The Price of Sanity

The Price of Sanity

UP FRONT

MARK HOYER

HOW MUCH IS SANITY WORTH? AND can it be maintained by the thousandth of an inch? Of course, sanity is worth a lot, and maintaining it is particularly important in these strange, troubled times. Everybody has their strategy. Mine is rebuilding old British vehicles so that they can be used for what they were intended: transportation. It is my attempt to maintain a degree of control over something tangible in my life. This is far more attainable than controlling politics, the economy, the weather or any of the other grand things that influence our world. Yes, in the face of these areas completely out of my direct control, I choose to make sure my machines are in good order. They’re real. I can measure them. The results of my influence are obvious.

But I will agree that there is some degree of irony in my love of mechanical order and my love of old English motorcycles. Because it ain’t easy keeping these things on the road.

You may be asking yourself, if the idea is to seek control and mastery, why not do that with a modern, EFI motorcycle? One that doesn’t need you to consider the effects of fuel that usually, but not always, has 10 percent ethanol. Or a motorcycle that doesn’t need some degree of ZDDP (a oncecommon form of zinc anti-friction additive in motor oil being phased out for emissions reasons) to keep the flat tappets from scuffing against ancient cam lobes?

These are two real cases for owners of older bikes. Ethanol has, in several of my carbureted English bikes and cars, forced me to run richer mixture settings or replace the fuel metering needles completely. EFI just uses the oxygen sensor to get a whiff of the tailpipe’s gas composition and tunes you up automatically. Convenient, sure, but less entertaining and much less likely to generate a feel of “conquership,” so to speak.

Which is why I cling to this romantic, if somewhat moronic, idea that if the machine was built to be used as real transportation, it should once again be used as real transportation. In fact, the very reason it exists is because it was needed as transportation. Therefore, its continued existence shouldn’t necessarily be as first, a love object, and then second, a vehicle.

For me, this is a big part of the motivation. I love my ’54 Velocette MSS because of how it looks, yes. I think the timing cover is a thing of beauty, that the sweep of the exhaust header as its line speeds from the front of the cylinder head and back into the fishtail silencer is classic and wonderful. I love the insides of the engine, too, and the infernal yet ingenious clutchrelease mechanism. Same with my ’58 Triumph Trophy. It’s a well-used original bike, made mechanically sound through diligent work by me and my friend Bill Getty, who used to run a British bike repair shop. I’ve done pistons, rebuilt the head, went through the primary drive and more. Bill rebuilt the fork, the transmission (and more), updated the oiling system, sold me the electrical parts to help it keep making the full 7 volts it is capable of, and generally been there for the kind of counseling required for a home mechanic like me to experience the full glory of an old Triumph 650.

Like found in the accompanying photo. That’s my Triumph just after dawn, in the middle of nowhere, also known as a half-mile into the open desert between Kelso and Baker, California, on our way to Death Valley. Bill is one of the few people I know who will actually agree to go motorcycle camping on Fifties-era Triumphs (his a ’54 Til0). Even better, it was his idea to try to do 750 miles in one weekend, riding the first day over Big Bear (about 8000 feet) before we plunged into the Valley of Death on Day Two.

Making it through a ride like that underlines the control you’ve exerted. It’s a real result, a true reward for your efforts, that very perfect moment in time where reality meets expectations.

All those hours spent righting 50 years of mechanical wrongs— carefully measuring piston clearance, making sure the connecting rods are straight and true, setting fuel mixture and ignition timing— pay off. Those moments don’t come often, but they do come often enough to keep you hoping and reaming of another ride just like it.

Just the thing to keep you sane during these strange, troui bled times. Well, that and having at least one modern bike with EFI... □