I don’t know where to start. Last week Micah and I peeled into Long Beach in my ’72 Ford F250, which was recently checked out by my mechanic, Mr. Patino.
Ever since I stumbled into this cool truck, I’ve made improvements, but I still wanted to have a professional take a look. I solved lots of issues, but I wanted fresh eyes to look it over.
I have a code about professionals, since I have built lots of stuff in my lifetime, and I know the pros can be pulled in lots of directions, including drinking issues, drugs and divorce. Anytime, which is rare, I have a shop do anything on my bikes, I inspect or review what was done. It started in the ‘80s when a shop wanted to install a performance kit on my FXR, including new pipes. When I got the bike back, it was faster but vibrated like crazy. They had bolted their new duals to my frame. That’s against the code on a rubber-mounted bike.
Okay, you get the picture, so as Micah and I start to roll toward Long Beach, just a couple of miles away, the truck started to die at intersections. First, it would re-fire or I would drop the clutch and it would restart and I kept rolling. Then it got worse and I got nervous. We wanted to be on time.
Smokey, a renowned vintage Indian rebuilder and Harley engine mechanic recently committed suicide, because of the onslaught of an illness. We talk about aging all the time now. The Baby Boomers are checking out. We’re not aging, we’re dying—fuck. It’s pisses me off. We’ll all be gone in the next couple of decades, except for a very few, who make it to 100, but who the fuck gives a fuck about that. Oh, Ray Wheeler does.
All the guys in their 70s are facing the dying process. I noticed recently, my light weights are getting heavy. It pisses me off. I’m still trying to work out three times a week, but it’s more daunting now. Fuck. Arlen Ness just passed. Guys and gals are passing every week. This will be interesting, because of the massive number of Baby Boomers around, but imagine another 30 years from now. The bottom line is that everything comes and goes. There’s no stopping the dying process. We can try to slow it down some, but good luck.
We just need to party until the end. Who the fuck cares? It just doesn’t matter.
So, we prayed for green lights as we rumbled down Broadway heading into the east side of Long Beach. As we passed downtown our issue worsened. At every stoplight it would die. Micah scrambled out of the cab, monkeyed with the battery cables, it fired back to life and on we went.
Micah found a few Sunnon Hone mandrels and kept eyeing the floor mounted complete hone with a drain tray. I didn’t have any burning desire for any of his Indian engine rebuilding tools, but I did check out the myriad of vintage carbs hanging from the open-beam ceiling. And I was on the search for an automatic advance distributor used from ’65 to ’69 I believe.
As it turned out, Micah spotted one and I was able to score it for my Panhead before Go from Brat Style bought all the rest of the shop tools and equipment for his shop on the west side of Long Beach. He’s a master with Indians and vintage bikes.
When we departed Micah commented, “I think we solved the issue with the truck.”
I pointed out that I coasted into our parking spot, but I made my way to the truck while Micah discussed other deals with Tim. Here’s his number, if he can help you sell or find something (949) 254-6551. I discovered a very loose wire on a circuit breaker next to the solenoid. I tightened it and thought for sure I had discovered the issue.
I put it in neutral and fired it up, but as soon as I depressed the clutch it died. Ah hah, the culprit showed its face. The clutch pedal was causing a major disconnect and Micah scrambled under the dash to find a loose wire connector. Fixed, we hit the road back to the shop for more Salt Torpedo work.
We’re making major progress and decided on a gas pedal. Our cable actuated parachute lever arrived in addition to a thumb throttle, but we shifted to the gas pedal. Neither one of us wanted a cable wrapped around the steering column. Zack stopped by and brought a small but accurate 5-Ball, perfect for our shift lever.
I just spoke to Steve Massicotte, from Paughco. The gas tank should be here tomorrow, and they are going to help with a turn-out exhaust component to take the Bassini exhaust blast outside the body.
I installed the automatic advance distributor and put the timing mark in the hole. Micah set the timing with the distributor, but the Panhead still isn’t running right. I messed with the carb, but it wasn’t happy.
Okay, I will bring you more reports next week. I get up every day with a start and a list a mile long. Every fuckin’ day is an adventure, full of excitement, challenges and creative endeavors. Hang on for the next report. I’ll try to find a way to discuss the dying process. It’s a tough one, but we need not be surprised when an old fart dies. It isn’t a surprise, we’re all dying, just some faster than others.
–Bandit
