Coop's Corner: Almost, not quite - 1985 Honda 250 Elite

Saturday, October 10, 2026

Almost, not quite - 1985 Honda 250 Elite - 2026/10/10

I brought the Elite home almost exactly 7 years ago, just over 45k miles on it at the time. John had commuted on it to Rochester for years.

It ran great at the time, I ran errands on it, did an overnight camp with it once I figured out how to carry my luggage. Then one day after shopping at Target, it wouldn't start and needed a trailer ride home. That was 4 years ago, it was parked and then ignored.

This fall I dug it out of its corner in the garage, put it on the lift, determined to get it running again. There had been an issue before with a loose ignition wire so once I had all of the panels off (tupperware....) I pulled the plug and found a very healthy spark.

It would start and run for a few seconds on Fluid but that was all. It was only upon looking that I remembered the vacuum petcock and multiple hoses/connections. I've had issues before with the non-simple petcocks and replaced had replaced them with manual versions. This time the challenge was to find one that fit, was small enough to fit and had a reasonable hose connection.

Old one.....

So I thought I had my problem solved, it started well and ran at least that well. Confident I rode the backway to work one afternoon. Luckily I started early, made it as far as a mile from work when it stopped and wouldn't restart. I found a spot to leave it, helmet and jacket and briskly stepped the .8 mile to work, only a few minutes late for a 2:00 meeting.

A text to Peg that I'd need a ride home at 4 was sent with a mostly happy acknowledgement in return. After my bus Route, Peg was right on time. We went to the parked machine, I got out and gave the machine a try and it popped right off as Gramps would have described it. I quickly suited up and again, took the back way home on the quiet gravel road with Peg following behind. We got close but not close enough to home, it stalled right at the railroad crossing and I rolled it off the road, parked in the shadow of the crossing arms.

Peg took me home, I put the receiver hitch on the truck and went after it. Leaving it for a couple of days I had time to do my mind troubleshooting, stumbling on a memory of a couple of my old bikes having issues with gas caps that didn't breathe. It was decided that my next testing would find the gas cap in the top box just to isolate that variable.

I'd noticed how much heat was rising off the muffler only inches below a gas line that ran almost horizontal from the tank to the carb inlet. Time/distance had me wondering about vapor lock or the equivalent in the fuel line. My answer was to insulate the gas line.

Yesterday I made a dozen trips out and back in our 1000' driveway.....tomorrow I'll make 20. Another hot-for-October day is predicted, so we'll see.

I'll keep you updated.

Next and last of the collection to not run is my '83 VT500 Ascot. It was parked in need of a battery and a fork seal. Both things SHOULD have been dealt with right away. A month ago it was on the lift, a remote battery was connected and with new gas.....there was new gas all over the motor and floor. For $85 the online superstore will send me a complete setup of new carbs connected, ready to be dropped into place. Hasn't happened yet, but will.

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"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)