Well, it had to happen. I was obviously enjoying myself way too much. All 120 miles of it. I had just ordered new tires too, so I guess I better fix it. But where to start?
I was putting along at about 55, and it started to sputter, then it simply shut off, so I would have coasted to the side of the road but the bolts fell out of my housing that the clutch cable dissapears into. By the way, this makes it difficult, but not impossible to start the bike or put it in gear. Starting in dirt helps. Yes, where was I in this rant? Oh, I narrowly avoid being a hood ornament of the impatient twat behind me by signaling my intention to park my bike on her hood, in other words, I used my turn signal and flashed by brake light, sputtered to the side of the road (still in gear, remember) and dismount the smoking dragon. Oh yes, smoking. From the general area of the spewing hot oil cover/points cover. Actually, the oil could have been coming from anywhere at that point, as I was backing away anticipating a ball of flame that would level my bike, several feet of pavement and some saplings as well. Hollywood never lies, right?
This didn't happen for two reasons. I hadn't made a sacrifice to the spaghetti monster lately and also I had my lucky roulette chip as a key chain. This is a good time to mention that I don't endorse gambling, only riding ratty motorcycles and working under cars in parking lots using a device known as "the widow maker". This is also a jack found in the trunk of many eighties era Volkswagens. Seem to have gotten off topic again. Sorry, won't happen again.
Right, so no flames, just smoke and oil and the black mirror finish on the points housing. The oval housing that usually only has the points mechanism in it is very, very discolored, and apparently extremely hot. I decide against my instinct to touch it (what is it with things that are hot, we have to see how hot are they), instead I stick my thumb out and first car that comes by is two fellas eager to help out. Odd, I thought at first. Even odder when one of them randomly stops by my house today. I need to reconsider a home alarm. That tail wagging dog in the kennel in the living room just isn't cutting it. So, bike gets pushed to a driveway where I get permission to leave it, and then I hitch a ride home with Ace Ventura and his father. Hilarity ensues. George Burns pulls a pack of cigs out of the glovebox, and starts to light one up, offers one to me. I don't smoke, says Ace Ventura. Did I mention the son looks a bit like Jim Carrey? Yeah, well, he says I don't smoke, which I don't, and then he says "pop, you don't smoke neither". Blast if I can remember what he says but the gist is that he will if he wants to. He takes a few drags and says "ahh, this is shit" and throws it out the window. Despite the fire hazard warnings I have been hearing about, nothing catches fire. I make it home in spite of Ace's excellent driving skills.
Make a long story short (yeah right) I go get the bike with my neighbor, get it home, and fume about it for a bit, till Griff comes over. Misery loves company, you know. We pull the points cover off and nearly puke. Hard to believe there was no flames, because this smelled like someone poured a vat of pig shit on it, ten gallons of kerosene, and then lit it with a wad of burning yak hair. I almost lost my beer. Lunch was too long ago. Well, it's nasty in there like I said, and it has some black goop that may have been the points, or some wiring, or Bakelite, or carpet for all I know. It looked nice and clean in there only a few days prior. This is kind of disappointing, you can imagine. I thought I had just got this thing running okay, then... yak hair and oil fountain.
Still, the bike does still kick over, I gave it a kick to see if the pistons were seized. Then I checked the oil, and according that that metal stick, there isn't any of the new Rotella left in there. Good thing I have the big bottle. I hastily reattached the cover and we went for higher ground. Living room was just upstairs, so that's where we went. I started pricing out SV650's. The better, more intelligent, gardening half says that maybe a SV650 is a bit too much money right now. Well, I hear that Honda Cubs are pretty bang on dependable. Meh, maybe not.
I haven't been back down, but I imagine things haven't improved any overnight.
What are the options? Simply old seals that spewed oil into the points housing, ruining my beer taste for the evening, or something much, much worse? Is this within the realm of a total newb mechanic, or should I just sell it for parts?
Notes on yesterdays ride, even skunk smells better through a motorcycle helmet. Who knew. I am just glad I didn't break down in front of Al Capone's crony bar that was turned into a motorcycle club. You know, they found a tommy gun in one of the walls. Then they killed the sheriff with it. Last part is totally not true. The Al Capone part is rumor also, but I believe it to be true. Ace Ventura told me, and George burns backed him up on it.
Why not. It's been a good year.
I was putting along at about 55, and it started to sputter, then it simply shut off, so I would have coasted to the side of the road but the bolts fell out of my housing that the clutch cable dissapears into. By the way, this makes it difficult, but not impossible to start the bike or put it in gear. Starting in dirt helps. Yes, where was I in this rant? Oh, I narrowly avoid being a hood ornament of the impatient twat behind me by signaling my intention to park my bike on her hood, in other words, I used my turn signal and flashed by brake light, sputtered to the side of the road (still in gear, remember) and dismount the smoking dragon. Oh yes, smoking. From the general area of the spewing hot oil cover/points cover. Actually, the oil could have been coming from anywhere at that point, as I was backing away anticipating a ball of flame that would level my bike, several feet of pavement and some saplings as well. Hollywood never lies, right?
This didn't happen for two reasons. I hadn't made a sacrifice to the spaghetti monster lately and also I had my lucky roulette chip as a key chain. This is a good time to mention that I don't endorse gambling, only riding ratty motorcycles and working under cars in parking lots using a device known as "the widow maker". This is also a jack found in the trunk of many eighties era Volkswagens. Seem to have gotten off topic again. Sorry, won't happen again.
Right, so no flames, just smoke and oil and the black mirror finish on the points housing. The oval housing that usually only has the points mechanism in it is very, very discolored, and apparently extremely hot. I decide against my instinct to touch it (what is it with things that are hot, we have to see how hot are they), instead I stick my thumb out and first car that comes by is two fellas eager to help out. Odd, I thought at first. Even odder when one of them randomly stops by my house today. I need to reconsider a home alarm. That tail wagging dog in the kennel in the living room just isn't cutting it. So, bike gets pushed to a driveway where I get permission to leave it, and then I hitch a ride home with Ace Ventura and his father. Hilarity ensues. George Burns pulls a pack of cigs out of the glovebox, and starts to light one up, offers one to me. I don't smoke, says Ace Ventura. Did I mention the son looks a bit like Jim Carrey? Yeah, well, he says I don't smoke, which I don't, and then he says "pop, you don't smoke neither". Blast if I can remember what he says but the gist is that he will if he wants to. He takes a few drags and says "ahh, this is shit" and throws it out the window. Despite the fire hazard warnings I have been hearing about, nothing catches fire. I make it home in spite of Ace's excellent driving skills.
Make a long story short (yeah right) I go get the bike with my neighbor, get it home, and fume about it for a bit, till Griff comes over. Misery loves company, you know. We pull the points cover off and nearly puke. Hard to believe there was no flames, because this smelled like someone poured a vat of pig shit on it, ten gallons of kerosene, and then lit it with a wad of burning yak hair. I almost lost my beer. Lunch was too long ago. Well, it's nasty in there like I said, and it has some black goop that may have been the points, or some wiring, or Bakelite, or carpet for all I know. It looked nice and clean in there only a few days prior. This is kind of disappointing, you can imagine. I thought I had just got this thing running okay, then... yak hair and oil fountain.
Still, the bike does still kick over, I gave it a kick to see if the pistons were seized. Then I checked the oil, and according that that metal stick, there isn't any of the new Rotella left in there. Good thing I have the big bottle. I hastily reattached the cover and we went for higher ground. Living room was just upstairs, so that's where we went. I started pricing out SV650's. The better, more intelligent, gardening half says that maybe a SV650 is a bit too much money right now. Well, I hear that Honda Cubs are pretty bang on dependable. Meh, maybe not.
I haven't been back down, but I imagine things haven't improved any overnight.
What are the options? Simply old seals that spewed oil into the points housing, ruining my beer taste for the evening, or something much, much worse? Is this within the realm of a total newb mechanic, or should I just sell it for parts?
Notes on yesterdays ride, even skunk smells better through a motorcycle helmet. Who knew. I am just glad I didn't break down in front of Al Capone's crony bar that was turned into a motorcycle club. You know, they found a tommy gun in one of the walls. Then they killed the sheriff with it. Last part is totally not true. The Al Capone part is rumor also, but I believe it to be true. Ace Ventura told me, and George burns backed him up on it.
Why not. It's been a good year.
It also was only running on one cylinder again, miraculously it was the one with the short plug cable. 
