Putt-putt-stall

I’d intended to post up something entirely different today, but this evening’s ride turned out to be very post-worthy.Today was sunny and nearly 60°F — perfect riding weather. I only needed a t-shirt on under my leather jacket.

However, when I fired up my Ural Patrol after work, it sputtered far more than usual. My neighbor, Fred, and I were chatting about it. “Is the choke on?” he asked. I explained how I only ran the choke for about 20-30 seconds at startup, then just let it idle for a couple of minutes and get up to operating temperature. Usually this means enough time for me to get my motorcycling kit on, and then the bike is good to go.

Maybe it’s the warmer weather, I thought. At this point, I was really only accustomed to starting the Patrol in slightly chillier temperatures. It didn’t stand to reason though; shouldn’t the bike be getting up to operating temperature faster, when the weather was warm? Oh well, I thought, I’m not exactly Dr. Mechanical — I’ll just hop on and see how it goes after a few km.

Not today though. Just getting down the street was difficult. The engine sputtered and the exhaust putted. Remembering some advice I’d seen recently on Soviet Steeds and ADV Rider, I was figuring I’d just barely turn the throttle a few times — enough to send a bit more juice through the carburettors, but not really enough to rev the engine — to give a bit more consistency to the fuel mix getting to the engine.

The throttle barely responded. There was no corresponding power or increase in speed or rev. Nada. The bike might as well have been off, for all I was getting from the throttle. I’ve heard of these not having a whole lot of power during break-in, but this is ridiculous, I thought. I haven’t had a problem with power before — something must be wrong!

At the first stop sign of the ride, I came to a smooth stop but hadn’t even gone to shift into neutral when the bike shuddered and stalled. This is really weird, I thought. My Patrol’s been a little sputtery for the first couple of kilometers, but nothing like this.

Undaunted, I pressed on. At the next stop sign, I made to turn left… and stalled. Got it started, but I was getting no power at all. Throttle was barely responding — getting the rig to putt over 5 mph was becoming a challenge. I really put on some throttle, and finally the engine remembered that it should be running.

Slightly daunted, I still pressed on. Went down another street. Another stop sign. And another stall.

Okay, I thought, turning off the bike and sitting there a minute, trying to troubleshoot. Maybe some crap got in the fuel line? I wondered how in the world I was going to figure out how to fix that, if indeed there was some crud in the line. Maybe I’d be pushing the bike home, so I could get on the Ural boards and post for help.

One more start… and more stall. Now the engine wouldn’t turn over at all.

Crap, crap crap… I. am. so. screwed.

Keep it simple

I sat on my not-starting Patrol, holding back thoughts of what a paperweight it suddenly was. Keep it simple, I reminded myself. It might not be anything… serious…

And then I looked at the odometer. 121km. On a bike that was being broken in. On a bike where chaps usually hit around 150km, with reserve if I remember right, between fuel-ups.

Crud in the line? No. More like, no fuel in the line — because I was out of gas.

At least, it would be easy to find out if that was the problem.

With the engine still off, I reached down and turned the petcock to reserve. I switched on the bike… hoped… and hit the starter —

And my Patrol fired right up. And ran. Purred, even.

Looks like I’d have to head to the gas station.

3rd gear, uphill, 40mph

Urals are not exactly known for their ferocious power. Which is fine; you don’t get a Ural for speed and power. You get it because you’re kind of an easygoing, fun-loving badass who doesn’t mind a bit of extra attention every time you go for milk.

At the same time, when you’ve been riding around the neighborhood but now need to tank up and have to get on a real road, during rush hour, and part of that trip is up an overpass with a fair bit of slope, you can’t help but feel a little daunted. At least, a non-very-badass like me did, but I choked that back and hit the road.

From my neighborhood I cruised up to Maxwell, intending to ride its overpass to Prairie Road, a 40mph pair of roads that would help me skip the 55mph Northwest Expressway and deliver me to one of the relatively better-priced gas stations in town. I plan on tackling the Expressway this weekend — I didn’t want to hit it my first time during rush hour; I wanted to wait until it was calmer and I (or maybe even Jodie and I) could really cruise on up it a ways.

Hitting the hill at Maxwell turned out to be no problem. Remembering my teenage days driving a stick-shift pickup, I kept the bike in third gear and gave some healthy throttle, all the while hunkering down some and shifting my weight as low down my body as I could. Maybe it was that, maybe it was my 135-lb-when-sopping-wet frame, but in either case, the up-slope turned out to be an easy cruise.

At the gas station, all went smooth. I’ll address that separately, actually, as it occurred to me just now that a running bit of posts on gas prices and mileage for the Ural would make a handy reference for other interested Ural owners.

The best part of the gas station, of course, was after the fuel-up — backing away from the pumps in reverse, while all around me the folks in cars gawked at… a motorcycle… in… reverse. I love that.

Petcock set back to On, I hit Prairie Road again, nailed the hill again, and spent another 20 minutes and about 10km or so doing a proper cruise up and down River Road and through the neighborhood.

I’d braved a hill. I’d broken 40mph. I even filled up my gas tank and didn’t destroy the paint job. And, above all, when something was going wrong with my bike, I didn’t panic. I wasn’t thrilled, mind you, but I didn’t panic. I thought it through, kept the bike at safe spots off the road, and figured out what was wrong. Luckily, that turned out to be pretty elementary — and empty gas tank — but it’s a good sign.

Being in the saddle of a Ural is definitely where I belong, and I am definitely getting the hang of my Patrol.