The Royal Enfield Bullet Blog
Saturday, November 13, 2004
PLOONK
I took a night ride to Fort Worth last Sunday night.
Poor 17t sprocketed Bullet can't really get up to speed at comfortable RPM, trip took 4 1/2 hours or so with three stops.
The first two were to fix a contact lens problem, as I suddenly found myself seeing double on the freeway just outside of Belton, the contact having blown off my eye onto the goggle lens. Luckily I was only a mile from my exit or so, and a convenient, well-lighted gas station provided a place to fix that up.
Next stop was up TX 317 at McGregor, where just outside town the same contact plopped out of my eye again and landed on my lower eyelid. I rode past some kind of accident scene, tried to spy (with my cyclops vision) what had happened, but failed.
Gawddamnit.
At a gas station I fixed it again, only this time put it in correctly (it had been on outside - in).
Bought gas and headed up toward Crawford.
Crawford is the current home of the "Western White House", were the President elect of the US had just cast his vote only a few days before. Crawford is little more than a few buildings at the intersection of a state and a county road. There were no presidential motorcades or secret service to be seen.
On up the road I puttered.
I arrived in Fort Worth at 11:00 pm or thereabouts, butt-sore and determined to do something about a nagging shifting problem that had been devloping during the previous days: difficulty getting it into 3rd, and the foot shift actuator tending to remain depressed after being pushed down to select a lower gear. But most important I wanted to get that bike moving faster without having to wind it out past its comfort zone (maybe 3000 rpm or so?)
After some investigating I discovered that the plastic bushings were gone from my shift linkage system, and decided that the looseness is preventing easy shifting into 3rd AND the snap back problem.
I spent the next day reading and going to the Amon Carter museum, which has a bunch of artwork from people like Remington, who depicted life on the plains in the late 19th century.
19th century life on the plains happens to be a personal hobby of mine; and the great plains are the goal of a pet project for next summer (or if I get shit-canned from my job, sooner): a ride on my Bullet through the great plains of the United States, focusing on contrasting the experience of the people who were there in the 19th century with my experiences on the motorcycle today. It oughta be a fantastic trip, and I'm already doing a lot of research into the history on the Amerindians who plied their livings from the great plains, from the souther reaches near where I live (Austin TX) up to the Powder River country and beyond the Yellowstone up to the Missouri. I have a rather tome-ish entry on that on this blog already Eastern Comanche Run or some such; anyway, I pretty well tired myself out doing the museum and reading about military movements across the plains of the Montana and Wyoming territories in 1876.
I was planning to ride home on Wednesday morning, and Tuesday evening I hopped on the Bullet to head down to an ATM for some cash, and then a pint at the Bull and Bush on Montgomery street. A great little pub which attracts all types from the cultural district of cowtown.
I kicked her to life, pulled out into the street, started to accelerate away -- PLOONK
The engine stopped and the lights went out.
My Bullet was completely dead.
Of course it was at night, I pushed her back to the dim porch light and started looking at the fuse.
Fuse was fine.
Now, I spent a whole semester at Austin Community College doing a course in motorcycle electrical systems. So I thought to myself, dude, you have to be able to fix this. It was a matter of honor.
However, I could find no grounding problem or potential short. I started grimly contemplating having to take my woman's car back to Austin, leaving the Bullet in cowntown and having to come back with a trailer, the whole whacked out rigamarole.
I reached over and turned on the ignition switch again, suddenly the lights were back on.
I started the bike, backed out into the street, put it in gear, turned the handlebars -- PLOONK
Dead again. No lights, no nothing. Switched on and off several times. The same.
Hmmm.
I new that the battery was good, the fuse was good, and that it had just worked a moment ago.
The only suspicious thing was that it had quit when I turned the handle bars.
Pushed it back up under the dim porch light. Looked under the cowling, twisting the handlebars first this way and then that. Well. Everything looked fine, but I reached up and jiggled the connector that goes from the harness to the ignition switch. It seemed to move.
I turned on the ignition switch -- lights, camera, action.
The connector had come loose.
Whew!
I've learned from previous experience (see Snafu below).
After verifying the battery, go with circuit continuity at the switches and connectors first.
Leave the multimeter and disassembly for dead last.
Poor 17t sprocketed Bullet can't really get up to speed at comfortable RPM, trip took 4 1/2 hours or so with three stops.
The first two were to fix a contact lens problem, as I suddenly found myself seeing double on the freeway just outside of Belton, the contact having blown off my eye onto the goggle lens. Luckily I was only a mile from my exit or so, and a convenient, well-lighted gas station provided a place to fix that up.
Next stop was up TX 317 at McGregor, where just outside town the same contact plopped out of my eye again and landed on my lower eyelid. I rode past some kind of accident scene, tried to spy (with my cyclops vision) what had happened, but failed.
Gawddamnit.
At a gas station I fixed it again, only this time put it in correctly (it had been on outside - in).
Bought gas and headed up toward Crawford.
Crawford is the current home of the "Western White House", were the President elect of the US had just cast his vote only a few days before. Crawford is little more than a few buildings at the intersection of a state and a county road. There were no presidential motorcades or secret service to be seen.
On up the road I puttered.
I arrived in Fort Worth at 11:00 pm or thereabouts, butt-sore and determined to do something about a nagging shifting problem that had been devloping during the previous days: difficulty getting it into 3rd, and the foot shift actuator tending to remain depressed after being pushed down to select a lower gear. But most important I wanted to get that bike moving faster without having to wind it out past its comfort zone (maybe 3000 rpm or so?)
After some investigating I discovered that the plastic bushings were gone from my shift linkage system, and decided that the looseness is preventing easy shifting into 3rd AND the snap back problem.
I spent the next day reading and going to the Amon Carter museum, which has a bunch of artwork from people like Remington, who depicted life on the plains in the late 19th century.
19th century life on the plains happens to be a personal hobby of mine; and the great plains are the goal of a pet project for next summer (or if I get shit-canned from my job, sooner): a ride on my Bullet through the great plains of the United States, focusing on contrasting the experience of the people who were there in the 19th century with my experiences on the motorcycle today. It oughta be a fantastic trip, and I'm already doing a lot of research into the history on the Amerindians who plied their livings from the great plains, from the souther reaches near where I live (Austin TX) up to the Powder River country and beyond the Yellowstone up to the Missouri. I have a rather tome-ish entry on that on this blog already Eastern Comanche Run or some such; anyway, I pretty well tired myself out doing the museum and reading about military movements across the plains of the Montana and Wyoming territories in 1876.
I was planning to ride home on Wednesday morning, and Tuesday evening I hopped on the Bullet to head down to an ATM for some cash, and then a pint at the Bull and Bush on Montgomery street. A great little pub which attracts all types from the cultural district of cowtown.
I kicked her to life, pulled out into the street, started to accelerate away -- PLOONK
The engine stopped and the lights went out.
My Bullet was completely dead.
Of course it was at night, I pushed her back to the dim porch light and started looking at the fuse.
Fuse was fine.
Now, I spent a whole semester at Austin Community College doing a course in motorcycle electrical systems. So I thought to myself, dude, you have to be able to fix this. It was a matter of honor.
However, I could find no grounding problem or potential short. I started grimly contemplating having to take my woman's car back to Austin, leaving the Bullet in cowntown and having to come back with a trailer, the whole whacked out rigamarole.
I reached over and turned on the ignition switch again, suddenly the lights were back on.
I started the bike, backed out into the street, put it in gear, turned the handlebars -- PLOONK
Dead again. No lights, no nothing. Switched on and off several times. The same.
Hmmm.
I new that the battery was good, the fuse was good, and that it had just worked a moment ago.
The only suspicious thing was that it had quit when I turned the handle bars.
Pushed it back up under the dim porch light. Looked under the cowling, twisting the handlebars first this way and then that. Well. Everything looked fine, but I reached up and jiggled the connector that goes from the harness to the ignition switch. It seemed to move.
I turned on the ignition switch -- lights, camera, action.
The connector had come loose.
Whew!
I've learned from previous experience (see Snafu below).
After verifying the battery, go with circuit continuity at the switches and connectors first.
Leave the multimeter and disassembly for dead last.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Snafu
My kickstart return spring broke one day at work.
It dangled all the way home and I was anxious about turning right too hard, as the kickstart arm would flop into the ground and bounce up or maybe even snag on something and throw me -- admittedly unlikely.
So I got the parts in the mail and replaced them, but not before first removing the innner gear case cover to inspect the little pawl that actually engages the kickstart gear. That was a big mess and I didn't have a gasket to replace the one that I tore while removing the plate. I used a silicone gasket as an experiment, it seems to have worked okay.
I put everything back together, kicked her to life -- nothing.
I scratched my head.
The ammeter wasn't deflecting like it should. I had power when I turned on the key, but the ammeter wouldn't deflect as I rotated the crankshaft through its cycle.
Hmmm.
I busted out the test light -- no juice to the points.
Hmmm.
So I began to trace back through the wiring harness trying to find where the wire that fed the points went to in the headlight cowling. I couldn't quite find where it went, so off came the headlight so I could see better. That was okay, since I had been wanting to replace a bad light bulb in the high beam circuit. I was then able to trace where the wire from the points went. It had a connector up under the cowling, I disconnected it and did a continuity test on the wire -- it was good.
Now where did that damned connector go? I grasped it and traced it up, up, up, out through a hole in the cowling to the right hand handlebar control, it wasn't attached to the brake lever though, I inspected carefully, saw finally what it was connected to --
The kill switch.
Happy thumping, ya'll.
It dangled all the way home and I was anxious about turning right too hard, as the kickstart arm would flop into the ground and bounce up or maybe even snag on something and throw me -- admittedly unlikely.
So I got the parts in the mail and replaced them, but not before first removing the innner gear case cover to inspect the little pawl that actually engages the kickstart gear. That was a big mess and I didn't have a gasket to replace the one that I tore while removing the plate. I used a silicone gasket as an experiment, it seems to have worked okay.
I put everything back together, kicked her to life -- nothing.
I scratched my head.
The ammeter wasn't deflecting like it should. I had power when I turned on the key, but the ammeter wouldn't deflect as I rotated the crankshaft through its cycle.
Hmmm.
I busted out the test light -- no juice to the points.
Hmmm.
So I began to trace back through the wiring harness trying to find where the wire that fed the points went to in the headlight cowling. I couldn't quite find where it went, so off came the headlight so I could see better. That was okay, since I had been wanting to replace a bad light bulb in the high beam circuit. I was then able to trace where the wire from the points went. It had a connector up under the cowling, I disconnected it and did a continuity test on the wire -- it was good.
Now where did that damned connector go? I grasped it and traced it up, up, up, out through a hole in the cowling to the right hand handlebar control, it wasn't attached to the brake lever though, I inspected carefully, saw finally what it was connected to --
The kill switch.
Happy thumping, ya'll.
