I dunno how many times the fact that there aren't any bridges nearby has saved the KLR from a watery doom. I guess I could dump it into the bay, but eight blocks is a long way to push the damn thing.
The latest issue has been the back bolts on the KLR’s luggage rack. The KLR's infamous for paint-shaker vibration that likes to back bolts out and scatter them along the highway, but the luggage rack bolts like to mix things up for the sake of variety by shearing off down in the recesses of the rack plate instead. You may not notice the first one going, but once the second does you'll sure as hell notice the first time you brake hard and the rack flips forward on its hinged front and catapults whatever you have secured to it right into your lower back.
My mood already wasn't great after taking a mini cooler to the spine, and only got worse once the tip of an EZ-Out snapped off inside the other and left behind 1/8″ of hardened steel about ten times more difficult to remove than the original bolt. I tried a new, larger bolt extractor ($5), then a Dremel, then a cordless drill, then a new chisel ($8) and sledgehammer, then a new, larger chisel ($9), then finally ran an extension cord from my second-floor apartment window to the yard outside so I could use my hammer drill and new carbon bit ($12) to bore straight through the bolt and extractor tip, through the luggage rack and clear into the mounting tab underneath. I then used a new metric tap set ($15) so I could install new, larger bolts ($1.22 x 2) and never have to do any of this ever again.
When I was done, all that was left of the broken bolts were two steel discs the size of watch batteries and a fine spray of metal shavings, some of which I accidentally got in my eye when I mopped my sweaty forehead with my sleeve.
Replaced: Two bolts.
Total down time and cost to repair: about $55 and four days with an unrideable bike.
Most embarrassing: The extra half hour and $2 I spent afterward replacing two whole different bolts that, hopped up on accomplishment, I accidentally broke putting the luggage rack back together.
Let’s play What’s that widget
I’m not done, either. The latest stray bit of metal keeping me humble is the goofy-looking metal straw that came loose in the fuel tank. After an hour of googling, cross-referencing fuel system diagrams and pontificating with Facebook friends, I know it’s the in-tank vapor return line that probably snapped during one of the bike’s many, many drops, even though it doesn’t actually appear in my shop manual. I’m 90 percent sure it’s why the bike kept dying on I-5 on my way back from the Sawtooth Mountains a few weeks ago. As soon as I finish taking apart the fuel valves and replace a little rubber diaphragm in the carb, which is $60 and about the size of a quarter, I’ll be 95 percent sure.
Inexperienced as I am, and with still-vivid memories of the engine cutting out at 65 miles an hour with semi trucks on all sides, I’m disinclined to be 100 percent sure of anything.
(Note to self: Add a new rear brake shaft to the parts order, since the lever’s still using the pivot and return that a fellow KLR owner I met at an Idaho gas station cobbled together with me from a luggage rack bolt, a nylock nut and a spring from a long gone two-stroke of his. And it wouldn’t hurt to order a new key.)
Dream the achievable dream
This approach has made for a lot more fixing time than riding time lately. I probably should’ve just dropped off the bike at a shop by now instead of burning up the best riding weather of the year puttering around the yard getting greasy. But Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance has always made me feel like I’m not crazy for thinking that rolling up my sleeves and making things right with something you care about is part of the point.
I like caring like that. For years — for some reason, much longer than I’ve ever ridden a motorcycle — I’ve idly dreamed about how neat it would be to find the right vintage bike. Nothing super complicated or expensive, nothing so trendy that I’d be fighting with deep-pocketed collectors and custom builders for parts, nothing I’d spend ages fixing, nothing too precious to actually ride. Just something classic and humble and with its own kind of beauty. Something quality.
Turns out Persig rode exactly the right bike: a 1964 Super Hawk.
As far as dream bikes go it’s pretty approachable: inexpensive, reliable, relatively abundant, and not enough horsepower to interest the people churning out cafe racers. I’d love to get one someday when I’ve got enough space to properly house such a beautiful machine.
And at the moment, space is at a premium. I’ve been haunting Craigslist with a vague idea of “something sturdy around 200cc, easy to fix and easy to ride — oh, and plated” and have just been blessed by the n+1 gods.
I bought a 1983 Honda XR 200R last week at a horse ranch in Pescadero. The guy I bought it from delivered it yesterday to my work on his way up to Marin. He was laughing and shaking his head when he hopped down from his giant pickup in my office’s busy San Francisco neighborhood, saying “This is the craziest place to drop off a dirt bike!” I’ve got it parked behind my desk at work until I get it home because, with no ignition lock, anyone who knows how to kick start it could fire it up and ride it away, or just drop it into neutral and walk off with it. Heck, they could probably give me tips; last week on the farm the seller had to coach me through how to kick start a bike. He eventually started it for me when the most I could get out of it was a gentle purr. The bike, just as happy and friendly toward him as his horses were, fired up for him on kick three.
So far the likeliest home for it is the hallway just inside my apartment, about ten feet from the shelf holding the slightly water damaged Clymer manual that came with it. It runs great but needs some checking over before I can start training with it. That means the next few weeks are going to involve a lot of engine grease, swearing and finding stuff to listen to while my hands are busy cleaning, testing and fixing.
But I’m OK with that. Turns out they made Zen into an audiobook.