Wal Phillips was a racer in the 50's and 60's, and I believe he was involved with speedway, and I suppose like all racers of the day, he was always looking for something to give him the edge. To describe the injector, it is quite simply a tube, with a controlled and variable inlet jet at one end, and a butterfly valve at the other to control the flow of air. Both ends are linked using adjustable connecting rods, which gave you hours of frustrating fun trying to balance the flow of fuel to the rushing intake of air, to get the fuel air mixture correct to give improved volume intake and performance. It was all very simple, but it was a bit of a job to tune properly.
I bought the instrument in 1967 to use on my BSA SS90, (the sporting version of the B 40 350cc) to fit in place of the AMAL monoblock which had a 1 1/8 th. inlet. It proved troublesome to set up on the Beeza, and it went on, and came off, then went on again several times. Despite all of Barry's efforts to get the mixture right, and he has far more patience than me with things like that, the problem was that with the fuel tank filled between about 30% and 80% of its capacity, the vibratery single cylinder BSA ran cleaner, with better performance, and became TURBINE SMOOTH. And I do mean really smooth. Outside these levels of fuel tank filling, the instrument ran exceedingly weak at lower levels of fuel, and extremely rich at the upper capacities. Patience eventually ran out for both Barry and myself and the instrument found its way into a work bench draw in the shed, and there it remained for close on 30 years. Amongst other machines,in the 90's Barry was then running JTO 971 N, a Jawa 634/4, and he decided that it was time for a bit of a refit. The cycle parts were given a respray, (in non standard colours of course), the saddle was converted to a single seat, (never one for sharing) and the engine ports were polished and gently 'breathed upon'. Nothing drastic, you understand. And whether by design or accident, the Wal Phillips fuel injector re-appeared. This machine was used to being modified, as it has sported a 12 volt conversion using a car dynamo mounted behind the cylinders, and driven by a V belt and pully on the timing side crank shaft. (This was the Mk II version, as the Mk I version had been fitted to my 634 combo in 1983.) Back to the injector.. the problems encountered when it was fitted on the BSA were simply eradicated by the fitting of a remote 'match box' float chamber from an AMAL GP carb. Apply this modification, plus Barry's devotion to getting things right, and pretty soon, the Jawa was running beautifully on the injector. The float chamber gave a constant level of fuel for the injector to draw upon, and the mixture could be perfectly balanced.
The Jawa runs better than any other 634 I've ridden, smooth, clean, and bags of power. AS I told you earlier, Barry has just returned to motorcycling on the little Chinese 125. This little bike has lifted his spirits after his recent few years of struggling with his health, and his sights are now set on getting the 634 back on the road, hopefully in the spring or early summer of next year, if we can get his strength improved, When this comes to pass, I will get you a few photgraphs, and a better description of the bike.
All the best for now,
Poland produced the Junak (“Brave Young Man”) 350cc four-stroke unit construction single-cylinder motorcycles from 1956 to 1965. We’d probably pronounce the name as “eunuch”, which obviously doesn’t mean quite the same thing. In that time the Poles produced over 90,000 of these machines. They looked a lot like a 350 Matchless/AJS roadster of the same period. Production ended either because of a Comecon (Communist precursor EU-clone) decision that the Czechs and the East Germans alone would manufacture motorcycles in the satellite states, or because sales had bombed because of high prices. It’s not clear which, and it could have been for both reasons.
Nowadays, though, there are new Junaks on sale. Well, they’re on sale in Poland anyway. There’s a very large range for a company that seems to have reappeared from nowhere. Take a look at http://www.junak.com.pl/. Here’s the top of the range, the tr650: Looks pretty competent, doesn’t it? From the look of the broadly similar sport model on the site, the 650nk, it seems to have a 650cc parallel-twin engine. I presume it’s Chinese, but I don’t know. None of the Korean manufacturers makes a 650 parallel-twin. Not unless someone knows something I don’t. But the 320cc M20 model has an engine that Mick would recognise, even if this one is painted black all over ...The Polish-language site quotes the manufacturer as ALMOT, and they seem to be a Polish company. It would be interesting to find out a bit more about the company and its products.
The inventor of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle, Arthur Davidson, died and went to heaven. At the gates, St. Peter told Arthur, 'Since you've been such a good man and your motorcycles have changed the world, your reward is, you can hang out with anyone you want to in heaven.'
Arthur thought about it for a minute and then said, 'I want to hang out with God.' St. Peter took Arthur to the Throne Room, and introduced him to God.
God recognized Arthur and commented, 'Okay, so you were the one who invented the Harley-Davidson motorcycle?'
Arthur said, 'Yeah, that's me...'
God commented: 'Well, what's the big deal in inventing something that's pretty unstable, makes noise and pollution and can't run without a road?'
Arthur was a bit embarrassed, but finally spoke, 'Excuse me, but aren't you the inventor of woman?'
God said, 'Ah, yes.'
'Well,' said Arthur, 'professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your invention!
Hmmmmm, you may have some good points there,' replied God, 'hold on.'God went to his Celestial supercomputer, typed in a few words and waited for the results. The computer printed out a slip of paper and God read it. 'Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed,' God said to Arthur, 'but according to these numbers, more men are riding my invention than yours'.
This is a beer we’ll probably never encounter in Ireland or the UK. More’s the pity, I say. It’s one of the very best beers I’ve ever tried. I’ve been drinking it over in the Czech Highlands (the "Vysočina") for more years now than I can remember. Well, nine years at least. And I’ve had enough of it in that time to cause me to remember not much of anything ... but never mind!
What is it? Okay, so it’s what the Czechs would call a “světlé pivo”, otherwise a light (-coloured) beer. It comes from the very pleasant town of Pelhřimov, about half-way between Prague and Brno. It’s rated at 12% over there. Now, don’t all immediately rush to book your tickets to Prague on the strength of that last sentence. The Czech beer classification’s based on proof-strength ... or something. The alcohol-by-volume content’s probably about 5%, maybe 5.5% in reality. But the flavour’s so good that the ABV content doesn’t actually matter a lot.
It’s part of the ritual for me, returning to the Vysočina every Autumn (or Fall), grabbing hold of my first half-litre of Poutník and glugging it down as though I were dying of thirst. I mean, it’s always a pleasure to have a Poutník. But believe me, the first one to go down on one’s yearly return to the Bohemian-Moravian Highlands is one to remember.
Describe it? Here’s where I wish I had Editor Mick’s literary ability to sum up a beer. I haven’t got that gift, nor Mick‘s artistic temperament either. So then, what can I say? Poutník has a refreshing taste, an aftertaste that’s very wheaty though almost like a whisky aftertaste in fact, and a flavour overall that has the drinker bellowing for more. As our pal Frank (1300cc Pan European) would say -- "ještě jednou, prosím!“ – or "once more, please!“ And our Frank’s also sunk a load of Poutníks in his time over beyond.
Compared with the other beer that’s readily available in the Vysočina Krušovice, I have to say Poutník comes out on top. Krušovice tastes superficially the same as Poutník, but there’s not so pronounced an aftertaste to speak of. A very good beer is Krušovice, but it doesn’t come across as quite so memorable as Poutník.
I’ve rarely tried a Czech beer that I’ve enjoyed more than Poutník. When you consider that there are loads of really good Czech beers available in Dublin nowadays, and that I’ve tried most of them, well ... if you can find Poutník anywhere locally where you are, go for it!
Pelhřimovský Poutník. Various strengths, some whackingly-strong ones produced for special occasions (Christmas, Easter, other things). Produced by Pivovar Poutník, Pivovarská 856, 393 17 Pelhřimov, kraj Vysočina, Czech Republic.
Twas the night before Christmas, And not until Spring Would a motor be running, not even a Wing. The bikes are all sleeping, they’re covered and warm, Batteries are tended, nylon covers their form.
My bros were all nestled down snug in their beds, While visions of new chrome danced in their heads. And I in my do-rag, bike jacket and boots Out shoveling snow and dreaming of scoots.
Then from the horizon there came such a clatter My shovel I dropped, what could be the matter? Away up the hill, I slogged through the snow Looked up at the sky; where’d all that noise go? Then a throb from the heavens, like straight pipes so hearty Gave summer’s good thoughts, a loud bikers’ party. When what to my wondering eyes should appear? But a Hog Ultra Classic-red trailer in rear! With a little old rider, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than a V-Rod his Ultra came on, And he whistled and shouted and sang out this song; “Now, Springer! Now, Dyna! On Ultra and Softail! Now Vulcan! Now Injun! On Victory and Triumph! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now RIDE away! RIDE away! RIDE away all!”
As small bikes that from the semis do fly, When they meet with the air blast, mount to the sky, So up to the house-top that Ultra it flew. With a trailer of goodies, and ole St. Nick, too. And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The rumble and thunder of pipes that gave proof. I ran in the house, boots thumping around. And in came St. Nick, all bearded and round. Dressed all in black leather, from do-rag to boot His chaps were all tarnished with road grime and soot. A t-bag of goodies he flung on his back And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack. His shades; how they twinkled! His do-rag; how scary! With chains intertwined through skulls that were cherry! His droll little mouth had done many a row, So the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, The smoke had a strange smell; it gave him relief. He had a broad face and a large fat beer belly That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was tattooed and plump, a right jolly old rider, So I offered a cold brew, thought what could be righter? A wink of his eye as he downed that cold beer, Gave me to know I had nothing to fear. He spoke not a word, but went straight to my ride And fixed it with Chrome, Horsepower and Pride. And giving the peace sign with bikers good cheer Strode off to his Ultra rumbling near.
He sprang on the saddle, his gloves on the bars A wheelie he threw; then off towards the stars. I heard him exclaim, as my chest swelled with pride, “MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD RIDE!”
Posted on December 17, 2011 by The Biker Syndrome
This is a story about how two brothers, stole our fathers 1969 Norton Commando, had it restored and then gave it back to him for Christmas. He had no idea.