September 20th, 2016

Rain in the air this Saturday morning, what else can you expect, this city's prejudiced known for rain and smog. We walk from the hotel through some streets toward the subway station of Gloucester Road. Yesterday had offered a brilliant weather and the strong sun has made ​​my bald head now shifts slightly in the red. Full Friday we had explored London, looked at the Big Ben, London Bridge, walked in Notting Hill, Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, and much, much more. Some pub visits, we had also managed, this could potentially explain that even the nose tended to shift some of the red (or is it the sun). Akesson and I have left our respective left in the UK's capital, their goal for the day is to visit Harrods and taking a trip through the giant Saturday market at Portabello Road. This sounds itself as something that can end in financial disaster, but eh fa'n ... it gives us the opportunity for a trip on your own. We take the yellow Circle line to Westminster switches to gray line and go one station to Waterloo Station. The early morning despite there are plenty of people in the train station waiting room. Most are purposefully up to the ticket machines, buy their tickets efficiently, and just as quickly disappear then out through the barriers to waiting trains. The stands we were a little confused and trying to figure out what line we should take, and how now we must get tickets .... 
Train journey to our final destination takes pretty two hours, after a moment transform the London suburbs, uniformly greyish dilapidated brick ranks against rural. The green fields and the lush, dense vegetation, and stands in sharp contrast to the depressing slums in the suburbs. Here and there, small communities, is still the only brick that apply, but these houses breathes warmth, this appears more often curtains and even sometimes a few flowers in the windows. 
Suddenly it is a familiar name on the platform where the train stopped "Salisbury "here we get off. But since then, how are we in this amount of people find again our hosts for the day? We've never met, all we have is a name on a piece of paper. We go through the lock gates and into the waiting area, see someone out to stand and wait for us ... We continue out through the entrance building's double doors. There are many people to be out at the same time as us, but between the heads I see it, and now there is no doubt about where we should go. 
In the middle of the parking stands, a stately Stanley 740 from the early 20th century, the red body glitter in the sun and the black fenders provide a lovely contrast to the body color clear. I do not think I felt so welcomed and honored at the same time as that moment at Salisbury station. Opposite us in the train compartment, there had been two elderly ladies, they occasionally peeked at us a bit so there stealthily and surely wondered what we were oddballs and what in heaven's name we did in the middle of the English countryside. The ladies came out through the doors while and did not see the smaller marveled at that time we were upphämtande in this eye-catching way. 
Our hosts for the day was father and son Hounslow, dad Peter and his 16 year old son, George, that's George I had contact with and it is also he who arranged the practical around our visit. Her young age, despite George is extremely well versed in all aspects of ångbilar to do and he has already made ​​itself well known in the Steam Car Club of Great Britain. The young George grew up in a family with many ångbilar so he's well, so to speak through their genes have steam in the blood. 
After admiring the car for a moment we step in and sit in the back seat, Peter get behind the wheel with George next . Our first goal is the family Hounslow's home, during the journey there tells Peter that the car was purchased a few years ago and that the previous rolled in Scotland. It has recently changed burners and still have some fine tuning work to do. He also says that the car is basically a Stanley 740B but that it now has a body of a 740A in workmanship for 5 passengers, this is because the car was involved in an accident with a horse .... 
At home with the fam Hounslow we are invited to coffee and then go out photo albums, there is a considerable amount ångbilar in the family and the young George says enthusiastically about the different cars. We also showed pictures of the projects we have been involved in. After coffee, a lot ångbilssnack and a little patting the dog was lit torch in Stanleyn again and Peter headed for "The Radnor Arms" as the local pub called. On the way to lunch at the pub, we were taken on a little tour of the neighborhood, the surroundings gave us some hefty slopes where both the steam engine and boiler had to work a lot. In a previous post, or actually several, I have come in on the topic "howling" or howling whether to translate into Swedish. After replacing burner in your car has this to say the least become a problem ... In connection with strenuous motluten in the hills Stanleyn struggled up the consumed much steam, boiler pressure dropped, the water just so, and the burner showered on for all it was worth. The howling like forehead gave away was mildly annoying, and indeed deafening ... 
It happened a couple of right hilarious things during this tour, we had not been driving long bow a trailing car started honking and flashing their lights, he was persistent and gave not up bow Peter swung to the edge and stopped. The man came rushing but when he came up to the car he exclaimed, "Oh .... Is it a ångbil ... the smoke so I thought the car was on fire. " Thoughtful course, but think how wrong it may be. 
Next lustifikation happened a moment later, Stanleyn started to go worse and the vapor pressure fell even though we went on the plains. The reason was obvious to a couple so seasoned "steamers" as a father and as Hounslow, clogging the vaporiserns jets. As I earlier told you about Erling Stanley EX and my test drive with this, I came in on the same subject, this is probably the most common hassle ångbilar, the liquid propellant, gasoline, kerosene or diesel carbonisation in the evaporator and this slag formed from clogging the jets. Well .. it was just to turn off the road and clean the nozzles. While Peter and George cleans these two "jet nozzles", a passenger bus. The bus was well-type semi sat with passengers each one heading for his goal somewhere in the future, this was something that the driver seemed to completely ignore, he saw only Stanleyn where it stood at the roadside and were reflected in the sun. Up to the door and lots of questions about what kind of car, model year, and much more, he said it was one of the finest cars he had seen. Passengers were nice to sit and wait while he stilled their curiosity. Peter's only comment was that like this it all the time when you're driving a steamer. 
After a peaceful lunch at The Radnor Arms, we went on to a farm owned by George's grandfather. There we look at grandpa's old "Mobile", ie a similar car as we renovated. One can not with the best will in the world to say that this mobile phone is in the best condition, right shabby indeed, but it is after all a Mobile, it's not bad there. A front wheel bearings had given up so right now it stood propped up, but we were nevertheless studying some details that we did not know how they would look. 
Then we studied the car so we were pleased Peter said, "Come and you will see something," behind a rickety storage sports hid a whopping "White", it was gigantic, up to the folded hood was surely two meters, a real giant. But it was the least a real repobjekt, it looked dilapidated out and have probably been there for many years. But such fixer usually in the right hands can be really, really nice. After that it was just to leave the station again for the return trip to London, several kilometers ångbilsåkande had become, we had an amazing nice day, and our group of friends had been extended by a further two people. 
A day to remember with others words. 
// GunnarRain in the air this Saturday morning, what else can you expect, this city's prejudiced known for rain and smog. We walk from the hotel through some streets toward the subway station of Gloucester Road. Yesterday had offered a brilliant weather and the strong sun has made ​​my bald head now shifts slightly in the red. Full Friday we had explored London, looked at the Big Ben, London Bridge, walked in Notting Hill, Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, and much, much more. Some pub visits, we had also managed, this could potentially explain that even the nose tended to shift some of the red (or is it the sun). Akesson and I have left our respective left in the UK's capital, their goal for the day is to visit Harrods and taking a trip through the giant Saturday market at Portabello Road. This sounds itself as something that can end in financial disaster, but eh fa'n ... it gives us the opportunity for a trip on your own. We take the yellow Circle line to Westminster switches to gray line and go one station to Waterloo Station. The early morning despite there are plenty of people in the train station waiting room. Most are purposefully up to the ticket machines, buy their tickets efficiently, and just as quickly disappear then out through the barriers to waiting trains. The stands we were a little confused and trying to figure out what line we should take, and how now we must get tickets .... 
Train journey to our final destination takes pretty two hours, after a moment transform the London suburbs, uniformly greyish dilapidated brick ranks against rural. The green fields and the lush, dense vegetation, and stands in sharp contrast to the depressing slums in the suburbs. Here and there, small communities, is still the only brick that apply, but these houses breathes warmth, this appears more often curtains and even sometimes a few flowers in the windows. 
Suddenly it is a familiar name on the platform where the train stopped "Salisbury "here we get off. But since then, how are we in this amount of people find again our hosts for the day? We've never met, all we have is a name on a piece of paper. We go through the lock gates and into the waiting area, see someone out to stand and wait for us ... We continue out through the entrance building's double doors. There are many people to be out at the same time as us, but between the heads I see it, and now there is no doubt about where we should go. 
In the middle of the parking stands, a stately Stanley 740 from the early 20th century, the red body glitter in the sun and the black fenders provide a lovely contrast to the body color clear. I do not think I felt so welcomed and honored at the same time as that moment at Salisbury station. Opposite us in the train compartment, there had been two elderly ladies, they occasionally peeked at us a bit so there stealthily and surely wondered what we were oddballs and what in heaven's name we did in the middle of the English countryside. The ladies came out through the doors while and did not see the smaller marveled at that time we were upphämtande in this eye-catching way. 
Our hosts for the day was father and son Hounslow, dad Peter and his 16 year old son, George, that's George I had contact with and it is also he who arranged the practical around our visit. Her young age, despite George is extremely well versed in all aspects of ångbilar to do and he has already made ​​itself well known in the Steam Car Club of Great Britain. The young George grew up in a family with many ångbilar so he's well, so to speak through their genes have steam in the blood. 
After admiring the car for a moment we step in and sit in the back seat, Peter get behind the wheel with George next . Our first goal is the family Hounslow's home, during the journey there tells Peter that the car was purchased a few years ago and that the previous rolled in Scotland. It has recently changed burners and still have some fine tuning work to do. He also says that the car is basically a Stanley 740B but that it now has a body of a 740A in workmanship for 5 passengers, this is because the car was involved in an accident with a horse .... 
At home with the fam Hounslow we are invited to coffee and then go out photo albums, there is a considerable amount ångbilar in the family and the young George says enthusiastically about the different cars. We also showed pictures of the projects we have been involved in. After coffee, a lot ångbilssnack and a little patting the dog was lit torch in Stanleyn again and Peter headed for "The Radnor Arms" as the local pub called. On the way to lunch at the pub, we were taken on a little tour of the neighborhood, the surroundings gave us some hefty slopes where both the steam engine and boiler had to work a lot. In a previous post, or actually several, I have come in on the topic "howling" or howling whether to translate into Swedish. After replacing burner in your car has this to say the least become a problem ... In connection with strenuous motluten in the hills Stanleyn struggled up the consumed much steam, boiler pressure dropped, the water just so, and the burner showered on for all it was worth. The howling like forehead gave away was mildly annoying, and indeed deafening ... 
It happened a couple of right hilarious things during this tour, we had not been driving long bow a trailing car started honking and flashing their lights, he was persistent and gave not up bow Peter swung to the edge and stopped. The man came rushing but when he came up to the car he exclaimed, "Oh .... Is it a ångbil ... the smoke so I thought the car was on fire. " Thoughtful course, but think how wrong it may be. 
Next lustifikation happened a moment later, Stanleyn started to go worse and the vapor pressure fell even though we went on the plains. The reason was obvious to a couple so seasoned "steamers" as a father and as Hounslow, clogging the vaporiserns jets. As I earlier told you about Erling Stanley EX and my test drive with this, I came in on the same subject, this is probably the most common hassle ångbilar, the liquid propellant, gasoline, kerosene or diesel carbonisation in the evaporator and this slag formed from clogging the jets. Well .. it was just to turn off the road and clean the nozzles. While Peter and George cleans these two "jet nozzles", a passenger bus. The bus was well-type semi sat with passengers each one heading for his goal somewhere in the future, this was something that the driver seemed to completely ignore, he saw only Stanleyn where it stood at the roadside and were reflected in the sun. Up to the door and lots of questions about what kind of car, model year, and much more, he said it was one of the finest cars he had seen. Passengers were nice to sit and wait while he stilled their curiosity. Peter's only comment was that like this it all the time when you're driving a steamer. 
After a peaceful lunch at The Radnor Arms, we went on to a farm owned by George's grandfather. There we look at grandpa's old "Mobile", ie a similar car as we renovated. One can not with the best will in the world to say that this mobile phone is in the best condition, right shabby indeed, but it is after all a Mobile, it's not bad there. A front wheel bearings had given up so right now it stood propped up, but we were nevertheless studying some details that we did not know how they would look. 
Then we studied the car so we were pleased Peter said, "Come and you will see something," behind a rickety storage sports hid a whopping "White", it was gigantic, up to the folded hood was surely two meters, a real giant. But it was the least a real repobjekt, it looked dilapidated out and have probably been there for many years. But such fixer usually in the right hands can be really, really nice. After that it was just to leave the station again for the return trip to London, several kilometers ångbilsåkande had become, we had an amazing nice day, and our group of friends had been extended by a further two people. 
A day to remember with others words. 
// Gunnar