During the summer of '96, an old CB-750 was being kicked around the group of motorcyclists I hang out with. The bike had belonged to a guy named Dave but he sold it to Britt in '92. Britt never really rode it, so it sat at his house (next to a creek) for a few years until my friend Chuck decided it should go to a more worthy home. He then brought the bike to my friend Laz in late '95 since Laz had shown an interest in fixing it up. At the '96 Ride 'N Feed, a number of people started picking on Laz about the bike particularly Mikii, his girlfriend and roommate. Since love is accompanied by certain undeniable rules, Laz decided to give the bike away.

First, it was offered to Roar, who was going to fix the bike up so his father and friends would have something to ride when to visit him from Norway. However, after a quick look over the bike, Roar decided it was unsalvagable since the gas tank was rusty.

From there, Laz decided to give the bike to another friend. However, that friend eventually admitted he just wanted to fix the bike up and sell it. Since the bike had been given away at least three times now, it didn't make sense for someone to make a profit off it when any of the others could have done the same.

At this point, it appeared this was a wreck that, for reasons logical only to those involved, couldn't even be sold. As such, it seemed like just the kind of project I was interested in. After some head scratching, calls and assorted negotiations, I borrowed Mikii's truck long enough to bring the neglected orphan home. Mikii would find the paperwork that originally accompanied the bike and forward that to me later.

When I brought the bike home, my parents happened to be visiting from Florida. I've had bikes for years but they've never appealed to either of my parents. However, when Dad saw the CB that changed. After unloading the bike (and returning the truck) we spent the rest of the day working on my garage and talking about bikes. It turns out that my Dad had an old Harley 125 (the old 2-stroke Aermacchi) in college and his roommate had a Honda 305 SuperHawk. The CB reminded him of the Superhawk and he told me stories about their riding around Gainesville, Florida in the mid-60s.

After my parents left, I got to looking at the old Honda. The engine would kick over and seemed to have plenty of compression for an engine with 45,000 miles on the odometer. It was missing a battery but the tires, chain, forks and other necessities all serviceable. There was an inch of rust, dirt, grease, leaves and other junk on everything but it certainly seemed complete. Just to see what parts might be possible to scrape clean and pass along to another CB owner, I got out a putty knife and started digging.

Much to my surprise, I was greeted not by rust holes but gleaming chrome. I can't begin to say how amazed I was to find that all the "rust, dirt...etc) was really just mud and grease. The combination had preserved the metal in virtually spotless condition. I know this sounds like a fairy tale ("this old widow had a car in the barn she'd sell for $200...") but it really was that kind of revelation. I ended up staying up well into the morning working with scrapers, WD-40 and rags to clean the bike. What I ended up with was something not far from what rolled off the showroom floor. The gas tank had two small pencil eraser sized dents and was coated with rust; the points were very rusty, the tires were low and the seat was covered in tree sap.

I now abandoned my plans to scrap the bike. Instead, I remembered how the bike had really struck a spark with my Dad. Since the bike really seemed salvageable, I decided I'd restore the bike and give it to my Dad. This gave way to a plan of making a trip in the summer of '97 to Florida and surprising my Dad with the CB. That meant I needed to get to work...

First, I removed the tank, removed the (very clogged) petcock and removed the lid. I then rinsed it numerous times with hot water, each time getting out handfuls of rust flakes. Then I rinsed it with rubbing alcohol to remove the leftover water. Next, I filled it with 50 sheet metal screws and started shaking. I continued to shake the tank at various intervals for the next week. Then I started the process all over again. Finally, I bought a gallon of concentrated phosphoric acid (for etching concrete) and filled the tank. I let the tank sit for a day (regularly checking for possible leaks). Finally, I did another session of water and alcohol rinses. When this was finished the tank only contained small amounts of visible rust. I immediately sprayed the tank with WD-40 to prevent rust until I was finished with everything.

With the worst out of the way, I decided to attack the fuel system. The condition of the petcock proved the bike hadn't been stored properly, so I spent one evening cleaning the petcock with carb cleaner and Q-Tips. After that, I removed and threw away all the old gas line. I then bought two foot of gas line and two inline fuel filters as replacements. Finally, I pulled the carbs and opened them up. Yuck! From each float bowl, a solid chunk of semi-dried goop fell out. The floats, needle valve and jets were all coated in old gas varnish.

It took two cans of carb cleaner (and repeated overnight soakings) to get things cleaned up. With lots of patience (and the help of my friend Joel Frahm) I got all the jets opened back up. The main jets could be worked with safety wire but the pilot jets were too small and two fragile for that. Instead, I took some #12 copper wire and stripped back the insulation until I had one strand of copper. This was then drilled into the pilot repeatedly until it broke through. The plastic floats also required fragile cleaning, less I puncture them. After a week, the carbs were reassembled, lubed and back on the engine.

With the fuel system finished, I started on the electrics. I took all the major connectors apart and cleaned things with a small file and with contact cleaner. I replaced all the fuses and retaped anything that had electrical tape on it. Finally, I cleaned up everything under the points cover and tried to refile the points. I bought a Yuasa battery and put that on charge.

When I bought the battery, I also bought spark plugs and an oil filter. With all this, I did a full tune up (except timing the points). The oil was thick but didn't contain any tell-tale flakes of metal. With all this in place, I used the battery to spin the starter. It was great relief to hear everything spin with no evil noises. The only problem was there wasn't a spark.

About this time, I got a call from Mikii saying she'd finally found the paperwork (by now it was January of '97). Luckily, the title was there but it was Dave's title, signed over to Britt. I then went about contacting both Dave (in case I needed to have him request a new title) and Britt (to see if he'd submit the current, many-year- old-title). Both agreed they'd help but Britt was busy and couldn't deal with it for awhile.

Time passed.

In early spring, my parents called saying they were coming to visit and to help complete the last parts of the garage project. I decided I'd make sure I had the bike ready by June. Additionally, I asked Dad to look into a motorcycle permit, so we could maybe ride some while they were visiting.

With a definite timeframe in mind, I again got moving on the CB project (which I'd dropped for awhile to work on my other bikes). Since the points were still preventing a spark, I ordered a Dyna-S kit. This is an electronic replacement for points. I also ordered some Dyna coils, in case the coils turned out to be problematic.

Over time, I'd been soaking the seat's tree sap with WD-40 (kerosene is my do-anything cleaner of choice) which had done a great job. Now, I went over everything (except the brakes) with a WD-40 soaked rag to both clean it and give it a shine. I lubed the throttle cables, clutch cable and chain. I also pumped up the tires. There were some small cracks in the sidewalls but nothing too dreadful. I kept an eye on the pressure and they seemed to hold.

In May, just a few weeks before my parents were to come out, I got two phone calls. The first was from my Dad, saying he'd gotten a motorcycle permit. The second was from Britt saying he would be able to deal with the title now. This was really coming together. Now I just had to deal with the DMV. Surprisingly, this turned out to be very easy. Britt had to submit the title in person and at that time signed a paper giving me power of attorney over the title. Britt's title would then be mailed to me and in the meantime, a temporary registration and tag was given to me. All this for the princely sum of $18.00. Sometimes the system really does work the way its supposed to!

Just before my parents arrived, the Dyna parts arrived. Since I didn't have plug wires, I opted to skip the coils. The first day Dad arrived, he was surprised to see the bike in such good condition. We spent an hour installing the Dyna-S, then filled it with gas, set the choke and gave the starter button a push. At first it sputtered but after a few revolutions it started and settled into a rough idle. We were both elated. After sitting for at least six years, the CB was running!

After letting it warm up, I cut the choke and the bike died. Hummm...perhaps the jets were still a little clogged. Within a day, I'd bought a bottle of carb cleaner additive and was letting the bike idle while we worked on the garage. This seemed to help a great deal but still didn't clear things up. After looking through the ancient Clymer manual and doing some head scratching, I finally discovered the problem. I was using the choke in reverse. Doh!

One afternoon, I needed to run into town to get some lumber. Since "town" is an hour away, I knew I'd be gone for awhile. Before I left, I got out my helmet and gave it to Dad. If he wanted, he could play around on the bike for awhile. I mentioned a few MSF drills that might help shake the rust off after 30 years of not riding and would also get him familiar with the bike. With that, I left and headed into town with my Mom.

When I got back, the bike was in the garage and the odometer showed three miles had been accumulated. We unloaded the lumber without anything being said. Finally, over dinner, Dad mentioned he'd ridden the bike "around". When I asked him what he thought, it was like opening a valve. He mentioned he'd done the exercises in the yard, then taken the bike up all the dirt roads in the neighborhood. For the next couple of hours, we talked about the bike, riding and safety. Mom eventually yawned to hint we should change topics.

After working on the garage more the next day, we ended up finishing up early and needed things from town before we could continue. After cleaning up, Dad started eyeing the bike. Since I had a spare helmet, we decided we'd take a quick ride through the mountains.

I took the bike out first and ran it through the gears. I was really pleased at how well the old bike ran. Even at 9,000 ft of elevation, it would pull going uphill and was quite smooth the whole way through the rev range. Its no wonder people marveled at the original '69 CB750. My only complaint was the wooden feel of the front brake. I'm probably spoiled by the newer, dual disk fronts on my other bikes but it also occurred to me I'd never fully bled these.

After topping up the tire pressures and bleeding the front brake, we both mounted up. Unfortunately, I discovered the battery on my '88 GSXR1100 was dead so I had to quickly pull out my mostly-street-legal '82 XR500. With it warmed up, we headed down the dirt road that leads out off my neighborhood. Once we were out to the main road, I let Dad lead. I warned him about getting into turns too fast, about looking through the turns and about gradually rolling on the throttle in turns.

Dad took a left onto CO-119 and started climbing up the first hill. I was just bursting in my helmet. I'm very close to my parents and getting to share my hobby (obsession?) with my father was thrilling. The fact that I was doing so with a bike I'd personally restored made it that much better.

After four miles, we pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant. He felt fine and had looked smooth the whole way. However, I'd noticed dad leaning with the bike through turns and reminded him to countersteer. We turned around and headed back, now going back up the steep switchbacks south of Rollinsville. Halfway through the first one, Dad really rolled on and pulled away. I was worried at first but when he did the same thing on the second switchback, I realized he was just enjoying the ride.

As we neared the road to my house, I expected Dad to slow but instead he went on past and continued south. After seven or so miles, he pulled into a school parking lot. I took a moment to walk around (riding an knobbie-clad XR500 at 50 mph is like sitting on a paint shaker!) then wasted some time kicking at the thing until it finally refired. With that, we headed back. The total mileage was around 21 miles but it seemed like it was much, much more.

A week later, on June 25th, I gave the bike to my father. His birthday was June 24th but he'd taken a few days to go on a birthday vacation to Utah. We rode a few more times over the next couple of weeks, racking up about 300 miles here in the Rockies. A few more problems cropped up (residual rust clogged the petcock, an indicator bulb blew, the grips started cracking) but over those miles both the bike and Dad did great.

Now we just have to figure out how to get the bike back to Florida. Maybe he can fly out and we can do a cross country trip together. Now *that* would polish the rust off of both of them!

Think Peace.
- Alan ([email protected])                     http://www.dorje.com/~alanf
KotBBBB (1988 GSXR1100J)  RaceBike (FT500)  DOD# 4210  PGP key available