an Ish from 1954

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Of course we could make the diagnosis ourselves. You're not going out without a multimeter, are you? The Ish 350 cc from 1954 had a lot of dynamo. That was clear. And such a messy six-volt battery, you drove that empty. The Ish was towed back a few kilometers to the terraces on the outskirts of Cadzand Bad.

That gave some misunderstanding when a hasty motorist wanted to merge between the towing sidecar combination and the Ish, which dangled about fifteen meters behind it on the loose line. The oncoming car was also shocked. Fortunately there was a cycle path next to the road and an endless field next to the cycle path. That was a beautiful cloud of dust behind us. On the terrace we took refreshments against the shock.

The Cadzand Bad boulevard is the ugliest in the world. But on the first terrace on the right before you drive up that monster, they have good bouncers there. And kriek. And it is easy to find for the WegenWacht. We used the WW to have the gloomy red two-wheeler repatriated. The ANWB lady listened to the argument and said she would send a Road Guard. We report that we did not need a Road Guard, but a loading wagon. Because the Ish had a broken dynamo. The lady said the Road Keeper was coming. We concluded that the WegenWacht has a low opinion of the current motorcyclist. First send a roadside assistance to see what is wrong? Pfahh. Nonsense. After all, the dynamo was broken? It was a good wait on the terrace. The Road Guard came, saw the rusty red pastry and stammered: “What is that !?”.

"A 350 Ish 1954!" we howled in unison. “With a broken dynamo”. The Road Guard was younger than the Ish. He checked the matter and diagnosed a faulty alternator. We nodded benevolently. See, he knew it all! The WegenWachter wanted to solve the problem by connecting the battery to the fast charger. "That's not going to work. We don't come along halfway through the tunnel ”. The man was clearly after the six volt era. He sighed: "Then he must be repatriated".

See, there we were where we wanted to be. Later a trailer arrived with an improbably dialect speaking, he says 65-year-old, Zeeland with a huge gray head of hair. He was overjoyed that once again a motorbike got on the cart without plestik. At least you could lash it down nicely. As the fork pulled into the front springs, two jets of fork oil squirted out of the bleed caps on top of the fork. The oil clattered onto the tear plate below. De Zeeuw became completely endeared. He hadn't seen that much oil in ages.

The Ish rider decided not to be repatriated, but to drive back in the sidecar. That required rearrangement of some on-board tools such as the one-and-a-half garage jack. We offered the Zeeland coffee and cake. Went out the transport. Lost en route only the spare tire of the sidecar. Never heard of it again. A pity about such a wheel.

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