Here She Is

Seems as if it was a hundred years ago. When a blog post turned to journaling and finally to therapeutic self-help. You might recall that the piece, whatever its actual genera) I decided to title Two Things. Here it is if you might be interested in its sordid evolution.

Should you be crunched for time (more on that conceit later) I will save you a few precious seconds and jump (via whip cut) to where we stand today, 1432, Sunday, April 14, 2019.

I am a failure. There are other equally incriminating and pathetic failures to which I can (should) confess, but because it is Sunday and I would like to rip off a total de-brief, let’s call failure the category and I the subject. The object (one of the two) is my Honda Shadow VT600.

First the back-story pretextual MacGuffin. In our ‘Two Things’ post, we identified a pair of small, but important items of the master do-to list that positively, absolutely, needed to be the recipients of all the focus, dedication, time, talent and luck we could bring to the table that fine day. The two were: Finish the current video (done) and troubleshoot the Shadow, and then repair. Gas is over $3.30 a gallon now and I am burning almost $200 a month pleading with the Ranger to roll a little (actually a lot) more efficiently. The Shadows (I have two of them) help a lot from about now through the end of September. Not only am I a failure but a warm weather rider as well. Sad but true.

Whip cut to last week when I purchased a battery charger, carburetor re-built kit, some sea foam and went to work. Those of you who have wrenched your own rides know of the metric special-tool patience required to work on Japanese bikes. Experience is also a big plus (where experience = knowledge).

Battery charged, fresh gas in tank after chemical cleanse with the aforementioned sea-foam, I tear off the flaring, dive into the housing and wrestle off the hoses, wires and clamps. I am staring face-to-face with the carb body. An aborted attempt to remove the cap without removing the tank ended with a stripped screw. The visual of me with a hack saw cutting in a new slot where the Phillips X once was, makes me laugh. That was yesterday.

Today is wrap day. All I have to do is reassemble in exactly the same order of disassembly. I am familiar with this process, and although I chose not to video the sequence, I think I have a solid mental picture of what parts go back where and when. Robert Pirsig would not be thrilled with this decision, but would surely understand and possibly empathize. Poor fucker is about to learn an important lesson the hard way. Half Zen wisdom and half motorcycle maintenance.

I get everything back together, including a jury-rigged two-washer custom kluge that holds the forward fairings together at the top of the tank. Even got my left knee into the operation as I had run out of available hands to locate, hold, place, support and screw the non-moving inanimate plastic pieces and parts with tools designed for far more elegant work. Then there was the wind and rain.

I stand beside her hoping, I suppose, for maybe a touch of good karma and luck, a liberal (conservatives don’t believe in it) splattering of moto pixie dust. I reach down, set the throttle reserve valve to open, pull the choke out as far it will go, turn the key to on and stand to see all the console lights glowing as if it was Christmas Eve. I reach across her, slide the kill switch to off and, with a silent prayer, press the start rocker-switch with my right thumb.

Sounds like a chain-saw someone is struggling to start. But there is life. I try it again and then another five or six attempts. It is draining the battery and I might have one try left before another marathon charging session. I try.

She fires. Runs. I am adjusting the choke, and she is, while not exactly purring, firing on both cylinders.

And then the oddest thing happened.

She stops.

Nothing personal. Quits.

Here she is on Craigs List.