atomsplitter
Living Legend
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2007
- Messages
- 2,774
- Location
- Keller, TX
- Ride
- 17 T-120 Black, 20 Bobber Black, 98 Trophy 1200
Ralph and I spent weekends at Mark's place diligently being mystified by all the parts that didn't seem to fit anywhere on the bike. We also managed to irritate Mark's wife Nancy with our continued use of their abode's covered porch as a maintenance shed. We decided to maybe do a little humble modification while we sorted the parts into potential landing spots on the frame or in the engine. We thought we ought to de-carbon the cylinder head since it was crusted with years of burned hydro-carbon. So we each spent alternating weekends with some 1000 grit sandpaper and the cylinder head scrubbing off the accumulated crispy oil/gas one micro fine layer at a time. After a month of persistence, a pound of carbon dust and developing some serious carpel tunnel syndrome we discovered metal. This was getting exciting. With the head restored to pristine condition it was time to start reassembly. We discovered there were a few minor pieces missing from the collection of bits and bobs in the boxes that would potentially impact the final functionality of the bike's motor. This first thing we discovered was the engine was missing a piston. Not a major issue unless you consider the bike had only the one cylinder. Without that slug to ride up and down compression and power would be less than optimal. We also found, or failed to actually, the rod bearings, wrist pins, circlips, and a host of other assorted bits that might be needed to actually start and ride the bike. Whereupon Ralph returned to the seller to determine if the few missing odds and ends were available. We ended up purchasing some new rod bearings and piston rings to replace the mangled versions Ralph was handed, otherwise we had enough to complete the project.
With all the parts needed to complete the project we started in earnest into building the bike. It was now early October when the engine was assembled to the point it could actually be started. Persistence and ignorance I have found provide ceaseless opportunities to waste time and prolong a project's completion. Had it not been for my brother Mark providing sagacious wisdom during this engine reconstruction it would have taken us twice as long, since we seemed to routinely put something together only to discover we needed to do something else first and had to undo our first, second and sometimes third attempts at getting something actually accomplished. Experience is a fickle mistress and we had none so she was just a *****.
Getting the engine of our Suzuki TS400 project running was a major milestone. It was October and the desire to go throw some serious rooster tails was at fever pitch. My only apprehension was my limited experience of having never actually thrown a rooster tail and in fact never having gone any faster than maybe 8 mph on a motorcycle. The bike was assembled to the point we could take some test runs, the only problem facing us was the farmers that made all those acres of soft loamy soil surrounding Mark's place were none too keen on us trying to reorganize their terracing by cutting foot peg deep ruts into their fields. Mark not wanting to have irate burly men with heavy machinery reorganize his homestead talked Ralph and I into using the grassy ditch between the two wheat fields directly across from his house as our test route. The fields were about 400 yards across and this drainage ditch wound its way across them and ended at the paved county road about a quarter mile away. The elevation difference between the fields and the county roadway made for a steep incline of about 75 degrees and about 8 feet of it.
Ralph and I checked tire air pressure, chain slack, brake lever pull, rear brake pedal throw, and other sundry items to ensure the first run wouldn't necessitate starting over from scratch. We then flipped a coin to see who got honors on the first test ride. I picked heads and it came up heads, sweet, Ralph got to go first. (Just because you want something desperately doesn't mean you desire to be the first one to the scene of the disaster). I stood on Mark's porch as Ralph swung a leg over the seat and revved the engine a few short bursts. He was taking the first solo ride without any conception of what to expect. That he was doing so protected only by his sense of caution was amazing. Looking back at it I would be willing to bet he would have traded some of his caution for a helmet, gloves, padded riding jacket and boots. Instead he was wearing blue jeans, a tee shirt, canvas boat shoes and glasses. He left his ball cap with Mark so he wouldn't lose it. Ralph paddle walked the bike to the edge of Marks yard and aimed it at the grassy ditch across the gravel road running by Mark's house. With everything ready there was nothing left but to put it in gear and let the clutch out and see what happened.
With all the parts needed to complete the project we started in earnest into building the bike. It was now early October when the engine was assembled to the point it could actually be started. Persistence and ignorance I have found provide ceaseless opportunities to waste time and prolong a project's completion. Had it not been for my brother Mark providing sagacious wisdom during this engine reconstruction it would have taken us twice as long, since we seemed to routinely put something together only to discover we needed to do something else first and had to undo our first, second and sometimes third attempts at getting something actually accomplished. Experience is a fickle mistress and we had none so she was just a *****.
Getting the engine of our Suzuki TS400 project running was a major milestone. It was October and the desire to go throw some serious rooster tails was at fever pitch. My only apprehension was my limited experience of having never actually thrown a rooster tail and in fact never having gone any faster than maybe 8 mph on a motorcycle. The bike was assembled to the point we could take some test runs, the only problem facing us was the farmers that made all those acres of soft loamy soil surrounding Mark's place were none too keen on us trying to reorganize their terracing by cutting foot peg deep ruts into their fields. Mark not wanting to have irate burly men with heavy machinery reorganize his homestead talked Ralph and I into using the grassy ditch between the two wheat fields directly across from his house as our test route. The fields were about 400 yards across and this drainage ditch wound its way across them and ended at the paved county road about a quarter mile away. The elevation difference between the fields and the county roadway made for a steep incline of about 75 degrees and about 8 feet of it.
Ralph and I checked tire air pressure, chain slack, brake lever pull, rear brake pedal throw, and other sundry items to ensure the first run wouldn't necessitate starting over from scratch. We then flipped a coin to see who got honors on the first test ride. I picked heads and it came up heads, sweet, Ralph got to go first. (Just because you want something desperately doesn't mean you desire to be the first one to the scene of the disaster). I stood on Mark's porch as Ralph swung a leg over the seat and revved the engine a few short bursts. He was taking the first solo ride without any conception of what to expect. That he was doing so protected only by his sense of caution was amazing. Looking back at it I would be willing to bet he would have traded some of his caution for a helmet, gloves, padded riding jacket and boots. Instead he was wearing blue jeans, a tee shirt, canvas boat shoes and glasses. He left his ball cap with Mark so he wouldn't lose it. Ralph paddle walked the bike to the edge of Marks yard and aimed it at the grassy ditch across the gravel road running by Mark's house. With everything ready there was nothing left but to put it in gear and let the clutch out and see what happened.
