Zebra to Sturgis Part V
By Bandit |
KENTUCKY
Tobacco. Brown, rolling tobacco. Potholes, cops, tobacco. Thesplit in the fuel tank is significant now and my long-range bomber’s distance has been curbed from a solid 220 miles per tank to 190. I am leaking fuelnon-stop as I sweep down the highways, running 100, letting the semis fardown the road break the radar waves. They rarely let an alert biker down,their population so high these days that they can use their CBs to watch forpolice as well as the troopers can patrol for outlaw bikers doubling the posted speed limit.
Fatigue is beginning to be a factor as I watch the odometer flippast 978 for the day. Darkness is settling. Tobacco field. I am experiencing my own kind of sundown. The ride from Spearfish to Lawrence, Kan., and thesister’s house was a long one, but this ride, without a starter and a bikethat is becoming increasingly more difficult to fire, is going to be amonster. Tobacco field, trooper. I will try to ride to Miami Beach andfriendly mechanics who won’t bleed me dry with towing and phony hourlyrates and parts I probably don’t need or want. Tobacco field. Besides, I’vestill got some zombies to herd together and drive out of the skull.Tobacco field, two troopers.
By Kentucky I’ve gotten used to the sound of burning gasoline onthe heads at the gas pumps, though I can barely hear it over the idling bike. I no longer turn it off, merely pumping it full of fuel, stretching, gettingback on and rolling before it can melt itself in the blazing August heat.
TENNESSEE
Three states to go. Twenty-six hours in and 1,120 miles on this “day.”Midnight, the highway is mine, all those with starter motors having pulled over long ago.
Night is the hardest time to ride when you’re exhausted. It wouldbe one thing to ride 48 hours straight, but it’s something entirely differentafter first riding 2,300 miles to Sturgis, partying a week straight and thenriding 900 miles, before riding 48 hours straight.
I stop for gas. The station is closed. The pumps automated. Ilisten to the bike thump. Such a desire to shut it down and just hear some quiet and lie down on the soft asphalt and sleep until dawn. Surely it’ll startagain. What bull crap I tell myself as I hang up the pump. The fuckerbarely started hot. It’d never start ice cold.
Out of the parking lot I roll, taking the highway and rollingthrough the Baker 6.
Darkness makes the miles creep past. Nothing to take your mind offscreaming muscles or boredom. This is when your demons will attack.During times of sensory deprivation they come calling, reminding you of yourshortcomings, your insecurities, your failures. Rolling depression. Selfdeprecation. A sense of ultimate failure. A constant, burning tone inboth ears. How could it have all gone so terribly wrong? So many poordecisions, so many hurt feelings. Pain, with no visual music to take yourmind off it. Repeating highway lines, dizzying asphalt patterns. Cold.Hunger. Closed restaurants that serve no coffee and no joy. Loneliness. Asense of utter singularity that is a unique and ubiquitous pain. Roaring,punishing wind. Rain. Big raindrops. Gusting winds. A heart full ofanger and confusion and despair. Full-on rainstorm. I cut the throttleand squint into the stinging water. Visibility drops lower and lower. Quicklymy western boots are permeated and I feel the water standing in the heel ofeach. Colder. Forty miles per hour. Now the distance really gets an upperhand. I am losing the psychology war against the night. Harder rain. Thirty-five miles per hour. The road vanishes for short periods of time in theblinding rain. My goggles fog. I stop to switch to clear glasses. They’re only slightly better and now the rain splashes off both cheeks, keeping meconstantly blinking. Huge lightening. The wind increases from the side.Hydroplaning. Soaking wet, shivering. I am riding into space, having leftearth long ago. Where now are the friends? Where now is the payoff forthe effort and the laughter? Where is the next mile marker? Rain. Darkness.An endless purgatory. I curse the starter and “No Vacancy” signs.
I stop for fuel. The tank isn’t empty, despite the leak, but Ihave to stop. I am constantly hitting the rumble strips on the shoulder and the rain is freezing me, lulling me toward a crash.
The tank only takes two bucks worth of fuel, letting me know itwasn’t all that long ago that I stopped. The stops are becoming more frequent now as I wear down. If I could only find a bit of grub, that would give me acalorie boost. I down the last of a bottle of Gatorade I was saving. Fuck I’mtired. The ride has become work now and all I can think of isgetting home to Miami Beach and going to bed. But Miami Beach is a hell ofa long ways south still, entire states south, and I convince myself to tryand extract some enjoyment out of the run.
I cap the tank, get on and sweep left out of the station. WHAM! Inearly dump the bike as the kickstand catches on an underground tank lid. Thebike slides sideways, I make a massive attempt at a recovery, nearly dropping iton the wet, oily street. A pinging sound fades into the ditch. Thekickstand is gone. I can’t believe it. The entire kickstand has beensheared off and bounced into the deep, grassy ditch. I look around in theTennessee night. Nothing. Even if the kickstand hadn’t been lost, Iwouldn’t have been able to put it back on without a rack or someone to hold the bike. Well, that settles it, I thought, I’m riding back to MiamiBeach, straight through, from Kansas.
The Georgia border passes unceremoniously in the freezing rain at31 mph.
GEORGIA
Dawn. The rain stopped about an hour ago. My leather sticks tome. I can feel the weight of my soaked leather coat. I roll to the shoulder to take off the wet shit and strap it on.
As I stand naked on the highway, balancing the bike with one handwhile I try with enormous difficulty to switch out of wet leather pants into dry jeans, a carload of women pass and stare. They are spooked. This used tobe a region they felt safe in, but what of this hairy barbarianstanding naked on the side of the road next to a filthy motorcycle, lookinglike he might rape and eat the lot of them?
By 7 a.m. I am filling up and getting warmer as the Georgia sunpromises to fry me in just a few hours. Motorcycling is often a life of extremes and the weather is no exception.
I’ve gone 1,400 miles. At every gas station, I had been drinking two large bottles of Gatorade. An isotonic will keep the cramps and muscle failure to a minimum for a brief, but sustained period of 48 hours. But without the kickstand, there are no more such luxuries. Now I drink avarice as I sit on the bike or stand with it idling between my legs as I fill up with fuel and stretchas much as possible without getting off the mother fucker. Then theunthinkable happens. The scoot dies.
Turns out I’d not quite gotten the petcock set back to “run” when Iflipped it from “reserve” after filling up.
“Jesus,” I mumble as I sit on the popping and snapping bike,listening to the chrome cool after 31 hours of non-stop rolling. I put my head against the handlebars and sit.
I walk the bike to a clear spot in the large parking lot. Trucksline either side of the expanse of asphalt. Away I go, pushing. But this time,I’m so worn out I can basically only do a fast jog. The bike doesn’t evencough. I am mocked by the dead machine, as I push and push, my arms andlegs trembling with fatigue.
I stop, knowing if I don’t that I’m going to get so hot and wornout that I’ll either pass out or fuck around and drop the damned thing.
“What’s wrong, bro?” asks a voice behind me.
I turn and see a small but stout man and his wife.
“Starter’s out,” I mumble, feeling beaten.
“Got a Fatboy,” the man says. “My wife here, she’s got a Sporty.”
I look up, they’re both smiling.
“Seen ya pushing it. You got any rope?”
I shake my head, legs shaking, trying to hold the fucker up.
“Well, I got my truck here, we could try to pull start it. Honey,run inside and see if they got any rope.”
His wife departs.
“Coming from Sturgis?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “Rode down from Kansas last night.”
“Got-damn, that’s a pretty good run.”
“Startin’ to be,” I reply.
His wife returned with a brand new $50 tow strap.
“They didn’t have any rope, but I got this tow strap,” she said,smiling.
“Oh hell,” I said, “now I’ll have to pay you for that. You guyscan’t go toss $50 on my account.”
“No sweat, bro,” the trucker said, “we can always use anotherstrap.”
He backed his rig up to mine and his wife strapped the front forksof the Great Northern Steamer to the trailer. Then he got on his radio and called the surrounding trucks and asked the drivers to radio to him my status ashe pulled me in laps, since he couldn’t see me in his mirrors.
As the semi steamed in ever increasingly fast circles, dozens oftruckers stood on their decks and called out my progress on their radios as I tried different gears and throttle applications until at last the bike fired.
“I can run with ya as far as Atlanta,” the bro told me. “If youhave any trouble with her to there we can either pull her again or load her up in the trailer and carry it for ya.”
I thanked them and we blasted off down the interstate.
The white rig ran behind me the entire run to Atlanta, three hoursfrom the truck stop and I waved as they blazed east while I continued south. For a biker, there’s always a bro somewhere.
Peach stands, trees, Rock City, bridges, off ramps, on ramps, SouthDakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia…
Now the sun is working overtime. I pass through Rock City, climbingthe mountains fast. A local bank thermometer tells the temperature, 97.
There are no more bikers heading home from Sturgis. I passed acouple last night stopped on the shoulder with Georgia tags. There were Florida bikers at Sturgis, I saw them, but none show up today.
Where is that fuckin’ Florida border I ask aloud as I ride down thehighway, feeling like I have prickly pears under my skin.
The mountains of Georgia began to flatten and I knew that somewherein the distance was Florida. After that, I had roughly 8 1/2 hours to Miami Beach. The odometer was reading 1,699 miles since Kansas.
Flash, the Florida border sign passed and I almost missed it. Itwas about 2 p.m. and I was so fried that everything was onautopilot. The traffic in Florida drives as fast as that of states likeMontana and New Mexico and California between L.A. and Palm Springs.Everyone drives 100 and faster, even the trucks with loads.
I was rolling at 100. I’d stopped earlier and pulled a screwdriverout of the Bandit’s Bedroll and re-dialed the carb to compensate for being at sea level, having re-tuned it in Sturgis to compensate for the 6,000-footincrease in altitude.
Florida is the worst place to ride tired because the highways areshrouded by vegetation and the scenery is a mere 20 yards away on eitherside and never changes.
Suddenly a semi, which had blasted by me only a moment before, flewoff the interstate on a long, left-hand sweeper. Dirt and grass flew into the air as the guy hit the brakes and cranked the cab back toward the interstate.Cars slid everywhere. I stood on the back brake and crushed the frontbrake, veering hard to the left to give myself all the room I could get.The semi cab slammed back onto the highway at 100, the trailer swinginghard in a semi-circle. A car narrowly missed running under the sweepingtrailer, purple smoke flying out from under locked tires. A pickup swerved into the left hand ditch and flew into the brush, then rocketed back out, underbrushsticking out of the grill. The truck flew across both lanes as the truckerovercompensated a second time and cranked his cab back hard to the right.I was sliding on my back tire, cranking my front end to make up for thedrifting back end. He’s going to roll, he’s going to roll, he’s going toroll, I kept thinking as I rode hard to the far left shoulder, trying togive myself enough room to get around the trailer when it flipped. Theentire rig slid back right, following the jackknifed cab. By now everyonehad slid down to about 60 mph. I roared past the moaning backtires of the trailer as the driver sailed back off the right hand side ofthe road a second time and cranked it back hard to the left, heading rightfor me.
“JESUS CHRIST!” I hollered involuntarily as I saw the front tiresplowing 3-foot-high curls of Florida sod and the big truck cab heading rightfor me. I could feel the huge trailer bouncing the asphalt as it slammed backonto the highway. The trailer rocked horribly as the driver saw me and cutit back to the right. BOOM! The trailer slammed back down on all 16tires, did a few remaining fishtails and slid to a stop, crossing both lanes oftraffic, jackknifed as tight as a cab and trailer can be without poppingapart.
I roared off south, wide awake, gulping adrenaline.
I had no trouble staying awake for the next three hours as I blazed pastDaytona Beach, replaying the near-miss over and over in my head. It wasthe closest I’d come to getting run over since I’d actually been run over inL.A. a year ago (See “Attack of the Car People”) and hospitalized. Thattime it’d only been a pickup that had run over me. If that semi trailerhad hit me, it would have been the morgue.
Florida is known as the “Sunshine State,” but it could just as well be known as the Rains Every Hour or Two State. I hit a half-dozen five-minute downpours, just enough to soak me, then leave me rolling wet, exhausted and beat.
The broiling sunshine got stronger and stronger the farther Irolled toward the equator and the humidity pushed the 100 percent mark.
It had been 2,161 miles since I’d started and still Miami eluded my front tire. The traffic was getting heavy in south Florida. Now the ride was sheer work. Sturgis was so far away I was having trouble remembering what the great open Badlands even felt like as I rocketed along on a six-lane interstatethrough the dozen or so “communities” that preclude Miami. Fort Lauderdale. I was excruciatingly hot in the 99 percent humidity at 101, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and gloves and helmet, but I knew better than to take them off. The southFlorida sun is that of Cuba and you can literally get third degree sunburnsin 40 minutes. That far south, that means hospital time at best and deadlyskin cancer at worst. I had 50 SPF sunblock, but there was no way to get toit and get it on without the kickstand. It had taken me half an hour tochange pants earlier while holding the bike up, and the pants were on top in theBandit’s Bedroll. The sunscreen was at the bottom. On I rolled.
When I at last saw the sign for Miami Beach, I felt virtuallyinvincible. I was so tired and so pained and so fuckin’ miserably hot and thirsty, not having eaten or drunk anything for virtually 40 hours in the deep south, that I could have eaten a pitbull live and drunk the piss of a sour-gutClydesdale.
As I rumbled down Alton Road, I passed the German Feminine in theStinkin’ Lincoln. She looked surprised to see me, then waved and smiled. The car was stacked high with furniture and her belongings, which she was haulingfrom our place to her new place. Sometimes life tries to get you to say”uncle” but the word wasn’t in my mouth. It’d save me a lot of work, Ifigured, when I finished up the job here and loaded the gear to headback to the West Coast.
I rolled into Miami Beach and stopped on Ocean Drive, the street thatfaces the Atlantic and the white sand. A German tourist stared at me, covered in bug guts, grime and grease, with a filthy chopper and rain-washed gear. He shrunk into his restaurant chair when I spotted him and his wife and walked across the street in front of traffic toward him.
“Take a picture for me,” I told him as I walked to him and handedhim the camera. He nodded obligingly.
After the photo-op, I rolled home and hollered to a buddy’s window.He brought out a block of wood, which I slipped under the frame of the scootand then, for the first time in damned near 1,900 miles, I got off the GreatNorthern Steamer.
I sat down on the pavement and waited for the ringing and vibratingto stop, exhausted. The German Feminine pulled up and got out. She walkedover and sat down next to me and put her arm around my busted shoulders.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello, schnecke,” I said hoarsely.
Total trip, 5,313 miles.
Special Agent Zebra
Sturgis ChopOff 2000
Bikernet East, Miami Beach
Back to Part IV
Oz’s Garage Build (Continued)
By Bandit |
Remember to remove the spacers at the rear of the clutch basket before installing the new clutch.
Always lube the plates and friction disks with Primary oil before inserting them into the clutch hub.Finish up with the rest of the drive, according to the manual.
Bolt the outer primary in place, also following the torque pattern, but after installing the tranny top cover and replacing the starter, and this side’s done.
The oil tank can now be replaced. We also went with H-D’s braided oil lines, they fit perfectly and looked very cool.
The cam cover, rocker boxes, and tappet covers go on next.These are very straightforward operations, and, as long as you’recareful and clean, you should have no problems.
We now installed the SE Holley kit.
This operation is covered in the BikernetGarage section in detail, so we won’t go into a step-by-step here. Needless to say, the kit and instructionsmade this job a breeze. At this time, we changed out the ignition module and coil, also covered in the Garage section.
We wanted to lower this ride so we installed H-D’s Low Profile Rear Suspension.This operation, too, is detailed in the Bikernet Garage.
As we told you at the beginning of this story we took the Softail out and put it through its paces.The Holley performed flawlessly and the bike ran hard.
When we got home we rolled it out to take a few shots so that you all could see the before and after.Low, fast and pretty. I’d say that’s a pretty good start.
Now let’s ride. Oz
Back to Oz’s Garage Build Up – We Start Here….
Back to Harley-Davidson on Bikernet….
61-Inch Dual Carbed Panhead
By Bandit |
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There we were, enjoying the completed restoration of a 1948 61-inch Panhead when Jesse James said, “Why don’t you run these?” “Run what?” I asked. “These cobbled-together, dual-carbed heads,” he muttered, setting them on the bench. I looked at them with the intrigue of a man who can’t ever leave anything alone. They were 40 years old and looked every minute of it. The Panhead started first kick and rumbled around town like a dream machine. There’s that deep feeling of satisfaction knowing that a bike has no weak links. It’s tight and right and will run for God knows how long, so don’t fuck with it. On the other hand, those heads called to me. Imagine, I could have a bone stock Panhead (almost), but it would sport two carburetors sticking out the left side. I jammed into the Bikernet headquarters and made a couple calls. One was to Joe Minton, who knows carburetors like the back of his hand. He listened to my description, then said, “I know what you need.” “What’s that?” I asked. “Your fuckin’ head examined!” he said. “But if you must take a perfectly good motorcycle and turn it into a tuning nightmare, you need to run two 42 mm Mikunis.” We discussed various carbs from S&S to old Linkerts and kept coming back to the Mikunis. The Linkerts were too heavy and would stick out too far, but the Mikunis, with the variable venturi slide, would tend to balance themselves with the intake vacuum. I ordered two polished 42-mm jobs and made one other call, to Baisley’s Performance in Oregon. They are renowned racers and performance builders who four years ago were threatening to build dual-carbed Evo heads. I wanted a set bad, but I had these Panheads. Dan Baisley told me to send them in, and they went to work on them. I got the heads back six months later. The Baisleys had done everything to these puppies, including new valves and roller rockers (on a Pan?). They rebuilt the lifter blocks and rocker arms. They retooled the head bold inserts and faced the head to barrel surfaces. They even repaired the holes for securing the tins. Then the handmade ports were filled with a special epoxy, carved out and ported for flow. I kept the heads in my office on display as an example of quality workmanship and innovation. I talked about ’em constantly until Nancy put them in a box beside the back door and forced me to take them to my garage. Trouble was, in order to install them, the bike would need to be changed somewhat. The push throttle would have to go, along with the manual advance distributor. Since the bars would go, I decided to install 4-inch Custom Cycle Engineering risers with dogbones. I started collecting parts while still riding the rumbling beast. It ran so well that I wasn’t anxious to touch a bolt. I kept collecting — grips, bars (had ’em black powdercoated) and a top tree from Paughco. I picked up an old-style throttle and rubber grips from Custom Chrome and I thought I had the final elements. One day while under the influence of some strange numbing narcotic, Nuutboy and I decided to tear into the well-running Panhead. A tear ran down my cheek as I put my first wrench to her. At the time, there were two other running bikes in the Bikernet headquarters. We tore the tanks off the Pan, drained them and carefully laid them on clean towels. Then we pulled the heads, being careful not to disturb the exhaust system. Upon examining the slick walls of the cylinders, I noticed some scoring. The scoot only had 800 miles on her, but we pulled the cylinders.
The theory was that the walls were gas soaked, removing the lubricant and scoring the walls when the bike fired to life. Lee Clemens of Departure Bike Works always stands behind his engine work so he asked me to send the barrels and pistons back to him. As punishment for tearing into the ’48, both the Touring Chopper and the Excelsior-Henderson went down. Fuck! One day we have a headquarters housing three hard-running motorcycles, the next day they all quit. What a mess. We fixed the others while waiting for Pan parts to arrive. When they were dropped on the Bikernet porch, we finally set to work. You can check the riser installation in another tech, but that wasn’t a breeze. The tree that Ron at Paughco sent was straight and true and my stock springer tree/handlebar mount was off-set, a rarity from the late ’40s. We fucked with the straight one for hours to make it work, only to discover we made it face the wrong direction so the pinch bolts were on the wrong side. It was one of those things that make you want to throw the defective component through a window. Instead, we attacked the Bikernet iron pile to see who could curl the most weight to relieve the frustration, then went back to work. We modified the tree again, the tension abated. With the blacked-out handlebars in place, the barrels honed and new pistons in hand, we just needed to bolt the tins on the heads and start to re-install the top end. The tins didn’t fit. Could the problem have anything to do with the Baisley-installed red anodized valve spring collars? I looked at modifying the classic steel tins, but there’s not much to work with there. They’re basically just tin. I made some calls to knowledgeable folk who both wanted to know what was wrong with me. They said they didn’t fuck with Panheads anymore. “Dual carbs on a Pan? Are you out of your mind?” they wanted to know. Finally, someone told me that many of the new Pan lids don’t work. “New Pan lids are made from old ones in Taiwan,” said the big guy from Custom Chrome. “Sometimes they stamp them too small.” I was sent two more sets, but neither was any good. I reflected again on grinding the inside of the offending tins or just beating them senseless with a sledgehammer. Then it dawned on me that I had a set of old dinged tins hanging about the headquarters–they fit with room to spare. They were also aluminum and light, but somewhat dented and abused. The sealing lip on the base of the tin was uneven, but we went to work on them. We sanded and soaked them in solvent. We carefully hammered the lip against a flat surface until the lips were straight, and finally with a base of thick glass we faced the bottom surface for a proper gasket seal with 240-grit wet and dry sandpaper. With the tins cleaned and preened, we rattle-canned them with barbecue flat black then baked them in the Bikernet oven for an hour at 500 degrees. With the heads thoroughly cleaned, we primed each rocker with oil, placed the felt insulators on top of the rocker blocks and put the tins in place over patent Custom Chrome cork gaskets. Then we began the tedious job of buttoning the heads shut. Each fastener was run down until it touched the ring. Then a series of trips were made around each tin, gradually tightening the screws a quarter-turn each. Once they were comfortably snug, I criss-crossed my tightening procedure for a complete seal–I prayed. We sprayed the barrels with the same heat paint but no baking was necessary because of the curing effects running cylinders would generate. The barrels were ready to install in 20 minutes, but first the pistons had to be placed on the rods. These pistons had the old-style wrist pin and we went to the special tool drawer for the wrist-pin keeper tool. Hell, I had used it only 20 years ago. It was nowhere to be found, although one of JIMS spiro-lock tools was where it belonged. Unfortunately even after attempting to modify the tool, destroying it for its original purpose (don’t do that), it still wouldn’t work.
 As you can see from the photo, we carefully engineered another equally impressive tool and after only two hours of constant struggle mounted the wrist pins, slipped the barrels in place over Permatex glued gaskets and the cylinders were ready for the heads.
 If you want a Panhead to work properly and last, you must take your time with the exhaust sealing at the heads. A loose seal will kill performance and burn valves. I generally wrap the spigot with a strip of aluminum beer can, then work the pipe up over the flange and cinch it down.
 I’ve often cut additional cinch grooves in the header, and with channel-lock pliers pulled out each tab so that the header would slip over the exhaust flange. Be careful. If the fitment between the pipe and the spigot is loose enough, I use thick exhaust gasket material from an auto parts store. In this case, the spigots had been replaced by Baisley’s with heavy-duty aluminum tubing and carefully welded. Nuutboy cut the dead Coke can into 5/8-inch sheet strips of aluminum gasket and we slipped one around the front header. The rear was very tight and we were unable to work the can between the head and the tight pipe. I always use top-quality Custom Chrome stainless steel clamps to pull the pipes into place, but only after the head has been torqued down. We happened to have a set of Gardner-Wescott chromed allen head bolts and washers. I wouldn’t recommend using these unless you have some special, easy-to-use Allen tool. They’re a bitch to twist into place with standard Allen tools, even socket allens. Part Two We installed and adjusted the pushrods, then went to the fun side of the bike.
 We had the Mikunis and some S&S style flanges. We had scoured several auto parts stores to find hoses, but discovered the rubber flanges would work perfectly without any extension, if we could make a bracket that would hold the carbs to the top motormount. We also discovered that the push cable bracket was going to hit the tank. Nuutboy had the bright idea that if we could muster a shaft long enough to go through both throttle mechanisms, it would allow us to use one throttle cable and we could disconnect one of the throttle springs for an easier pull. Lee Chaffin from Mikuni recommended that we speak to Nigel Patrick of Patrick Racing for the shaft since Nigel has a manifold for dual Mikunis. After digging through the junk drawer for an hour, we had a formula. The flanges fit perfectly on the head spickets and are sealed with hose clamps, then the carbs fit in the other side of the compression fitting, which tucked the carb up against the heads as much as possible.
 It’s been years since I made one. My hand shook as I tried the intricate brass welding to weave the spokes into the wheel, but I finally rigged the contraption and it seemed to work. We sprayed it with gloss black Rustoleum, but we’re not sure we like it. It may need to be chromed. We dug through the boxes of old parts in the headquarters until we found an automatic advance distributor and replaced the manual one, then re-timed the engine.
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Protection For The Pan
By Bandit |
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 This is a quirky series based on no facts or guidlines besides, “some filtration is better than nothin’.” When we rebuilt the top end of this 61-inch ’48 EL, we added two beautifully finished, hand built/altered Panheads that accept two polished 42 mm Mikuni carburetors. We didn’t know what the hell we were going to do about air cleaners at that point. The heads were originally modified thirty years ago, but recently rebuild, ported and flowed by Baisleys in Oregon. If you want a set of heads carefully dialed in, Baisley is the family team to do the job. I was so impressed with their workmanship I kept the heads at my office to show them off to visitors.
 Originally, when I finally installed the heads we didn’t know what to do regarding air cleaners or even velocity stacks. The problem was my long leg. If I ran velocity stacks and leaned my leg against them, I would shut off the air flow and kill the bike. In addition, since the carbs were on the outside of the engine on the left, they were obtrusive. That aspected of the problem dictated that I not run anything that stuck out any farther.
 If I didn’t run anything at all there were two negative conclusions. One, since the carbs were stuck into rubber spigots, they would fall off if not held into position (many Mikunis are held in place with the air cleaner backing plates which are bolted to the engine). Second, if my leg brushed the openings of the carbs, I would shut off the air again. I had to do something. My first nutty notion was to create a rough dual cage that would prevent my leg from shutting down the carbs. It worked, held the carbs in place, but didn’t contain any element of filtration. I’m not a velocity stack sorta guy. I’d need to be a lot richer to consider sandblasting the inside of any well-running engine. So my cage system bothered me from time to time. I stumbled into a Jap Bike shop recently and discovered foam sock air cleaners for dirt bikes. I bought a couple, modified them, slipped them over the brass belt buckle cages and fastened them with tie-wraps. Done deal, but it wasn’t perfect and hindered the air flow into the mouth of the carbs.
 That’s when we slipped on beer-soaked thinking caps, pondering our options and alternatives. I also spotted those little Pep Boys, single-throat, air cleaners with the paper elements. Chris Kallas pointed out a notion at Larry Settle’s bike shop one afternoon behind a couple of brews mixed with white-lightening. If I developed a flange that aligned with the mouth of the carbs, much like Velocity stacks, the air cleaners could be clamped in place. I took his notion and ran at it like a blind dog digging for a bone. The more I worked, brazed and ground the more trouble I ran into. The concept was cool, but it wouldn’t hold the carbs aligned, plus I still needed some sort of cage to keep the foam aircleaners from collapsing against the mouth of the carbs. I fitted, ground and attempted to braze the pieces together. I noticed at the muffler shop that the tubing said aluminum on the side. I asked one of Tim’s helpers if I could braze to it. He said, “sure.” The tubing was steel, just coated with aluminum. You can weld to it, and you can braze to any areas where the aluminum coating has been ground away. After four hours of off and on brazing and destroying two more foam air cleaners I tossed the whole works in the shit-can.
 I took a ride to Pep Boys and inspected their vast wall of varied sized paper air cleaners. I found something I thought might work. In fact these units would fit right over the mouth of the carbs. Ah, but that wouldn’t hold the carbs in place. I went to my buddy’s San Pedro Muffler shop and laid the notion on him. We had to make two, 1-inch segments of exhaust pipe and expand the opening on one end to fit over the mouth of the carb for alignment and the other end just slightly to fit snuggly inside the air cleaner. This was a trick and took several trips to the muffler shop, until Tim, the owner, threw us out. The small segments created some difficulty while trying to expand one end without damaging the other.
 He finally came close and I took the segments back to the headquarters and began a series of alterations to make all the elements fit. I ground the inside of the segment that was going over the Mikuni mouth. I sanded and ground the aluminum area on the carb to accept the tin exhaust tubing, which would hold the carbs in place perfectly. Finally I saw success ahead as each segment finally fit. Then I cut the strap for the center after I made a diagram and attempted to fit the two segments together on the bench. Once on the carb it didn’t fit, and I had to start the strap process over. This time I put the tubes on the Mikunis, then cut and ground a piece of bar stock to fit. Then all the elements were transfered to the welding bench. I found a flat surface and began to weld. I attempted to gas weld first. I was concerned that I would blow through the thin exhaust tubing with my new MIG welder (I lack experience).
 The gas welding wasn’t progressing as well as I thought it might. The heat was taking its toll on the edge of the tubing and would cause extensive grinding to make it fit again. I stopped and broke out the MIG. I practiced for a while adjusting the voltage and wire feed. I finally got up the guts to attempt the short welds along the strap to the tubing. It worked out fine. I cleaned the welds and polished the inside of the tubing with emery cloth one final time before painting the exterior with a heavy gloss black rustoleum paint.
 Then I discovered one final glitch. The cheapo air cleaners were designed to be fastened with set screws, bogus ones that were basically sheet metal screws. I jammed to the hardware store and bought a couple of Allen 10/32 set screws. I drilled the holes out and taped them to fit the set screw, then buried the screws in blue Loctite.
 Just one final touch. The long 5/16-inch bolt that held the unit in place fit fine, but since it ran between two straps and a bracket to the top motor mount, with a large gap inbetween, it would flex if tightened too much. So I drilled the end of the bolt and installed a cotter key to prevent it from ever backing off.
 I think that’s it. Let me know what you think. –Bandit
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One Piece Exhaust Pipes
By Bandit |
| Options in Harley exhaust pipes are as great as the chest of Anna Nicole Smith. You can buy and bolt-on. Years of stock layouts from Harley — plus a rich aftermarket — let you adapt and adopt styles ranging from ol’ time upsweep to drag to collector to shotgun. If you are stubborn like me you can even ignore all that. You can make ’em. It’s not as hard as it sounds, so stay with us.
Custom-made exhausts come two ways…
First, intricate designs with tight bends (photo 1), are best fabbed from small pieces of mandrel bent tubing. (For the full run down on this method, see Easyriders, May 1995, page 126). Some caveats: careful alignment, matching and welding of the pipe sections is crucial for a uniform look. And built up pipes contain weld bead that may eventually behave, or appear, differently than the rest of the tube when exposed to heat, corrosion, time. The other route: pipes bent from a single piece of tubing (photo 2). You avoid joint and weld issues. This requires an engine/frame installation that can live with gentler bends — plus an experienced bending shop. The key to success is to make a good pattern that the shop can match. Here’s how… First obtain flexible automotive exhaust tubing (photo 3) — check large D-I-Y auto supplies, J.C. Whitney, etc. It’s easily bent by hand and cut with tin snips. Use the diameter you want your finish pipes in, and get plenty of extra length. It’s simple: bend and cut the pipes until they fit the installation to your liking. Pay particular care to a good concentric and perpendicular fit in the exhaust port, and any tight tolerances elsewhere. Remove them gingerly. Next use a utility brazing torch (photo 4) to immobilize the tubing by applying a path of molten braze down one side (photo 5). The result: a pair of pipe patterns (photo 6). It may take two or three tries. Sometimes, an additional jig assures the finish pipe matches the pattern at critical areas (photo 7).
Next is selection of pipe stock. One major choice: seamless, versus seamed (photo 8). Save a few bucks with seamed tubing. Make sure that, when the stock is bent, the seam is oriented inwards, towards the engine, to obscuring appearance differences. Now, for materials: mild steel or stainless (photo 9)? Stainless, although initially more expensive, need not be chromed for a matte finish. It will also not conduct heat down as far along the pipe. But, it does heat-yellow more readily than chromed steel. One easy pick — you can save money and stay with mild alloys; chrome-moly, 4130 or shelby tubing is unnecessary for this non structural application.
Next, perform any machining operations that require the tubing to be rotated in a lathe or metal spinner (photo 10) — like antireversion necking or flanging to fit the exhaust port (photo 11). Some can also be handled later.
Onto the pipe bender. Look for modern mandrel bending machines (photo 12) that can also handle bending in more than one plane (photo 13). A special casting metal (that melts at boiling water temperature) can hold earlier-bent sections securely in the machine. Also if needed, inquire about tube flanging or crimping (photo 14). By the way, I have seen pipes successfully bent without expensive equipment. Old masters pack them tightly with sand, plug with threaded caps (later cut off), apply heat liberally, and carefully coax in an old-time conduit or plumber’s rig.
Once the bender’s done, fit the pipes and consider mounting methods. It may be necessary to rotate each tube slightly to get the optimum appearing alignment. Since my tubes were stainless, they ran cool enough about two-feet from the port to allow the adel clamps (photo 15). Metal strap clamps give similar rotational flexibility. Next, fab exhaust port connections (photo 16). It is still possible to braze on an adapter sleeve (photo 17) to match the port or to fix misalignment.
Finally, consider your neighbors. Slip-in baffles (photo 18) reduce noise simply and effectively. Longer baffles (photo 19) are more efficient. Look for straight through, glass pack design rather than a perforated block-off (photo 20). If your local gendarmes are prone to night sticking suspicious pipes, throw in a little steel mesh for insurance!
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— Jake
Power Pack Evo Performance Tech
By Bandit |
| OK, you’ve definitely got some choices ahead of you when it comes to hopping-up your engine. And since the most popular and cost-effective plan is to swap the stock cam, carb, ignition, and exhaust components with high-performance aftermarket items, the combinations seem endless. Well, aside from the business of choosing the right setup, there is also the matter of installing them, and what I want to do here is show you how easy it really is.
There’s a feeling of satisfaction that comes with doing a job yourself, and doing it right. For the most part, almost all of the components bolt on the engine. If you read the cam installation story, you’ll see what it takes to properly install a camshaft, and here, we get the rest of the job done. The key parts that were chosen to complete this power combo were the Andrews EV-57 cam and adjustable pushrods we installed in the last story along with JIMS Machine roller-tip rocker arms, a Mikuni HSR 42 carb and intake, a Dyna 2000 HD-1 single-fire ignition with Dyna coils, and Cycle Shack bologna-cut pipes. |
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 Photo 1 |
 Photo 2 |
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We’ll start with the intake manifold and carburetor. Mikuni’s carb kits come complete with the intake manifold, air cleaner, cables and all the hardware and spare jets you’ll need to get running. The intake installs using the stock flanges and o-rings, and has a flange mount. The Mikuni carburetors have spigot-type mounting, so a rubber flange-to-spigot adaptor is provided in the kit. This easily bolts to the flange on the intake manifold (photo 1). Now the HSR 42 carburetor is slipped into the spigot, and a clamp secures the carb firmly in place (photo 2). The Mikuni/K&N air cleaner assembly (not shown) completes the carb’s mounting, and secures to the cylinder heads. |
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The dual Dyna ignition coils are bolted up to a Yankee Engineuity engine mount and coil bracket combination (photo 3). When this engine is installed in the bike, a polished stainless steel coil cover, also from Yankee, will finish the job. Dyna’s 2000 HD-1 ignition is an excellent system that features four different advance curves for various engine combinations. Dyna has eliminated the need to run a special rotor and pickup, and now the 2000 HD-1 utilizes the stock pieces, cutting down on the extras you’d normally have to buy. The stock pickup is re-installed (photo 4) and the timing will be adjusted once the engine is fired up. |
| Cycle Shack bologna-cut (pn PHD 114A) pipes were chosen for their exceptional performance in past dyno runs, and are well-suited for this power combo as well. These pipes have channel mount bolts for a clean look and mount easily to stock or custom aftermarket exhaust brackets. Pipes are probably one of the true bolt-on components that anyone can install (photo 5), but care should be taken to wipe them clean with acetone to remove any fingerprints. If you don’t do this, you’ll end up with little blue prints all over the pipes, so make sure they get wiped down before the engine is started. |
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| And there you have it (photo 6). The installation of these parts shouldn’t take more than one weekend day to complete at the outside. All of the parts used here come with excellent instructions for both installation and tuning to help you get the most from your engine and to minimize the downtime. With the tech tips shown here and in the cam installation story, you should be well armed to handle this task yourself. After you have this new found confidence and ability, you’ll have to decide if you want to tell your friends, ’cause once they know you’re able to work on your ride, they’ll probably want you to have a look at theirs. If they do, just smile and tell ’em where you read about it. | |
 Photo 6 |
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| …Wordman
SOURCES: |
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| Andrews Products, Inc. 5212 N. Shapland Ave. Rosemont, IL 60018 (773) 992-4014 (773) 992-4017 fax |
JIMS Machine 555 Dawson Drive Camarillo, CA 93012 (805) 482-6913 (805) 482-7422 fax |
| Dynatek 164 S. Valencia St. Glendora, CA 91741 (818) 963-1669 (818) 963-7399 fax |
Mikuni 8910 N. Mikuni Avenue Northridge, CA 91324 (818) 885-1242 (818) 993-7388 fax |
| Yankee Engineuity 1520-A West San Carlos San Jose, CA 95126 (408) 275-0203 (408) 275-0204 fax |
Cycle Shack 1104 San Mateo Avenue South San Francisco, CA 94080 (650) 583-7014 (650) 583-9154 fax |
Raked Triple Trees–Ya Gotta Be Kidding!
By Bandit |
We are often asked to manufacture raked triple trees. Our decisionNOT TO RAKE TRIPLE TREES revolvesaround the stability and handling of the bike, and the safety of you,the rider. Raked triple trees are scientificallyunsound, as explained below.
As trail is REDUCED, instability results, producing a naturaltendency towards deflection or speed wobble.
As trail is INCREASED, so does the ability of a motorcycle toresist wobble and follow a straight line. There is alimit, however – too much trail can result in a motorcycle only beingable to travel in a straight line!
TRAIL is geometrically determined by continuing a centerlinethrough the frame head to the ground, and drop-ping a vertical line from the center of the axle. The differencebetween the 2 points (corrected to the centerlineof the motorcycle) is measured in inches.
THREE DIFFERENT FORK CONFIGURATIONS SHOWING HOWTRAIL IS AFFECTED
A) Typical Stock Configuration
A 30° rake is established in theframe head. The fork is alsoat 30°, with no rake changeevident in the triple trees. Thetrail is lets say 3.5″
B) Raked Triple Tree
The Frame Head remainsunaltered at 30°. The triple treesare machined to produce 35° inthe fork. The trail vanishes tozero degree, producing grossinstability.
C) How it Should Be Done
>The components are the sameexcept that the Frame Head isreconfigured to 35°. The alteredgeometry increases the trail tolet’s say 4.25 inches and producesmore straight-line stability.
So what’s the solution? We recommend altering the frame head inorder to achieve the desired non-standardrake. Never consider the “easy way out” by choosing raked tripletrees. We would caution the rider to seek professional help inselecting a precision jig and only using sound, careful weldingprocedures.
Glossary
RAKE: The angle of the fork tubes, expressedin degrees off vertical. Also: CASTER
TRAIL: An imaginary distance arrived atgeometrically, expressed in inches.
FRAME HEAD: A tubular section of the framethat houses the assembled fork stem andbearings. It is a normally immovable part whichestablishes the rake of the fork.
TRIPLE TREE: Machined, forged or castplates which contain the fork tubes and fork assembly.Usually no rake angle is established here.
Determining Fork Length
By Bandit |
Sponsored By:
Cycle Exchange
PO Box 275 – Hwy 51 South – Minocqua, WI 54548
Phone: (715) 356-7346 FAX: (715) 356-5896 Toll Free (877) 707-BIKE
© 2002 Cycle Exchange – All rights reserved
One item of widespread confusion between the custom buyer andbuilder is an uncertainty as to exactly how long his extended fork will be. Itmay be close to what he needs, but a difference in two will be. It may be closeto what he needs, but a difference in two inches or so either way can make amajor change in the looks and performance of an otherwise carefully designedscoot.
Trying to decide what length of fork, size of wheel, and theamount of rake can be a pain in the neck, so we have compiled some figures foryou that should make it a little easier. With the rear wheel and tire you’regoing to use installed on the frame, remove the fork and block the bottom ofyour frame until you have the height you want. Then get out your tape measureand play with some numbers until you come up with the combination you like. Wehave included a chart below to show what lengths our springers are (size =length in inches). To determine what length of fork tube to use for a stocktubular fork, measure the stock fork with weight on it before removing. Forexample, if your stock fork is 20 inches from the bottom cup the center of theaxle, and if after playing around with tire sizes, height, and so forth, youdetermine that you need 29 inches between the cup and the axle, you would ordera 9 inches over stock set of tubes for your bike.
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FORK OVER STOCK SPRINGER (inches) |
FRAME CUP TO AXLE (inches) |
| 3 | 23 |
| 6 | 26 |
| 9 | 29 |
| 12 | 32 |
| 15 | 35 |
| 18 | 38 |
| TIRE SIZE | AXLE HEIGHT (inches) | TIRE DIAMETER (inches) |
| 300×16 | 11 | 22 |
| 250×18 | 11 5/8 | 23 1/4 |
| 275×18 | 11 3/4 | 23 1/2 |
| 300×18 | 12 | 24 |
| 275×19 | 12 1/4 | 24 1/2 |
| 300×19 | 12 1/2 | 25 |
| 325×19 | 13 | 26 |
| 275×21 | 12 3/4 | 25 1/2 |
| 300×21 | 13 | 26 |
| 500×16 | 12 7/8 | 25 3/5 |
| 500×18 | 13 | 26 |
| 400×18 | 13 1/4 | 26 1/2 |
| 400×19 | 13 3/4 | 27 1/2 |
Sturgis Museum Celebrates its first Decade
By Bandit |
The Sturgis Motorcycle Museum & Hall of Fame is very excited to be celebrating its 10th Anniversary on June 1, 2011. In its relatively short history, the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum has grown to be a world-class museum with a collection of nearly 100 motorcycles and an impressive array of memorabilia associated with motorcycling and with the history of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.
It was spring of 2001 when a group of residents determined that Sturgis needed to have a motorcycle museum. So, in a joint effort the Museum’s Board of Directors, the Jackpine Gypsies Motorcycle Club, local students and members of the Sturgis community gathered to scrape, sand, and paint the old church building next to the Pyramid Bar. Gene and Nancy Flagler, owners of the church, determined the rent should be a whopping $1.00 a month, helping to make the Museum’s first and most critical year a little easier to manage financially.
The Sturgis Motorcycle Museum & Hall of Fame opened its doors to the public on June 1, 2001. Local and national collectors loaned the new Museum a selection of vintage and rare V-twin and metric motorcycles, offering visitors a glimpse into the magnificent world of two wheels.
After only a year in business, the City of Sturgis was so impressed with the museum’s progress that it offered the old Post Office on the corner of legendary Main Street & Junction Avenue as the museum’s new home. With financial support from the State of South Dakota and many others, the museum was able to open the doors on its present location in 2002.
The Museum has continued to grow, opening its lower level in August, 2003. With several exhibit rooms and an increasingly impressive selection of unique motorcycles, the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum offers a world class experience for visitors. 
Today, the Museum is open year round, seven days a week. Summer months are the busiest as people flock to the famous motorcycle mecca, culminating in August during the world-renowned Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Last year, the museum greeted over 35,000 visitors. For its 10th Anniversary year, the museum hopes to beat that record and welcome even more visitors. We hope you’ll be among them. 