Unscheduled Maintenance in Ben’s Shed

It has been a big month in the Warden garage.

Dual high beam stopped working unexpectedly. A quick diagnosis connecting a globe across a hot spare battery indicated the globe was in brilliant working order. Could only be the relay I figured. Thanks to Peter Weyermayr and the Internet I have a copy of the workshop manual but my hard copy was missing half of the wiring diagram. A quick call to Pete and a resent zip file identified the wiring colours and where to find the relay – under the dreaded one-piece duct tail and side panels. But first to find a spare relay still attached to the spare loom, care of the complete wreck I bought a few years ago which continues to donate.

Perfect! Everything matches. Now to get at and remove the old relay.

Pillion seat off, various duct tail screws removed till we reach the point of going no further and judicious bending required. Relays (one for low beam, one for high beam) exposed. Swapped over. No change? And then it becomes apparent. Three of the four wires have rubbed through; gritty mud, fairing flex and a tight fitting wiring loom proving a potent grinding recipe.

Out with the trusty soldering iron and cutters – disconnecting the battery first because the soldering iron is earthed and the next thing would have been blown bike fuses, a lesson learned the hard way at work playing with 240 V resulting in no-eyebrows, singed hair and being blown across the room on a wheelie chair – and a big bang and blinding flash of course. But I was young then…

Excellent soldering work performed, loom protected, lights tested positively, reinstate duct-tail, cleanup.

Sunday’s ride to Brisbane Ranges saw a sweet smell emanating from the bike in front, I hoped. Alas, leaving Meredith it became abundantly apparent that 165,000 of unshielded radiator had finally lost out to the high speed stoning mainly from the front wheel, and possibly from a bike in front. Green coolant was succumbing to the pressure and escaping to the atmosphere; not optimal when you are 70 km from the next stop with a fierce tail wind facilitating even higher than average touring speeds. The temp gauge slowly crept up from the normal 82 deg (used to be 78 when mint, but radiator is pretty “solid” these days), inch by inch, degree by degree, in to the 90’s and eventually 100 and 101 just as we made Werribee. I slowly wound the speed back, taking the load off the motor. Nevertheless, the on-coming TOG car on the infamous long straight running into Werribee sent the heart rate through the roof. No good spending all day watching the temperature gauge and forgetting about other risks. Geoff slithered past him on the front wheel, nose buried in the tar, trying to pull up to a respectable, undetectable speed.

After the break-up I headed back to the nearest servo with Cliff and Ha in tow. After removing the right hand fairing, a twenty dollar (ouch!) 250 ml bottle of Nulon Stop Leak was tipped into the radiator, and another 800 ml of water. Not sure what the radiators take to fill from empty but down over a litre was no doubt heading for trouble.

The bike seemed to run trouble free the rest of the week on the regular 25 km round trip peak hour commute. I figured I would ignore the leak; pretend it never happened. Until Thursday night and green foam appeared under the bike as I waited for the electric garage door to open, and then gushed a puddle on the garage floor. No option but to remove the radiator and get it welded.

Friday morning I rang radiator places in North Melbourne to see if they could fix it the same day. A place in Dryburgh St saw no issue and gave me a call to say it was ready to go early afternoon. $50 cash seemed like good value for such rapid and excellent service.

Friday night saw another night spent in the garage listening to the footy and reinstating the radiator. Some copper flyscreen was installed as stone protection applying the 20-20 hindsight rule. The 929 didn’t have a screen either and never got a hole in 198,000 km. Just rotten luck I guess! While I was at it I cleaned the bike, dropping its weight by at least half a kilo. Cliff suggested it was a new bike when he saw it next. Peter Jones offered to clean it - twice – and I could have the pick of his garage for the day, either the blinged R1 or the blinged CBR1000. Tempting, I must admit. Thanks Pete.

The following Sunday’s ride two-up saw no issues. Wednesday night heading home from work the motor dropped back to 3 cylinders, chuffing and vibrating like crazy, well down on power. Nothing to do but press on and get home somehow. It could only be fuel or electrics and the fact that the other cylinders seemed to be happy enough pointed me towards electrics – coil or plug - but which one? And what a mongrel to get to! Being not unfamiliar with this scenario, 3 minutes after crawling home at 80 km behind a slow car in the freeway, temp gauge happy at 82 degrees, I felt each exhaust pipe looking for the “cold” one. Sure enough #4 was quite cool.

In order: remove rear seat, top inner fairing black bits of plastic to release tank, then tank mounting bolts and pivot tank upwards and affix to ocky straps hanging from roof, struggle manfully with 5 hoses attached to air box, disconnect two sensors, remove air box lid – strip one over tightened screw, spend half an hour trying to get out, remove trumpets from inside air box, remove lower air box, remove thin rubber dust/water/cooling panel, reach coils! Find spare coils (that donor wreck again) – the ones Pina used on her bike and now in a plastic bag. Remove #4 – looks bad – dirty, red rust colour. Water? Remove plug – fowled and oily. Try to clean – risk of breaking anode iridium tip too high. Done 60,000 km anyway. Replace plug. As tank still connected, test before reinstating. Motor fires first stab and purrs beautifully. Genius. “Installation is the reverse order of removal.” Manage to collect Julie from “Philosophy” class in the city at 9.05 pm, 10 minutes late, bike all done.

In parallel with 954 regular unscheduled maintenance is work on Ha’s bike. She dropped around with a new rear hugger/mudguard, the original being eaten alive by the chain. Wheel out, old mudguard out, new mudguard in, wheel in, lube chain, Ha sorting lost battery captive nut issue with vice and file. Roll bike out of garage, early night.

Almighty crash as side stand digs into mud and bike falls heavily, blinker smashing its way through fairing taking large chunk of fairing with it, and smaller pieces around headlight for good measure. Handlebar weight snapped off, various other cosmetic scratches, bent rack.

Remove top fairing (i.e. remove every other fairing to get to the top fairing, but no problem as I am expert now as similar process is required to get access to the headlight globe, an earlier challenge), head to South Morang to visit friendly plastic and paint man, twist arm, call his sister his mother (mother died a few days earlier, but I had forgotten), further compounded foot in mouth syndrome calling same sister Helga, not Hilda. Come up with a repair and paint plan, drive Ha back home, get lost on Plenty Road not recognising it. Where’d all these shop and factory complexes and houses come from? So much for the early night! Slept well though.

Rear rider for Erica ride, Ha as pillion. Kept the leader in sight mainly, group tightly compressed. Shared pain - 500 km worth. Chain starting to stretch fast. That would be scheduled maintenance!

Ben Warden