Prefabricated emotions

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There classics purchasing (copy)

In very current cars such as the Porsche Cayman and the Ford Mustang there are 'speaker' under the dashboard that should pump the dynamic engine sound into the passenger compartment.

And there is a very old motorcycle brand that puts a lot of energy into it to keep looking just like 60 years ago, but that electronically and technically meanwhile can compete with any other brand as it has for years in terms of price.

Well, there was a fat custom bike that ran so well that the marketers thought that a straight piece of pipe had to be mounted between the cylinder head and the buddy so that the kewle cruiser would still give its rider the desired 'good vibrations'. Is that beautiful or decadent?

And recently, the makers of a new version of a well-known character bike concluded that the new engine management functioned so flawlessly that the electronics specialists had to program a few 'bug' in it to provide the flawless engine running at no load with a few authentic hiccups and hitches. .

Just think: Your Love is a beautiful damsel, a gazelle moving perfectly as in a dance. Because so much perfection in a woman is beyond your comprehension, you kick her a double shin so that she lists and limps a bit afterwards. That's a weird idea? She'll agree with you, and we certainly wouldn't advise anyone to let something magical like a woman fit into our minds through a death-kick. But what about those technical 'solutions' just now? This puts us in the dilemma that modern men make.

It should preferably be rough and adventurous. With the tough feeling of the road users of yesteryear who with their pocket knife just cut a new connecting rod from a found piece of oak and replaced a broken membrane of their Bing carburettors with a condom. By the way, that was a sandwich story. The rubber of such a useful latex is not petrol vapor resistant.

But whether everything used to be more fun in the past? Perhaps when it is experienced with the view from that time. Then the end point is not the purpose of the journey, but the journey is the purpose of the journey. Once a year we do something 'earlier'. The one time from Belgium to the country where they have such bad luck with football. The other time from the endless plains of the Low Countries to, for example, the west side of the Ardennes.

From the Netherlands it went like this the last time: One of us traveled by train to Flanders, because an Adler stranded last year had to return home. Paul's Liberator was totally restored. Ernies Liberator had just had its biennial service, Gerhard's DKW 350 was smoking happily, Ronald's BSA single cylinder had the tires pumped up and all kinds of useful things such as a five-ton garage jack were loaded into the 750 cc side valve sidecar combination.

At the end of the road the clutch cable of the DKW broke. No worries! Replacement was available.

The journey via the Meuse valley was approximately 350 km measured over the various counters. It took us about 10 hours. That included terrace stops, the replacement of a front wheel bearing, the recovery of a lost muffler, the resetting of the ignition of Paul's WLA several times and the replacement of the now mounted external fuel filter, a long conversation with an old lady who remembers our column. from her childhood, solving some clutch problems on the other Harley. Replacing a flat float on the Russian tricycle, fixing an already flat tire and some more such ambiguities.

We were not in a hurry and needed all the necessary repair equipment. Just like before. And once we were at full speed, the K750 humming like a happy and over-fed bumblebee set the pace: thick 70 km / h is enough to get wherever you want to go.

There were only a few drivers who became nervous about it. After every irresponsible catch-up action, the Adler chased them. The Adler was too fast for the company and therefore sometimes had to run out of oil smoke. We just followed the smell of burnt two-stroke oil to find out.

More than ten hours after our departure we sat on a terrace in Couvin, a stone's throw from our hotel in Olloy. Completely satisfied and already half empty for us with the second pint. We are not even the only classic drivers there. The restoration problems were tinkered out of Paul's engine. The engines were cooling down ticking satisfied. Mark their place with an obligatory drop of oil. Santé!

The same ride in a modern car or on a modern motorcycle is done on the highway in three hours. The chances of having to tinker along the way are nil.

And the fun is a lot less.

On the terrace we toast 'old iron and long travel times'.


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