Mechanic is My Middle Name

So here's the dealio, I officially rocked the socks off my motorcycle this last week.

As many of you know, I traded my 1970 Volkswagen Bug for a 1976 Honda XL 350 motorbike. The motorcycle is basically a 34 year old brand new machine. It hardly has any miles on it, no real damage to the frame, the engine is pristine, and the list goes on. There was, however, one small hiccup in this almost perfect storm. The bike mysteriously stopped running after I drove it over to my dad's house.

Boom.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise though, because I have a long, and I mean long, and distinguished career of buying or inheriting vehicles that "mysteriously stop running after driving them to my dads house." This bike it seemed, was just another notch in my belt.

Alas.

My problems were about to be solved as mysteriously as they arrived. I was determined to reverse the curse as it were, and re-establish myself in the world of running vehicles. So I set to work on the motorcycle.

It soon became apparent that this obstacle was not going to be as formidable as I thought. It turned out that everything I learned from fixing up the bug could be applied to this bike. It was tantamount to a biblical miracle.

After an extensive diagnostic, I determined the culprit to be a lack of spark. I had fuel, I had air, but no spark. My combustion tetrahedron was incomplete. Having very little to draw on the ways of motorcycle mechanics, I did what I knew how. I removed, and cleaned the carburetor and put it back. Next, I dove into the electrical component of creating that life giving spark and spent a lot of time on line looking at wiring diagrams and reading threads on web sites. Eventually I came to the conclusion that my coil was bad, so I pulled one off a bike at the Motorcycle Boneyard and installed it.

No sparky.

With frustrations running through me, I asked Bill, the owner of the Boneyard what the problem could be. He said it was probably my points. If the gap was too large, the electrical current wouldn't generate enough voltage to ignite the fuel. Bill was right. My gap was twice what it should have been, so I spent several hours trying to solve that little dilemma. Eventually, I ran out of time, and energy and gave up. I had done the best I could, and exhausted all of my resources. It was time for professional help. I knew I was close. But in the world of points and condensers, close still means no spark.

I brought the bike home, parked it in dad's garage, and waited for payday to come so I could dish out the dough to some dude who would fix what I had messed up. Chances were high that the mechanic would be able to fix the bike in like point 5 seconds and laugh at me for being a moron. Needless to say, I was not thrilled.

Booya.

I guess all the bike needed was a little time, and a generous spray of starter fluid. Last night, my mom told me that Uncle Kim had not only started my bike, but drove it around for awhile and said how proud he was of the work I had done! I don't know how it happened, in fact, I'm pretty sure some house elves came in after I left and fixed my bike. But whether or not Dobby had anything to do with it, I'm grateful that the thing is up and running. Now I just have to think of a name for it......