Walter

We reached Montreal and discovered a new challenge to be conquered. The Triumph had a blown base gasket, and was pulsing its life blood out with every stroke of its pistons. Apparently this had happened at least a quart earlier, most of which ended up coating the rear tire, or filling the spare helmet hanging off the rear. This was not good. It was Saturday night, and both of us had to be back in Toronto Monday morning.

Jokingly I suggested we use chewing gum. Then I thought wait a minute, what about silicone. All we need is a temporary fix; if not to stop the leak, then at least to slow it down until we get back home. So we purchased high temperature orange silicone at the local store and slathered it around the base of the cylinders. We'd wait an hour or so for it to set, and then test the temporary repair. It would leak, so we added more. We stopped adding when the economy sized tube was empty, crossed our fingers that it would work and called it a night.

The next morning we headed for the highway. As expected, the oil continued to ooze out. But it didn't pour out as it first did. Walter being prudent kept his speed down and more or less stuck to the speed limit. The oil was still coating his rear tire, and I could see it spinning off in a rooster tail behind him. Hopefully the oil was only coating the sidewalls, and nothing more.

Gas stations on the 401 are spaced about fifty miles or so apart. Interestingly, the coffin tank on Walter's chopper provided for a range just short of that. Just as he would approach the exit for the service station, the bike would begin to sputter as the fuel began to run out. Most of the

Posing on the chopper with a chopper. Extra oil stored in helmet.

time he managed to just make it, but when he didn't he had the pleasure of pushing the oil dripping Bonny the remaining few hundred feet, and that was usually up hill. But Walter never once complained or grumbled about his ordeal.

I didn't make it any easier for him as I tended to race from gas station to gas station ahead of him. By the time he arrived at each stop, I would have already had at least a ten minute rest break, and so would only give him enough time to fill up before riding again.

We did make it back home that day, and I'm sure Walter was beat. But he never even hinted that he was. I can honestly say he is one tough individual.

Ironically, the bike stopped leaking just outside of Toronto, and no, it was not out of oil.