Motorcycle Money Pit

August 4, 2018

2001. That’s the date on the license plate sticker, the last time the bike was registered for the road. I was planning to ride it down to the building site for a promotional video on the new church that was beginning to take shape, but when I jumped on the kick start, something broke. It wasn’t surprising, seeing as it was a sixty-year old motorcycle that had never been rebuilt. I took it to a guy who others said was the best Harley mechanic around, and that’s when the trouble began. Instead of just taking the motor out of the frame, he completely dismantled everything, leaving me with a few boxes of parts and not having disassembled it myself, no clue as to how everything went back together.

Unknown to me, my mechanic was developing some health issues that in a couple years would take his life. I had developed a friendship with my mechanic’s former partner who had opened his own repair shop, and finally persuaded him to collect whatever he could and get the rebuild done. The engine and transmission ended up with a guy outside of Lockport, and I still had a few boxes of parts. Frame, fenders, tanks and assorted paraphernalia I had sandblasted before taking it to get painted. Months and a few hundred dollars later, I picked everything up, still raw metal, and took it to another, more reputable body man. Sometimes, helping someone out doesn’t help the project. And so it’s been sitting in shelves in my garage for the past three months.

Today son Matt and I were both finally able to set aside some time to begin assembly. Even factory manuals and exploded diagrams aren’t enough to be absolutely sure we’re doing everything right, but so far, it’s fitting together. Somewhere out there are people who know exactly what to do, and in what order. We have to find them. And we’ll have to find an assortment of parts to replace items that have disappeared over the last seventeen years. 

Old motorcycles are money pits, but this one is something we can do together. When it’s done, it’ll be Matt’s. I may take it for a spin or two, but it’s already accounted for three broken ribs, so I’m content to pass it along. People often wonder what an antique Harley is worth. Probably not what I’ll end up having put into it, except for the value of the time Matt and I will have as we put it together. For that, I am already thankful.