Season Clauss, Blah Blah Blah Motorcycles

So, way back in the fall of 2021, I retrieved my ’67 Honda S90 from my brother’s garage and got really excited to have it home with me. I took off for a ride and started having running issues with it nearly immediately. By the time I got home, she stalled 3 times and I nearly called in a favor to retrieve me roadside, however, I persevered and coaxed her home. I didn’t have the right tools yet and lacked the time to correct the issues, so I winterized her.

Jump forward to August 2022 and I finally took the time to give her a try again. I threw the battery back on the tender and 24 hours later, despite the red light still glowing, I put it in the bike and gave her a kick. Or ten. BUT SHE STARTED!! AND RAN!! I went back inside to put on riding gear and took her through the neighborhood for the next 30 minutes. She ran beautifully, so problems at all. I was stoked!

The first Monday of each month of the riding season is Motorcycle Monday and I was ready with Betty. The previous day’s trial run made feel confidant she’d make the 7+ mile trip to the bar, which would clock in just under 30 minutes. Betty thought differently. About halfway there she started throwing a tantrum with the clutch and gears. She would grind into first then get stuck there. The only way to get her out of first was to start riding, which she would then immediately stall, but at least I could restart and shift again. This might have happened a couple times, but nothing that I was concerned would leave me stranded. We got to Cobra Lounge and grabbed a beer. Phew.

The evening was great. It was Italian night and the air was filled with the sounds of dry clutches. Yep, mostly Ducatis rode up, a nice array of Moto Guzzis, and a smattering of non-Italian makes as well. There was a great turnout and it was awesome to blah blah blah and hear some blah blah blaring happening everywhere. I may even have been talked into going to Barber Vintage Fest this year.

The night wrapped up and I needed to get on the road. There isn’t a great way for me to get home without going through a slightly dicey neighborhood, and I wanted as much time as possible if the bike was gonna give me more problems. And she did. Almost right away. Less than 3 miles from the bar, she was having a lot of issues shifting and not stalling. After fighting with both of these, she finally stalled out at the Garfield Park Conservatory. I checked the fuel, just fine. I tried kick starting her, nope. I played with the choke, the idle, and tried to pull the spark plug, but didn’t have a tool kit with me. So, I texted the brother, who was on his way home from the bar. He got back to me and sped over in his van, with his girlfriend as reinforcement, in about 45 minutes. It was a slightly tense 45 minutes.

I had already pulled the bike into the shadows of the sidewalk just to avoid being obviously stranded. I had taken off my helmet and armored gloves to fuss with the bike and text, but one guy veered off his walking path and seemed to be headed towards me, so I put my armored glove back on my dominant hand, just in case. The guy walked by and kept going, much to my relief. The noisy gathering of folks down the block and the “L” trains rumbled overhead filled the wait with plenty of distraction. I kept vigilant to my surroundings and waited. My brother arrived, the bike got loaded, and I sat on the wheel-well in the back on the way to my house about 20 minutes away. Safe and sound with a new project to figure out.