these things . When The Publisher took him for a ride in his Ural he kept standing up in the chair to salute oncoming traffic . So , it transpired that Rick had no money , but
he was saving hard . So , I volunteered to do a deal where I bought it , kept it for the summer and he took it off my hands when he could . It was a great plan – I ’ d get to ride this thing all a summer with my boy , and then I could give it to Rick . My first fang around the block was interesting , but I discovered two broken spokes in the front wheel . No problem , bang on the spare ( the old front wheel was consigned to lying around awaiting new spokes which were eventually sorted by the next owner several years hence ).
Above : RIP Ricky Havoc Below : Publisher Vege ’ s two-wheel drive Ural , a fearsome pairing ... even when in control
The Dnepr ( Ukranian ) is the single wheel drive variant of the Ural ( Russian ) and was missing features which may have saved it from being quite so crap ( like factory quality control ). The major problems ( ignoring the terrible build quality ) were the single drive wheel and telescopic forks . It also had the chair on the wrong side for NZ , so I guess the passenger was at the most risk . This meant that right turns and corners were particularly fraught . As you braked into the corner , the amount of steering input required was quite a lot , and as the forks compressed the geometry changed . Due to the different inputs involved – one wheel driving , one dragging , fork compression and the doomed rider heaving away at the handlebars ( which being of quality Russian metals , had an alarming tendency to flex ). Having gone over the thing with what I figured were the standard tools for the average Ukrainian , a five-pound hammer and a cold chisel , I decided that it was probably safe ( ish ) to ride on the open road . I intended to set off for a day at the Barry Sheene Memorial , to bask in the glory of my hipster tri-wheel . I made it about 10 kilometres before things started running roughly . Inspection of the left-hand float bowl ( and I had just cleaned both of them out ) showed some murky substance with a passing resemblance to petrol and some other gunge ( highly technical Soviet speak for glorious revolutionary petrol tank flotsam ). I was tipping this mixture on the weeds when I noticed something metal – a main jet – which when re-incorporated into the glorious revolutionary collective that is the KMZ engine and this allowed it to proceed like a capitalist running dog ( i . e . better ). In the meantime , the ‘ Black Dog ’ was visiting Rick again . He never did get to ride the Dnepr . The magnificent bastard checked out and lies just down the road , on the hill at the Whatawhata cemetery . Putting him in this story makes it hard to end , but maybe this is the first of many of his stories that can be told here . I still miss him .
26 KIWI RIDER