Track Day Tumble

Mary's off riding the MotoGiro East, and for some reason I decided to stay home. Not like there isn't plenty to do around here. . . right now, though, it's 0900 Saturday morning, I've had a workout, breakfast, and the TT2's newly painted (last weekend) fairing lower is sanded out ready for epoxy and glass, and I'm waiting for the bike shops to open to see if somebody has a replacement Woodcraft handlebar. What I really wanted was for Dee Sommers to have my suit repaired (up in the Mount Washington Valley), and for Eric at Clubhouse Motorsports to have a set of ProGrips and a handlebar. That would be a fun ride (Kancamagus Highway and all!), even on a Saturday.

Guess I'm getting ahead of myself a little. . . 

Last Monday and Tuesday were the first Fishtail Riding School track days of the season. I've been riding with these folks for seven years now, and Mary and I have been holding things down (sometimes literally) in Turn 11 for at least five years as cornerworkers. Everybody on the Fishtail crew loves to ride, the instructors are excellent, the food is great, and NHMS is an amazing track. There were hugs all around on Monday morning, old friends greeting each other after a winter away, new bikes to admire, new paint on old bikes, etc. My baby was finally ready, my having finally learned how to synch carbs last weekend- that's an amazing feeling, watching the liquid columns, turning the adjusters, and listening to the bike hit that rhythm. The fairing lower was all glassed up, new oil dams front and rear, and all recontoured where the exhaust had burned through and I had ground it down in Turn 2. I had finished it off by painting the lower bright green. . . have rattlecan, will tricolore. 

The morning went well, even with Bruce and Susie still in California. The cornerworkers duly waited until the third session to go out. . . and oh, my, was my little TT2 happy to be out there. The new forks are great. . . the old WP USD's are great forks, but I had never bothered to put the time into setting them up, because I knew they were going. The Showas, sprung and valved. . . well, let's just say I no longer have to be ready to have the wind knocked out of me at the Turn 3 pavement transition. Sooo easy to ride. . . and with those Dellorto squirtguns, she's like a whole new bike. But- last year, I had a pretty good idea how fast I was going, because going fast was a real wrestling match. This year, smooth and nice. . . so, of course, I did the classic, stupid, first session after lunch, first lap, feeling good, through 3, over the hill, down into the Bowl, set up for Turn 6, lay it over for the apex cone, what am I doing on the ground? Well, if you're gonna crash, might as well do it in front of the photographer! John Owens (Owens Racing Photos) has gotten some great shots of me over the years, and thankfully held the button down when he saw me hit. I don't have the disk yet, but as soon as I do, I'll post some here. Robby Nigl was the first rider to me, and I'm sooo happy he stood the bike up, twisted the clutch master around the right way, looked it over, and told me to ride her back to the pits. 

Mary had a great day on her RD400, bump/roller starting and all with the new electronic ignition (and looking great in it's new Steve D'Angelo paint job). Tuesday, we both brought our "modern" Ducati's, Mary riding Fugly, her '95 900SS, and I on my "little girl", the '99 SS750ie I raised from the dead a few years ago. 

Well, enough time at the keyboard! Saturday awaits! 

Race Day

In the semi-darkness of our small race trailer, track sounds are muffled. Slowly, carefully, I change from a middle-aged woman in shorts & sandals, tank top & straw hat, into a motorcycle racer; second call for my first race of the day was just a few minutes ago. Slick, black underskins, back protector like an insect's wing case, the comforting, enveloping substance of my leather racing suit and boots. Opening the door of the trailer, I'm hit with a wave of light and sound, nearly blinded by the reflection of the sun on my own white-and-blue armor, my ears scrambling to adjust to the cacophony of race day.

I've left my baby outside, in the sun, since lunchtime, to take advantage of the sun's heat. Not for her the cool and damp of the pit garages, where others' cherished bikes sit as if on display. Her tires are almost too hot to touch now. Excellent. They will give confidence where the others' advise caution.

Breathe. Zip the suit up the front, zip the cuffs. Breathe. Helmet on, buckle and check the strap, then the glasses. Breathe. Gloves on, flex the fingers, straps snug. Breathe. Mary and I exchange smiles as I swing my leg over the bike, and I feel the slight bump as she unhooks the rear stand, and the bike suddenly feels alive under me. Gas on? I've written on the fuel tank. My left hand finds the fuel valves, my right thumb touches the starter, and I'm rewarded with the unmistakeable, otherworldly rumble and snarl of a Ducati with a 2:1 race exhaust. Mary kisses her finger and touches it to my chin bar, looking me in the eyes. Time to go.

Slow, first-gear roll, race trailers to my left, pit garages to my right, barely seeing the smiles and appraising looks of friends and spectators as I move toward the track entrance. This is where it all becomes worthwhile. All the debt, the obsession, the work, the hours and weekend days spent in the shop, just to be here. In this moment, I am fully aware that nobody on earth is luckier than I, in the saddle of an elegant little racebike, riding out into the hot pits of the Loudon road course, one of the most technically demanding tracks in racing, with the green flag just moments away.

Squirtguns!

One of the little issues we knew would have to be changed on the bike were the carbs. It's not like I could mistake it; it seemed there was an endless stream of bearded gentleman passing by my bike in the paddock pointing out things like, "You know, those forks are illegal," and, "Oh, you can't use flatslide carburetors, you're going to have to change those," usually delivered with a sly smile. Every once in a while one of these gentleman would get a little too insistent, and I would round on him, with, "Sir. This is a 1982 Formula 2 racebike. Lectron flatslides became available in 1979. All the cool BMW R90S riders discovered them as the 80's dawned, and ditched their Dellorto squirtguns. The Mikuni flatslide -which these are- is a pretty close copy of the Lectron. While flatslides may be inappropriate for the earlier vintage classes, anyone trying to disallow them for Period IV F1 & F2 merely lacks historical perspective." Whoever I was talking to would suddenly get that unmistakable I-think-I-left-the-kettle-on look and shuffle quickly away. Now, I worked in a BMW shop back for a while in the mid-80's, and I also knew that most of the reason that the BMW riders put Lectrons on their bikes was for the look. An R90S is all beautiful curves, and those flatslides looked like rough square blocks of aluminum tacked on behind those lovely cylinders. It's not like they were any real advantage, and were, by all accounts, a complete bitch to tune. So, by mid-season, I had bought a tired and filthy set of Dellorto PHF36 carbs from Ed Milich for rebuilding. The PHF36 is the traditional Pantah carb, and it has an accelerator pump that will shoot a stream of raw gas about 20 feet across the shop of you snap the throttle with the carb out of the bike. Hence, a squirtgun. It's also endlessly adjustable, and has more tiny parts than a Swiss watch. . . many of them made of rubber, and needing to be replaced, and very, very expensive. And the carbs sat, in their box, on the shelf, for months. In late December, Steve Allen, the proprietor of Bevel Heaven (specializing in all things vintage Ducati), had a sale, but the order had to be in before January 1. The ball wasn't actually dropping when I finally sat down at the computer and forced myself to face the inevitable, but Times Square was already pretty crowded.

So, about $300 worth of tiny rubber and brass parts arrived in a small envelope a few days later, and I got to work on the old carbs I had bought. Carefully, carefully, disassemble, label, describe, bag, arrange, file. . . because nothing, nothing can help you if you forget which tiny screw, which miniscule o-ring goes where, and they're all different. And all the new parts come jumbled (from Dellorto) in a little sealed bag, no list, no diagram, no description. Dip the old metal parts in the carburetor cleaner, scrub away with the old toothbrushes you've been faithfully collecting. Clean them all with hot, soapy water, carefully rinse, and even more carefully, blow them dry with compressed air. . . and if one tiny bit blows out of your hand, well, there goes another $20 or so.

At last, the carbs were done and clean (see the before and after above!). When we were over at Bruce's cutting down the brake caliper pistons, he scribbled the proper jetting on the side of the box I'd carried the calipers in, and I duly ordered another $100 or so in jets and other oddments from Steve. Everything was assembled: carbs, new cables (Motion Pro, custom made for Steve), and a new Tomaselli Daytona 1/4 turn throttle. Put it all together, put it on the bike, all ready to go, and- what? Why won't the slides close? I took the carbs back apart. I took the throttle apart. I put them all back together. 4mm shy. A week of terse (and tense) emails passed between Steve and I. I like Steve a lot. We've done a fair bit of business together, and he's got great stuff. But I was crazed. Everything was put together perfectly, and it just wouldn't fit. "What's up with this throttle- why does it take up so much cable at rest?" I checked everything, and sent Steve all the measurements- and everything measured correctly. We were both exasperated. Steve said, "Box it all up. Send it to me." Off it went. A few days later, the phone rang. Steve was laughing. The cable-end sockets in the throttle casting weren't drilled to the proper depth at the factory. Now, be serious! This was the only solution I had been able to come up with, the only thing that made any sense at all, but it was still nonsense. Before Steve had called me, he had drilled the sockets out to the proper depth, checked the carbs over (I'll get at least another season out of the slides, thankfully!), set the throttle stop, and gotten them packed and ready to send. Probably went out today, and hopefully, I'll see them for the weekend.

In the end, I spent more buying a tired old pair of carbs and rebuilding them than I would have paid for brand-new ones, but, unlike a lot of racers, if something goes wrong in my fuel system during a race day, I'm the one I need!

Innocence

Working on the last post, "Rip Van Lockwire", looking through my files for the pic I had just uploaded from the camera, I came across the pic at left. It's my little TT2, of course, but a lot seems to be missing. Other than the obvious, like the bodywork and fuel tank, let's see. . . no cam belt tensioners (the bearings were crunchy), no rear brake reservoir, no rear shock (although the stock rear shock on many Ducatis bears a lot of resemblance to the custom job seen here). There's still street-bike switchgear on the left handlebar. What you can't see is that there's no rear brake setup at all, no caliper, hanger, or brake stay. No race tires. No catch bottles for fluids. No lockwiring. The reason this photo caught my eye, however, was the date stamp: 2008_05_10. Saturday, May 10th, 2008. My first race ever was Saturday, May 17th, 2008, seven days later. The evening before, I had been over at Bruce's, and he had helped me adapt a modern 4.5" Ducati wheel to replace the 5.5" Buell wheel that someone had grafted on. . . it made the bike nearly impossible to turn, and besides, the bearings were bound up and the wheel was turning on the aluminum bushings that had been made to adapt it to the small Verlicchi axle. We also converted to a 520 final drive using Ed Milich's marvelous little countershaft sprocket, and put on a lovely gold chain and alloy rear sprocket. Bruce lent me a rear caliper, and on Saturday, the day this pic was taken, I found someone on ducati.ms who was parting out a 900SS/SP, and still had the full-floating rear brake setup. I got him to send it out Priority Mail, and it arrived on Wednesday.

All this fun actually started on April 15th. I had bought the TT2 back in September 2007 because, well, because I just had to have it. I'd been wanting one ever since I saw a tiny, elegant bare frame sitting on a shop floor five years before. I had no intention of racing, not me. Mary spent the winter building an RD400 racebike, but I just wasn't interested. Mary was scheduled to go to a race school on April 15th so she could qualify for a license. . . but the school was cancelled, probably because there was still snow on the track. They rescheduled for May 16th, and I thought, well, why not? So, I went out to the trailer, and threw open the ramp door to tell my little TT2 we were going racing. . . and then I noticed that the rear wheel was sitting in a pool of oil. The rear shock seal had blown. My memory refuses to inform me what it cost to ship that Works Performance shock to California, get it rebuilt, and have it get back to me in time to make that first race. . . especially since I found out a few days later that my friend Eric Colbath of Clubhouse Motorsports could have done the work for me locally, and probably even better than the factory.

Ah yes, innocence. I never would have believed how much handwork (not to mention time sitting, looking, thinking) goes into getting a bike, especially a kit bike like the TT2, ready for its first race. . . especially since it was my first race as well. There was very little sleep that week, and probably neither of us- me or the TT2- should have been out there on the track. As Gil Greenlaw told Betty Bluenose over the walkie-talkie, when I headed up over the hill to Turn 6 rather than go through 3-10 as she'd signaled me, "Let her go, she probably can't even see you!" And my TT2? Well, it's a good thing I never use the rear brake on the track. Late in the season, I traced the little chattering noise from the rear end to the brake pads. . . one of which was carefully pinned and wired in backwards, probably at 3:00AM one of those nights.

Rip Van Lockwire

What a lovely day off. . . slept in, a little time on the Nordic Track, looking out at a beautiful sunny day. . . hmmm, think I'll head down to the barn for a bit of lockwiring. . .

Lockwiring (aka "safety wiring") is one of those things that you've gotta do if you want to be a racer. Yeah, you can pay somebody to do it- if you're made of money, I guess- but you're still gonna have to redo some of the wiring at some point every race day, and, well, lockwiring is kind of a personal thing.

Lockwiring is a lot like scanning eBay for deals on obscure motorcycle parts, tools, Tony Lama cowboy boots (for which, I admit, I have a serious weakness), etc. You think you've been there a few minutes, and hours have passed. You think, "Oh, I'll just lockwire the new front end on my race bike, it'll only take a few minutes. . .", and when you're done, you discover that your family has given you up for lost, and moved away. Yep, you're Rip Van Lockwire. It's hard to see in the pic to the left, but the drilled-and-wired pieces from today include the four pinch bolts, the axle bolt, two fork drain plugs, four caliper bracket bolts, four caliper mounting bolts, and the brake line banjos, each having been torqued, marked, removed, drilled, reinstalled and torqued, and finally wired. The bike, my clothes, and I are covered with a liberal coating of anti-sieze mixed with WD-40.

At first glance, it's simple. You're wiring the bike's fasteners, brake banjos, oil filters, etc., to each other or to fixed parts of the bike to keep them from loosening or falling off, which could result in you falling off, or, in the case of fluid spillage, lots of other riders falling off as well. Why is this necessary, you ask? Parts don't fall off my bike. It's not like it's an old Harley, or something. Well, okay. As hard as you think you ride on the street, it's probably not necessary on a modern bike. Even when you start doing track days, it's still probably not going to be a big deal. Then you start doing more track days, and you're riding harder, feeling like you're finally getting it. . . and suddenly, one of the roving instructors rides up alongside, pats his bike's tail for you to follow, and pulls you into the pits. One of your mufflers is hanging off. Or your fairing is waving in the breeze. Congratulations, and time for an overall fastener check. At the beginning of last racing season, my first, I could give a quick turn of the fairing fasteners before each track session. At my third race, just after a couple of go-fast lessons, I lost half my fairing screws in the first practice session of the morning. Now the bolts are drilled on the inside, clipped, and the clips are attached with little wire keepers.

Today's lockwiring session was without doubt the most pleasant I've ever spent, for a number of reasons. First, a couple of weeks ago, while on vacation, I built a worktable to put the bike on. This means that I spent nearly all of today's four-hour work session either standing or sitting on the old office chair I pulled out of the dumpster at work. Not on my knees. Second, it wasn't two o'clock on race day morning. Third, at the end of last season, Mary and I made a solemn vow to never buy another pair of cheap safety wire pliers, and we each got a pair of 6" Milbars. Now, I figure that this alone is going to transform the coming racing season: not spending a couple of late-night hours, on my knees on the barn floor, swearing at a pair of cheap Chinese pliers that either won't hold onto the wire or keep breaking it, three hours before I need to load the bike in the trailer and head for the track.

If you're new at lockwiring, there are lots of things that you'll learn by trial and error. Hopefully, you won't "strike oil" too many times while learning! Here are a few things that may be helpful:

First, get good pliers. Yes, you can get a pair of 6" lockwire pliers on eBay for $9.99. That's what we started with. The 6" reversible Milbars we use now are available from lots of places, Snap-On sells them as Blue Point, Aircraft Spruce has them, natch, but I got mine from Miles at Street and Competition. Depending on the features you want, you'll pay between $80 and $100 for them. They're worth every dime.

Second, and maybe even more importantly, get good drill bits, and lots of them. You will break them. We've gotten bits from lots of places, but the 1/16" lockwiring bits from Street and Comp are the most durable, sharpest, and most forgiving I've tried. Some very expensive drill bits will crumble like peanut brittle, or go dull in seconds. You'll still break the good ones, mostly by bending them. Start out with 25 or so. Put them in a medicine bottle and spritz in some WD-40. Oh, yeah, and use WD-40 for lube when drilling.

Other things that are good to have: a nice, heavy pair of cutting pliers, round nose pliers for curling the tails over (twist, move back about 1/8", twist again), soft vise jaws for holding fasteners without marring the threads, and a small-mouthed plastic bottle, like a soda bottle, for holding wire clippings securely, even when it's knocked over (I've been told that lockwire clippings are the most common cause of race tire flats!). A small, old-school plug-in variable-speed electric drill, because a cordless drill just doesn't turn fast enough to drill metal. Oh, yeah, and an automatic center punch for marking where you want to drill.

That's enough for now, I guess. . . even though I haven't really said much about how to actually drill and wire your bike! Tell you what- if you want help and advice on lockwiring, email me.

Winter Commuting Blues

This morning was the first time all winter I was glad I'm not carpooling. I travel about 45 miles each way to the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Clinic where I'm an Orthopaedic nurse. I lost my carpool slot last April when I began another season of motorcycle commuting, and since then, everybody from my carpool seems to have gotten jobs elsewhere. Now the price of gas is down, and nobody wants to carpool anyway. This morning, I was getting ready to leave, fed the dogs, the goats, let the chickens out, and quickly ducked into the chicken house to see if their feeder was full, then headed off down the road in my trusty Corolla (shod with 4 studded Nokian Hakkapellita 5's, of course). Cruising along, iPod percolating in my head, heat slowly coming on. . . hmmm, getting a little funky in here, hey? Whew, I guess! Check the bottom of my right boot, and the lugs are packed with what looks like half a pound of nice, fresh, chicken shit. Now, let's face it, I'm a nurse. Not much in the way of excrement holds any terror for me- but I had to drive with the windows open. That would have surely been the end of any carpool right there! Just a little excitement for a commute that's usually about like watching the "Main Menu" of the Fargo DVD for an hour. There are just so many Pema Chodron meditation CDs, language programs, etc., I can listen to, and riding season is still at least a couple of months away. Whine, whine, whine. . . and the R1200GS's sit and wait patiently, the lights on their Battery Tenders glowing green in the dim light of the barn's frozen fluorescent tubes.

We both commuted on sport-tourers (and sport bikes) for years. . . musta been we got too old. Mostly it was great, we have some amazing roads, but coming home up that steep dirt road, making the 90-degree turn off the road, over the sheet of plywood- held up with 2X4's- that covers the ditch, then another fall-away 90 down to the barn. In the rain, in the dark, doing that maneuver on a Ducati SS750ie, or almost doing it and getting spit off downhill, sliding down toward the barn on your chest while your little red darling lays on her side and screams bloody murder. Ah, what fun! So, a couple of years ago, while we were house-hunting for a place on a paved road, we were at Max BMW Motorcycles in North Hampton getting my R1100S serviced, and Mary took a used GS for a test ride. She bought it on the spot. Two days later, we set out on an errand run that turned into a 250-mile hell ride (half an hour on a 10mph detour behind an oil truck?!). Mary finished fresh on her stock GS, and me, on my Corbin-saddled, Ohlins-suspended, R1100S, was completely knackered. Got to get me one o' them, I said, and traded my S away for a demo at Max's. "You bought new bikes?" asked our friends.

"Sure," we said, "but we saved ourselves a ton of money- because now we don't have to buy a new house!" The "barn move" isn't anything any more, with all that steering lock and those chunky tires. Even better, I've got about four different routes home, all with varying amounts of dirt. . . mmmm, sliding corners, can't wait!

Before and After, the caliper rebuild

One of the most eye-catching parts of my little TT2, to judge by the reactions they get, are the AP Lockheed calipers up front. Even those hard-core "that bike isn't vintage" guys stop dead at the sight of them. . . "Ooooh, Lockheeds. . ," often getting down on their knees for a closer look. They actually worked pretty well last year, even though I never did a thing except lockwire them. Since they were working so well, and the brake fluid was no worse than a medium honey color, I took one look at those rusted bleeder screws and passed them by. That's right, I never even bled them. Horrid memories of lying under my split-windshield VW bus, lo these twenty-five years, trying desperately to bleed the brakes, working on the little bleeder screws with penetrating oil and a torch for a solid week and still hearing them go "ping!" one at a time convinced me to leave well enough alone.

Last October, when I was making adapters so I could use those lovely calipers on the new/old conventional (and vintage-legal) forks, Bruce noticed that the pistons weren't retracting all that well, so it was time for a rebuild. The old chrome pistons were totally scabby of course, and rusted beyond recovery, so I went looking for replacements. Nobody seemed to have the new alloy pistons (or give me a real idea on when they'd be able to get them), and likewise nobody seemed to have a full set of stainless. . . the calipers only have two pistons, and of course, they're different. The guys at British Cycle Supply http://www.britishcycle.com/in Wolfville, Nova Scotia at least had the long ones, but I knew I'd be able to get to Bruce's and cut two down on his lathe before he headed for Italy (he seems to be Ducati's US trainer these days). Gil Greenlaw keeps threatening me with a Norton Commando, and if we ever do manage to get to northern Maine and rescue it from the chicken house, I know that the guys at British Cycle will help me keep my sanity. They ship from NS to Canada, and from NJ to the US, seemingly instantly. I'm in NH, and there's a UPS main line from there to here, but I've yet to wait more than a day for orders to arrive. The guys there are really helpful and knowledgeable, and like helping crazy people that call on the phone needing help with yet another project that probably should have been left alone.

I know that this is titled "Before and After," and there's only one pic. That's because after cleaning and flushing, and $250 worth of new pistons, seals, pins, bleeders, and pads, the calipers look exactly the same. Sigh. The carbs, which are about half done, were far more impressive. . . cont'd in our next!

Kind of a bitsa. . . Part 1

I race an early-80's Ducati TT2 with the US Classic Racing Association. For a lot of folks involved in vintage racing, a TT2 pushes the definition of what constitutes "vintage." Dr. Taglioni, the great Ducati designer, set out to design a race bike that would dominate Formula 2 racing, and he totally succeeded with a bike that was among the first to sport a monoshock rear, and, of course, used the then-new Pantah "rubber-band-head" Ducati motor. Instead of the iconic Ducati bevel-geared camshafts, the Pantah uses toothed belts. . . kind of like a Chevy Vega, sniffed a mechanic when I stopped by his shop with my brandy-new Alazzurra back in '86. I didn't care, I loved that bike, the motor, I loved the Dell'Orto PHF36 squirt-gun carburetors, and the BUB exhaust I put on. That bike never let me down, was amazing to ride, and I sold it with real regret.



Side note- about BUB exhausts: These days, BUB is just another aftermarket pipe bender turning out plumbing for cruisers. Back in the day, BUB was one wild-eyed dude working out of his garage building great performance systems for cool bikes like the Allie. A few months ago, I watched a NOS 2:1 system for the early straight-ahead Pantah motor (both carbs behind the cylinders) sell on eBay for about five times its original 1980's purchase price. It wasn't always easy to get a BUB system, as this dude was usually either at Bonneville with his streamliner, or working on his streamliner, or testing his streamliner, which was an astonishingly disreputable looking thing. . . and its nickname was Big Ugly Bastard, or usually just the initials.



Back to the TT2. For the real history, and more information than you could possibly ever want, go look at Rudi's TT site http://www.ducati-tt.de/index_en.htm . The little racebike was a complete success, dominant in F2 beyond belief. It was nearly impossible to beat. . . it's been described as a TZ250 with a Pantah shoehorned in, the lightness and agility of the two-stroke with the grunt of that lovely little desmo. Everybody wanted one, but Ducati, in their infinite wisdom, made a total of about 50 in the few years it was produced. Copies immediately appeared, by Verlicchi and Harris among others, as well as Werner Maltry, a Swiss framebuilder who was working in Italy building factory race bikes for (I believe) Motobi. Some of them have obvious differences from the original, some can only be differentiated by the true experts (Lou Saif being the man to ask).



Then, of course, Ducati finally quit floppin' around and expired. Cagiva took over. What to do with a couple of warehouses full of Pantah motors? Why, give them away as party favors! They designed a frame, used off-the-shelf suspension components from Marzocchi, truly eccentric electricals from around the globe (coils from Spain?!), more off-the-shelf Italian components from Oscam, Brembo, etc, and bodywork from who knows where, and hey presto, the Alazzurra and the Elefant, it's off-road sister, were born. $3599, out the door in 1985. Suddenly, racers- and race fans- could afford to build a TT2. Prominent and not-so-prominent framebuilders were already offering kits, and most of the Allie's parts (including the forks and wheels) would bolt right up. On quite a number of them, the VIN number magically appeared on the new frame. . . to be continued. . . actually, I'd continued well past this point already, but some of the electrons seem to have snuck away while I wasn't looking!

Goodbye, KXTRT

About a month ago, I sold a very nice 1978 Yamaha SR500 cafe racer to Randy Pobst, a race-car driver from down Georgia way. I bought the bike two summers ago from a Free-Stater who was about to relocate to New Hampshire from San Francisco and didn't want to transport the bike- so, of course, I paid Daily Direct to bring it here anyway! The bike was great fun, lithe and narrow, sounded great, and was loaded with a lot of cool parts, some of which are no longer available. As fun as the bike was, I wasn't commuting with it (well, only once), I wasn't racing it, and hadn't built it, so it was kind of the odd bike out, and when I started on my H-D Ironhead Sportster project, my workspace was feeling cramped. One Saturday morning over breakfast, I was feeling cranky about the amount of iron in the barn, and posted the following to craigslist:

1978 Yamaha SR500 SR 500 AHRMA USCRA

Up for sale, a 1978 Yamaha SR500, "Single Road." This is a kickstart-only machine that was only imported into the US for a couple of years. It's a cult bike worldwide, and is still being produced in Japan as a 400. This is a very nice example of a west-coast style SR, with a lot of modifications; ride it on the road, or go vintage racing.

Mods include: Yamaha "spool" hubs laced to alloy rims- much lighter than the original cast wheels
Mikuni 38mm VM White Brothers carb (slide cutaway raised, needle jet hood lowered).
K&N air filter
White Brothers big-bore single wall header pipe
SuperTrapp muffler
Clubman bars, bar-end mirror
Low-profile "Lucas style" taillight
Bullet-style alloy turn signals
Upgraded Yamaha master cylinder
Single-pull quick-twist Gunnar Gasser throttle
Fork brace
Progressive suspension rear shocks
It’s not a showbike, but a solid, good-looking example with plenty of café-racer cred, and a total blast to ride. Shop manuals come with it- including a reprint of the original Yamaha manual. Tires have plenty of wear left. $1500 firm. If you like, I can give you a letter for the DMV so you can get the “KXTRT” plate that I currently hold.

About fifteen minutes after I posted the ad, the fun started. I got more email in the next few weeks than I'd gotten in my entire life. A spirited email dialogue began with Randy that continued until after the sketchy dudes he'd hired delivered it and he'd ridden it a couple of times. Last I heard from him, he was still getting the hang of starting the little darling. . . the SR500 can be a bit balky to start in any case, but with the oversize carb and open exhaust, she could be a real challenge, especially on a cold morning. These were the starting instructions I'd sent Randy while he was still waiting for the bike:

The Compleat Kickstarter

Being a treatise on the care, feeding, and starting sequence of the SR500

(It's snowing hard outside, by the way)

You may want to rent "Lawrence of Arabia" and watch the first scene a few times. . . oh, come on, he actually dies in the second scene. The first scene is the elaborate starting ritual for his Brough Superior SS100. This is nothing so complicated as that.

It must be said in the beginning that this motorcycle, like the Britbikes to whom it pays homage, truly prefers to be ridden every day. If one is not to ride it every day, there are certain compromises that must be made. First, keep the battery fully charged. This may be a function of my inability to locate non-resistor spark plugs, you may want to order some. Second, if the bike has been sitting for more than a day or two, drain the float bowl. Modern "motor fuel" seems to go bad in a matter of hours in the float bowls of carburetors. You'll get in the habit of leaving a small plastic dish and a 17mm wrench in a handy spot. Drain, replace the bowl plug, turn the fuel tap to "prime" (yes, it's a vacuum-operated tap) until the little bubbles stop swirling around in the fuel filter, then turn it to "on."

Are you wearing boots? Good. There are those who pride themselves in starting their SR500's in sandals. Fine for them. She will, occasionally, backfire. Snap! go the foot bones.

Most importantly: ignore the choke. It is only there to confuse you. The bike will not start if you attempt to use it. Likewise, leave the throttle completely closed. If it's open at all, you will hear a distinctly hollow sucking sound from the intake, giving you a clear idea of your chances that way.

Familiarize yourself with the decompression lever, a small lever mounted below the clutch lever. It is your friend. It lifts the exhaust valve. Stand the bike upright (off the side stand). Turn the key to "on", pull the lever in, and kick the engine over three or four times to "clear" it. This is of uncertain meaning, but it always sounds good, and seems to help when the bike is cold.

Let the lever out, and turn the engine slowly until you come up against compression. Pull the lever in once again, and ease the piston over top-dead-center. If you look at the little window on the right side of the head, the TDC indicator will just barely be coming into view. Let the lever out, bring the kickstart lever up as high as it will go (on whatever ratchet tooth is happens to be on), think good thoughts, and smoothly put your leg, your back, and your very soul into the downstroke. Did she start? No? Then repeat this paragraph until she does. Probably four or five times -or more- if she's cold. That's the price of that huge carb and open exhaust.

She started? Lovely. Especially if she kept running. Once she's run for ten or twenty seconds, you can ease the throttle open a bit. Once she's let you do that, you can put her on the sidestand, and don the jacket, gloves, and helmet you wisely waited to put on. If you put them on first, you could die of heatstroke before the sixth kick, and besides, everyone will think you a complete prat. Calmly get ready to ride while she chugs away, properly warming up. Once I'm astride the bike and ready to go, I'll often open the oil cap and check the oil return. I can't think of any other reason that the cap is right there in front of you.

Hot starting is usually less complex. The big VM roundslide carb lacks the "hot start button" of the wretched stock item, but she'll usually fire up with one or two attempts. Only twice has she ever stalled while I was out on a ride. Stay calm, really. Stick to your routine. Take the bike out of gear before you try and kick.

If you're bump starting and you have a long hill, pull in both the clutch and the decomp, get rolling (turn the key on!), let out the clutch, then the decomp. Magic. -g.

Let's go 2009!

New year, new team name, new blog! I'll be posting more information on us, our bikes, and our racing soon. In the meantime, this is me, Gail Catherine McNeill (aka Hammerwoman) in New Hampshire Motor Speedway's Turn 2 at a track day last August, tuning up for the US Classic Racing Association's race on September 1.