Ural 650 Combo
What makes a sane middleaged person go out and buy an antique Russian combination? Some people would say the menopause, I like to think, however, that I had a better motive than that. The reason started with a change of job to a much nearer location, less than 20 miles a day as opposed to 120! This was accompanied by a drop in income so one of the cars had to go. That left me and the wife fighting over who had the remaining vehicle. I therefore decided on the grounds of marital harmony and economy to buy a motorcycle for commuting.
What to choose? Not having a bike licence I was rather limited. Well, I suppose that Mr Honda and his oriental colleagues could offer a choice but they all seem to be aimed at pimply Herberts who want to look the part of the motorcycle hero, with more money than sense. Eastern Europe? Well, I had in the past owned an MZ TS125, possibly the ugliest bike ever made with its special nut-crusher fuel tank. This was cheap and amazingly reliable, but for someone of my stature (fattish) it was rather underpowered.
How to ride a bigger bike without a licence? Buying various mags I discovered that you could still ride any size bike if you had a sidecar fitted, so I started looking around for a combo. They are like rocking horse droppings, these days, to get hold of, unless you want a Sidewinder - these devices seem rather naff to me so I kept looking. Then a biking nut I know mentioned Cossacks, an odd looking combo made in Russia to 1938 BMW pattern.
I ended up with a 1971 Ural with a military sidecar. On getting it home (on the trailer) I had to assemble it, not an easy task as the bike weighs about 500lbs and the chair must weigh 200lbs. After it was together the next thing was insurance - imagine my joy when I discovered you could insure it through the vintage motorcycle scheme for a pittance!
All the legalities complied with, I took it out for a run. I had heard that combos handled rather oddly but I was not prepared for how weird it really was. The set up, I might add, is a 650 flat twin with shaft drive with the sidecar on the right-hand side. The bike is low geared with stacks of torque, so starting off is no problem; however, once moving, stopping is. The SLS drum brakes are not efficient, the hard linings don't help - the Ural has a very efficient anti locking system, no way can you get the front brake to lock.
Having quickly mastered engine braking, I then found that if left-handers were easy and I could take them at any speed, right-handers were another matter. Taken at speed, the bike decided that it would not turn and I had some close encounters with hedges until I learnt to slow down in time. I later found that the chair, being out in the road and up on the camber, was pushing the bike over, so I adjusted the attachments to lean the bike towards the chair, which helped some. Now I am used to it I can take right-handers almost as fast as lefts, although I still haven't got the bottle to lift the wheel.
Braking is also affected by the chair. My first experience was on my second day out on the beast. Going down a narrow lane a car was broken down on my side of the road just before a right-hand bend, I braked to slow and go round the car, as I put on the brake the bike pulled towards the car; the more I braked the more the bike went towards the car! Fortunately, the bike is built like a tank and the car owner had a sense of humour and didn't worry too much about his dented bumper. Lesson, the bike pulls away from the sidecar on braking.
It didn't take me long to master it, however, and I was soon using it regularly for work, doing about 150 miles a week. Apart from a few things working loose and falling off, I have had no trouble from it yet. It receives quite a lot of admiring looks since bikes like this are very thin on the ground, most people thinking it's a real antique. Riding through town is quite good fun as motorists see a motorcyclist but don't notice the sidecar on their side until the last moment, the look of horror on their faces can be quite entertaining.
The bike and chair have a chassis (it's too heavy to call a frame) which puts a Landrover to shame. I demolished the gate at home twice to no ill effect to the chair, misjudging the space; so I don't worry too much about minor collisions.
Since I felt that driving around on L plates spoilt the image rather, I applied for my test. Taking a test with a combo is to be recommended as you only have to take Part 2 and handling at test speeds is very easy. I passed. I have since tried the bike without the chair but it seems to lose some of its charm. The bike solo, being designed to pull a chair, does not handle very well, so I refitted the sidecar and decided that if I wanted a solo to buy a 250 of some sort.
The bike is a plodder, although it accelerates well using its quite considerable torque. Its top speed is not amazing at around 70mph but that is quite fast enough for a machine of this sort. Handling with the chair on is very good once you get used to the peculiar characteristics of having a sidecar fitted.
The brakes, as mentioned earlier, are dismal but improved considerably after fitment of softer British linings.Petrol consumption is around 50mpg and it seems to get through oil fairly rapidly at 300mpp. Being an oddball, spares can be difficult to find locally. Many are available through the importers (Nevals) and used bits seem fairly easy to come by.
The Cossack Owners Club also gives advice on alternatives to original bits. The bike is built like a tank, however, and if ridden reasonably should not require too much in the way of spares. The frame and panels seem to be built of high quality steel, well protected, which is very unusual for Eastern European machinery. My bike is 20 years old with little corrosion in the chassis. The rest of the bike is heavyweight aluminium, which again is free of corrosion.
The only real pain is electrics, which whilst being strictly minimalist are hard to find - my model is 6V and light bulbs are a real pain, my solution to replace the holders and fit Beetle bulbs as required.
Summing up, the bike is easy to work on, eye catching and unusual. It can carry an unbelievable amount of stuff. It's even fun and it's cheap. Furthermore, with the large steel stabiliser on the side it's lot of fun in winter, being immune to spilt diesel, ice and other hazards that beset motorcycles when the dry spell ends. What more could anyone ask for?
N.R.Diamond
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Dnepr MT10/R60
It all started as an idea to travel around Eastern Europe in summer. A Soviet combo seemed to be the best solution to the transport problem. Then all the borders started moving and we set our sights on more difficult targets. Crossing the Sahara desert and travelling around West Africa! Then we saw a two year old Dnepr MT10 in the Cossack Owners Club magazine with recon engine, Harley tank, guards, sprung seat, etc. It was ours for £650.
What a lovely looking bike it was, too. I'd never ridden one before, so after the compulsory excursion across someone's lawn and a rather slow but never boring return journey, I nearly had the hang of combo riding. I felt rather dubious that a 6200km old bike was on its second engine after the previous owner had tried catching an LC125 - and failed! The motor never refused to start and run, although it did make some rather disconcerting noises, even though it was never thrashed (55 to 60mph maximum).
Then at the Southern Cossack Owners Club rally we received nothing but ridicule and derision at the prospect of the Dnepr getting out of the field let alone reaching Africa. A properly set-up Ural would be another story.....At that rally I met a mad New Zealander who instilled in me the idea that a BMW engine would fit and be much more reliable. I was immediately sold on this concept.
I acquired a non-descript BMW mill for £75 and sold the Dnepr's for £70. It was a R60/7 motor with slide carbs, needing new rings, exhaust valves, timing chain, alternator, clutch, flywheel, rockers and a few oil seals. Cost £250, even using Sherlocks and Motobins. I also replaced all the Dnepr gearbox bearings with SKF ones, which needed a 15 ton press to accomplish as they are a tight interference fit in the casing.
When assembly time came the BMW engine fitted the frame far better than the Dnepr motor had done but the gearbox took a lot of thought. Involving alloy welding, fabrication and much head scratching. Having secured the gearbox to the engine, the clutch was the next problem, solved by using an old clutch plate in a modern flywheel. The carbs went straight on but Bosch components were needed to get the electrical system working.
For the journey we fitted used Krauser panniers and top-box, a home-made sidecar screen, smaller silencers and a stereo. Money saved, books read and medicines bought we were ready - er, the sidecar was on the wrong side......three days of cutting, welding and screaming later, it was replaced in its original pre-import state.
There are a few companies in Europe who specialise in the BMW conversion but unless you have £2000 don't bother contacting them as they are very secretive about their methods. I'd have got the job done in a lot less than two months if they'd given me any help.
When it was finished it was indeed better than the Dnepr. With an extra 7hp, more torque and a lot freer revving. After running in, it was down through Germany, where it sat at 70mph all day on the autobahn, then through France and Spain. It returned 35mpg fully laden with spare tyre, etc. This dropped to under 30mpg in Morocco and to 25mpg off-road.
In a particularly heavy rainstorm near Salamanca, the clutch stopped working, the lever pulled in but nothing happened. We carried on for 250 miles without the clutch to a friend's place, where help and rest were available. Due to very low gearing and already shot nerves it was very easy to drive with no clutch.
On stripping down in a cow shed, the clutch plate was found to be in 47 pieces and the splines on the gearbox shaft had all but disappeared. I'd taken all the spares I owned and these included a BMW clutch plate. The solution was to weld the old centre plate to this (for 50p). This done, we reassessed our plans and decided not to go for the Sahara but to head for Morocco, which turned out to be a good move as it was full of lovely people and beautiful sights.
After driving 10,000km we've had problems with poor fuel consumption, frequent cleaning of the airfilter and a loose grease nipple in the universal joint. Not bad, considering the terrain we'd crossed. Then the clutch went again. The spines on the clutch plate had completely worn away.....I tried to fix this by welding metal on to the stumps and filing to shape but it only lasted 20km.
With the assistance of a saint of a man called Mohammed we found an Opel Rekord clutch plate centre and had it modified and riveted to the still intact BMW clutch plate outer. We were back on the road with a heavy but working clutch for the fourth time. The way the bike could be bodged was its strongest asset.
Another excellent feature was the amount of junk we could transport, with the sidecar, panniers and top-box able to take tons of essential spares, tools, sleeping kit, etc. With two people on board fuel consumption went west and second or third gear was needed up steep hills. Carrying three people wasn't a problem, but with the very low gearing it soon runs out of steam. The whole bike keeps going with all the steadfastness of a tank; at the end of a day's riding it growls away as if it could keep going a lot longer than its pilots.
We also tested its off-road abilities to the limit. Fast, winding and slippery stuff was the best, showing a mate on his XT500 what fast really meant when coming down a Portuguese mountain track by overtaking him. I don't know where it gets all its traction from, with skinny 350x19" Avon SM tyres, although the front tyre loses its grips quite easily on wet or loose surfaces or fast left-hand corners. It's all Dnepr's fault for fitting tele's on an outfit. Ground clearance improved when the silencers were dumped - sounds great but uses even more fuel.
The drum brakes are very responsive but need a lot of muscle to lock any of the interchangeable wheels. The electrics are just about adequate, mostly due to the fact that few Dnepr bits remain on the bike; car components used wherever possible. Maintenance is straightforward except for oil filter replacement which requires the engine bolts removed and the mill jacked up in the frame! Except for the gearbox (which is worse than that in boxer twins) everything else is easy to work on; even the shocks are rebuildable.
One of the nicest things about the hybrid is that everywhere we go people ask what the hell it is.....they usually reckon on a World War Two Beemer or Zundapp. They seem shocked and disbelieving when I tell them it's only three years old. English people concede its newness when looking at the numberplate but the Germans remark to themselves, never, ever, being able to admit that they are wrong, “Der Englander ist ein dorf!”
In the south of Morocco I removed the sidecar for a 100km solo run. It was very solid and slow to steer but it accelerated, braked and went over bumps with ease. If I had a solo for keeps I'd fit the solo main drive and casing which would put the power where it belongs, at the back wheel instead of generating surplus noise and heat. I'd also remove the anti-pinking, low compression plates from underneath the barrels, that I had fitted to counteract the Moroccan petrol.
Many people would say why bother, all that time, money and energy when a car would be warmer, drier, faster, more frugal and the same price. Well, it's fun being out there in the landscape, being stared at by 90% of the populace, who can hardly comprehend what they are looing at.
I doubt if the Dnepr engine would have made it this far but by all means buy one (or two). I've prepared a technical article for anyone who wants to fit a BMW mill (for a suitable donation), correspondence via the UMG, please.
Huw Jenkins
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Neval Combo
I have at last realised a long running ambition to own a Neval combination. Several years ago at the BMF Memba rally I was rather impressed watching the owner of one of these machines reversing around the campsite, beeping a warning and zig-zagging around the tents. The child in me immediately said I want one and this child has been going on ever since until I finally gave in to him for the sake of a bit of peace and quiet.
The acquisition itself was almost accidental. In a pub I met a rufty-tufty biker who had bought a Neval Dnepr with a military style sidecar because he wanted something a bit out of the ordinary, but having bought it he realised he was not the sidecar type and he wanted to get back on to two wheels. It took little persuading - but lots of beer - for a deal to be struck up between us, which involved exchanging his Neval for my CZ250, a non-running KH250, an electric typewriter and admission to our club (Fang of the Frog).
It was mine! A beautiful (to me) classic flat twin outfit with style and character - and a reverse gear! I’d never ridden a bike with a sidecar before (I’ve bombed around on a CB250 with a sidewinder but that doesn’t count - believe me). My first trip was hairy in the extreme. Having got used to finding a kickstarter located between bike and chair, I had quite a search for first gear. Rather like the CZ, the Neval has a box full of neutrals amongst which are hidden four gears. After eliminating a few neutrals you do eventually find a forward gear - but not necessarily the one you are looking for. The semi-automatic clutch was straight out of the CZ book and had a nice familiarity about it but the effort required to effect a change of gear made my old CZ seem almost Japanese.
Once I’d actually mastered the technique of getting away from a standstill, I was on my way. The first noticeable quirk of riding an outfit was that you stay upright all the time and no little body wiggles are going to change the direction of travel. Then you discover that most of your steering is done by judicious use of the throttle and brakes, but that to go in a straight line (particularly along a well cambered road) you have to push on the left bar as if you were trying to make a right-hand turn. All of this very soon becomes second nature and after practising the various techniques needed to stay on the road and avoid hitting things, they all become automatic.
After I’d made a couple of journeys without mounting the pavement or inadvertently crossing to the other side of the road on left-hand bends, I felt competent enough to take out a passenger in the sidecar. How much easier everything was. The chair was less inclined to come off the ground on left-handers and handling was generally a lot less heavier.
The reverse gear, as well as being entertaining as I had hoped, was very useful - especially for backing out of hedges after I’d forgotten to wind the throttle open approaching bends. Not only that, riding it in reverse reminded me of riding my old CZ - I often used to think, so rapidly did everyone overtake me, that it was permanently in reverse.
Mechanically, I have had no problems with the bike. The engine has never let me down, bits haven’t fallen off and it has plenty of power. Even sufficient to pull the outfit along three-up at a reasonable rate of knots. The 12V electrics provide lighting well up to today’s standards and with a 60 watt bulb fitted out front, the headlamp beam wouldn’t have been out of place on a high performance bike. It would be easy to stow a car battery in the sidecar if even more electrical power was needed.
Fuel consumption varies according to what day of the week it is, ranging from 35mpg some days to just over 50mpg on a good day. Riding into headwinds caused havoc with the fuel consumption and engine performance, the large frontal area of the outfit totally lacking any kind of aerodynamic efficiency.
Riding an outfit can be a drag when you’re used to nipping in and out of the traffic whilst parking is more of a problem, but its advantages (almost) compensate. It has the looks (not to mention performance, which I won’t here) of a classic fifties bike and is generally well liked by older people who have a secret love of motorcycles and can openly admire machines which actually look like motorcycles. Two passengers and loads of luggage can be taken everywhere, maintenance is simple and easy to carry out, whilst its slow revving engine doesn’t wear out parts quickly. The need to do quick roadside repairs doesn’t bring on a dose of panic.
The initial purchase price of a Neval with a chair is laughable, running costs are moderate and insurance rates are cheap. It’s an outfit that’s built to last and to take some knocks. There’s nothing flashy or plastic about it. It’s simple, basic and solid and is built for biking rather than posing. The old Commies were more interested in function than style.
I think I definitely need a second bike without a sidecar for nipping about on. If you ever see someone on a bike stop at traffic lights and keel over, that’ll be me thinking I’ve got a sidecar attached. It’ll be a long time before I think about getting rid of my Neval. Since I’ve had it we’ve done 20,000 miles, mostly two-up and loaded with camping gear (including the camping gear of fellow travellers whose plastic machines lack much in the way of carrying capacity). 70mph cruising on motorways was common and I have the most reliable bike in our motorcycle club.
Funny that, my old CZ was hard to beat on the reliability front. It seems Iron Curtain machinery isn’t the crap it’s reputed to be. It’s just a question of giving a dog a bad name. I’ve never owned a Japanese bike and I haven’t had half the problems my friends have had with theirs. I agree, they’re a lot more sporting, flash looking and when they go, they go - but when they don’t go, they don’t go in a big way. Okay, so I’m old-fashioned and slow. But I’m happy. Remember the story of the tortoise and the hare?
Terry Donovan
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Neval 650
I'm not a born again motorcyclist as I never stopped being one. I have always had a motorcycle in the garage as a back up and for forays into the Dales (God's own motorcycling country, etc) on sunny Sundays. But when my circumstances changed and I had no further need to carry passengers, I decided to become a full time motorcyclist. The Mini and Triumph had to go. Both were well past their prime and the Trumpet, in particular, would have needed a king's ransom spent on it to make it even potentially reliable.
At that time I read a road test about a Neval. It sounded plausible. I went to Hull, where the importers reside, tried one, was reasonably satisfied and ordered a 650cc boxer Dnepr II there and then.
Running in was, I was advised, absolutely essential to longevity. It seemed interminable. The minor details have mercifully been expunged from memory, but readers may remember my having been mentioned on Pennine radio on several occasions as a slow moving hazard and my route to work quoted as roads to avoid if at all possible. Eventually, the necessary mileage was achieved, the oils changed and life settled down to a normal pattern.
What's normal? Normal is sedate, comfortable and reliable. But, only up to a point. One must bear in mind that we're talking economy biking here, but I can easily keep up with suburban traffic. Acceleration up to about 70mph is quite adequate. Due in part to the gearing which, although raised from the sidecar ratios that come as standard, still errs on the low side. Top speed isn't great, the machine wasn't built for that. It was built to haul three hairy arsed Russian squaddies plus full kit and a machine gun across the Steppes.
Nevertheless, not long after the running in process was complete, I took said machine down to the local bypass to see what it'd do. What it did was scare me witless. It bucked, it buzzed, it wandered and it touched 95mph on one short downhill stretch with me tanking it and hanging on for dear life. I never repeated the exercise.
I think if it ever failed to start with the first prod of the laterally mounted kickstart then I would get my toolbox out. It is that good. It displayed no hint of temperament from cold even on icy mornings. The motor throbbed rather than vibrated. Vastly preferable. Bulbs do not blow, nuts and bolts hardly need any tightening and fingers don't turn blue due to lack of circulation whilst trying to maintain a grip on the bars. The tappets clatter a good bit at low revs, despite minimal clearances, but between 40 and 70mph the plot would be difficult to improve upon.
The gears fall into place with all the noise and precision of the Tower Bridge closing and operates only marginally faster. Changing is effected by a rocking pedal that can be bent to a shape to suit oneself, once done is very convenient. There's a reverse fitted with a separate lever but I only tried it once as the steering was diabolical. To resist further temptation the offending lever was torn off. There was also a facility for a gear pedal operated clutch which I also didn't get on with and disconnected. The clutch's light, smooth and snatch-free. The shaft drive gets an egg-cup full of oil when I remember it.
Suspension's stiff, once again having been built for chair use and not affected by my all up weight of around ten stone. The cornering is limited by ground clearance, silencers and stands touching down before extreme angles can be achieved. Much of the weight is low down and consequently the sensation is one of great stability. The brakes are low tech but certainly not an embarrassment. The front drum went slightly oval at one stage and I had to have it skimmed. It's better to use both brakes in combination.
Strangely, for such a large contraption, it cuts up traffic quite well. Perhaps it's because I could afford to be cavalier on such a solid machine, or more likely cars give me a wide berth because I look so strange.
The blackest aspect of Neval ownership has to be coping with the electrics. The Russian wire oxidises, becoming impossible to solder. Connectors and extraneous wires abound, and the switches, despite an outwardly solid appearance, are prone to premature wear and corrosion. Consequent lack of reliability plus annoying misfires that occur only sometimes in heavy rain, was tolerated for three years.
I then decided to rewire the whole machine. I eliminated every connector and all unnecessary switches by running wires direct and replaced every Russian switch. This solved all the electrical problems save for the misfire. My latest theory is that if I clean out the condensation from the ignition mechanism housing at the front of the engine on a fairly regular basis then all will be well.
Corrosion had also affected the headlamp reflector, replaced with a Mini unit, which is better in every way. The carbs were also stripped down whilst in search of the elusive misfire. They were found to be perfectly clean internally, in part due to the excellent filter in the fuel tap.
Having slated the electrics fairly comprehensively, I am bound to mention other features that are well designed and constructed. Every part of the machine is gear driven and cause no hardships. The only piece of chain is about two inches long and fitted into the twistgrip, and that is, in fact, preferable to bending the throttle cable round the handlebar every time the accelerator is used.
Chrome and alloy is good but the paint isn't - it's dropping off in lumps to expose great swathes of rusty metal beneath. I don't clean it very often, which can't help. I keep threatening to strip the lot and get it stoved, but whilst relying on it for transport it is difficult to see how I can manage this.
The handbook, whilst having the occasional lapses into Russian, is comprehensive, easy to follow and overcautious. Western fuels and lubricants permit far greater service intervals than the book suggests. For instance, the handbook suggested a decoke at 10,000km, but even at 15000km there was no deterioration in performance. Still, I though it'd be easy to whip the heads off. Wrong, I ended up hacksawing one head off because the stud had corroded in. Had to replace a head and studs, which was annoying as there was absolutely no need to do a decoke, looked like it wouldn't need it for three times the mileage!
I pointed out what I saw as the shortcomings of the handbook to Nevals, who shrugged their corporate shoulders and said that they did not write it, which is patently true. I still think that they could and should write an addendum with the benefit of their experience. Putting pen to paper does not hurt; not much!
Nevals (the importers) are invariably a pleasant company to deal with. Spare parts, whilst not being as cheap as one might expect, are still not expensive. Most parts are available off the shelf, although I have not needed many. Advice is only a phone call away, and never appears to be any trouble to them.
Joining the owners club is worthwhile. For a nominal sum you get a regular chatty newsletter and a small discount on spares. They also arrange camping trips for those so inclined. There is no accounting for taste.
There are other aspects of Neval ownership that might be worth mentioning. I had a friend at work who once owned a BMW. He felt it was necessary to check the car park every ten minutes to ascertain that his pride and joy had not been pinched. I don't have that problem with my two wheeled equivalent of a Lada car. I get the impression that I could leave the keys in with the engine running and no self-respecting felon would deign to notice.
The old fashioned look and the superficial resemblance to a BMW can prove to be a topic of conversation whilst out and about, not that I mind talking to people about motorcycles and related subjects, but it can be a minor nuisance if time is short. I have a neighbour who is convinced that anything so obviously old must be valuable. He works in an office.
I've made several modifications over the years. I managed to lower the seat by a couple of inches, replaced the guards with a matching pair, added sidepanels and fitted panniers. I even fitted a wider than standard rear tyre in an attempt at a more macho look, but nothing has really changed the overall appearance. It's still a very ugly thing.
I won't be trading in for a new one just yet. Why would I? Other than looking a bit on the tatty side, the bike's good or even better than it always was. I hope in the future to buy something a little more exotic as finances permit, a Guzzi or big BMW boxer would be nice. I might even fit a chair to see if I could get used to that. But I will certainly keep the older bike, if only for winter use.
B. Pinkney
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Neval 650 MTII
Buying a D reg Neval MTII with chair for £300 seemed like a good idea at the time. Having to cart the wife, kid and dog around, the only other thing I could afford was a Reliant Robin, such a horrible device that I'd be better off taking the bus. Neither of my dependants were too amused at the sight of the Russian machine. There wasn't any kind of hood for the chair, which was hung out from the bike at an unlikely angle.
One advantage of the boxer OHV engine was that it rattled and knocked so much that I could not hear their complaints. When I'd first heard it I'd assumed that it was about to blow up but the owner, some kind of Neval fanatic, took me by the arm to hear the shining 500 mile old replacement. That made just as much noise as my 32000 mile example.
Having owned a couple of outfits before I found the Neval to be relatively well set up. Under a firm hand, it went where I pointed it within six inches and the drum brakes worked better than I expected. 12V electrics were also up to Honda Benly standards, which having owned a CZ 175 that continuously blew its bulbs was another pleasant surprise.
The ungrateful wife and kid looked white faced and all shook up after the first ride. At one point I forgot that the chair was poking out and almost took off the side of a car. The desperate twitch on the bars had the whole chassis trembling for a couple of hundred yards afterwards. The kid was a Sega addict, rushed up to his bedroom after that massive dose of reality and the wife went into a harangue along the lines that I should buy a suit and get a proper job.
I went off in a huff, riding the Neval through the gears like it was a nifty fifty. It didn't take long for the brass band's worth of rattles and knocks to make me back off. That, and all the bloody traffic. Riding a solo machine (alright, a bloody pushbike if you must know) I hadn't been really aware of how the traffic density had increased over the past two years. On the Neval it was all too obvious. Not only was it as wide as a small car, it accelerated slower, too! This was October, meaning I had to sit in traffic jams for hours, freezing to death. After a couple of hours of that nonsense I was happy to get back home, however sullen my dependants.
I had the choice of taking the chair off to enjoy the experience all on my own or cajoling the wife and kids into the thing for the odd outing. I would've preferred the former but as the wife had come up with the dosh there was no way I could justify that. I wasn't supposed to be wasting money by enjoying myself.
The next day was very sunny, so after wrapping them up in several layers of clothes it was off to Scarborough for the day, about fifty miles away. The Neval has lots of low speed torque which is good because the gearbox was worse than your most devastating nightmares of riding an old BMW boxer. Chuck it into top and use the throttle to motor.
Almost laid back and relaxed, with its vintage feel. When I became bored out of my mind with cruising along at 50mph I imagined myself a Russian soldier on the lookout for terrorists, firing streamers at cars which occasionally got in the way. There are still a lot of horrible old British Leyland cars cruising around up north. Whilst it was sunny, as we closed in on the coast a howling gale poured forth. It didn't affect the Neval but all three of us were shaking so much we couldn't hold the steaming mugs of tea when we finally pulled into a deserted Scarborough.
Coming home we cruised at 70mph, but only because of the snow blizzard that was to our backs. I had to laugh, at home, our kid was sitting in snow up to his chest. He'd have set solid if we left him there overnight. He spent the next month in bed with pneumonia and the wife threatened to report me to the dreaded social workers if I didn't shape up.
With ice on the roads, the Neval proved rather more trustworthy than a solo machine. The art of sliding combo's is a difficult one to perfect and I ended up in people's gardens a few times. Cry? No way, the Neval was an incredibly tough machine that demolished everything in sight and could be reversed back out before anyone had a chance to beat the shit out of me, though as an ex-miner they wouldn't have much of a chance of succeeding.
An old fairing was hammered on to the front, adding even more weight to the old truck but I couldn't find any difference in performance. The cylinders sticking so far out meant a large gust of hot air was thrown back on to my legs and feet, the shape of the fairing funnelling even more warmth over my body whilst also keeping the cold off. Neat! The Neval combo turned out to be the best winter bike I'd ever owned! I soon realised that the way to overtake was just to pull the bugger out into the road and charge forwards. Cars driver gawped at this unlikely apparition, began to panic as it became evident I wasn't going to slow down and then they swerved out of the way. I knew the thing would shrug off any crash damage and in the unlikely event that something was actually bent I could always pick up a replacement for next to nowt from the breakers.
Come the spring, with time doing its usual trick on their memories, it was time to play happy families again. The dog really liked sitting in the chair, massive head slung over the screen. There was hardly any room for the kid but he didn't seem to mind as I'd wired his computer on to the Neval's battery. The mutt was a cross-breed that had a wolf head and Great Dane body. I'd trained him to bark at Suits, which was hilarious in town as he'd lean out of the car and growl in the face of upright citizens, as if appearing from nowhere. They usually shat themselves. The wife was not amused.
Anyway, we clattered through the landscape for a couple of hours until we came to the Dales and found somewhere to put the tent up. No toilets or showers and the only running water was a stream about four hundred yards away. The wife and I used to do this all the time when we were teenagers. I thought it was great to get away from it all, the dog bounded around in a frenzy, trying to kill wild animals and bite through tree trunks, but the wife and kid mooched around, complaining about the lack of facilities. The night was worse, as they were worried about all the natural noises, but I reassured them that the dog would protect us.
The next day they'd had enough, we headed for a proper campsite with bingo, TV and video games. The Neval didn't like this idea at all, feeling like the fuel was running out. There was plenty in the tank but just a trickle coming out of the pipe. There was about an inch of crud in the bottom of the tank. The motor was still missing even after I'd cleaned that out, so I cleaned the points for the first time and it cleared up nicely. I hadn't done any maintenance as such, just adding oil as it leaked or burnt off. The couple of hours that it took to sort this out were not appreciated, even the dog was becoming restless, reducing the spare tyre to shards of rubber! I whacked him with a tyre iron but he didn't seem to notice.
Once on the move we were in a better mood. Rather like a Beemer, once you became used to the noise, it was quite a relaxing beast to trundle through the countryside. I usually arrived in good spirits, anyway. Having painted out the Neval name I could always convince the mass of people who congregated around the machine that it was some incredibly rare vintage cycle. One old duffer was convinced it was a Douglas. When we turned up at the campsite the usual crowd gathered round, one of the sharper eyed wondering if the crack in the cement mixer, er, gearbox, was part of the design.
No, it f..king wasn't, neither was an almost complete absence of oil. Wonderful stuff Plastic Metal. Left it to set overnight whilst I got drunk out of my head - the wife suggested I leap up and down on the dog, as she was having nothing to do with me in that state. The next day I could barely see, let alone pilot the Neval home. But we're made of stern stuff up here, and despite the devilish racket we were soon back on the road. Deserted country lanes, swooping up and down, got the blood flowing again.
About five miles from home the engine started creaking. A very strange sensation. Two miles further down the road the mill seized solid. All three of us pushing was all part of family bonding. I think! No, the gearbox hadn't seized solid the crankshaft had broken at 46000 miles!
J.L.Wyman