday memories: The Maas valley

Holidays

We have a short break once a year

We then go to Zeeland or to the western edge of the Ardennes. The penultimate time was the Ardennes. Via the Maas valley and at no fewer than three Harleys: a UL 1200 from 1930 or something ("I know it is rare and I know I have no brakes"), a reborn WLC (dressed in civilian costume) RAL 3000! ") And a Liberator who had kept running from 1946 (" It's just a matter of overhauling the block and the bucket every five years "). Plus an 350cc DKW ("Of course I just put 1 on 25.") And an M72 combination for the parts and tools


The red Harley was the problem child

During the ride we worked out the inconveniences of the recent restoration. But when the spare spark plug was also hit we were faced with a challenge. Because on a Sunday afternoon where do you find such a Harley spark plug with its crazy thick shaft? We drove around and rang the bell. And noticed that people in the Maas valley were particularly specialized in not having Harley spark plugs. In the meantime, the old Liberator had a front wheel bearing made of grit. But because the hubs of that thing had already been converted to real bearings in the seventies, that was no problem. The water sports case on the terrace where the Lib was stranded had the SKF size for the grab. With the one-and-a-half garage jack from the sidecar, the front of the old green was jacked up ... Half an hour of work plus two Jupilers ... Presents nothing.

On the terrace we told the waiter about our problem

He showed us a narrow road that we had to follow. The garage owner's widow lived there. The man died thirty years ago and then the garage was locked. Maybe there was something to be found there. The former garage company was a hall of 10 at 12 that leaned loosely against the side wall of a somewhat devoured building. When we turned up the driveway a very happy old lady came out “Regardez les moto's !. C'est comme j'ai catches annees encorec une fois! ”She felt like she was twenty again. So that was in WWII. The Harley's and the BMW clone reminded her of her childhood.

We explained our problem to her

We were allowed to look in the garage. After being in disuse for thirty years, a garage is not a draughty hole full of cobwebs and bats. It was just a bit dusty. There were some classics whose mice had eaten up the entire interior. Many cardboard things also had food marks. The spark plugs were neatly sorted. It turned out that spark plugs from Ford 12Mmetjes had the same bizarre shaft thickness as the Harley spark plugs. Only the seal on the head was different. But with sensitive tightening, that wouldn't be the problem. There was no need to pay for the spark plugs.

We said goodbye warmly. With the Ford spark plugs we met Olloy without any problems.

Those were 352 wonderful kilometers in only 13 calm hours.

It had been a nice day.


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