9000 miles on an 84 fj

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I think it may be more difficult to write about this adventure than it was to actually do it.

I had posted as a new member in March, after purchasing a neglected 84 fj1100 midway north in Vermont, from a fellow named Sprocket who related that he had purchased it from a guy who was entering prison, and had to sell off his posessions. Perhaps this should have warned me off, but on advise from my friend and master mechanic Anders, who thought it a perfect specimen for my purpose, I bought the filthy and sad thing for $700, after Sprocket demonstrated that it ran perfectly on 3 cylinders, and declared he would help to load it in the pick up I had borrowed from my brother.

http://www.fjowners.com/index.php?topic=13570.0

On finally getting it into my work space, and taking a good look at it, I called Anders, somewhat anxiously, to ask wtf he had gotten me into. Anders, ever the diplomat and economical of speech, elected quickly not to relate that I had made the final decision, and responded, initially somewhat cryptically, that anyone could ride a GOOD motorcycle cross country. I laugh as I think of that response, as without that challenge I would have never gotten as far as I did.

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My friend Peter had decided that in order to see the US by bike, he would ride for 1 week to 10 days each year, leaving his 1975 Honda 750 at his installment destination. He started in 2014, going from Boston to St. Louis, where he left the bike with his friend Vlad. His plan was to follow what was left of route 66 to the Santa Monica pier, where the mother of all highways ends. A romantic idea that captivated both Vlad and myself. Peter graciously accepted our company, prompting my search for a suitable mount.

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I begin assessing what needs doing on my new purchase. The non functioning cylinder is easy to identify, as the header pipe on #3 is cold after running. #2 is hot, so spark is probably not an issue, got to be carbs. Fork oil all over the front end and brakes, no cover on the instruments, hacked wiring harness, plastic cracks from previous dumps, bent and rusted parts everywhere I looked. Ugh! Ok, I start disassembly to get at the carbs. I note K&N pod air cleaners, and on disassembling the filthy carbs find adjustable aluminum needles. I know someone had been in here before me, as they'd buggered the heads of a number of Phillips fasteners.

Almost immediately on searching for parts on the web, I find the RPM site, and have the good fortune to speak with Robert Raduechel. Robert consistently provides good ideas and moral support during my project. I initially order carb rebuilding parts, and find some suitable solution for my ultrasonic cleaner. As time goes on, I order all sorts of stuff from RPM. It always comes quickly.

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I rebuilt the carbs, adjusted valves, front end, all brake calipers, pads, new brake lines, retaining the anti dive units, which would cause problems later on, new drive chain, placed a Delkevic headers and collector. New cover for instruments, new tach, wired in a relay for charging my gps and phone. Peter was seduced to fly to St. Louis to meet Vlad on Sept 24th, and we were to meet in Oklahoma City  on the 26th. By the beginning of September, I had an untested bike.

[Dads_FJ]

Keep it coming.

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Trying! Can't  modify previous spelling errors etc using Chrome.

As I start to ride, I notice that idle is not stable, and the plugs always seem lean. I am using stock air jets and mains, the needle is set a clip setting rich from middle, and I am alternating running #40 and 42.5 pilots, using the United dual pods. Air/fuel pilot screw settings don't make much diff. I have figured a vacuum leak, replaced carb insulators, and every other rubber part, and tested with 3 different ignitors. I should add here that Mike Rieck was also invaluable both with his help and generosity. He lent me a hand, as well as his time, and expertise, and as many spare parts as I could carry. Mike, a dear friend and mentor, even put up with a late evening appearance to grab a borrowed Dyna and wires at one point.  He also owns an fj from new, that actually causes me to salivate. I continue to have difficulty tuning. This goes on until the day before I leave. Anders has come down from NH after dreaming that cam timing must be off. By this point I have actually acquired and  consulted a Clymer manual, and we note fairly quickly on taking the valve cover off that there are adjustible cam sprockets. I hadn't noticed this when I did valve adjustments. Sure enough, the exhaust cam is retarded by 1 tooth. Earlier that week, Anders, who came to Boston from central NH to help me there times that week, and I fabber a remote control idle adjuster using 2 robotic pulley wheels with a toothed belt between them, and the threaded part of an F6 cable adjuster. The remote pulley is attached to an aluminum bracket which is zip tied to the frame. Anders calls it protyping. In any case, it was easy to set idle, which stayed fairly consistent from this point on. I had ridden the bike 400 miles. I changed the oil, and waited almost sleeplessly for my departure Saturday morning.

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Saturday morning dawns wet and gray. I am supposed to meet my friend Jim iat his place in McLean VA. Jim writes that he needs to do a few things on Sunday, and Monday is a better start day. I decide to hold off until Sunday to depart. My wife Martha finds stuff for me to do. Sunday comes in looking like Saturday. Martha wants me to look at a house for sale that morning, I go begrudgingly. We get back at 2, it seems not quite as grey... I load my gear, and take off at 4. The fj seems ok, but I don't have any trust at this point. We make it down through Rhode Island and into Connecticut on I95 before it starts seriously raining. Almost simultaneously road construction also begins. One of the things that Anders had liked about the bike when I bought it was that the rubber was in good shape. The front Shinko had no mileage, and the Dunlop in the rear little. Modern cross hatched road prep presented little problem even for 30 year old tire dimensions, and my inability to see well at times due to the amount of water coming down. Came down the hill into the Bronx and Coop City, and the rain let up, with a big rainbow in my mirrors. Unfortunately, NYC road quality is not stellar, and I was mostly able to dodge potholes and road debris as it got dark. The 20wt fork oil I had used proved a little stiff for this terrain, but I didn't really mind, even as I hoped my new seals would be durable enough to last.

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I go over the Whitestone Bridge,  and am soon fast approaching Newark airport.  It's dark enough so I can see some of the taxi way lights, then I luck out, as a landing jet is running parallel to me, but at twice the speed. I pass  the Edison, Woodrow Wilson, Clara Barton turnpike rest areas. I've been going past them my whole life, but never remember their order of appearance. It's Sunday night, I am floating on air to be on my way, and making good time too. It starts to get colder, and I pull into Walt Whitman for a cup of coffee, to warm up, and to add some clothes.

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I am using a rather large tail bag by Motocentric, which I have had for a couple of years, and as well their motored 19 tank bag. Side bags are the larger ones that RKA make. I am carrying a 1/4" socket set and a full set of wrenches, multimeter, spare parts, and m/c goos and unguents. I have my leather jacket with zip liner, a 2 piece rain suit, 2 pair of pants, and an assortment of 5 long and short sleeve the shirts. I stop at the Whitman rest area put the rain jacket on under my unlined leather, drink the coffee, and keep on moving. I am noticing that gas mileage is in the mid 30s, but gas is relatively inexpensive now, so ...

Bike feels good and solid, I like the low seat height and the ergonomic feel good. I had the original seat pan recovered by Eddie Barrett in Middlefield Ct. About $250. , looks good and comfortable.

I had mounted my Easy Pass behind the windshield on the dash with some velcro feet, which is picked up easily by the fast pass sensors at most tolls, except in  freaking California, where everything related to driving in the LA area is a hassle. Delaware bridge goes by quickly, and the next thing I know, I am on the 495 beltway headed towards Mclean. I know this road well from first hitching down it to my uncle's place in Glen Echo, first around 1970. A guy that looked like Charles Bronson picked me up on one occasion in a big Mercedes, dropping me off on the Cabin John parkway. I get to McLean at around 11.30, exhausted, but exhilarated and happy to be with Jim and his wife Veronica, who have waited up for my arrival.

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Monday morning I get to hang out with Jim'said kids before they take off for school. I've known these kids all their lives, and having no grandkids myself, love Valentina and Nico like they were my own.

Jim has to deal with some construction materials, and we don't get moving until almost 11. We'really headed to Waynesboro VA to take the Blue Ridge Parkway. I have ridden it twice, but Jim has never been before. I know this is going to be a treat for him, but first we have to stop to see the Cherokee.

Jim learned how to fly from his dad George, who became a decent bush pilot, and wrote a camping reference guide for flyers who wanted to sleep under the wing. In 1998, George was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and Jim decided to take his old, well worn 1964 Piper Cherokee out to the Idaho fishing camp above Sandpoint, where George had a fishing and tourist camp, so that George could make a last flight. I jumped at the invitation to join him. We pushed that plane to its limits snaking through narrow canyons and using up drafts to get over the Rockies. We saw storms where the hail and ice looked  like popcorn being popped above us. We narrowly missed a head on collision with a bi plane pilot that wasn't paying attention, and had a near collision with hawk that was racing us on short final. We met excellent people, and George got to fly that plane. It was my last great adventure. By the time we made it back, we were flying on 3 cylinders, and using a fair amount of oil. The nose strut kept collapsing, the battery was weak as well, and I had a cut under my chin where the prop had grazed me as I tried to remove the stuck starter pinion from the fly wheel, not realizing that the magneto was still switched on.

Since that time, Jim had restored Triple 7 Sierra Romeo, and it was an honor to stop to see her..

That'said Jim with his new 1400 California Custom Guzzi

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It was already 1pm when we got to Charlottesville, and an hour later when we stopped at Weasie's Kitchen in Waynesboro for a quick lunch. Then onto the Blue Ridge!

For anybody who has never ridden on this 470 mile long road with no lights, and limited entrances and exits. It is a national treasure, and one of the top motorcycling roads in the country. The 45mph speed limit does not appear to be enforced, although it was told to me by John, a bike shop owner from along the NC portion of the parkway,  on a late 70s BMw r100 with 200k, that there is a federal fine of 100 bucks for speeding. I agree with John that that fine almost seems like an admission price for the privilege of riding such a fine road.

[Klavdy]

Excellent stuff, you've got a good writing voice, an easy reading, enjoyable style.
Keep them coming please.

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Thank you!!

I think the reason that I come across amicably may be due to my reasons for extending my initial idea of riding with Peter and Vlad to LA. I had a lot of thinking to do. My dad, with whom I had also shared many adventurous times, had passed in April, and it had thrown me for a loop, even though he was 95, and I'd known it was coming for a long time. Additionally, my wife and I were not getting along well after 35 years together, and she had taken in her indigent sister, perhaps as a buffer. Making this trip helped me come to a certain peace, not because I solved any great problems, but because all those jiggles and bumps on an undulating road kind of shake out the angst and anger one carries around sometimes without ever being aware of it. Perhaps as well, my love for being on an adventurous course may only be eclipsed by my enjoyment in meeting and talking to people along the way. There are a lot of really wonderfully fun folks in our country, and they brought up my spirits. I thank them as well.

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Jim and I stayed the first night at some immemorable hotel in Roanoke. My priorities when staying in a motel or hotel seem to be as follows, perhaps in this order:

There's a covered area for my bike. I like Motel 6 places because they almost always have an covered walk way. I no longer ask whether I can put my bike under it, as the answer is almost invariably no. However, on only a very few occasions have I been asked to move it. I generally also like to keep it in view, although I cannot think of a time when anyone messed with my bike or belongings in the states.

The bathroom is clean, the place doesn't stink of smoke, and the water is hot and plentiful, and the price is not crazy. I try to keep it under $60., but occasionally splurge if I am feeling wasted, or the joint the night before was particularly rough.

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Our ride between Roanoke and Ashville on Tuesday was two old friends going for it. I had started riding slowly from Wanyesboro, as I showed Jim the parkway. He was on a new, relatively huge and heavy bike, and I didn'the know how comfortable he felt on it. The beauty of my surroundings, and it's ebullient effect on me, caused me to forget my caution, and I caught enough speed to make it fun for myself.  Unexpectedly, Jim also jumped at the chance to run a bit hot, and when we stopped after a bit, leaned over to tell me how much more fun our new pace was. OK, and no problem! I was surprised that the Guzzi, which Jim, who has been following the  Guzzi newsgroup, calls the Goose, handles so well. It has plenty of grunt, but unlike Harleys that look similar, it has respectable lean angles and impressive Brembo braking. When I asked Jim, he said he was not dragging anything in the corners, decidedly un Harley like!