Topic: Greetings! New member; new project!

[Captainkirk]

That's what I'm afraid of....
That's how I ended up with five.
(Two are umm..."projects", including the 550 and the Interceptor.)
The Nighthawk S was a "project" until I rode it!
I'll let ya know on the tire! How much?

Oh man, no charge for the tire.. I have need of the room it and some rims are taking up so you would be doing me a favor.. No rush tho.. Just shoot me a PM if you want it (when ever no rush) and we can meet some place and I can hand it off to you..

.: Scott :.

Sounds good! I'll shoot you a PM....
Ahhhhhh....frustration! Crashing into the Money Wall! We've all been there, right; the Almighty Dollar Bottleneck? Consider me there.
It's coin toss this week; Heads, carb kits and steering head bearings. Tails, motorcycle insurance payment. Looks like tails from here...
So I do what I can. Dug out the wire wheel and sandpaper and ripped into my corroded battery box like a monkey on a cupcake. With any luck I should be able to shoot the paint at work tomorrow, if I don't get too busy. Damn those customers, anyway! They seem to show up at the most inconvenient times!
The brake caliper turned out really nice...you should see it! (Yeah, we should, if you'd post those pix, ya doof....I can almost hear the peanut gallery mumbling in the background).
I am finding myself frustratingly close to seeing the lightning and feeling the thunder....I can almost smell it. Well, patience is a virtue, so they say. I guess that makes me one virtuous dude, then. It's like seeing the gold nuggets in your pan, and then dropping the damn thing, gold and all.

[Zaipai]

Yea, I hear ya.. I have hit the money wall also.. Luckly I don't have that much left so I will do what I can with what I have. Just got insurance today on the bike.. Ah.. however its all progress! And progress is good.

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

Not much to report on the CB....but a little narrative for your amusement relating to some of my other bikes....


A Memorable ride
WTF!!!?
Or something to that effect.
Memorial Day Weekend, 2010.
Yesterday  (Saturday) had been a perfect day. I’d snuck off on Lazzy for a short ride, which ended up morphing into an extended ride. The weather was near perfect…not too hot for leathers (ATGATT!)*, not too windy, with a lazy sky the color of robin’s eggs. Lazzy was humming like a swarm of mosquitoes on a sweltering summer’s eve, purring like a contented kitten, running about as perfect as anyone could hope, for a 25-year-old bike. I milked it for what is was worth; believe me you! Not sure how far I ended up going, but it was damn near close to 100 miles. A superb ride, a great bike. One of those days when you hang on, twist the throttle, and follow the bike. I was not disappointed.
Yesterday.
Yesterday had gone so well, I decided to try my luck again today. I didn’t plan on taking the exact same route, just close to it. Only this time I was gonna let Rex out of the cage. It started out well, really, it did. Today was a bit warmer than yesterday; even with the visor cracked open a tad and all the vents unzipped on my Vanson jacket. (Remember; ATGATT!) I fueled up; Premium, at $3.03 a gallon, as opposed to the Regular I pumped into Lazarus yesterday, at $2.84 a gallon. Oh, well…that’s the price of performance, I suppose!
Rex was running good….make that GREAT….right out of the gate. Tuning spot-on, it was there, in the groove. I headed North, into Wisconsin, as I always do. Sticking to back and side roads, pretty much the same flight path as yesterday. The sun beamed down on me; beads of sweat were forming on my forehead. I hung a left on highway UE off of K and rolled it on.
The stupid things that run through your head…every time I cut left on UE I hear Robert Gordon belting out: “Ooooweee, oooooweee baby, won’t ya let me take you on a… sea cruise!”
I won’t admit in public to bellowing the lyrics inside my helmet today or any other day. I’m not under oath here, ya know! I don’t think I did it today….anyway. And that is in no way or shape a confession, by any means…
So, I roll on the power as I make my left on to UE (Oooowee!), whack it hard,  and the buellosaurus snaps its jaws and stands up with a gutteral snarl…55 before you can say Boo! And it’s all good, and then…..Pop!snort..Fart.. wheeze…
WTF!!!???
Which is where we began, no?
I could feel power bleeding off. I pulled in the clutch….goosed it a few times…R’s were right there. Let out the clutch; power sagged, popping and snorting again. At the risk of sounding repetitious…..WTF!!!???
Now, even a cruise missile takes some time to land after popping through the clouds. I still had quite a bit of speed to bleed off yet, even with the clutch pulled in. Rex gradually coasted to a stop mere yards from the 142 intersection, where I had planned on turning left again and proceed to promptly whacking the throttle. Ironic, isn’t it?
So, here I sit on the side of the road, clutch pulled in, engine idling away like nobody’s business, ease out the clutch, and…..Wugh. Followed by silence.
I pull in the clutch, blip the START button, Rex roars to life. Ease out the clutch…..Wugh. Silence.
Where were we? Ahh, yes….WTF!!!???
Think fast, MacGyver; Not ignition. Can’t be. Runs good with the clutch in. Safety switch? Ahhhh….Sure. Buells have a sordid history of  sidestand safety switch failures. I lean down and pop the two-pin Molex apart; now, what to jump it with?
Now, I must confess at this point, I don’t have a tool with me. Not a one. Not even the ever-present Ken Onion Designs Scallion pocket knife I carry 24/7. Nope; it’s back home on the dresser top. Why? Can’t really say. Only that I need it and don’t have it with me. I search my pockets for some help…..no joy. Wait..there’s a little wound ring-thingie attaching my Mini-Mag Light to my keychain. I unwind the ring-thingie and untwist it to form a rather awkward U-clip….and poke a hole in my finger that immediately begins bleeding profusely…sonofa#$%*!  My attempts to insert said U-clip in the female side of the Molex prove fruitless…Rats!, as Snoopy would say. Several cars whiz by; not even slowing. A couple almost sideswipe me, here on the shoulder of this deserted road. That would Truly Suck.. “Man Found Dead In Ditch”, the headlines would trumpet…. I gotta get this gear off; it’s like 100 degrees in this leather (ATGATT!). I get the gear off….whew! That’s better! Ring-thingie takes up permanent residence among the chirping crickets and frogs in the high grass along the shoulder.
With no Scallion and no tools, I grab the key with the most teeth and start sawing on the safety switch wires. Once I manage to cut through them, I hold the Molex end with two wires in my hand…with no wire strippers to be found, I result to the Leave It To Beaver method….my teeth. Knaw, twist, spit. Repeat. Soon I’m left with a chipped-feeling front tooth and two stripped wires. I twist them together, and plug the Molex back in. Suiting up, (ATGATT!) I fire Rex up. So far, so good. Cars continue to whiz by. Nobody stops, nobody slows. Nobody gives a #$%*; face it! I ease out the clutch; Wugh.
Sigh. Off comes the gear…again.
A Toyota slows and the tinted window hums down. An Oriental guy holding a map leans out and asks; “Are you flom Risconsin?”
Who the hell CARES where I’m from! I think, with masked irritation….No, Illinois…..I’m just about to ask if he has any tools, but the window hums up and he drives away. The ability of humans to offer assistance in times of need is staggering….
Think, MacGyver….Again.
OK: clutch safety switch? I pop the two pin Molex off THAT and curse myself for ditching the Ring-thingie. Ain’t no finding it in the High Chaparral now, baby. Gone is gone. Some little froggie is probably asking his mom right now; “Can I keep it mom? Huh? Puleeeeease…”I pull out the key ring again and find another Ring-thingie. Soon I have another awkward U-clip and manage not to perforate my finger this time, which is good, as the first perf is still leaking profusely. In trying to jumper the molex, I succeed instead in popping the whole pin out of the molex….kewl! I repeat on the other pin, slip the molex in my pocket with my bloody hand, and overlap the rolls of the two spade connectors to complete a makeshift connection. This time I do NOT suit up. (ATGATT!) Oh, shut the hell up, I mumble. Gear lying in the high chaparral in the ditch by the side of the road, I’m about to throw a leg over, when a bike rumbles by. They stop, unlike the fifteen-or-so cars that didn’t even slow down (except for the lost Jap tourist) …..

Need any help?
I explain the situation.
You have help on the way?A tow? Need a cell phone?
Well, no..but I hope this will get it.

A car pulls up behind him…impatient. He’s blocking their way…..Figures.
I’m good, I say, and he waves a reluctant OK and rumbles off. I hope…I add, to myself. Coulda used your tool kit a few minutes ago, I think, running my tongue over the chip in my tooth.
Throw a leg over, Thumb the starter. Rex roars to life. Ease out the clutch…..
Hallelujiah! No Wugh!
I mumble a silent Thank You to the Big Boss Upstairs as I suit up (ATGATT!) and throw a leg over…ease out the clutch, and roll. By God, it rolls this time! Right up to 142.
Turning left, I cautiously roll it on…..then more,  more! Roll it on right up to eighty as Rex bellows out his throaty clarion call, snarling as if nothing had ever been wrong to begin with. (Silly Human!) I whack it hard, like I’d planned on doing in the first place. Stupid safety switches, anyway!
I decide the direct route home is probably the most prudent, at this juncture. After all, I’m still a good 30 miles from home base at best. I glance down at the two connectors sandwiched between the tach housing and handlebars, hanging out in the open breeze, and roll it up to a pleasing, throaty eighty five….stupid safety switches, anyway!

MacGyver; eat your heart out!



*ATGATT….All The Gear, All The Time

[Spikeybike]

geezus ... sounds quite a day 

[Zaipai]

Dude, you were right at my house. We are the last right before EU.. Had you gone right we are just 4 house down from K.. If ever you do that again you have to stop in.. Funny thing is I was out fixing my suspension issues driving between EU and the local bar on K.. I can't believe we did not see each other.. go figure.. I probably heard that Buell of yours tho from my house..

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

EU? I think that's on the WEST side of the Now-Famously-Closed route 45...no? I was on UE...(OOOWEEE...get it?) which is EAST of 45. Are you by that little bar with the dilapidated panel truck in the lot? If so, I ride by there quite a bit; love that long, wind-y hill by the farm with the cows right up by the road. (These are rebel cows....every time I ride by they stop chewing and stare at me and chant their mantra....COWasaki...COWasaki....COWasaki...it creeps me out!) But that was another story in another forum. Sorry. I get carried away!
We will meet up, one of these days! If I'm on the buellosaurus, you'll hear me before you see me! If on the Nighthawk, I might sneak up on ya!

[Zaipai]

EU? I think that's on the WEST side of the Now-Famously-Closed route 45...no? I was on UE...(OOOWEEE...get it?) which is EAST of 45. Are you by that little bar with the dilapidated panel truck in the lot? If so, I ride by there quite a bit; love that long, wind-y hill by the farm with the cows right up by the road. (These are rebel cows....every time I ride by they stop chewing and stare at me and chant their mantra....COWasaki...COWasaki....COWasaki...it creeps me out!) But that was another story in another forum. Sorry. I get carried away!
We will meet up, one of these days! If I'm on the buellosaurus, you'll hear me before you see me! If on the Nighthawk, I might sneak up on ya!

Ah.. you are correct. I am on the west side, right by County EW.. Yes that is the bar I am talking about.. Not sure the old panel truck even runs.. but its just one of the bars around here with a dilapidated car/truck in the parking lot..

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

ROTFLOL!
I can't tell you how many times I rode by that sign and thought...."EWWWW.....? I wonder what's down THAT road?"

[Zaipai]

ROTFLOL!
I can't tell you how many times I rode by that sign and thought...."EWWWW.....? I wonder what's down THAT road?"

lol.. I know I just want to move there so when some one asks where I live I can saw Ewwww.. Its really a straight stretch of road much like K between 45 and 75th (Rte 83) and if you take it to the end you can go left to 75th or right to 45 where it ends.. Well if you get over this way stop by, if my neighbor is home I will have him show you his collection of HD's and his show Model T.. Hows the 550 coming?

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

Getting close! I still need to get carb kits and a battery......then it's vroom vroom time!
 I really, truly HATE spending money and usually put it off s long as I can...especially since I have insurance and license fees for Lazzy coming due by month's end....but, progress will move forward.

[Zaipai]

Luckily you have the other bikes, so no rush on the 550.. However having things on my to do list drives me nuts.. Well keep us posted..

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

"Luckily"??

All depends on how you look at it. It's like having kids...do you view it in the Biblical sense (large family=wealth) or in the Welfare sense (more kids=more mouths to feed)? LOL!
Owning multiple bikes can be a PITA!

[Zaipai]

I suppose so, I really never looked at it that way before. I guess, I will find out. At some point my Suzuki will be done and I can not afford insurance on both. So I will have to make a call.. hum.. Maybe I insure, one for 2 months and then insure the other for 2 months..

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

Threading the Needle Backwards

Yesterday was a wash-out weather-wise, with rain on and off most of the day, and heavy cloud cover. We got a deluge shortly after lunch that left standing water in the ditches, and wet roads…the sort of conditions that make you decide NOT riding sounds like a good idea.
I did manage to sneak in a “quickie” right before sundown Friday….the sun had descended to the point where it no longer resembles a policeman’s 3 million candlepower searchlight in your eyes as you grope about blindly for your driver’s license, but rather, a calm, tangerine orb hanging as if it were floating, just above the horizon…..the kind you can look straight at without going blind. I jumped on Lazarus and took full advantage of the situation, arriving back home as dusk morphed to darkness, bug-splattered and satisfied.
This morning arrived cool, sunny and windy. The Merry Little Breezes had knocked over a pair of hanging flower stands on the deck, and the trees swayed and rustled…not ideal riding weather, I thought. Besides, the wife was at work and had left a Honey Do list as long as your arm (assuming you are not a small child or a Little Person), and woe to he that doth not completeth the list before She Of Queenly Stature arrives home…in Earth Hours, about 2:30 PM CST (14:30 Military). I set about my Manly Tasks, and knocked off the majority in short order.
It was then that my MPD* kicked in. (*Motorcycle Psychological Disorder).
For those of you who are normal, I will explain this.
1) You glance at the clock
2) You judge how much time before She Of Queenly Stature arrives home
3) You divide by how many tasks on “the List” are yet uncompleted, and how much estimated time there would be to complete said tasks
4) Multiply by the minutes this leaves you to ride.
It is, I might mention, irrelevant whether or not you actually complete said tasks…only that you look busy as hell and are hard at work when S.O.Q.S. walks through the door.
By my calculated eye, I had a good hour or more to bust a move. Not wanting to psych myself up unnecessarily, I glanced out the window for a last-minute weather check….
Sunshine.
Billowy Clouds.
Diminished winds.
As I walked out on the deck, I heard Lazzy’s siren call….”Dude. I can’t breathe in here. It’s all stuffy and $hit.”
Now, Cruelty to Motorcycles is one thing I can’t abide….why do you think I have FIVE of the damn things? Every time I see a poor, abused, mistreated motorcycle, I feel like Sarah McLachlan holding one of those cute, cuddly, one-eyed kittens on TV…”please…won’t you help save these poor motorcycles?” (close-up of an abused Nighthawk)
I open the door. Lazzy squints in the bright sunshine. I run the mental calculations again. Check…we’re good. With time to spare. I thumb the starter; Lazzy rumbles and purrs like one of Sarah’s abused little kittens…..
Rex sits there, silently. He knows he’s being punished for last week’s little insurrection. Parts are on order….I know I could probably do just fine, with both safety switches bypassed, but hey….I don’t play that way. It’s like playing Russian Roulette with THREE rounds in the cylinder. Besides; uprisings must be quelled, examples must be made…..sins must be atoned for. Rex is on Time Out. Besides…I’m on a tight schedule here. S.O.Q.S. will be home in a couple hours. No time to waste bickering with Rex. Bad Rex. Bad Buell. Sit.
I close the door, leaving Rex with himself to reflect on his boorish behavior from the previous weekend.
Lazarus has been on his best behavior lately, starting up at the mere hint of the touch of a well-placed thumb, warming up quickly, and purring like a kitten with a saucer of warm milk once he gets there. Today is no exception. I scan the gas gauge; just a smidge over a half-tank. Enough to get me by. But, as any pilot knows, gas in the tank is like money in the bank. I decide to top off on my way out. I snick Lazzy into gear and wend my way out into the street, and out of the neighborhood, stopping at the corner 7-11 for a Unleaded Slurpee.
A quick swipe with the debit card and before you can say Boo! fuel is running out the top of the filler neck and down the sides. Not even five bucks….it’s like having an extra bandolier of ammo.  A minute later I’m on the highway, winding through the gears. This is awesome…cool, breezy, bright blue sky with errant white cotton balls skittering aimlessly across…what a day! I can smell fresh springtime in the air, the fresh crispness of the cool front that has moved in. Lazzy seems to be enjoying it as well, leaning deep into the corners and feeling unusually perky on the throttle. I start out taking my usual route, then arrive at the crossroads of where I usually head north, ultimately going west, then south to east on the return leg. But, I’m feeling rowdy today, and at the last second, cut east. I’ve decided to ride the route in reverse; threading the needle backwards, you could say. Why? Why not? I’ve never seen the run from this side of the road!
It’s different, strange as it may sound! Things seem….well, turned around, if you will. I don’t mean that in a smart-ass way; things really do seem different. At one point, I approach an intersection; common sense tells me I need to make a right turn, but the intersection appears totally unfamiliar from this view. Unsure, I proceed through the light, realize I SHOULD have turned, but keep going straight to see where I’ll end up. This plan gets foiled several miles down the road when the road becomes torn up and grooved by construction and re-paving in progress. Much as I’d like to follow my hunches as to where I think it will lead me, I turn around, not wanting to risk a spill on the rough, grooved pavement. I do a U-turn and head back the way I came, marveling in the beautiful countryside I’ve discovered and vowing to explore this route further when I have more time (and the construction is finished).
Back to threading our needle…I pick up where I should have turned right before, and turn left (as viewed from the opposite direction…..ah, yes; now it looks familiar. Lazzy is performing spectacularly; itching to cut loose. But we’re behind traffic here, and I realize the wisdom in restraint, lean back and enjoy the ride. We blitz on merrily, eventually coming to a four-way stop at the intersection of two country highways. My speed-governing traffic elects to continue straight ahead. Me; I was gonna turn here anyway!
I cut right and roll on the power, looking straight ahead as Lazzy rights himself, I see nothing but black asphalt ribbon, blue sky, and nary a car in sight in either lane. Lazzy ticks through the gears smartly, and I’m in OD before I can even think about it, still screwing on the throttle; sixty, seventy, seventy-five, then I dial in a bit more…eighty…now Lazzy’s soothing purr begins to take on a howling tone as the twin pipes begin to trumpet out their song of freedom. This is Life; this is Liberty, this is the Pursuit of Happiness…..we’re talking HOT pursuit, baby…DAYUMM! Thoughts flash across  my mind like lightning dancing in distant thunderheads; Lazzy, under a tarp in some guy’s garage for seven years; Lazzy; motor’s top end spread out all over my workbench; the bent valves I replaced, the teeny-tiny valve keepers, the lifters I replaced and those that I cleaned and reused. The myriad of valve springs, the cam chain; so small and fragile-looking…..all this, whirring between my legs at eight thousand RPM, with the very distinct possibility of grenading itself into a thousand pieces of schrapnel if I’ve done just ONE thing wrong….
But...I haven’t done one thing wrong. The motor continues to howl mercilessly; seamlessly….like a cheetah in full stride,  Lazzy blazes on, effortlessly; never missing a beat. Most of my rides on Lazzy have been shorter, closer-to-home rides. I save the longer treks for Rex. But, something is happening here, today, between Lazarus and I;  something unexpected, something unexplainable…..bonding, if you will, for lack of a better word.  A trust, a confidence; I’m finding myself becoming endeared to this precise little engineering marvel. And something is happening to Lazzy, as well. With every mile, every twist of the wrist; every lean and roll, he runs better. Tighter. Smoother. And then it happens; on that long, winding ribbon of ebony; we become one.
This is something I’ve only experienced in the past with Rex….(and a couple of cars that come to mind)…I thought it a special bond between one man and one machine that could not be shared with another…..Wrong! Lazzy and I were morphing into a ballet-like choreography; I would think “right” and before I could even feed the input into the bars, Lazzy was leaning right…..a sort of telekinetic Metalspeak between man and machine.
Blips appear on the radar at 12 o’clock, and we end up behind a caravan of four Harley baggers; radios blaring and tiny American flags fluttering in the breeze. We slow and automatically fall into staggered trail position behind them as they belch out their rumbling, laid-back tractor noises; sort of like slowing down your wild mustang to trot along behind a lumbering herd of buffalo. Still, I find it somehow disrespectful to go screeching around them, like flipping off a brother, almost, so I loiter, hang back, and pace myself.
It’s all good…at the next intersection, they bank lazily right, like squadron of B-17’s turning on a downwind leg, thundering out radial engine sounds as if they were sporting real Wright Cyclones. Lazzy snorts with delight as I screw it on again, and listen to him howl.
Finally, I reach the end of the ebony thread and have to turn off onto a smaller, slower thoroughfare; we pass the very spot, where only the weekend before, Rex tried to put me on foot. I wonder for a brief moment if the Ring-thingie still resides in the High Chaparral in the ditch; then toss the thought aside as casually as I’d tossed the Ring-thingie in the ditch and get back to the business at hand…riding. Clouds drift lazily across the bright sun, shading the brilliant blaze of light for a few minutes, then bid their fond farewells, destined for parts unknown. I wonder for a mere second the hour, then discard the thought as quickly as it came….WHO CARES?!! I think…This is what my inner child lives for; to be free, and wild, with the horns of the bull in my hands and the heart of a warrior shrieking out it’s war cry between my knees! I feel a kinship with the Plains warrior of the 1800’s, tearing across the Great Plains at full gallop, wind in his hair, sun in his face, with a spirited stallion under him. Inside my helmet, I let out a war whoop…HOKA HEY!!* then, feeling rather foolish, grin and dig in for another fist-full of throttle. If this were a war pony I’d be digging my heels into it’s flanks and smacking it on the ass with my quirt.
All too soon, South and East begin to look like Home. And then, just that quickly, I’m rolling up the drive, gravel crunching noisily under my tires. I open the garage door and switch off the key…and I’m greeted with silence, save for the ringing in my ears from the combination of howling exhaust and wind inside my helmet, and the echoed cries of the ghosts of a thousand Sioux warriors. Off come the helmet, gloves and jacket, I roll Lazzy into the stable…but not before I stroke the small of his back….as a Plains Indian brave might stroke his favorite war pony. Things are different today, somehow.
Rex eyes me warily as I gently walk my steed into the stable…he can feel the magnetism; the bond. And he doesn’t like it; not one bit! We stare each other down….”Huh..you’re not the only animal in this barn, Hoss”, I say, and glance at my cell phone. Reality snaps back like a slap in the face…Jehosephat! That was calling it close! 2:05…..She Of Queenly Stature will be on her way!
Moments later, as I’m skimming leaves out of the pool (one of the many anointed tasks on The List) I hear The Queen arrive…
“Hi, Hon”…..she says…”whatcha doin?” Ahh, just skimming leaves, I reply. “Were you home all day? Everything looks…kind of a mess.” She questions.
Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I went out for a quick ride, is all. I got everything on your list done, I add…. (like the child in the classroom who drives home the issue that he did ALL the homework!) “OK”, says She Of Queenly Stature, and then; “I’ll start dinner soon”. A sly grin steals up one side of my face as I eye the garage and wink…and whisper; Hoka Hey!

* Hoka Hey!…..Lakota Sioux war cry, meaning “It’s a good day to fight”, or words to that effect; in other words, the battle cry of a fearless warrior

[Zaipai]

Oh smokes, that is some book you wrote there.. However its a life lesson for all us bike riders..

Thanks!

.: Scott :.

[Spikeybike]

that was quite a read ...i love your writing style   

i've done the same things as well .. out in the garage watching the clock (and the driveway)  .. tryin ta get #$%* done before the "boss" comes home 

[Captainkirk]

that was quite a read ...i love your writing style 

I guess I'm sorta partial to it, myself...

[Captainkirk]

The Shoemaker’s Children.
They go barefoot, or so the saying goes. And so it goes for the bikebuilder’s children. Case in point; I’m in the middle of two project bikes; my CB550 Four and my VF750F Interceptor. While I’m (conveniently) storing the Interceptor at work, the CB550 is here in the garage being restored, and has apparently claimed squatter’s rights on my beloved Handy Lift, putting himself, effectively, up on a pedestal (so to speak). Fortunately, I’ve managed not to incapacitate said squatter for more than a few days at a time. This is probably good, as we will soon find out.
See, I needed to replace this clutch switch on the buellosaurus. Well, not that I needed the lift for that, ‘zactly; in fact,  I did that particular dirty deed on the concrete, with inadequate lighting, being flanked by two other motorcycles on either side of me; like being stuck in a small elevator in between two fat men. Unpleasant, but workable.
It was, however, during the rough-and-tumble of installing the switch, that I happened to notice (fluorescent trouble light in hand) that Rex was, well…..filthy! Disgustingly so. This was my showpiece; my crown jewel! How did I let it become this bug-splattered, road-filmed, dust weevil sitting here? My head pivoted slowly toward the Ivory Tower formerly known as the Handy Lift, and I could feel Rex’s Cyclops eyeball, and those of Lazzy and the Li’l Banshee follow suit, like the glaring gaze of a jury returned from deliberations with a hanging on their minds…..
I heard Rex utter towards the lift, (low and monotone with the Austrian accent), like Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator (to the hapless guy in the vehicle)….”Get…Out”.
I was sensing a little hostility here. Thinking it might be in the best interest for all involved for the little 550 to take a smoke break, I lowered the Ivory Tower and wheeled the 550 off. I knew what was coming next…and it involved firearms and somebody named Sarah Connor. Hey..not in MY garage!
Like the peppy little barber in the corner hair emporium, I quipped; “Who’s first?”
I needn’t have asked, really. The buellosaurus bullied his way to the front of the line and hopped up in the …ummm…chair.
“What’ll it be bub? Shave and a haircut?” I cracked….
Arnold spoke up again…..”Your clothes…give them to me…NOW.”
This guy was not effing around.
Not wanting to be butt-naked in the garage, I quickly changed the subject….
“Nice night for a……wax?”
Rex eyed the rag in my hand. “Wash day….nussing clean.”
“So what’s yer pleasure, mac? Lube job? Wash, wax, oil change?”
Arnold snapped, “Everysing”
Right-O. Comin’ right up!
Well, I lied a bit, as I had no filter and only one spare quart of oil. So I turned up the classic rock, raised up the barber chair and went to work., cutting trimming and shaving. Well, not really. But something to that effect. Cleaning, polishing, and waxing is closer to the truth.
Now this was about 10:00 pm on a Friday night. Next thing you know, I’m lowering the lift back down to floor-level, and it’s 1:30 am on Saturday morning. Rex swaggers off the lift looking a whole lot more now like Fonzie (Heeeeeyyyy!) with a fresh haircut, than the Terminator. In fact, his whole attitude has changed.
Fonzie leans up against the jukebox, kicks it at the base, and “Rock Around The Clock” comes belting out; Bill Haley and His Comets singing for their lives…..
“One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock rock…four o’clock, five o’clock, six o’clock rock…seven o’clock, eight o’clock, nine o’clock rock…we’re gonna ROCK AROUND THE CLOCK TONIGHT…..”
I always wondered if his watch was like, broken, or something. Mine went to twelve. (As opposed to the Spinal Tap watch, which only goes to eleven.) Fonzie kicks the pop machine and a dewy, ice-cold bottle of Coca Cola drops out.
“Outta the way, Hot Stuff”….I jostle The Fonze out of the way (Heeeeeyyyy!)and holler “NEXT!”
Lazarus wastes not a minute. He fairly leaps up into the chair and up we go. “You’re gonna have to sit tight, cowboy”, I mumble. “It’s a quarter to two in the morning. Lights out; see ya tomorrow…..”  He reacts rather badly….Hey, man what the…?
His indignation is cut short by the deafening silence as I push the radio button “OFF”, and the classic rock goes the way of the dodo bird.  A second later, as I trip the light switch “OFF” with a loud snap. The fluorescents over the lift ebb slowly to black, giving off that unearthly, sort-of radioactive glow, and as I turn the lock home on the door and prepare to close it, I hear The Fonze noisily slurping away at his dewy Ice Cold Coca Cola…..
“G’night kids”……and to Fonzie; “share; you gluttonous pig!”
HEEEEEYYYY!
I close the door.
The next night I pick up where I left off, boosting the rear end up in the air with my Lockhart-Phillips swingarm stand (seeing as how Lazzy has no center stand) so I can spin and clean the rear wheel. This seems a good place to start. But before I do, I survey the damages……and I am appalled! If Rex was dirty, this thing is…well, let’s just say I feel like a social worker who’s just discovered welts, bruises, and cigarette burns on a child. I glance around furtively, expecting DCFS to be pounding on my garage door in the next few moments…
I feel I owe Lazzy an apology. “Dude, I’m sorry I let you get like this”, I mumble, to no one in particular.
No one in particular answers.
This is the whole problem with the “rat bike” concept. You’re supposed to ride it hard and put it away wet, like a common stable horse. When the bike in question becomes a family member, well…Houston, we have a problem.
Out comes the Flitz, Armor All, Clear View, wax, and a myriad of other cleaners and polishes. I’m determined to make amends.
I start with the now-elevated rear wheel. ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!! I must have never cleaned this thing properly from the get-go! I know I did, but I can’t believe my eyes. I try to work around the rear drum lever, but it’s too cumbersome. Screw it..I’ll take it off. Soon, lever, bolt, pointer spring and adjuster nut are spread out on the lift table. Jumpin’ Jehosephat! What a pig mess!
I dig in with cleaners and waxes. The chromed lever gets the once-over with Flitz, and the barrel pivot and pointer head for the wire wheel on the bench grinder, and then get the Flitz treatment. I remove a thick layer of grime from the drum housing and apply a quick coat of wax to the black enamel…there. Much better!  I reassemble the brake and do a quick seat-of-the-pants adjustment, and move in for the kill on the rear wheel

[traveler]

Hey.....shoot a few pics of the 550 now, so I can see how she looks!

Thanks,

My 550 still had all the torque yellow paint and I cafe'd it anyway......wouldn't do that again, but what's done is done.

~Joe

[Zaipai]

Yes lets see the 550, I would also like pic's of the other 2 bikes.. Heck of a story you spin there Mr...

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

Good news....I have some pix. Will try to get them posted soon....

[Zaipai]

You where correct, those were some impressive tracks left by some one. The cow crap in the road is not too bad now.. Guess traffic (what little there is) wore it down some. However my wife and I managed a nice run.. She likes the bike and the ride, does not like what it does to her hair..lol

.: Scott :.

[Captainkirk]

Friday night…a full week later….and I finally feel like I’m close to being finished. It’s been quite a week; I’ve stuffed rags in places that haven’t seen daylight since Soichiro Honda slapped this thing on it’s ass. I’ve cleaned and wiped and polished in places an earwig wouldn’t crawl. I’ve cut rags into long strips, loaded them with Flitz, and see-sawed my way up and down and around every coil of the shock springs, and the shock bodies themselves. I’ve preened and polished bolts that have never been removed, and removed some pieces to polish that never SHOULD be removed. I even dropped the windscreen fairing down on it’s pivoting hinge and polished the windshield and instrument cluster! Worse than that; I waxed (WAXED!) every exposed square inch of frame. It looks OK for a 25-year old bike. Even better, for a 25-year old, $250.00 bike. Better yet, still, for a lifeless corpse left to rot in someone’s garage-tomb. There’s not much I can do with dingy, chipped decals or poor paint other than wax it, but for a rat bike, it looks pretty damn good. If I do say so myself…
This bike looks all eighties…like the singer in an eighties Big Hair band. I think about Rex’s “Terminator” rant the other night and chuckle to myself….hell, this bike was probably rolling off the assembly line while they were filming that movie! And Rex wasn’t even a twinkle in Erik Buell’s eyes back in ’85…..but time marches forward, and we with it. All we can do is try to preserve these machines as best we can, and keep riding ‘em. Riding, wrenching, cleaning, polishing. I’m often asked why I don’t have a new bike; like a CBR, or perhaps an R1 or R6…..
It’s all part of the game, baby.
Back in the day, when these machines were rolling off the line, I lusted after them. Hell, I lusted after any motorcycle! I would’ve taken a Moped, as a kid. And when I finally got my first bike at 15, a wrecked CL350, I rebuilt it from the frame up. Literally. The frame was bent, and had to be replaced, along with both fork tubes. Looked damn good, too when I finished (with a little help from Dad, who shot the Candy Apple paint on the tank and covers!) and was the beginning of a long and torrid love affair with motorcycles. I rode the snot out of that bike on the trails near my house, and obsessed between riding and cleaning up after riding…maybe that’s where it comes from…..and realized that the Beatles were right; the love you take is equal to the love you make. The attention you lavish on your machine comes back to you, in some strange way. I can’t explain…so I won’t try. Either you get me, or you don’t.
Now, all this is lost on my little brother, who has mummified bugs spread-eagled on his windscreen that were last airborne when Saddam Hussein was still running about, terrorizing the Kurds. (I wouldn’t doubt, that if you looked hard enough, you might find a bit of volcanic ash left over from the Mount St. Helen’s eruption.) Well, OK, maybe I exaggerate a wee bit, but you get the idea…..It was this fact, I believe, that allowed me to score the Li’l Banshee (Seca 550) from him for the modest sum of $550.00 after he purchased his Buell. It had sat, forlorn and neglected, in the back of his garage for several years; a layer of dirt and cobwebs adorned it, like the trappings on a gearhead’s Christmas tree, rust sprinkled about randomly like tinsel on the headers.  Homeless mice had made the airbox their proverbial cardboard box in the alley; the filter their bedding, leaving piles of droppings as a Thank You for services rendered, or perhaps, a tip. The polished rim strips of the cast wheel were covered in dirt and grease, so much that at first I didn’t realize they were polished aluminum, as they matched the hue of the black hub and spokes.
After trundling the carb bank home under my arm for a thorough cleaning and rebuild, I spent several weekend days at his house getting things workable; Lo and Behold, after installing a new battery, draining the gas and hanging a new filter in the airbox to match my fresh carbs, she hesitantly torched off and after hacking up a hairball or two, settled into a smooth, albeit high, idle….and after a brief warm-up,  I took her around the block a few times. Enough so, to give me the confidence needed to run down to the DMV and fork over the hard-earned dough to purchase license, title transfer, and plates for the thing. The very next weekend, I rode it home, all of 17 miles, but it was exhilarating and thrilling nonetheless; a rebirth of sorts, after a long lay-off. I’d sold my 350 some years earlier and hadn’t been in the saddle for a very long time…probably a decade or more.
Once home, I reverted quickly back to old habits, kicked it up on the center stand,  and began the daunting task of cleaning almost twenty years of grease, grime, filth and dirt from this sad refugee. I won’t tell you it was easy. Frankly, it was a #$%*. The header needed to be sandblasted and painted, the wheels, tires, chain; everything….needed a thorough clean, lube and polish. Fluids changed. You name it. It was several weeks before I was ready to hit the road. Little Bro hadn’t seen it since the day I’d ridden it home, so when he pulled up in the driveway on his Cyclone and saw it gleaming in the sun, he looked shocked, surprised, and a bit taken aback …..”Well; whattya think?” I asked proudly…..”I think I sold it to ya too cheap” he mumbled, and I tell you, I’ve not heard a better compliment to this day.

……to be continued……

[Zaipai]

Wow that was a heck of a post there. I do know the feeling. I also get asked that question. My Dad and my little Bro both have new or newer bikes. I just said to my Bro, look, could you imagine me taring down you R6 and doing to it what I did to Penguin? I think not.. Given the cost of the bike, not to mention the complexity of the R6 and its on board computer etc... it just would not make sense, I need a bike I can really spend time working on in the Winter months.. The work would just not be there on a new bike. I just get blank looks from the both of them. I guess they have been in the south too long now and don't remember what its like to be ankle deep in snow and still want to do some thing bike related.. But I digress.. Where are the pictures man.. If you don't stop by at least post some pictures!

A side note, my first experience with a bike was when my Dad brought home an old CL350 in boxes and brought her to life, I was little and I really just remember when he started it flames shot out of the exhaust as he reved the motor, it was pretty cool..

Have a good week!!

.: Scott :.

[greasy j]

you're quite a writer. I thought I was wordy. I love it, but some pics to go with would be nice. less 'Ulysses', more 'graphic novel'.

but I dig James Joyce AND Stan Lee.