QUOLL'S ISLAND ADVENTURE

by spottedquoll

The head office server had been down all day, which meant no emails in or out and no access to some documents I needed to work on. Helga (for those of you not so well informed, an almost 21 year old BMW R65 with an estimated 600,000+ kilometres on her) was sitting packed and waiting in the Batcave at the front of my office. I'd only just gotten Helga packed, serviced and ready to go the afternoon before, as the previous weekend had been spent getting to know the new Quollette in my life and Monday evening was spent in a meeting. There were a few things I really wanted to have a look at but never got around to.

2:30 Wednesday afternoon I thought "Stuff it, let's ride". In with the ear plugs, on with lid, jacket and all the usual and I was off... until about half an hour down the road, just to the south of Newcastle, when it started fucketting down. I managed to squeeze under an underpass with about half a dozen cars already taking up prime real estate.

"I thought the sole purpose of cars was so that you could move about in the rain and not get wet, so get out of my parking spot you fuckers!"

On with the full body condom and off I went again. Helga did seem to be struggling a bit, but as she was still running I pushed on, refilled in Liverpool after battling rainy rush hour traffic, then off to Goulburn.

My original plan had been to stop at Goulburn the night but as I'd left work earlier than anticipated I pushed on to Quollbean through the rain to find "No Vacancy" signs waiting everywhere for me. It was getting dark and drizzly and I was contemplating a picnic shelter somewhere when I finally found a non-full motel. I squelched my way to reception to be told there were no units available but a room in share accommodation which was recently converted from the managers flat.

The room was tiny, the bed was big, a big 4 poster which meant I had to walk sideways just to get around. I slept well.

The following morning my gentle waking was ruined at 6:30 by Lisa sending me a wake up call (there are so many comments to be made there). Eventually I hit the road around 8. Helga seemed to be struggling a little more.

Eventually I got to Jindabyne and topped up. Helga was running very rough. I'd already changed the plugs in Cooma. Only one cylinder was firing, plenty of spark there so I dropped the bowl off the carb, pulled the jets out and cleaned them. Still no result.

I pulled the top off the carb and examined the diaphragm. It was looking a little worn but no holes. Just to be safe I cut up the plastic cover for my tarp and made a new diaphragm.

spottedquoll demonstrates roadside carburettor diaphragm manufacture

Eventually after much stuffing about I got her going and we headed off down the Barry Way. The Barry Way, for the uninitiated, is a lovely bit of dirt road between Jindabyne and Bruthen in Victoria, often very narrow, steep cliffs alongside and gets a little slippery after plenty of rain (which it had). It's also very scenic.

Doesn't it remind you of beards, bugs and Green Ginger Wine?