BSA B40 350 Star

Well, I’ve been hunting for a motorcycle lift for quite a while now, primarily for the BSA project. Mind you, I know fine well that once it’s in the garage it’ll get used for just about every bit of two-wheeled maintenance that comes along.

In fact, I could have made very good use of one recently while sorting out the charging system on the Vulcan 800. Crawling about the garage floor at my age is one thing — getting back up again without making noises like an old bagpipe is quite another.

I’d put the word out amongst a few motorcycle friends that I was looking, and recently my CVMG/BSA mate Sean came through with the goods. He spotted a motorcycle lift on Facebook Marketplace for $400.

Only one wee problem.

It was in Wallaceburg.

Och well… what’s a 200 km round trip amongst friends when there’s a bargain at the other end?

Besides, as any Scotsman will tell you, saving a hundred dollars is practically the same as earning it.

At least that’s the story I was prepared to tell the wife.

I contacted the seller and offered $300, pointing out that I had a fair journey ahead of me to collect it. To my pleasant surprise, the lady agreed and marked it as pending while I got myself organised.

Aye, now I was committed.

Or as my wife might put it, “You’ve started this nonsense, so you may as well finish it.”

Preparing the Expedition

The trusty 2012 Ford Edge already had the hitch fitted, so I arranged to borrow my friend Clarence’s trailer for the adventure.

The plan was simple: pick up the trailer Friday morning, head down to Wallaceburg, load the lift and be home again sometime in the afternoon.

Simple plans, of course, are merely an invitation for the universe to say, “Aye right, we’ll see about that.”

Clarence believed his trailer used a 2-inch ball, which happened to match mine.

Turns out a tape measure, a slightly crooked eye and optimism are apparently not precision measuring instruments when you’re dealing with an eighth of an inch.

Wrong ball.

Back home I went.

There are moments in a man’s life when he quietly reflects on his choices.

This was not one of them.

There may, however, have been a few words spoken that would not normally appear in a Presbyterian hymn book.

Naturally, when I got home I couldn’t find the hitch ball I knew I owned somewhere, so Canadian Tire became $12 richer and I became the proud owner of a very shiny new chrome one.

At least if the rest of the trip went completely to hell, I’d have the smartest trailer hitch in Middlesex County.

Southward Bound

Eventually I was properly hooked up and rolling down the road.

My original mid-morning arrival had now become about 11:30 a.m., but no harm done.

So I’m calling that a win.

Much easier.

I could worry about getting the Edge lined back up once the lift was safely aboard.

Then came the main event.

The lift is not exactly something ye tuck under one arm and casually stroll away with.

With a bit of persuasion, some wrestling, a few carefully chosen engineering techniques — and possibly language more suited to a Glasgow pub at closing time — I managed to get the beast down the shed ramp and up onto the trailer.

There were a few moments where the lift and I had a difference of opinion.

I won.

Mostly.

The nose of the lift hung slightly over the front, but once it was lowered down it sat quite nicely.

I dropped the feet, got the front wheels settled and began strapping everything down.

A few ratchet straps later, she wasn’t going anywhere.

If the trailer rolled, the lift was probably going with it.

E-transfer completed.

Deal done.

Time to head home before anyone changed their mind.

The McGyver Trailer Light Repair

The old Edge towed the lift surprisingly well, and the trip itself was uneventful.

There was, however, one wee detail bothering me.

I hadn’t actually checked all the trailer lights before leaving.

One of the rear lights also had a broken red lens.

Not ideal when you’re towing a trailer down Ontario highways with what appears to be half the OPP out for a Friday drive.

Fortunately, years of mechanical experience have taught me that almost anything can be repaired temporarily with the correct combination of materials.

In this case:

Red Coca-Cola packaging and duct tape.

What more could the Ministry of Transportation possibly want?

Call it the McGyver School of Trailer Lighting.

Or as the Scots might say, “It’ll dae.”

I passed plenty of OPP both on the way down and on the return trip, but apparently my precision Coca-Cola lens repair met with their approval because nobody turned around to investigate.

Either that or they took one look and thought, “We’re no getting involved in that.”

Fair enough.

Home Again

I made it home early in the afternoon and even managed a nice clean reverse into the driveway.

Unloading was considerably easier than loading, and before long the lift was safely sitting in the garage.

Easy peasy.

Or, more accurately, easier than expected and with only the normal amount of muttering.

It’s not quite in its final resting place yet because I still need to clear out the BSA side of the garage.

There’s another project happening first.

On Monday I’m having the house electrical service upgraded to 200 amps, along with a new 60-amp panel in the garage and an EV charger.

That’ll let me charge E’s PHEV considerably quicker, and it’ll also give me enough power to do a bit of welding in the garage when required.

Preferably not while charging the car.

I’m adventurous, but I’m not completely daft.

And before anyone says it, yes, I am fully aware that upgrading the electrical service so I can charge a modern vehicle beside a 60-year-old British motorcycle is exactly the sort of logic that makes perfect sense in my garage.

Back to the BSA

Once the electrical work is finished and the garage is reorganised, the motorcycle lift can take its rightful place under the BSA.

And that means something I’ve been looking forward to for quite a while.

It’s nearly time to start putting the old girl back together.

The frame can go onto the lift, parts can start being bolted back on and, slowly but surely, the collection of cleaned, repaired and refurbished bits scattered around the garage should begin looking like a motorcycle again.

Or at least something vaguely motorcycle-shaped.

And this being a British motorcycle, I’m sure every bolt will fit perfectly, every thread will be standard and nothing will leak.

Aye.

And pigs will be flying formation over Glasgow.

Still, that’s part of the fun.

If I wanted something sensible and predictable, I’d have bought a Honda.

That’s it for now.

The lift has been acquired, the expedition to Wallaceburg was successful, the Edge survived, the OPP ignored my Coca-Cola engineering, and the BSA now has a proper operating table waiting for her.

The next phase should involve fewer road trips and more spannering.

Although knowing this project, that statement may age badly.

Stay tuned — the spannering is about to begin.

And as they say back in the old country:

“Mony a mickle maks a muckle.”

One wee bolt at a time, one skinned knuckle at a time, and probably one colourful Scottish phrase at a time.

Before long, we might just have ourselves a motorcycle.

It’s been a wee while since the last update. I’d like to claim I’ve been locked away in the workshop making tremendous progress, but the truth is that other things have been occupying my mind — and when I finally did have a bit of spare time, the weather decided to turn the garage into a low-budget sauna.

Even today, with the doors open, the horse flies were absolutely relentless. Scottish engineering has survived rain, cold, oil leaks and Lucas electrics, but I’m not convinced it was ever designed to withstand an Ontario horse fly. A few strategically placed fly strips may have to become the next workshop upgrade.

Persuading the Front Fender Apart

The approach was fairly simple: rather than continue trying to undo a nut that had clearly decided it was part of the motorcycle for eternity, I carefully removed metal until the nut surrendered and fell apart. Often heat via a torch does the same, but no room for that method

Aye, subtle as a Highland charge — but effective.

I’ll likely put things back together using stainless steel hardware and nylon locking nuts rather than trying to preserve every original British-thread fastener. Somewhere, a BSA purist has probably just spilled his tea, but Version 1.0 of this motorcycle is intended to be ridden, not entered into the Pebble Beach Concours.

I believe the underside of the fenders was coated with a heavy black undercoating which also covered many of the nuts and bolts. Over the years this effectively glued everything together. Any serious attempt to turn the fasteners simply started twisting the sheet metal instead, which seemed like a poor trade.

The photos above show the basic technique: careful removal of metal, accompanied by a small spinning disc and the occasional muttered phrase unsuitable for a family motorcycle club blog.

The plan now is to get all of the sheet metal separated and ready to go out for glass-bead cleaning in preparation for primer and paint.

The $30 BSA Seat

At the recent CVMG Rally I met one of the BSA members who was selling parts at the swap meet. He had replaced the seat on his own BSA after it picked up a minor scrape on the side when the bike went down in a roundabout.

He offered me the old seat to see whether I could make it work on my B40.

The asking price for this generous “donation” was $30.

Apparently Scottish generosity has limits.

Still, it’s actually a very decent seat, and for thirty dollars it could make an excellent temporary solution for what I’m calling Version 1.0 — the first genuinely rideable release of the restoration.

I’m resisting the temptation to call it the beta version. With an old British motorcycle, every ride may technically qualify as beta testing.

Before committing to it, I’ll get the frame back together and confirm that the seat pan can be adapted to fit without doing anything too barbaric. If it works, it should get the motorcycle on the road (with me on it) while I decide what I ultimately want to do about the proper seat.

The Engine Still Awaits

I also need to schedule another day with Mario so we can get the top end of the engine back together.

That will be another significant step, because once the engine starts looking like an engine again rather than a carefully organized collection of expensive metal objects, the project should begin feeling much closer to being a motorcycle.

So that’s where things stand.

I hope you’ve all missed me terribly during the gap between posts. I’ll try not to disappear quite so long before the next update.

With any luck, the next chapter will contain fewer seized fasteners, fewer horse flies and considerably more motorcycle.

But it is a BSA, so I’m making no promises.

Well lads, I’ve been a bit stalled on the B40 lately as I’ve been helping a mate sort out his septic system. Truth be told, I still am. At this point though I’ve got my monitoring system all set up and it’s sitting in “watch and wait” mode while we try to figure out where the trouble’s coming from. You know me… had to collect the data (learned that from google….)

I’m completely done with the “shitty job” jokes. Absolutely finished. Aye, that’s a lie of course, but I’ll spare you all the details here. If anyone’s genuinely interested in talking sh… er… waste management, give me a shout. The rest of ye can carry on with your supper. 😄

Back in the shed, I’ve painted the chrome spacer pieces for the rear shocks with my favourite “Chromish” paint. I haven’t even put the clear coat on yet to make them really shine, but crikey, I’m quite chuffed with how they’ve turned out. Not bad for a daft old Scotsman-ish (at least a scottish wifey) waving a spray can about and hoping for the best.

I downloaded a picture of a new set so you can get an idea of what mine should look like once everything’s finished and bolted back together. The shocks themselves are primed and waiting for their coat of black paint. One step at a time, eh? Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was a B40 — especially not by a bloke who keeps wandering off to play with septic pumps.

I also started on a few other parts today. First pass was with the 3M wheel, then I attacked them with some 80-grit paper. After chatting with someone from the CVMG (cheers Sean!), I think the smarter move is to take these and a few other bits over to the glass beader who did my head.

It’s mighty time consuming doing it by hand, and if I don’t get right down to bare metal there’s always the chance some wee patch of rust hiding in a pit starts chewing away from the inside out. Sneaky wee bastard, rust. Leave it alone for a minute and it’ll eat your pride and joy while you’re busy making tea.

The frame parts are still hanging there exactly where I left them over winter, looking at me as if to say, “Well then, are ye ever going to finish this thing?” But now I’m finally getting other parts ready to bolt on, and before too long Mario and I will get the engine back together.

And with any luck — and perhaps a small miracle from the motorcycle gods — it should slip neatly back into the frame without either of us inventing any new swear words.

We’ll see about that, eh?

Footnote:

I’m off to the CVMG Rally this weekend and hoping to find a few of the parts still missing from the wee B40. It’s the biggest swap meet of the year (Along with other fun meet and greet events), so the odds should be in my favour.

That said, hunting for old British bike parts is a bit like fishing in Scotland — ye can spend all day standing in the rain, come home empty-handed, and still convince yourself you had a grand time.

So here’s hoping I come back with pockets lighter, boxes heavier, and at least one part that I actually went there to buy.

Fingers crossed… and toes too, just to improve the odds a wee bit. 😄

National Rally

Winter’s finally over, and I’ve emerged from hibernation like a confused Scottish bear wondering who drank all the good whisky. I’ve been “planning” all winter—which is to say, staring at my bike bits and muttering things like “aye, I’ll get to that soon” while accomplishing absolutely hee‑haw. The Fall Frame hangs still in my garage from when it was painted.. well cured. Likely some slight touchup when the sun hits it soon.

My garage is now so full that if I drop a spanner, I need a search party and possibly a priest. Three other bikes, woodworking tools, and whatever else I’ve hoarded over the years. The basement wasn’t an option either—my wife’s office is down there, and disturbing that would’ve been a tactical error of historic proportions.

But enough excuses. Time to get back at it.

The Spring Swap Sales kicked off May 2nd at the Paris Fair Grounds. As a member of the Ontario BSA Owners Group, we’d planned a noon meetup. The swap itself? Smaller than expected. English motorcycle parts were rarer than a Scotsman turning down free whisky. Even Mario Abela—who can sniff out a BSA part like a bloodhound—found next to nothing. Mostly Harley and Japanese bits, which I suppose are now “vintage,” though that still feels like calling a teenager “wise.”

I saw a set of shocks like my originals (see above), but since I built the special tool to strip mine down, I’m committed to restoring them. They’ll be Version 1.0—functional, slightly rough, and full of character. Just like most of us. Good enough to ride, questionable enough to keep me humble.

I attacked the rust with my 3M wheel, and it chewed through it like a Scotsman through shortbread. Primer’s on, Chrome‑ish paint is coming, and the collets are looking surprisingly respectable. The shocks are primed too and will soon be black like the frame and my mood when someone calls my BSA “cute.”

Not much else for now, but the 2026 journey has begun, and I hope you’ve missed the updates like a Scotsman misses his favourite dram. Swap meets continue, but finding BSA parts these days is like finding a unicorn wearing a sporran. So I’ll be prowling eBay next.

And that’s where I’ll leave it for now—shocks primed, tools scattered, and me standing in the garage like a proud Scottish warrior who’s just survived round one with a rusty chrome beast. The next chapter promises more action, more parts, and probably more swearing.

So grab your favourite dram and stay tuned. The next post might just be the moment where the old BSA roars back to life… or tries to set itself on fire again.

Either way, it’ll be worth the read (me hopes).

Feels like a properly momentous moment this one — the rings have finally landed here in Canada, safe and sound, unlike their poor cousins sent off to Scotland who appear to have vanished into the mist, presumably last seen heading for a dram and a warm pub. A mystery for another day.

We’re smack in the middle of a snowstorm here… or maybe crawling out the other side of it. Hard to tell when everything’s white and the forecast keeps changing its mind. Either way, January isn’t exactly lining up to offer a nice warm day and spare time to get back at the engine. Winter has opinions, and it’s not shy about sharing them.

That said, this delivery is a real nudge forward. The top-end rebuild is officially back on the cards, and with the head fin now patched up (see the earlier post Patch up the head), there’s no excuse not to press on. I’ve got the new valve guides, so we can even think about getting the valves fitted — assuming my fingers haven’t frozen solid by then.

No point dragging this out into a long-winded post — this one’s more about lining up the dominoes for the next stage. It’s been far too cold to spend any real time in the garage, even when I’ve had the chance. I am, however, eyeing up the electrical harness and thinking it might enjoy a wee holiday indoors. A bit of bench work in the basement sounds far more civilised than wrestling metal in sub-zero temperatures.

More soon — assuming the weather behaves, the parts stop going walkabout, and the old BSA doesn’t decide to test my patience again. Stay tuned… the next chapter’s brewing.

I was hoping I’d get back to see Mario by now to try again with the 2nd compression ring, but seems they got lost. CoxandTurner.co.uk confirmed their thoughts that they were lost in the post over the holidays when they returned to work January 5th. They were kind enough to confirm they were putting another set in the International mail to Canada this time. You might recall the last set was supposed to meet up with Eleanor when she was visiting her mum in Scotland. So far as of today neither address has received a set. Something to look forward to.

Thanks to everyone following along and really looking forward to the warmer weather so that things can speed up on the restore. Wanted everyone to know I’m still engaged in the journey.

Happy 2026 to one and all

I set off for his garage around 2 pm, embarking on what can only loosely be described as a journey. The sidewalks were glazed over nicely thanks to a recent winter storm, turning a short walk into a low-budget audition for Dancing on Ice. Still, it’s only door-to-door, which is comforting when you’re contemplating how far an engine head might fly if things go wrong.

The photos above show the arrangement Steve put together on his welding table, with the welder sulking quietly in the corner. He spent a fair bit of time persuading the shielding gas to make an appearance, as it stubbornly refused to cooperate on either the trigger or the foot pedal.

Whether this was due to the cold, a wiring control issue, or the machine simply taking offence at being asked to work in winter remains unclear. That said, some strategic fiddling with the cable connections eventually produced results, which in the world of welding is generally considered a sound diagnostic method. The cold, however, remains under suspicion.

The photos above show the build-up at various stages of shaping. Steve made use of a pneumatic Dremel for the rougher work, along with a hacksaw to remove the inner chunk and allow the file to get properly between the fins—because subtlety only gets you so far with aluminium and cold fingers.

All told, the job was wrapped up in roughly 90 minutes, and that figure generously includes a fair amount of off-topic discussion. In other words, not bad going, and nobody lost any skin or sanity, which counts as a successful afternoon.

No obvious bodges, no artistic liberties—just a solid repair that blends in nicely. How it all came together quite so well remains something of a mystery, but I’m fairly sure Willie would approve. Possibly even nod. Steve keeps his expert welder badge of honor (was never a doubt).

As for the piston rings, the latest update is less triumphant. They failed to arrive at Eleanor’s mum’s place during her visit, which means they’ll now need to be forwarded via international mail once they finally show up. That honour will fall to either her mum or her sister. Realistically, this pushes things to Monday.

It was a good plan at the time. And that, in itself, deserves some recognition.

Ontario briefly remembered how to be civilised today, scraping its way up to a balmy +10 °C, which of course meant it was perfect weather to work in Mario’s workshop — a space that treats heating as more of a philosophical concept than a necessity.

Once I arrived with the engine and assorted bits, Mario immediately unveiled an impressive collection of carefully prepared specialty tools. We admired them thoroughly… and then proceeded to use precisely none of them. Instead, we opted for the traditional approach: the quiet confidence of a master mechanic and methods that predate electricity, optimism, and probably safety regulations.

Slowly. Carefully. And with just enough muttering to demonstrate the peaceful coexistence of a retired Master Mechanic and a Mechanical Engineer who knows when not to argue.

My technique was conducted under the close and unwavering scrutiny of a master’s watchful eye. Progress was measured, pauses were frequent, and measurements were checked repeatedly — because nothing ruins a good day like discovering you’ve filed past perfection.

With the oil ring successfully fitted, followed by one of the compression rings, confidence was cautiously allowed to build. One ring remained.

And so, the story continues — which neatly explains the Take 1 in the title.

Fortunately, coxandturner.co.uk still have another set in stock (email went out quickly). By sheer coincidence (and a generous interpretation of planning), my wife and daughter are heading to the UK on Saturday for a holiday visit. The new rings will be shipped to her mum’s place and smuggled back across the Atlantic before the New Year, wrapped in festive goodwill and mild mechanical regret.

A return trip to Mario’s workshop will be scheduled, and I’ll get the pleasure of doing it all again — this time armed with fresh rings, renewed optimism, and an even greater respect for that watchful eye.

In hindsight, I’m fairly certain I know exactly what went wrong.

I was wearing a pair of rubber grip gloves, and more than once they had a habit of catching between the ring and the barrel while fitting. That simply wouldn’t have happened with bare hands. In the ping moment, I believe the glove on the finger supporting the back of the ring snagged slightly, and when I pressed down on the front, the ring was encouraged — briefly and fatally — to twist.

Cast iron piston rings are many things, but forgiving under torsion is not one of them. Hard, brittle, and entirely unimpressed by my logic, it let go immediately.

To be honest, I recognised the sound instantly. Earlier, Mario had deliberately sacrificed one of my old rings, snapping it cleanly so I could use the broken end to scrape carbon from the piston grooves. Educational, effective… and foreshadowing, as it turns out.

We did manage to capture some video along the way for a future instructional YouTube post, but the editing and publishing will wait until Take 2 — when the full lesson can be demonstrated without the dramatic intermission.

That’s likely all for 2025. I’d like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I may post before year’s end when my Christmas present arrives (a fresh set of rings), but Take 2 itself will almost certainly be a New Year event. Finding warm weather in Ontario at that point may prove to be the real challenge. 😄

Fresh back from the cleaning folks—who somehow didn’t lose or ruin anything, a small miracle—I had a couple of things to sort out before meeting up with Mario (a.k.a. The Master Mechanic, and trust me, he reminds you of the title often) to start piecing the engine back together.

First job: took the rocker over to my neighbour Steve last night. He’s kindly squeezed it into his “G-job” list, which is what he calls work he does for pals, usually at the pace of a scenic Sunday drive :o). He’s fixing a tiny-ish chip on one of the fins. Can’t wait to see it done—his work’s usually immaculate enough to make you question your own life decisions.

Then there’s my mini paint booth, if you can call a cardboard box with the barrel on top of a container a paint booth. Engineering genius, I know. But it let me spin the barrel around like a rotisserie chicken, which meant I could get paint in between every fin. Once it looked halfway respectable, I chucked it into another box, sealed it up, and brought it inside the house—partly to keep fumes under control, partly because the outdoor temperature was roughly that of a meat locker.

Next up: the cylinder head repair. After that, I’ll be waiting for a day that’s not blowing a gale or freezing solid, so I can head over to Mario’s and get this thing reassembled.

If the weather cooperates, that is—which, knowing my luck, it absolutely won’t.

Holly (my wonderfully obliging daughter) did the Uber Pickup for me—mainly because Monarch Rebuilding Inc. had the parts ready and, naturally, the transaction was CASH ONLY. ((Thank you John Johnson for the contact—clearly a man who still lives in the age of banknotes and handshake transactions). I told Holly I’d e-Transfer her the money later, and minutes afterward her mum receives a message asking how does one even acquire cash? Apparently the younger generation now treat physical currency the same way archaeologists treat ancient pottery shards—fascinating, but absolutely no idea how to obtain it.

Rocker Box

The first piece of the grand assembly is the Rocker Box. They’ve wisely left the gasket surface and inner bits untouched, but the outside looks rather tidy. All the important surfaces appear protected, so here’s hoping Mario gives it the nod. Fingers crossed—though knowing my luck, he’ll find something microscopic and roll his eyes in that special “I expected better” way.

Cylinder Head

Next up is the Cylinder Head. The top fin has a wee chip, which my neighbour has already been staring at like it personally insulted him. He’s offered to weld it up, so I’ve sent out the ceremonial smoke signals to see if he’s ready. I can do the Barrel and Piston first and worry about the head later, so we’ll see how the stars align. Stay tuned—preferably with low expectations.

Cylinder

The Cylinder was the one I really wanted cleaned, as I’m planning to spray it with VHT high-temp black. Some folks insist high-temp isn’t necessary because the barrel “doesn’t get that hot.” Aye, and some people think Scotland gets “a wee bit of rain.” For the few extra dollars, I’ll take the insurance. I’ve even been told I can bake it in my wife’s oven to cure the paint. I suspect that would go down about as well as putting engine parts in the dishwasher, so the springtime running-in heat might have to do. Better read the paint instructions before I accidentally gas the household.

Conclusion
And yes—before anyone comments—I’m using my entranceway ceramic tiles for photos. Couldn’t be bothered waiting to set up a proper white backdrop. Real life restoration doesn’t pause for aesthetics.