Craig wrapped the box end wrench on the edge of his home built work table in frustration. A short string of curse words followed and the once sleeping pair of Labrador retrievers laying behind him scurried into the corner of the garage. They had spent enough time in that shop to know that expletives were often followed by flying screwdrivers and odd motorcycle parts.
Craig regained his composure before any such explosion. He knew his wife was already asleep and if he woke her up with a temper tantrum he would get a good working over from her. She had text him two hours ago telling him to shut it down and come to bed.
“Not tonight”, he thought. “I’m getting this stupid bike started if I have to work ‘til dawn”.
With that commitment, came the return of that nagging doubt about the bike. He had sank $800 into this rag a few months ago when he saw it on Ebay Motors. A 1973 Husky’ CR 250. “A bargain at any price”, his buddy Pete said when Craig called to ask his opinion of the purchase. Blinded by the original seat cover, perfect paint, and fresh tires, Craig missed the leaking fork seals, frame re-welds and ping of a top end that was on it’s last leg. Now after several weeks of late nights and too many dollar bills, Craig just wanted to get the thing running again so he could off load it on the local Craigslist.
The carburetor had been easy enough to clean up and simple tasks of replacing the chain, handlebars and replacing the fluids had all been knocked out the first weekend. Craig found a NOS cylinder head and stock piston and rings at a vintage metal website. “How hard can it be?” Craig said to his wife when the box of parts arrived on his doorstep.
“No more money on the bike, Craig!” his wife mumbled with a finger poke on his chest.
“It was only a couple hundred bucks. The bike will be work $1500 when I get the work done. Hell, Im makin’ money on this deal” Craig asserted.
“No more!”
“Whatever”
“No more!”
Craig had finally nodded in agreement with his lips pursed tight the way he did when he was a kid and his mom had told him to clean up the garage and get rid of all those old bicycles and skateboard parts in her laundry room.
With renewed passion for the golden age of motocross, Craig had torn the old cylinder head off the bike and even chunked the old, dented expansion chamber in the dumpster.
Without his wife getting wise to him, he had a custom race pipe built and delivered to his office.
That was a fateful few weeks ago now. The cylinder went on fine but the custom pipe would not route through the frame the way the stock pipe did. Busted knuckles and disgusted frustrations ensued.
Craig was determined tonight though. He was drinking coffee, not beer. He had put the Ramones on the shop’s CD player instead of the usual Son Volt. He was in for the haul tonight.
“Oh!, It’s so freaking obvious. Shit! Why didn’t I do this the first time?”, he blurted out in a sudden moment of clarity. He had been trying to fit the pipe with the cylinder head at torque. The angle of the pipe just didn’t allow to be fit that way. Once he loosened the head bolts and could move the cylinder a little, the pipe slipped into the boot easily. Now he could just tighten the cylinder down with pipe already in place. Craig laughed at the revelation and his own stupidity at the same time. “Shit, I’m an idiot” he mumbled.
Now the brackets for the pipe all lined up perfect. The once “stupid jackass” that built the expansion chamber was now a “god damned genius” as Craig torqued the last head bolt down to its spec’ed 15lbs. With quick flick of the petcock and a yank at the choke, Craig flipped out the kick starter.
Craig’s wife woke with a start and stared at the ceiling in anger but quickly resolved to a little bit of relief and happiness. She knew that sound very well and could see it in her mind. Craig in the garage surrounded in a beautiful blue smoke, grinning from ear to ear, twisting on the throttle and dreaming again of starting gates and checkered flags.
“What a great bike. What a great freakin bike. I love this thing”, Craig said out loud.
The dogs tails wagged and they barked back at that machine Craig was sitting on.
All was right in the world again. At least until the next Ebay find.
Craig regained his composure before any such explosion. He knew his wife was already asleep and if he woke her up with a temper tantrum he would get a good working over from her. She had text him two hours ago telling him to shut it down and come to bed.
“Not tonight”, he thought. “I’m getting this stupid bike started if I have to work ‘til dawn”.
With that commitment, came the return of that nagging doubt about the bike. He had sank $800 into this rag a few months ago when he saw it on Ebay Motors. A 1973 Husky’ CR 250. “A bargain at any price”, his buddy Pete said when Craig called to ask his opinion of the purchase. Blinded by the original seat cover, perfect paint, and fresh tires, Craig missed the leaking fork seals, frame re-welds and ping of a top end that was on it’s last leg. Now after several weeks of late nights and too many dollar bills, Craig just wanted to get the thing running again so he could off load it on the local Craigslist.
The carburetor had been easy enough to clean up and simple tasks of replacing the chain, handlebars and replacing the fluids had all been knocked out the first weekend. Craig found a NOS cylinder head and stock piston and rings at a vintage metal website. “How hard can it be?” Craig said to his wife when the box of parts arrived on his doorstep.
“No more money on the bike, Craig!” his wife mumbled with a finger poke on his chest.
“It was only a couple hundred bucks. The bike will be work $1500 when I get the work done. Hell, Im makin’ money on this deal” Craig asserted.
“No more!”
“Whatever”
“No more!”
Craig had finally nodded in agreement with his lips pursed tight the way he did when he was a kid and his mom had told him to clean up the garage and get rid of all those old bicycles and skateboard parts in her laundry room.
With renewed passion for the golden age of motocross, Craig had torn the old cylinder head off the bike and even chunked the old, dented expansion chamber in the dumpster.
Without his wife getting wise to him, he had a custom race pipe built and delivered to his office.
That was a fateful few weeks ago now. The cylinder went on fine but the custom pipe would not route through the frame the way the stock pipe did. Busted knuckles and disgusted frustrations ensued.
Craig was determined tonight though. He was drinking coffee, not beer. He had put the Ramones on the shop’s CD player instead of the usual Son Volt. He was in for the haul tonight.
“Oh!, It’s so freaking obvious. Shit! Why didn’t I do this the first time?”, he blurted out in a sudden moment of clarity. He had been trying to fit the pipe with the cylinder head at torque. The angle of the pipe just didn’t allow to be fit that way. Once he loosened the head bolts and could move the cylinder a little, the pipe slipped into the boot easily. Now he could just tighten the cylinder down with pipe already in place. Craig laughed at the revelation and his own stupidity at the same time. “Shit, I’m an idiot” he mumbled.
Now the brackets for the pipe all lined up perfect. The once “stupid jackass” that built the expansion chamber was now a “god damned genius” as Craig torqued the last head bolt down to its spec’ed 15lbs. With quick flick of the petcock and a yank at the choke, Craig flipped out the kick starter.
Craig’s wife woke with a start and stared at the ceiling in anger but quickly resolved to a little bit of relief and happiness. She knew that sound very well and could see it in her mind. Craig in the garage surrounded in a beautiful blue smoke, grinning from ear to ear, twisting on the throttle and dreaming again of starting gates and checkered flags.
“What a great bike. What a great freakin bike. I love this thing”, Craig said out loud.
The dogs tails wagged and they barked back at that machine Craig was sitting on.
All was right in the world again. At least until the next Ebay find.
