Boris eats a donut!

It all started innocently enough. As the children are away, we thought we would take advantage of the sunshine and Boris's good nature to go for a trip into the Yorkshire Dales.

With levels, tyres and lights checked, we were off, with a vague notion of having a picnic around Malham Tarn, or Kettlewell, and then looping back round via Sedburgh to the Trough of Bowland. A pleasant jaunt up to Slaidburn brought us a little café for coffee.

 

 Upon returning to Boris, there was a large stain of petrol on the tarmac under the right hand carb. An easy fix, float bowl off, jiggle the shut off valve and floats, and put aback together – fixed. Probably just a bit of muck stopping the valve from shutting. All aboard – Wigglesworth, Rathmell, Settle.

 

The Inn at Whitewell, a very old and well regarded inn.

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The school and church at Slaidburn

 

 Time to buy a picnic from a smashing little deli on the main street, pastrami and chutney for me, roast pork and apple for Denise, along with a slice of Bakewell tart, crisps and a couple of bottles of pop. Fuel up, and then off up to Langcliffe, where a very minor, single track with passing places, 1:5 gradient climb took us onto the tops above Settle, toward Arncliffe and Malham. Britain might be crowded, but not up there it isn’t.
















 












 

Down the other side brought us out near Kettlewell, and a picnic by the river.

 Several mallards joined the party, but preferred stagnant puddles to lettuce, and bits of bread from the butties had to be dipped first into the same puddles, before they were tasty enough to eat. Likewise the tomatoes. They never got a look in with the Bakewell tart, mind.

Off again, and up to Aysgarth, and then back across to Hawes, for a coffee. On leaving, a minor miscalculation put me on the Ingleton road, rather than Sedburgh, but no matter, they both lead home eventually. It’s a long, long climb out of Hawes on the Ribblehead Viaduct road toward Ingleton. Still very little traffic, so we plodded up the hills. But not for much longer. Off a bend, at about 30mph, the vibration that is a part of Boris’ character suddenly became much worse. We stopped and looked down, and it was obvious for all to see, that the rubber cush between gearbox and driveshaft, known as a drive donut, was breaking up and shaking side to side. We weren’t in a particularly safe spot, so we moved a short distance further along to a gateway under a stand of trees. Here we could look, and work, in safety. Now by happy coincidence, this wasn’t going to stop our fun, as it just happens that I have been carrying around a new donut in the boot of the sidecar that I bought with the other bits I needed for the oil seal rebuild a couple of weeks ago.












And this is a very unhealthy donut.

And a new one











Jacked up, back wheel out, final drive box off, driveshaft out, donut prised off, new donut helped on with a piece of wood and a large rock. Then I discovered that it now wouldn’t fit back on the gearbox, not enough room. So I prised the donut off again, put it onto the gearbox shaft, then prised the driveshaft end back on, driveshaft on, final drive on, wheel in, clean hands with WD40 and a dock leaf. Several plastic fantastics went past as we played, not very many offered assistance. None at all, actually. But who cares? Boris is a tough old boy , and easy to spanner, so as it was a lovely day, and we had what we needed, forty minutes of spanner twirling got us back on the road. Setttle, Rathmell, Wigglesworth, Tosside, Slaidburn, Dunsop Bridge, Whitewell, stop for a chat with some off-road types, Chipping, Longridge, through Preston and back home. 155 miles.

A cracking day out, cheers Boris.