Still a dry weekend – column

We had almost kept the weekend dry. Only on the terrace of the Seagull we got a little rain. But it wasn't cold and we were dressed fairly waterproof. So while the other terrace-sitters fled inside, we stayed put. The wait staff served the triple portion of bitterballen with those funny paper umbrellas usually used for sorbets or cocktails.

But the weekend was over. We had to go back.

After a kilometer or so we had to go into the berm. Of course we could diagnose ourselves. You don't go out without a multimeter, do you? The 350 Ish 1956 cc had a broken alternator. And such a fiddly six-volt battery, you've run that empty in no time. The Ish was towed a few miles back to the terraces on the outskirts of Cadzand-Bad. That caused 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 traffic was also shocked. Fortunately, there was a bicycle path next to the road and an endless field next to the bicycle path. That was a nice cloud of dust there behind us. On the first terrace on the right we took refreshments against the shock.

The terrace is easy to find for the Wegenwacht.

We GSemmerden the WW to repatriate the fallen two-stroke. The ANWB lady listened to the speech and said to send a Wegenwachter. We reported that we did not need a Road Guard, but a ramp. The lady said the Road Guard was coming. We concluded that the Wegenwacht have a low opinion of the current motorcyclist. Send a roadside assistance first to see what's there? It was a good wait on the terrace. The Road Watchman came, saw the pale blue pastry and stammered: “What is that!?”.

“A 350 Ish 1956!” we roared in unison

“With a broken dynamo.” The Road Keeper was younger than the Ish. He measured the case and diagnosed a faulty alternator. We nodded benevolently. Look, he knew it all! De Wegenwachter wanted to solve the problem by putting the battery on the fast charger. "That's not going to work. We won't come halfway through the tunnel." The man was clearly from after the six-volt era. He sighed: “Then he must be repatriated.”

Later, a drive-up car arrived with an unlikely dialect speaking, 65-year-old Zeeuw with a huge gray head of hair. He was overjoyed that he once again got a motorcycle without plastic on the cart. At least you could tie it down nicely. Pulling the fork into the front springs sprayed two jets of fork oil from the bleeder caps on top of the fork. The oil clattered on the diamond plate below. De Zeeuw became completely endeared. He hadn't seen so much oil in ages. The Ish rider decided not to be repatriated, but to ride back in the sidecar.

We offered the Zeeuw coffee and cake

Waved off the transport. On the payment side of the tunnel we told the cashier that we had already paid on the other side of the tunnel to a man in a cap with a shiny brim. That got her confused. We had to explain to her that we were just joking. On the way home we only lost the spare spare wheel from the sidecar. Never heard of it again. Too bad about such a wheel. But a weekend to get some fresh air on a few classics? That's always a party!

Also read:
- Lake columns
- More stories about classic engines
- IZ, ISH or IZH Planeta