Captainkirk's Duster project
Part II Chapter 7
A Midsummer Night(hawk)s Dream
(or, I'm not sure if that hurt, hit me again!)
With the motor sitting in limbo, I had just enough time before the weather broke to get myself knee-deep into more trouble. I happened across another motorcycle cheap ..and not running. Did I mention to you that I'm a sucker for bikes? Maybe once or twice? Yeah, I thought so.
Well, among other things, I repair and restore bikes as a sort-of supplemental income, shall we say? A means to justify an end? Well, this peach looked ripe for the pickin'. The price was right, and besides, It runs, said The Previous Owner... it just needs the carbs rebuilt ..and thats why they're off. I started to rebuild them.
Then it doesn't run.
Oh, no, it runs. I heard it run. From the guy I bought it from.
And that was ?
Seven years ago. It ran for a little bit, then just quit . Like it was bad gas or something.
Or Something.
An awkward moment of silence ensued.
So . it doesn't run.
Clearly, I was exhausting this guys patience .
Well, do you want it or not?
Running or not, the price was right. I had come with cash in hand, prepared to haggle, but it was apparent that road was leading nowhere. Lord knows I did not need this motorcycle. Especially since it didn't run. Despite what the guy said. It didn't help matters that the tires were low on air and the front brake was locked. (We ended up having to manhandle and drag the thing up on the trailer like a bawling calf on his way to a branding party.) But we'd driven almost an hour to pick it up and I'd paid for my buddy's gas and dinner, as well. And it had a clear title. An easy grand or more if it was made to run. My buddy quipped, "Well, look at it this way. If it's not worth fixing, you can part it out on eBay and get your money back, plus."
Thanks, pal.
And so that is how the Nighthawk came to snuggle up next to the Buell and the Seca ..and The Duke.
I have this stupid recurring dream that someday, my bike repair biz will finance my car hobby.
The key word here, folks, is stupid.
It hasn't yet. Still, I persist.
Forrest Gump's momma said it best. No, not that box of chocolates crap, the other pearl of wisdom. Stupid is as stupid does.
Yeah, that one.
Or Something turned out to be yet another one of The Captain's Adventures In Motorsports.
Not only did one of the carbs have a broken-off needle screw, missing pieces and such, but I decided it would be prudent to run a compression check.
Prudent, my foot. Bad move.
Number one was great. 190 psi, nobody could throw stones at that! Life is ducky!
Number two was not as good. 150 psi. A forty pound split. Carbon build-up on #1 could account for some of that ..maybe. Life is still OK.
Number four was down to 120. More in line with number two. Not stellar, but it should still run with no problems. And this was a cold compression test, after seven years. I could check it again after I'd run it. Life: can't live with it, can't live... oh, never mind.
But wait, Captain, you're saying. You forgot about number three cylinder.
Oh, did I? Mmmmm, must've forgot to mention it. The fact that number three compression was zero, that is.
Not zero, as in Jeez, thats low, but zero as in Is this friggin' gauge broken?
The gauge was not broken.
Off to work, to grab my leakdown tester. We'd get to the bottom of this!
TDC #3, with 80 pounds cranked in, and the plot thickens. There was still no pressure. I could hear air flowing though, somewhere; like a little nest of cobras playing hide-and-seek somewhere in the pipes.
Bring out the soap bubble solution and hose it down. (They don't tell you about this application in the Dawn commercials!). Nary a bubble to be found leaking back through the intake side of #3, which woulda been my first guess. But ...I could hear air coming through the intake side of #2 ..which was totally bizarre, and made no sense at all. (And I don't mind telling you, was a little bit on the freaky side!) Couldn't be a blown head gasket, because 1-2 were separated from 3-4 with the cam chain tunnel sandwiched in between; two pieces of aluminum rye with a half pound of cam chain salami slathered with 10W40 mustard in between.
I took a pull off my beer and pondered on this anomaly a bit.
I could hear air moving through the exhaust (hence my little nest of peek-a-boo cobras). Even though the 1-2 exhaust header was separate from 3-4 (it was a four-into-two system), there was a small crossover between the two pipes. Could air be traveling out #3 exhaust port, cross over into the other pipe, back up into #2 exhaust port, into the cylinder and out the still-open intake valves? The #2 piston would have to be at BDC with both sets of valves open, as in the BDC overlap stage. A one-in-a-million shot!
But nothing else made any sense. I decided to drop the exhaust and run the leakdown test again.
With #3 on TDC and 80 psi pumping into the chamber, the gauge still read zero. I peered into the exhaust port with my flashlight and was greeted cheerily by a small hurricane blowing gale force winds in my face.
Quick, think . What else could it be that would NOT require pulling the head?
Maybe the valve was stuck in the guide. Or there was carbon under the valve seat holding the valve open. Staking the valve would show me.
For those of you unaware of the term, staking the valve involves putting leakdown pressure in the cylinder at TDC, then using great proficiency and pinpoint precision, wailing on the offending valve with a plastic, rubber or rawhide mallet with all the subtlety of a Vulcan blacksmith.
I chose plastic that night, if you must know.
So, I went about the task of removing the DOHC setup and its many nasty little slippery henchmen known henceforth as rocker arms. (This is a four-valve-per-cylinder motor with more henchmen than Carter's has little pills).
As soon as the valve train was out of the way, I could see a slight, ummmm, irregularity. Like, one of the two exhaust valves hanging open about ¼ inch.
This was not going according to plan.
(Probably the same thoughts Custer had as the Sioux closed in around him.)
Staking the exhaust valve had no effect whatsoever, unless it made it worse. But how can you tell? Its hard to measure a pressure of less than zero!
Flipping the head upside down on the bench, it didn't take a rocket scientist to spot a problem.
The valve was hanging open half an inch! And it was bent.
Now, when I say bent, I'm not talking an eensie weensie, two-ten-thousandths of an inch off center out-of-tolerance.
I'm speaking in eighths of an inch.
Or Something. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Could become the next popular catch phrase, no? Like when you get expelled from school. Uh, mom, I got sent home, or something. Or when you get fired from your job. Uh, Honey, I got the rest of the week off, or something.
Not that I wasn't expecting something like this. Caveat emptor*, and all that. I knew the odds when I bought it. Still, this quick-turn bike might turn into sort of a lazy-eight. And move The Duke farther towards the back burner.
Still, The Duke was a one-way money pit. Entertainment. A hobby. And while the hawk fit the latter two categories, it also was a (potential) income source. Spades trump diamonds. And that's why youre reading about motorcycles tonight instead of Mopars.
* Caveat Emptor ..let the buyer beware (Latin)
Part II Chapter 7
A Midsummer Night(hawk)s Dream
(or, I'm not sure if that hurt, hit me again!)
With the motor sitting in limbo, I had just enough time before the weather broke to get myself knee-deep into more trouble. I happened across another motorcycle cheap ..and not running. Did I mention to you that I'm a sucker for bikes? Maybe once or twice? Yeah, I thought so.
Well, among other things, I repair and restore bikes as a sort-of supplemental income, shall we say? A means to justify an end? Well, this peach looked ripe for the pickin'. The price was right, and besides, It runs, said The Previous Owner... it just needs the carbs rebuilt ..and thats why they're off. I started to rebuild them.
Then it doesn't run.
Oh, no, it runs. I heard it run. From the guy I bought it from.
And that was ?
Seven years ago. It ran for a little bit, then just quit . Like it was bad gas or something.
Or Something.
An awkward moment of silence ensued.
So . it doesn't run.
Clearly, I was exhausting this guys patience .
Well, do you want it or not?
Running or not, the price was right. I had come with cash in hand, prepared to haggle, but it was apparent that road was leading nowhere. Lord knows I did not need this motorcycle. Especially since it didn't run. Despite what the guy said. It didn't help matters that the tires were low on air and the front brake was locked. (We ended up having to manhandle and drag the thing up on the trailer like a bawling calf on his way to a branding party.) But we'd driven almost an hour to pick it up and I'd paid for my buddy's gas and dinner, as well. And it had a clear title. An easy grand or more if it was made to run. My buddy quipped, "Well, look at it this way. If it's not worth fixing, you can part it out on eBay and get your money back, plus."
Thanks, pal.
And so that is how the Nighthawk came to snuggle up next to the Buell and the Seca ..and The Duke.
***
I have this stupid recurring dream that someday, my bike repair biz will finance my car hobby.
The key word here, folks, is stupid.
It hasn't yet. Still, I persist.
Forrest Gump's momma said it best. No, not that box of chocolates crap, the other pearl of wisdom. Stupid is as stupid does.
Yeah, that one.
Or Something turned out to be yet another one of The Captain's Adventures In Motorsports.
Not only did one of the carbs have a broken-off needle screw, missing pieces and such, but I decided it would be prudent to run a compression check.
Prudent, my foot. Bad move.
Number one was great. 190 psi, nobody could throw stones at that! Life is ducky!
Number two was not as good. 150 psi. A forty pound split. Carbon build-up on #1 could account for some of that ..maybe. Life is still OK.
Number four was down to 120. More in line with number two. Not stellar, but it should still run with no problems. And this was a cold compression test, after seven years. I could check it again after I'd run it. Life: can't live with it, can't live... oh, never mind.
But wait, Captain, you're saying. You forgot about number three cylinder.
Oh, did I? Mmmmm, must've forgot to mention it. The fact that number three compression was zero, that is.
Not zero, as in Jeez, thats low, but zero as in Is this friggin' gauge broken?
The gauge was not broken.
Off to work, to grab my leakdown tester. We'd get to the bottom of this!
TDC #3, with 80 pounds cranked in, and the plot thickens. There was still no pressure. I could hear air flowing though, somewhere; like a little nest of cobras playing hide-and-seek somewhere in the pipes.
Bring out the soap bubble solution and hose it down. (They don't tell you about this application in the Dawn commercials!). Nary a bubble to be found leaking back through the intake side of #3, which woulda been my first guess. But ...I could hear air coming through the intake side of #2 ..which was totally bizarre, and made no sense at all. (And I don't mind telling you, was a little bit on the freaky side!) Couldn't be a blown head gasket, because 1-2 were separated from 3-4 with the cam chain tunnel sandwiched in between; two pieces of aluminum rye with a half pound of cam chain salami slathered with 10W40 mustard in between.
I took a pull off my beer and pondered on this anomaly a bit.
I could hear air moving through the exhaust (hence my little nest of peek-a-boo cobras). Even though the 1-2 exhaust header was separate from 3-4 (it was a four-into-two system), there was a small crossover between the two pipes. Could air be traveling out #3 exhaust port, cross over into the other pipe, back up into #2 exhaust port, into the cylinder and out the still-open intake valves? The #2 piston would have to be at BDC with both sets of valves open, as in the BDC overlap stage. A one-in-a-million shot!
But nothing else made any sense. I decided to drop the exhaust and run the leakdown test again.
With #3 on TDC and 80 psi pumping into the chamber, the gauge still read zero. I peered into the exhaust port with my flashlight and was greeted cheerily by a small hurricane blowing gale force winds in my face.
Quick, think . What else could it be that would NOT require pulling the head?
Maybe the valve was stuck in the guide. Or there was carbon under the valve seat holding the valve open. Staking the valve would show me.
For those of you unaware of the term, staking the valve involves putting leakdown pressure in the cylinder at TDC, then using great proficiency and pinpoint precision, wailing on the offending valve with a plastic, rubber or rawhide mallet with all the subtlety of a Vulcan blacksmith.
I chose plastic that night, if you must know.
So, I went about the task of removing the DOHC setup and its many nasty little slippery henchmen known henceforth as rocker arms. (This is a four-valve-per-cylinder motor with more henchmen than Carter's has little pills).
As soon as the valve train was out of the way, I could see a slight, ummmm, irregularity. Like, one of the two exhaust valves hanging open about ¼ inch.
This was not going according to plan.
(Probably the same thoughts Custer had as the Sioux closed in around him.)
Staking the exhaust valve had no effect whatsoever, unless it made it worse. But how can you tell? Its hard to measure a pressure of less than zero!
***
It was readily apparent that, like it or not, the head was coming off. And so, with wrenches flying fast and furious, a few minutes later I opened up the motor like a ripe pineapple.Flipping the head upside down on the bench, it didn't take a rocket scientist to spot a problem.
The valve was hanging open half an inch! And it was bent.
Now, when I say bent, I'm not talking an eensie weensie, two-ten-thousandths of an inch off center out-of-tolerance.
I'm speaking in eighths of an inch.
Or Something. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Could become the next popular catch phrase, no? Like when you get expelled from school. Uh, mom, I got sent home, or something. Or when you get fired from your job. Uh, Honey, I got the rest of the week off, or something.
Not that I wasn't expecting something like this. Caveat emptor*, and all that. I knew the odds when I bought it. Still, this quick-turn bike might turn into sort of a lazy-eight. And move The Duke farther towards the back burner.
Still, The Duke was a one-way money pit. Entertainment. A hobby. And while the hawk fit the latter two categories, it also was a (potential) income source. Spades trump diamonds. And that's why youre reading about motorcycles tonight instead of Mopars.
* Caveat Emptor ..let the buyer beware (Latin)
