I’ve worked at ESPN for eight years. I started as a summer intern in the Unix group three days after I graduated high school. Shortly after, I was offered a full time position, and I’ve been there ever since. Longer than any relationship I’ve ever been in, longer than any place I’ve ever lived, and way longer than any motorcycle I’ve ever owned. This past Friday, was my last day.
Many people we’re pretty confused as to why I was leaving (my boss especially). I wasn’t unhappy with the job, the money, or any of the people I worked with. However, I found myself feeling rather complacent with the job. With a medium-sized company like ESPN, jobs and skillsets are streamlined and tailored to specific categories. One group manages everything relating to the network, one group manages the web sites, one group manages the servers, and there is even one group responsible for placing fake coyote’s around the campus to discourage the families of geese that make the campus their home every year.
Monday I start with a small consulting company with big dreams, and bigger shoes. Run by three great guys who don’t have time to bicker at eachother over ego’s or step on eachother to climb up a ladder of rank. The only thing we have time to do is work hard. I’ll be working from my home office most of the time, coming into the office for meetings and so they remember what I look like. I’ll be working on just about every technology, and even some that don’t exist yet.
ESPN, so long and thanks for all the fish. Here’s to the next eight years.
Its another monday. What better way to kick it off than with some a Mad-Max / Motorhead compliation? I do not recommend watching this before driving into work.
I just finished putting this and this, into that. I think it came out pretty well. Now to register with the DMV, and wheelie off into the sunset.
In a few spurts of work during the week, I managed to take the monster down to bare motor. It was not without its highs and its lows however.
After disconnecting the rear shock linkage, I started to take off the swingarm, only to discover that the pinch bolt on the sprocket side had been horribly deformed by the chain. There was no way to get an allen key in there. I cut down through the deformed portion of the bolt with a dremel until I could get the allen key in, but by that point there wasn’t enough purchase to loosen it and it stripped. The bolt is recessed into the swingarm halfway, so there wasn’t an easy way to try any conventional bolt removal options. I finally ended up cutting a hacksaw blade, and tediously hand-sawing through the bolt. Took two hours, but it finally came free.
The horizontal cylinders exhaust manifold bolts we’re completely rusted to the studs, and likely have never been touched since the bike rolled off the factory floor. Both ended up stripping, and then pulled out the studs. I’m torn on if I should invest the money and get the ti hardware, or just try to get an OEM set. Oh, and the pinch bolt that holds the collector onto the vertical exhaust manifold also snapped cleanly when I tried to loosen it.
The frame came off without incident after that. I cleaned up the motor in prep for mike to weld the broken mount back together. Meanwhile, the perfect cool days of spring keep zipping by outside. I’ve been here before…
“Pags” my 1998 Ducati Monster 900, went up on the lift this past week. Pags came as a deal that was too good to be true, and yet this pathological two-wheeled optimist bought him anyways. Pags was involved in a highway accident (at speed) with a deer. Needless to say, both the deer and the saucy italian motorcycle lost. The deer is no longer with us, and the meeting of the two left Pags with a bent frame, bent front wheel, and some cosmetic damage. The owner had the bike rebuilt, rode it (bent frame and all) until he could afford a new one.
When I got Pags, the accident and all associated information was disclosed to me. I knew I was getting into damaged goods, but its hard to turn down a motorcycle that costs less than your monthly mortgage payment. I sourced a ‘95 frame from BCM, and even managed to blow a day of skiing with Cyndi to pick it up. (Note to guys out there, its not wise to anger the one who supportively funds your wild moto antics). Handlebars, new turn signals, and half a paycheck at Ca-Cycleworks for sprockets, chains, fork oil, and all the required “tune-up” parts. My plan was to pull Pags apart, give him a bath, and then put him back together and ride off into the sunset feeling like I had gotten something for nothing.
I’m still not quite sure if I was smoking some weed laced with bleach, or the waiter at Ruby Tuesday’s that night accidentally dropped some of his ’shrooms into my salad. As I started taking Pags apart, I started following the story of neglect and abuse. The high mount exhaust was poorly mounted and had shaved a gouge in the swingarm, and the ride height adjusters. A battery evidently exploded or leaked at some point, and the right side engine covers paint is chipping off, same story with the front and rear wheel. Poor Pags must have been stored outside uncovered for a long time, as many of case bolts are pitted with spots of rust. I’ve already spent more time brushing and grinding rust off bolts and parts (and painting them) than I have actually disassembling the bike.
Just when I had reached a stopping point, I ran into a surprise bonus. The left front engine mount is cracked in two places. Thoughts of pulling engine casings apart had just entered my mind (along with sorrow and frustration), when the thought of welding the crack popped up. I dropped a note to Mike @ GMD Computrak in Milford (who can weld gum wrappers together). He mentioned he’s done it no less than a hundred times, so at some point I’m going to have to hump the motor down to Milford.
Monsters are funny bikes to work on. From the surface, they look simple and elegant. Pop the tank and its just a rats-nest of wires and cables jammed under a tank. Compared to my SS, the fuel delivery system is ten times more complicated, the wiring loom has twice the number of connectors, and the suspension system is a far cry from the ‘two-bolt, pull the shock’ deal my SS has. I’m hoping I can get it all together by May, so Cyndi and I can take a little moto vacation together. That is, as long as there are no more bonus surprises.
My fondest memory of Reed was at a track day I attended last year. The weather was miserable, a light mist of a rain. It was my first time on the track with my Husqvarna SMR. We all would go out together and dice it up on the track in the rain. Big stupid grin on everyones face, followed by a mediocre meal with some really terrible service at a Ruby Tuesdays. It wasn’t anything terribly special, nothing that changed your life or your views. Just a really great day of riding that stays with you for the rest of your life. Sad to see him go so young.
Fatal motorcycle accident shuts down part of Route 6
A somber start to a new season.
Saturday brought a morning of light mist that barely wet the asphalt. The kind of rain that doesn’t warrant the use of umbrellas or hats, or windshield wipers for that matter. By the afternoon, the sun peered out from behind the sparsely populated clouds and started warming up the ground. The thermometer outside the shop read a even forty-eight degrees. “Not a bad day to be in the garage” I told myself, warming my hands on the stove. But that was a lie. Any day above freezing with a running motorcycle after four months of snow and ice, was always better than a day in the garage. I threw a couple more logs in the stove, and opened up the toolbox with a quiet sigh.
“If this doesn’t work, I’m just throwing this clamtrap into my pickup truck and taking it to BCM.” I stated matter-of-factly to Zsolt last weekend. “I just don’t get it!” When I said it, I really believed it. I’d almost always rather accomplish and learn something myself than involve someone else in my mess, but this experience was really testing my already extensively wide limits. Constantly dealing with ghosts and gremlins, even after what shows to be a completely successful top-end repair. But I saw all this as a test of my understanding of the work already completed. Its a system, its a science, its an organic program that has a few running variables out of whack. Why can’t I fix this? Just this past week I managed to build a complete infrastructure for a program I’ve never experienced before, in a programming language I’ve never used; yet I cannot get the motorcycle I’ve been “rebuilding” for two years running correctly?
Last time I had the carburetors apart, I wrote down the jetting in my notebook. I had a feeling that the idle circuit was too lean for the new rings now working against the cylinders. I did some research online, reviewing some base-settings set on monsters and supersports that moto-one has put together over the years. The consensus among most tuners was that the stock pilot jet (#37.5) was much to lean for any aftermarket use. The stock needle also left things a little lean. I purchased a stage-1 jet kit from Cycleworks in the vain hope that maybe the running problems I’ve had we’re all a matter of being overly lean. I’ve always been skeptical of jet-kits as I’d rather buy only what I need, than occupy shelves with more parts I don’t need, but I was very impressed with the FactoryPro kit I got. New stainless steel hex-head screws to replace the cheap black philips-head screws, as well as the float bowl retaining screws. The kit came with a #37, #38, and a #40 pilot jet. All the main-jets included in the kit we’re smaller than what I already had installed. The new needle should help richen up the top end a bit more (even though I haven’t had any problem running off the main circuit).
As I was putting one half of the carbs together, I heard the faint murmur of a four-stroke single over the garage. “That bastard.” I exclaimed to myself, putting down the new pilot jets. Every bike has a distinct sound, a auditory fingerprint thats can get left in your mind. After a season of riding, I had no doubt that sound was Glenn on his Suzuki DRZ supermoto, complete with the ‘make enemies, not neighbors’ straight through RS-3 exhaust. I popped open a bay, lit up a smoke and listened to the 400cc single close in, waiting for him as he dropped down into my driveway. He warmed up by the stove, and over a few smokes we kicked tires and talked about the possibility of taking a motorcycle tour around the Baja Peninsula, Mexico. After sadly both coming to the realization that we probably couldn’t afford it this year, Glenn decided to take off for lunch.
Couldn’t have been five minutes after Glenn left, when I heard the sharp chirp of Cyndi’s scooters horn. It was a nice day for a sub-forty mile per hour ride, and she had come over to do the first service. She watched over my shoulder as I changed her oil and inspected the small strainer screen that substitutes for an oil filter on her little scooter. Despite being ridden around at redline all day long and often higher, the engine oil was still pretty clean. A half-quart of 10w50 and a little polish, and the blue Honda looked (and ran) almost better than new.
Cyndi left shortly after, and I settled back into finishing the carbs for the SS. The new pilot jets went in without hassle, as well as the new needles. I reset the air-fuel screws to 2.5 turns out, and put it all back together. I flicked off the run switch, and ran the starter motor for a few revolutions to prime the oil pump, then flicked it back to run and thumbed the starter again. The bike fired up instantly, but I could tell immediately, even with the new pilot jets not very much had changed. I gave the bike a quick pull of throttle, and sure enough the revs hung, and I was right back where I started. My idle speed was set by the book, the carburetors sync’ed to within 1/16″ of a inch of each other. Nothing made sense. The book tells me everything’s right, but everything is wrong! Angry and frustrated, I threw my tools to the floor and stormed out of the shop and took Lola for a walk.
While walking, I thought to a conversation I had with a co-worker about perceptions that we form, and continued that line of thought to my predicament. Within minutes, I came to an epiphany. I hadn’t heard this motorcycle run correctly in over two years, and I have absolutely no perception of what it should sound like. You know when your motor is running poorly, when its sound and feel changes from the perception you had yesterday, and the day before. Here I am working off a perception so old, that I might as well have never heard it run, ever! The forest for the trees, damn it! I turned Lola around, and quickly made tracks back home.
I closed the book, threw out every spec they had listed, and with a long flat blade screwdriver, laying on the cold garage floor, started playing with the idle and the carburetor sync screw. I set the idle slightly higher, and things got worse, so I set the idle as low as I could go without killing the motor. Ka-thump-thump, ka-thump-thump. Wait, I’ve heard this before, I know I’ve heard this before! I turned the carburetor sync screw down 1/8th of a turn, an heard an audible “click” in my head. The perception was restored, this is how I remember the bike sounding. I glanced at the sync sticks while on my back, and saw they we’re dead on. I excitedly jumped up, and tugged on the throttle.
*vvrraaaaROOOM!*. The revolutions swooped up quickly, and fell back down to a steady idle. I did it again, and again, waiting for things to change as the motor warmed up. But it only got better, and louder. *vrraaaROOOOM*. I was on cloud nine. Even though I was completely alone in the shop, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Sure, I’ve screwed this thing up beautifully along the way, but I’ve also un-screwed it. I stood there with a smile and a cigarette in my hand and started thinking of early Sunday rides to small coffee shops hundreds of miles away, the feeling of riding a beautiful Italian damsel through the most voluptuous curves I could think of.
Listen to the clack-thump-clack of a well running Ducati, and tell me you don’t see those same curves, and those same road-side coffee shops deep in the country.
Months ago, my friend Zsolt asked if I had any garage space to spare for a handful of weeks. Seems that while he was out in California, his KTM 560SMR’s top-end bushing had went south, and he was in need of a rebuild. “Of course! In fact, why don’t you just do the whole assembly here?”
Zsolt introduced me into the world of Supermoto racing shortly after I bought my Husqavarna SM510. “Come to the track! Do a practice session, and see how you like it!” He knew what he was doing, as shortly after I found myself buying race plastics and 5″ racing wheels. Now I had a chance to let the pendulum swing and repay him for my countless inquisitions during the previous season, simply by giving him a garage door opener and a brief introduction to the ancient French coal stove that keeps the shop warm during the coldest months of the year.
Tirelessly he would show up during the week, and on weekends to work on his motor. As time allowed, I’d sit in a queen-mary chair passed down to me from my grandfathers law office, drinking coffee and pestering him while he worked. A perfectionist with an unyielding attention to detail, Zsolt would inspect, clean, inspect and clean every single part he touched. Every bolt was cleaned, and measured before anything was done with it. Mating surfaces we’re cleaned, planed, cleaned, inspected, and then cleaned again. He went through contact cleaner like he owned stock in the company, the garage in constant risk of going up in flames every time I’d light up in the haze of CFC fumes. Bearings and other parts, became a common sight in the freezer where the coffee was kept. Gradually, I watched as the motor came back together in perfected segments, until sitting on the bench was a complete motor with brand new internal parts. The KTM Racing logo emblazoned on the side of the clutch cover gleaming in the dim shop light. Could have been a brand-new crate motor from Austria, it looks that good.
Sunday, I helped him put the motor and swingarm on the bike and then set up the 900SS in a corner to finish connecting things. I halfheartedly worked on the 900SS, while Zsolt built the bike up from box of parts in a day. Halfway through the day (six hours of straight work on Zsolt’s part) he hit the only snag in the rebuild. The kickstarter assembly was in backwards. Frustrated, we shot to the local pub and talked tech over a few pints, and then headed back with clear(er) heads. Four hours later, Zsolt was splashing some 93 octane into the tank while I filled the crankcase up with fresh 10w50 oil. After a verbal checklist and the required pre-start smoke, Zsolt jumped on the kickstarter. *Ka-flub-flub-click*. He re-positioned it and jumped again. *Ka-flub-flub-flub-click*. We both figured we needed a few revolutions to get gas up and through the carb. Zsolt gave the bike another kick, and it simply became running. No protest, stammer or shudder. No noises of grave mechanical disappointment, just the smooth and rhythmic tick over of a precision built motor running, perhaps better than it did from the factory.
This is how rebuilds are supposed to go. Things just work the way they should, without hours, days of months of troubleshooting. Weeks of work vindicated by a single moment. I looked at Zsolts immaculate engine, nestled in the steel frame of his SMR, parked next to my 900SS. Under my SS, a few drops of oil from gradual leaks, road grime coating every external facing part of the motor reminds me that maybe my attitude to building motors is a little off.
Last night I had to do it out. I fiddled with the carbs, the jetting, the ignition, the valve clearance on the SS for a total of around 50 hours. At my “cheap” consulting rate of 40$/hr (before) taxes, that means I spent the equivlent of 2,000$ trying to get my ‘95 Ducati SuperSport to run right.
Last night, with the help of Zsolt and Cyndi, I pulled the motor out of the frame yet again, and tore into the ailing vertical cylinder. Just looking at the valves, I could tell something wasn’t right. I did the solvent test in the combustion chamber with both valves closed at TDC, and sure enough, the liquid disappeared behind the exhaust valve. Took the valve out, lapped it quickly and noticed that it wasn’t lapping very easily. A pretty decent ridge of carbon buildup right above the face of the valve wasn’t allowing it to seat fully. I sprayed some aircraft-grade aluminum stripper and let it soak. As of 10:30pm last night, I was still fighting trying to remove the carbon ridge from the face. But I’ll get it. I’m concerned about ruining the face of the valve with anything real tough, so I think I’ll just spend some time with a scotch-brite pad, and some fine grit sandpaper to try and remove the carbon. I’m open to suggestions though (except buying new valves).
Its very frustrating to spend that much time for a simple, stupid problem like this. On the plus side, the bike should purr like a kitten now that both valves are seating correctly. Completely explains the running issues I was experiencing.
All this makes me like the Moster that much more. I can pull cylinder heads and jugs off without removing the motor from the frame. I’m either going to have serious back problems, or some serious muscles for the number of times I’ve wrestled this aging Italian powerplant in and out of its trellis frame.
UPDATE: I thought that the carbon ridge was what was preventing the valve from lapping correctly. Rocky saw my picture and with a good eye said “That valve looks bent!” I initially thought he was just being pessmistic, but when I chucked it up into the lathe and checked runout on the valve face, sure enough, it is indeed bent. Time to get a new exhaust valve, and re-check squish to make sure I didn’t do anything incredibly stupid. I know I learn all my lessons the hard way, but now its really starting to hurt!
Despite my technical job, I often find myself “behind the curve” of technology. I don’t subscribe to spending copious amounts of money on new phones and gadgets, I’d rather buy motorcycle parts and food. I don’t have a need for a gigabit ethernet switch, multi-function scanners, printers and fax machines, or cameras that toast bread.
But this week, I was forced to make a change towards technology. After fighting with my phone company over the costs associated with fixing the excess line noise, I gave AT&T the proverbial middle finger, and switched to VoIP (Vonage). Despite a scheduling mix-up that left me without a home phone for three days, I must say I’m impressed.
I was paying 27-35$ a month for local-only phone coverage on a line so noisy that I often had to press the phone hard to my ear, and plug my other ear, just to hear what the party was saying on the other line. I now pay 24$ a month to call anywhere in the US. I get voicemail service for free, and they get magically delivered to me via email, so I can keep up on correspondence, even if I’m not home. If I need to travel on business, my home phone can come with me if needed.
Most of you know I’m not big on telephony, but this has me pretty jazzed up. VoIP is here to stay. With the internet more proliferate than aging telephone technology, its only a matter of time before the telephone line as we know it, simply fades away like VHS tapes, and Cassettes.