The story continued today, but first was a shopping trip this afternoon with Holly to get some necessary components. I worked on the rear signals for the VN800 (’98), which now officially qualifies as “vintage” — not because of its styling or heritage, but because it creaks louder than I do getting out of bed.
In Ontario, the closest official definition is a “historic vehicle,” which must be at least 30 years old and largely unchanged from its original manufacturer’s product. While no specific “vintage motorcycle” legal definition exists, insurance companies and enthusiasts often consider vehicles over 25 years old to be “classic” or “vintage,” though definitions vary. Personally, I just go by the definition of: if the parts counter guy laughs when you ask for a replacement, it’s vintage.
Canadian Tire sold a set of their Extractors today which included the 13/16 size. With my pneumatic 1/2″ drive impact gun and some penetrating oil the nut finally gave up and the assembly fell apart. This is the point where the ball bearings scattered like confetti at a divorce hearing. I collected them, but in the end I have 45 out of the total 48. Many were stuck in the grease, and a few are now on extended vacation somewhere in the garage. Odds are I’ll find them months from now when they lodge in my shop vac hose or press into the sole of my foot.
The 3 missing bearings could have been casualties of time (disintegrated to dust)— or maybe they’ve already unionized and walked off the job in protest of poor working conditions. The upper race has dings, the lower has pits, and overall it looks like the bearings spent the last decade working as a rock tumbler. Replacement seems inevitable, which means I now get to research “fun things to do with a press and a blowtorch.”
This then brought me back to the footpeg on the Gearshift side of the bike (right). I managed to get the socket on the bolt end, and with the impact gun I cycled back and forth until it finally moved. Of course, it turned out to be left-hand thread. Righty-Losey, Lefty-Tighty… opposite. Nothing like questioning your entire life’s training in a single turn of a wrench.
Now the pedal itself appears stuck, likely on a tapered post. I’m debating if I should even bother removing it, since its main function at the moment is to introduce new bruises to my shins. If I leave it, at least I’ll always know where my shin bones are by the roadmap of purple welts. I did remove the rubber from the peg though, so progress… technically.
I now have an assortment of cardboard boxes breeding in the garage, each one containing a different section of the bike — like some sort of greasy advent calendar where the surprise is usually rust. Soon it’ll be time to start the part-by-part march toward recovery. A slow march, mind you… more like a good Scottish dram: steady, stubborn, and just cheerful enough to keep going despite the rain.
So that wraps up today. Three ball bearings on the lam, a left-hand thread that mocked me, and a shin that’s already filing a complaint. More fun to be had in the future… because apparently, I enjoy this sort of punishment.