I have been having some trouble this year with "Ennie". I had ridden her to the Nickerson gathering but had problems on the way home with starvation and power loss. This had been some sort of intermittent problem.
Well, this weekend I took matters in hand and systematically followed the fuel flow and followed Vince's advice as well. I pulled and/or inspected and cleaned the jets in the Amal. I replaced the fuel line (well, part of it. More later) I replaced the inline fuel filter. I drained and flushed the tank and mirror inspected the inside and then reassembled. I removed, disassembled and cleaned the petcock.
But now I had no gas, as I had used my gas can to drain off the "bad" fuel.
So I rolled her down the hill and along the flat to the corner gas station (about 3 blocks). Along the way a friend on his bike stopped to ask (with a wry grin) if I had run out of gas. We chatted a bit. A bit further along I got envious and supportive comments from a trio of HD 1%'er's living in a storefront, their bikes conspicuously parked just inside the door. And finally, as I rolled her up to the pump, another guy (he restored a Triumph) razzed me about my "retro" bike, (whereas I had to reeducate the fella'). And during this conversation I found that there's another green iron barrel in town.
Three blocks isn't far but I certainly had a lot of interactions in that distance. This weekend was Ennie's weekend. I had her rear rim shod with a new 3.50 x 10 Dunlop K70 on Friday and Sunday was shaping up to be a real good one (seeing as my weekend was split by a harried workday on Saturday). I had made a great brunch for my wife and I, tackled this pesky fuel problem and was about to test the work. I had new 1/4" fuel lines, but I was suspect of the loose fit on the petcock so I had tossed on a small clamp for backup.
I popped the cap on the fuel tank, added a couple of quarts of Regular and checked to see if the reassembled petcock was dry. "Yep!" So I filled her with 3.65 gallons, and began the starting ritual. Primed the cab with the tickler. "Whoops!" The petcock is not !/4"! I hurriedly got a screwdriver out of the toolkit and reefed on that clamp. Whew!
I knew the one percenters were looking around the corner of the building... I brought her up to TDC, and a skosh. Turned the key, and with one swift swing of the boot...she was thumpin'. Hoorah! A short ride up the street and a few extra blocks to warm her up before heading home to properly suit up.
It seems all the other fuel connections are 1/4" except the petcock. Luckily I hadn't destroyed the old fuel line in removing it, so now I have a bit of the old and a bit of the new.
Ear plugs in. Half helmet with goggles. Black leather jacket, made in Pakistan ("Gunga Din!"). I was dressed for a ride.
Motored downtown, the motor warming and loosening up a bit (I adjust the valves hot). I was almost through the downtown section when ... "What's that?" A green iron barrel! It's pull to the curb and intro time. Newbie owner. Box stock 2007 Bullet. He knows nothing of the forum, or of Nfield Gear, or of the support available. I will get him hooked up. He uses it as his daily rider. Bought it July 4th? I think he may have gotten it from Vince...
Done kicking tires, Ennie starts on the first kic, her shorty exhaust sounds note echoing off the downtown brick buildings. The other guy's bike doesn't sound as good, he says.
I enjoy going through the gears as I head east to a friend's, but first.. a ride in the foothills.
Up past the school, the houses getting more scarce. Meadows, then pastures. Horses, cows, a llama... the aroma. There's something special about an open face helmet with goggles. The wind, an errant bug or too snaps you in the chin or cheek.
The road rises sharply. No hesitation from Ennie. None. She pulls hard and evenly up the steep climb. Straight up the hill, like looking up a giant ski jump. I wave at a guy in his yard as he pauses to look at the bike with the burbly exhaust. Thumpers have a unique note , y'know. I ease the throttle as I crest the hill. I have to turn left ahead. I search the tarmac for loose gravel. None, as I downshift and lean into the 90 degree left. That new tire just grabs the pavement and my afternoon shadow reveals a classic cornering form.
Traversing across the foothills now, due east. My face is hurting from my grin. My round cheeks are getting whipped in the wind. I tossed my head back and let out a great, hardy, triumphant, "Ha, Ha, Ha!"
Ennie and I are in the perfect element, a two lane rural black top, the wind at my back and the speedo at 50, the exhaust note is empowering, the farm scents are stimulating and the wind in the face is invigorating. I let out another hearty laugh.
A sublime moment, indeed.
Topic: Sublime moment (Read 2188 times)