Coop's Corner: Back On The Road?

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

Back On The Road?

No, it's not me back on the road, not seriously, not yet. Here in Minnesota we're in Stay Home mode. I'm talking about my 1969 1/2 Honda CT90 Trail Bike. It hasn't been in the garage's deepest depths but close; there's a '62 Honda Trail 55 and a '75 CB200 that are both deeper, the corner huggers.

(I'm going now to look up when the 90cc bike last was ridden....) 2015....it can't possibly have been that long!!!

No wonder the gas is sour. I've got to share my favorite stinky gas story here... We were Boy Scouts, camping on a farm over in Wisconsin that belonged to one of the members of the church that sponsored our troop. Our camp spot was a lovely location in the woods, in back of a pasture along the famous Apple River. As it was a working farm there were junk piles, or as Uncle Dale used to call them, sources of "Iron" for welding and repair.

Craig wasn't in my patrol but he was a friend from school and a key point, a student that had been in our Motor Mechanics class. Besides being a scoutie, Craig was a budding motorhead. In one of the piles, an old lawnmower was of course lying dead, upside down partially buried. During one of our scheduled hikes, Craig wasn't to be found.

Later, I helped him lift the mower's engine into the back of his dad's station wagon, Craig had managed to remove it from the deck while the rest of us were out Scouting. Upside down in dad's car, more gas was dripping out and the blanket we used to hide it with was soaking up some very powerful fumes. Craig's dad and my dad were some of the adult leaders, both along that weekend. I learned later that when we got back to the church to unload and disperse, Craig's dad was a very unhappy parent, something he was more than willing to share with my dad. By that time, our Coop residence already had been through plenty of experience with sour gas from our 'projects', just ask mom. We knew and had quite the laugh imagining what it was going take to freshen up their station wagon and especially that plush, lovely blanket.

Recent experience of my own ....

Had a very challenging time getting this gasket that was at 98% of necessary length. It just wouldn't stay in the track. I finally outsmarted it though and was able to get the bowl back on.

You can see a bit of the 'fuzz' here in the RESERVE port. The ultrasonic didn't seem to even faze it...it was like sticky dryer lint. I had to physically dig it out, loosen it up and finally air removed it. A bent piece of wire to loosen, then the tiny zip tie that would go around the elbow.

There are a few things unique about this CT90 and why some call it the 1969 1/2. There's a triangular-shaped speedo and a reflector on the front fender that was featured only on these models.

Quite a few changes from our 1964 that looked like this one, except ours was yellow and we had the very chrome front fender option. An overlay sprocket (72 teeth) instead of the shiftable LO-HIGH transmission.

I've been breaking down a lot of boxes and took them over to our local recycling place. The two cardboard doors in the dumpster were quite full and I saw a preponderance of large and some very large flat screen TV containers. We're hunkering in and hunkering down for sure.

The river's up and I have to guess that the Mississippi bringing water from up north and the Minnesota from out northwest.

As of 3 PM Tuesday, March 31st, we are officially no longer apartment dwellers. We are as of yet, not home dwellers either but that's to change over the next hour or so.

Good bye 3rd Street, it's been an adventure but we are so ready to get home.

2 comments:

RichardMMarch 31, 2020 at 5:11 PM
What do you run in the ultrasonic cleaner? Just soap and water or a solvent?
ReplyDelete
Replies

Add comment

Others say....

"it was auspicious to approach any situation from a deferential, inquisitive place. Conceding that there is much to learn is the best blueprint for discovering something new." ----B. Fuller

The Man straightened stiffly above the block of salt fixed to the stake and looked at the young cattle ringed about him. The pasture was holding out well and the stock was looking good. This bunch would be ready to sell in another month, maybe sooner if the market was right.

A stir among the cattle down near the river brought him round to face the swinging bridge he'd built years before. Someone was coming toward him from the bridge. Someone in breeches, but it didn't look like a man, somehow. What was a woman doing in his pasture this time of night?

He bent over the salt again; maybe if he paid her no heed she'd go on past and let him mind his own business. He heard her footsteps come nearer and stop. "Good evening," she said.

Her voice was smooth with book learning but friendlier than most, and somehow almost shy. When he made no answer she went on, "I've been sitting on your swinging bridge....I thought I'd like to say thank-you...." Her voice stumbled a little, then she tried once more.

"You are Mr. ____". His name sounded strange in her voice, but she went on to tell her own.

"That's what they've called me the last sixty-eight years," he said, looking past her face to the hills fast darkening under a single star. "I reckon the woods are free for those that like to walk there."

The unfamiliar voice laughed a little. "That's what Emerson said: the grove belongs to the man who walks in it with an open heart....On that basis I guess I've owned part of your woods for a good many years.....". She made a final effort. "I've always wanted to thank you....."

Something deeply hidden stirred in him. "There's a stump up there, in the notch of the woods", he said slowly, "that before the timber grew so tall you could stand on it and see all over this country."

He kept still a minute, remembering, then, "I used to stand up there an' look at things, an' wonder how they come to be like they was, an' how the hills was created, an' all the things in Nature.... I told my wife I guessed all the religion I ever had I got standin' on that old stump, a-wonderin'..." He turned his face away from her.

She helped him out. "I know about that, a little. This afternoon I saw......." Her account of a thing she had really taken time to look at eased him, and he answered with telling of the badger den at the foot of the swinging bridge.

When she had gone, he turned to watch her. After a moment she stood clear and unmoving against the sky. You could hear the sounds of the river where she stood. She was one that could stand still long enough, he thought, really to hear what a body was saying, or a river.

Then she walked down the farther side of the slope and was gone. ------Margaret Snyder from A Chosen Valley

Fall was the end of harvest, end of the growing season, a burst of color and sun-warmth before killing frost turned the land gray and cold. Fall was a moody time, full of both life and death, a time when we were reminded of the power outside of us, reminded that the seasons happen to us. We do not invite the change to come.-------Ben Logan, from The Land Remembers

When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold onto them. They are the lifeboats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely elusive. So the question becomes or should have been all along, what would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live. What lifeboat would you grab onto? What secret would you tell? What band would you see? What person would you declare your love to? What wish would you fulfill? What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee? What book would you write? ------- Ben Tyler

We were also cautioned about journeying far from home. As an example of the dangers, the town had a badly crippled lady named Lucy, who as a girl had traveled to New York City. As she traveled along a sidewalk, sightseeing, she was struck by the outstretched hand of a suicide who had leapt from high above. Her spine had been shattered and for the rest of her life, she was to walk bent forward at the waist, tapping the sidewalk with two black canes. Whenever the subject of travel to a big city was raised, someone would say, "Just remember what happened to Miss Tripp." ---- Ted Kooser, from Local Wonders

"Steamboats are like wedding cakes without the complications...." ----Mark Twain

"It's not about having lots of money, it's about having lots of options......." -----Chris Rock

As the very proud father of three former ponytail wearers, hopefully I can get away with this....."For the past few years it's been fashionable for young women to wear ball caps and to snap the strap on the back under their ponytails. I like the looks of that, their shiny ponytails jauntily swinging, but it's hard not to think of the rear ends of horses. There's a piece of harness called the crupper that goes just under a horse's tail to keep its nose down. If the horse lifts its head to look for a way out of whatever predicament it's in, the crupper tightens and hurts the horse. But it's foolish for parents to think that a ball cap might keep a young woman from running away. Anybody can see they're made for running." ------Ted Kooser, Local Wonders

"I tell the guy's girlfriend that the only difference between the book's main character Phaedrus and myself is that I am neither brilliant, tortured or insane, she looks at my bike and there is an uncomfortable silence." --------ahendepe (a.k.a. Vermin)