Falling in love again...

I worked that Benz. More, way more hours under that thing. When I twisted my little 11mm line wrench for the last time, and the hydraulic fluid flowed with nary' a leak - every painful moment was worth it. There was more cutting and re-threading involved than I care to share.

The exhaust did not surrender - it fought to the last and was duly vanquished.

The brakes bled gallons.

When I took the first ride in what felt like an entirely different car - floating along with the power coming on in a classical wave - nothing better.

I'm still riding the puch all original. Looks like I'll be re-chroming the pipes and making do with many of the parts I have on hand - the proper way to do it. I'll be fighting the temptation to buy a Triumph. I'll be repainting a Motobecane bicycle and experimenting with zinc plating and silverleaf. I'll bring the BMW back to riding condition with some new cables, paint, wiring and a pair of new clip-ons....

All in all, many more mistakes, triumphs, fleeting moments of regret and mechanical challenges to come!

MercCrucible Update

At first, straight forward. Rusty line, fasteners, normal stuff. A challenge for sure. Had it all together, one last fitting on the end of a hydraulic line didn't thread right. I've spent 10 hours working on that one fitting. At this point, I've cut out the line - my cousin offered to remake it for me tomorrow. Here's to hoping. Haven't touched the exhaust or brakes.

To update the analogy of a challenging exam:

Things start well, the questions are a challenge = pulse quickens as your preparation and focus pay off and pour on the paper. 45 minutes in, and you know you're ahead of the game.

The room is dead silent.

In the distance, down the hall, a dull thud. Then another, much louder. The door to the hall bursta open - a flash-bang grenade rolls in and explodes. Your ears are ringing, you can't see - the first row and proctor are on the floor. Some are moving, some screaming - all as a band of German paramilitaries fan out across the room through the mist and chaos.

They're looking for you - the one that dared to crawl under a specimen of rolling national pride - the one that dare lay his American hand upon the delicate underbelly of a Mercedes Benz.

In and out of consciousness, tied down on the proctor's table. Hydraulic fluid drip, drip, drips into your eyes from a perfectly engineered torture device suspended above your head. Your captors sprinkle rust flakes into your face. One even throws the occasional box wrench onto your chest.

Why should I have expected it to go any other way?? :) Love it. Been riding the Puch by necessity - brilliant!

MerCrucible?

I traded out a few complications in my life - the Range Rover and BMW 535i, for something new.

The car, to me, means a move towards simplification, reliability; shoring up a better foundation for projects to come.

For years, my cousin's told me that Mercedes made before 1996 are some of the most dependable and over-engineered cars ever made. In particular, the series known as the w124, produced in the late 80's and early 90's, seems the business. I found an estate version, and bought it.

212,000 miles be damned. Most solid, nicest car I've ever owned. Tomorrow, I get serious about the mechanics. I'll be replacing two magical spheres, called "accumulators." These glands use the fascinating power of hydraulics to keep the car from bouncing like an empty school bus (which it does now). Also, hoping to simply bolt on some new exhaust system components and bleed the brakes.

I feel all together different about the coming adventure. I've studied with an academic bend. Applied myself to preparing the workspace, sought guidance, collected the proper documentation. It feels like my first exam in a challenging college course - the first time you feel like you really have to try to nail it - but know that in the end, you can. Let's see where we are in a few days, then back to the Puch. Promise.

This is what I'm talking about

This is James Dean. This is James Dean on a Puch Twingle. This makes all the difference in the world. I'll see you on the street...

Thanks for finding the photo Frankie! Check him out - Handverker - frankieflood.blogspot.com

What a day...

So, I haven't posted in a while. My life has played out in a series of truly boombastic errors and calm, smoldering victories. In sum, here they are:

Errors:

Purchase and follied restoration of a BMW 535i. Sold last week. Good lesson, financial loser.

Packed new car too tight, shattered rare rear window. Big Loss, but convenient for moving large things that now stick out the window-hole, where the glass should be.

Forgot crucial light fixture parts at ikea, for the second time in a month. Just sucks

Not an error, but sucks: BMW started today - had to call Matt to see if the megagallons of white smoke pouring out of the crash-side cylinder were normal. He assured me that it was routine, and that they "smoke like banshees" after they spend on the sides. No engine damage, bit the tank and headlight shell are dented, valve cover is chewed up, and turn signal is busted off. Good work ahead.

My cat, Rudy, has some funky brown shit in his eye, might have to go to the vet. Ugh.

Victories:

Now a homewoner - bought a nice duplex bungalow with my mother in bayview. Good move, but the last 10 days of moving myself, and mama out of her dirty lair have been a bit much. My girl, Sonja, has an uncanny talent for packing, unpacking, organizing, junk removal, and taskmistressing.

Got a 1990 Mercedes Benz 300te Wagon with tons of miles. Needs work, but already the best car I've had. I can really really fit in at my cousin's shop, Black Forest. Plus, a whole new marques' worth of t-shirts and ephemera to buy.

Got some used Milwaukee power tools - all worth it.

Have a nice kitchen, finally. Pics to come soon.

Have a nice garage, pics to come soon.

Puch still runs, and soon, there will be time to mess with it!

Cheers, all...More moto content on the way.

Non-moto, heavy metal

Getting ready to leave DC. Next week, I move. I also have the huge opportunity to put the kitchen together - it's an empty shell with some period cabinets and original cast iron sink (ca.1925). So, I decided to get this:

Picking up in Madison on Sunday. It's got history - real pro stove, everything works for $100. I want to either find or make some matching knobs after I clean it up. I'll put a Wok ring on the burner with no grate - PERFECT!

My favorite part of the movie RATATOUILLE was the kitchen hardware:

I think I can get that dirty old stove closer to what you see here (if it weren't digitally generated)....stay tuned, and prepare for a meal cooked on a proper stove!

Crumbling!

The Setup:

I'm in Washington, DC for work. This city holds no magic for me. Little charm, humidity, and an attitude that just prods.

My phone isn't working well - a situation that's irksome at VERY best....

I left my hotel this evening after a really long day bathing in fluorescent light to go to the nearby CVS (which of course, closed early). I needed ibuprofen, for my WRECKED back and leg - each a result of awkward time spent working on the 535i last weekend, and a failure to stay in shape this summer - a whole other point of discussion and soul cutting source of angst.

The Hit:

The door slid open, and I heard a string of about 8 little "dings" from my phone - a backlog of txts! As I inhaled my first breath of moist, superheated DC air - I made out a message that I never want to see...

From my mother:

8.07pm:

Found Motorcycle tipped over on side when I got home. What should I do?

8.40pm: (a long ass time later):

Neighbor got it up and put in garage. Was laying in some gas little paint nibbled right by cap and tip of handle bar disconnected (that's the turn-signal I finally got secure, wired, and working last weekend)...

ONLY GOOD PART:

He (neighbor) wants to buy it 'cuz it's pretty.

That's the grain of sugar on a major shit-crepe. The flattery did go a long way to quell my sadness. I mean, my bike, AFR was on it's side, and who knows for how long. Just RESTING on the whole engine lobe. And I can't see it, touch it, fix it, do a thing about it until I hack my way through another day at our office here, spend another night of poor sleep at a hotel, and get on a little toy plane. ARG.

Here I sit. In a hotel room. Tomorrow, I'll sit in a office, do everything asked of me and not accomplish a thing. The fact that my particular work is wrapped up in fighting for values that I hold dear only complicates the matter.

I dive into bikes, cars, art, hopeful evenings because I need to build, create - a thing; change a rusted hulk to a solid piece, a memory, a good joke - that's my wake. But to make my living (paycheck), I have to troubleshoot and manage people struggling through difficult lives, relationships and assignments. I twist language and circumstance to justify and forge solutions that I feel might as well be random. I don't know if I believe that what we're doing it getting anything done - I know it's not the best way. Still, I'm afraid to let it go - it's hard to walk away from praise and accomplishment - even when you know that it's an oily little film on what's deeper...

I'll swallow it a while longer - I can, and I don't mind that much. The good in my life has always vastly outweighed the nast. Before long, I'm going to finally have to make a decision that's always crept just below the surface - that this little career of mine has run it's course, and it's never a course that's moved me closer to actualization.

When I get back to AFR - I'll see what's going on. Then, I'll take every little piece of it apart. I'll clean, rebuild, repaint, recoat, rewire, and restore it beyond what I could have fathomed when I first saw her in a dark Rockford garage.

It's been busy.

Since I last posted, there hasn't been a lot of Puch action. I've been riding the shit out of the things, which is unusual for me. Typically, my vehicles live in various states of repair and disassembly, adrift in a timeless world of hope, aspiration, and longing to be completed. The only problem with the lil' Puch is that the battery will occasionally fly out of its compartment. That always leads to a shameful trek, retracing the ride until I find the severed battery in the street...back in the bike, ride off, falls out again...ass.

The next thing I'll do is fix the 'effin latch.

Just because I've been screwing around "riding" a bike doesn't mean I haven't been busy in the garage. AFR begged for attention.

A calm night meant for a simple front fork seal replacement turned into a front end tear down, re-wiring, and fabrication and installation of all types of crazy shit.

That very week, I took a welding workshop with Frankie Flood at UWM - he's a master metalsmith, teacher, and motoguy. I chose a project to fill a void in my relationship with AFR - the troublesome space between the rear frame loop and the pert little tailsection:

Some 22 gauge steel, MIG time, body filler, heart break and some LEDS - and a couple of weeks later, we had something to work with, just in time for ROCKERBOX!

Cardboard Model

The Steel, handcut; Tempered by passion and love.

Detail cuts, shaping, and the first welds. No pipe, so we bent some steel around iron. It took hole saws, a jeweler's saw, snips, and a LOT of filing to get the cut-outs right.

I actually enjoy wiring. Welded in a bolt to act as a STUD in the LED retaining system.

MOCK UP!

And there you have it! Also added new rear turn signals, and a flashing LED brake light to the top tailsection so people in truck or SUVs see me...at least I hope. With new seals, oil, and other parts in the front end, the BMW really is a joy to ride. The PUCH/BMW experience is polar, each balancing the other. It's a happy collection....

That just got one bigger:

Stay tuned....I'm almost done.

Back on the road...

The last few weeks have taken me through a lot with the bike. Here's a list of things I've learned, with more to follow

1. Fixing a Puch float with POR-15 doesn't work. Neither does epoxy from a fuel tank repair kit. Neither does polyester resin. AND - if there are over about, oh, say 10 leaks, the solder will just be too heavy. The residue that each of these fixes leaves in your card will clog it - and the residue it leaves in your heart will break it. 

2. There are some excellent English-German translators on the web. I learned the following words: Float=Schwimmer; Float Needle=Schwimmernadlen; Point Breaker Assembly=Unterbrecher. That knowledge, and some friendly Austrians at RBO Ing in Austria helped get me on the road. 

3. The Austrian postal service (post.au) is efficient and fast.

4. Puchs like to be precisely timed and adjusted. After cleaning the carb and fumbling with the adjustments yesterday - Matt at Motorwest showed me how to set the timing and adjust the carb just right today. Made a huge difference, and now I'm rolling for sure!

So - I have a reliable rider. It's still funky, so some of the cosmetic stuff is going to come bit by bit. Once we get the paint booth built, it'll be stripped and resprayed. I'm going to also spend some time working on the BMW's front end, get some lighting sorted out, and hopefully take some trips. Things are cooking!!

The Situation...

Yesterday, I noticed that my carb pissed gas. After that long, wonderful ride, there was a beautiful slice of humble pie just waiting for me. 

No problem, right? Ring up motorwest, pick up a new float (which has stopped floating), and ride on!

Turns out, the float for the 250 is a popular item. It'd take, at best, six weeks to get one from Austria. Damn - was this it? Could I give up so easily? Would this be the end of the road?

Never. I had an idea...

Gas seeped into the float through at least 22 hairline fractures, killing the buoyancy. This would be no simple solder job. First, I had to get the gas out so I could work on it. Since it had crept in slowly over time, it would probably take a long time to seep out, so I had to cut some holes with a hobby knife to drain it. 

Next, I soldered the drain holes, and sanded down the rest of the float to prepare for what came next...

Then, party time...

A bath in POR-15 Fuel Tank Sealer that I had left over from another project! I figure this coating would seal the fissures and holes, restoring sweet, critical buoyancy!

Drip, drip. 

This morning, after sanding some of the drips and bubbles, I put it back in the bike. So far, so good. No leaks, the float floats, and the bike runs! I'd recommend this fix for anyone else suffering from a compromised float made from relative unobtanium!

Triumph against all odds

That title may tip the scales toward dramatic. But, so do my emotions. Last night, I rolled into the garage, expecting to roll out astride the Puch. Put some oil in, went back to the bench to grab the key...but it wasn't there. Quick look around, but I couldn't find it. 

Two and a half hours later, I couldn't find it. 

I've lost a lot of things in my life. Some I've found, some never. An ipod I found  an hour after buying a replacement, a moped, a lucky acron, my mind...

*I half expected the oddly shaped key to fall off my arse when I took a shower, like a quarter (or earring) left on my bed on a humid night. 

Today, I made yet another trip to Motorwest. Luckily, Puch keys are universal and can be replaced by a 10-penny nail in a pinch. Unless you're trying to steal my bike, in which case the nail WILL NOT work. Devil. 

Key in hand, the bike started right up. Helmet on, goggles on, and riding in the sunshine. I got a lot of waves and smiles as I rode across Milwaukee, followed by a could of white two-stroke smoke, and all of the trouble was worth it. 

The plan from here is to ride it around until a few detail parts come in from Austria. Then, we'll get to the second stage of the restoration:

• replace the pipes, tires
  
• shine the wheels 
  
• repaint parts of the frame
  
• replace the tool and battery box hardware
  
• repaint tank, fender and headlight shell
  
• recover seat
  
• replace side stickers, and do custom tank and frame lettering
  

Want to have that done before Rockerbox!

* I realized that I still haven't showered since last night, maybe the key is yet to be found!

BMW!

I have another bike. I'll probably never let it go. It's the first one I really tore into, and I've bled for it. I have more money and time into it, and more miles on it, than I bargained for. 

In 2005, I sold my 1976 Honda cb550, and bought a 1977 BMW R75/7. Saw it on Chicago Craigslist - and travelled down to the rockford area the next day. There is was. Ridden hard. Rough looking, but I loved it. Stan, the guy who sold me the bike, is an interesting guy. A graphic designer by trade - his father was a gymnast in communist Poland. The Family came to the US during some kind of trapeze tour, and defected. 

That's Stan on the left - a cold delivery day. Note handlebar tassels. Decent euro-heritage there. 

Ripped fork boot, some nasty extra bits, dent in the tank - but I just wanted to get it started. Found acorns in the air filter housing, a dead battery, and gummed ass carbs. Since January 2006, I've worked on or replaced every part of this bike save the transmission. What was to be a simple, sympathetic restoration transformed into a cafe conversion: The birth of Anne Frank's Revenge. 

First, a note on the name: It combines the name of dread pirate Blackbeard's ship, The Queen Anne's Revenge with the name of Holocaust victim and diarist, Anne Frank. Thus, Anne Franks Revenge is a nod my my Jewish heritage AND Bayerische Motoren Werke's history during WW2. Internal historical/ethnic conflicts aside, BMW makes awesome bikes with awesome engines. The bike had the bench seat and a seat from a BMW r100rs, which originally inspired the cafe direction for the project. Here are some pics from the evolution:

Broken boot there. Ended up taking the whole front end apart, and breaking a fork leg. And, 1am ebay!

Big tank dent. Tried to fill and paint on my own. Learning experience there. Messy. 

Paint job wasn't great, but it ran!. New tires, coils, front disc and rotors, rear shoes, pipes, boyer electronic ignition, carb rebuild, fork rebuild, many valve adjustments and some custom lighting...

AND a professional paint job...

Not so bad, eh? This was still a couple of years ago, and there's been much more work since. Custom headlight brackets, Motogadget tach/speedo which was a true chore, and all kinds of maintenance. The tank ain't as shiny anymore, but she's a fine machine indeed! But, she's big, and heavy. I love riding it, but wanted something lighter, older and weird. That was the birth of PUCH lust. 

Ah, yes.

After a few days, I got back at it. Another stop at Motorwest and I returned armed with a new clutch cable. This was a really simple job, easiest yet.  Barrel fitting at each end, and an easy adjusting screw, and it was all good! Adjusted the front brake a little, tightened up all the nuts and bolts, and affixed two new tank emblems....looking good...but...

No matter where I looked, I couldn't find the little pivot pin that attaches the clutch lever to the handlebars. Luckily, Matt was pulling a saturday over at Motorwest, and I got the part. While I was there, I also got to see the insides of Matt's Puch 175 racing machine, not bad inspiration at all. 

All together, and back on the road. I was tooling around the neighborhood...all through the gears, tapping into the twingle's powerband nicely. Just floating along, then...brrrp brrrrrrrp puff. No more. Just crapped out. What could it be?

I kicked, kicked, sweated, kicked, talked to the bike, kicked...nothing. What could be wrong?

Out of gas. Ah, yes...the details. 

Next day, back with gas and a hankering to put the BMW plate on the bike and roll. Gas in, some more oil. Kick - nothing. Kick - nothing. Adjust the choke - nothing, New plug - nothing...etc, etc, etc. No spark, at the headlight wasn't coming on, either. 

Every damn time I get a bike, it needs a new battery. I end up frying them, ruining them, running them dead. Why should this be any different?

So, today, a lunchtime trip to M.West, new battery, afternoon of charging...

One, kick, and...life. All there, lights a twinkin'....I was in such a good mood I could even afford the torture of working on the Range Rover, which now has a newly tightened and leak free exhaust, and a new fuel filter. 

Tomorrow: DMV. 

Cheers!

The littlest things.

Viewing anywhere closer than about 50 yards exposed two major flaws with my new Puch: Headlight ears kept together with little machine screws, mega-putty and what may be some kind of braze or solder. If your eye followed the fine Austrian design down the front end a little more, you'd also notice a severed fork boot. 

Two simple things - so let's get started. Turns out, to replace each of these dang things, you pretty much have to disassemble the Northern and Southern Hemispheres of the front end. 

Brilliant. About 2.5 years ago, a similar attempt with my BMW (more on that bike later) made for a poetic intersection between a long career of weightlifting, ignorance, a stubborn nature, and incompetence. The result was a badly bent fork leg. 

Knowing a little more, and suffering from a few years of work-induced muscle atrophy, I got at it again. This time, my cheerful Irish-American friend, Connor, was there to help. Even wee, tipsy-elvish hands come in handy! That's Connor below, right before we found out what a noble pain-in-the ass it is to change a tire by hand. 

Matt Q. at the Puch's North American Headquarters, or, Motorwest, sold me a great manual and the parts I'd need for the job. He also imparted exact details on how to get it done. Since this is something that *Matt, a professional with years of experience with this EXACT bike could do in less than an hour, I figured we'd bang it out in like, 90mins., no doubt. 

Took about 6 hours...

It was a litany of eff-ups. little ball bearings rained down from the TOP and BOTTOM races of the stearing head - but we caught them all, with a magnet-wand, and garage-mate Chad and Winter's quick eye. Bit by bit, it came together. I had it almost all there, when I realized something else:

That headlight bucket will NOT fit between those fork tubes. SO, off again with a tube. This is how it goes, and it was all love - well, the kinda angry, heartbreaking and frustrating kind. I noticed that the clutch and front break...well, all the cables were shot. So, they're on the way...and there she sits, ready for the next operation:

Ghosts of Motos-Past

I'd never spent a moment thinking about motorcycles until a conversation with my mother while away at school lit a smoldering and stubborn fuse. 

In the dorms in Madison - you could hear the buzzing din of scooters at any hour. Honda Metropolitans, Yamaha Vinos, all manner of brightly colored step-through convenience. 

I never thought much about the scooters. Sure,  the campus is far flung, and some scooters seemed cool. I don't remember if I brought it up casually up over that off-white clamshell dorm phone, but a routine conversation went fatefully awry one sunny afternoon. I remember this clearly, because it's a point of  fierce contention between my mother and I:

*Mom: "Why don't you get a moped or little motorcycle or something."

Me: "OK."

That was it - from the moment of that simple call and response my soul has become increasingly devoted to the hunting, grooming, and occasional slaughter of motorbikes. 

I like to think it was a chime, a bell ring that set off a resonance that awakened a deeply buried avocation. The blood is there: My grandfather, uncle and cousin are (or were) legendary, at least in my mind, as ingenious mechanics and technicians. My cousin is a professional mechanic who works wonders with ancient steel bricks commonly referred to as "Mercedes". Whispers of long gone BMW Isettas, 2002s, Jaguar XK150s and other impossible cars flickered about at rare family gathering. Over the years, their advice and wisdom  tossed me about like a trembling and confused little ship in the daunting and wild mechanical ocean, but they are to me, an oil-soaked pedigree. 

Within weeks of the conversation,  I had Batavus Starflite - a tiny, top tank yellow beast. Pedal start, 50cc, weighed as much as my leg. On the first ride, I had to use the pedals to help get up a steep hill on the way home. 

I could have left it alone, I should have. But I put a turbo pipe on it. I tried to find a bigger carb. I painted it black, then with brilliant color change paint. I probably ruined it with my triumpant march toward tack, but I loved it. Sold it on, and got a Tomos Targa LX. Bought it from a guy who rented them in the Dells. He told me his favorite job ever was as a bricklayer. Cheers to him. I remember installing the turbo pipe, fresh bought, in the grass outside scootertherapy in Madison. The girl working there came outside to watch - "I guess you want to go fast NOW, eh..."

eh indeed. 

And i did, until it was stolen. Then, Honda Twinstar, a Honda MB5. I ruined the MB5 and learned what a piston ring did all at once. p next on the block, a Honda cb350, I ruined that one with something that started simply - changing a headlight bulb. Never tracked down the problem with it. I loved it, and miss it. 

Soon, a Honda cb550. Big, Bad, Brown. Soon, it had a supersport tank, turned bright orange, earned clubman bars and a sparco taillight, a brilliant machine. 

I'd still have it, had Stan Tulmanowicz, son of a polish acrobat who defected to the US during a trapeze tour, decided to sell his BMW. To be continued...

* My mother can't bare the thought that her suggestion got me into bikes. As a mother, she's terrified over me riding. Even though she always wants to ride my bikes, and waxes about her past exploits on various cool bikes. 

Welcome to TwingleBlog!

Welcome. Twingleblog is all about the process of bringing an old motorcycle from tatters to twinkles. It's called "TwingleBlog" because our subject is a 1968 Puch 250 Allstate - sporting a rare and crazy "twingle" engine. We'll get more into what that means and how it works later (If I figure it out). 

I lack the knowledge or discipline to make this a step-by-step guide to motorcycle restoration. I can, however, share the thrills, disasters, tragedy, and with luck, glory that classic motorcycle stewardship brings to regular folk like me. Let's get started.