awesome

Final 2014 Na No Wri Mo

Today is the first of November, and along with indicating my rent is due it the marks the end of Na No Wii Mo. Congrats to all who succeeded and all those who tried but did not do.

I got about 31,000 words in. Not as far as I would have liked, but further than I expected. At least now I have a bones that I can go back to and work on to flesh the novel out and fix some of the problems.

Next year will be better for sure.

Na No Wri Mo #4

Well, it’s the fourth week of National Novel Writing Month. I hope everyone else who has been participating has had better luck than I.

Currently my novel is at 28,002 words. While I’ve averaged over a thousand words a day, I’ve failed to actually stick to my desired one thousand words a day minimum and probably won’t hit my original hoped for length.

Still, I think by the end of the month I will have about 35,000 words of a rough draft. This is a pretty good start for a rough draft, especially considering I’m going to have to go back through and add an excessive amount of world building and explanation for things I came up with mid draft.

While I prefer a much slower pace for novel writing, I still think this has been a good learning process and the eventual result, with some work, might be passable.

They Don’t Make That Anymore

My eyes glance over the tell tale words on the site, “Product out of stock.” My first impulse is to ask, “Why?” I know the answer, it’s always the same, “They don’t make that anymore.”

And why should they? They don’t make the bike anymore, why make parts for it?

I have learned, “they don’t make that anymore,” is a common refrain among despondent bike builders. Neophytes like myself have neither the skill or imagination to build a new part, and 3D printing parts is still a ways away from replicating solid options. There is a tremendous feeling of helplessness when one learns that simply replacing a part is not as easy as ordering a new one.

The latest example of this was my carb harness. I rebuilt the carbs a while ago, finding it difficult, and making it more so by pulling the carbs from the bracket that holds them together, something I later learned is unnecessary. I think I had some vague notion of painting them black, but changed my mind. So when I went to bench set them I was quite shocked to find a major problem.

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At some point, between the time I took them apart and put them back together, or maybe even before the aluminum bracket cracked on the right side. After checking Ebay for a used one, it seemed like this was a common occurrence.  Sadly, “they don’t make that anymore.” So the options were, search for someone with a not yet cracked one, buy an expensive new set of carbs, or get it fixed.

I choose the later. Fortunately, there are people in this world with more skill and talent at metal work than I, and I was able to have one of those people weld the bracket back together. After a bit of grinding the carbs were good to go and ready to be tuned and put back on the engine.

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This isn’t the only time I’ve run into this problem while rebuilding TIM. Some instances, like the carbs, are probably due to age, or an aggressive hand in pulling the bike apart, others are just sort of mind boggling. For instance, the brake pivot that was installed on TIM when I got the bike was too small for the bracket on the frame. It was only by a few millimeters, and could be made functional, but not really safe. (No one really wants to ride around with the constant fear of their brake pedal falling off the pivot while traveling on the highway. )

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The reason the brake pivot didn’t fit is likely because the frame is and F model and the pivot was off a K model. The two bikes use the same L bracket style brake pivot, except they are of just slightly different lengths. So whoever put the bike together before I at least twice replaced a part with an almost identical, yet slightly different sized part. (The other time I’m aware of was the front fork, where the top and bottom of the triple tree were from different model bikes.)

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Fortunately I was able to find a correct sized brake pivot for the bike, but it took time and a bunch of work. But that’s what I find fun about building a bike, solving a problem in a creative manner with what you’ve got, because “they don’t make that anymore.” And I’m sure whoever takes over ownership of TIM after me will shake their head and wonder why I did some of the things I did. After all, the bars I put on are off a 350.

Tanks For the Memories

It has been a while since I’ve really had the time to go into the shop to put any meaningful work in on TIM. So yesterday I decided to take the morning off writing, instead of sitting around waiting for the muses I thought I might get a chance to finally clear coat the gas tank.

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This gas tank has been a thorn in my side for almost the entirety of the project. Among the litany of abuses the previous owners inflicted upon TIM, one of the worst has got to have been the gas tank. The knee dents they put in it were atrocious and unequal in size, forcing both them and me to use a massive amount of bondo, just to make it look okay.

However, despite the massive amount of time it took me to finish the body work and get the tank painted, it has generally turned out okay. In the rare chances I’ve had to get to the shop I’ve been able to put on several coats of paint and every thing looked pretty good, or so I thought until I walked in and saw this.

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The gas tank lock flap had started flaking, bad. Even just touching it caused it to flake worse than in the above picture. The only option? Sand it down to bare metal and redo the whole thing.

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Someone, I don’t know who, thought it was a good idea to drill a bunch of holes in the flap, and then fill them back in. Apparently, this mystery person thought speed holes in a piece of metal meant to prevent water or thieves from getting into the gas tank was a good idea. Probably the same person who drilled all the other speed holes.

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With a little help from Dave, the bondo didn’t come out looking like a birthday cake. I managed to get it all sanded and primed, but forgot to take a picture. I’m hoping it will only require one last paint day and then I can final finish it up with a clear and be done with body work for a while.

I forgot to take a picture of the primed flap, but here’s a picture of a sick Yamaha xs650, Dave is building for a customer.

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Stay tuned for the next installment of the ongoing adventures of TIM’s resurrection: They Don’t Make that Anymore.

Na No Wri Mo #3

It’s the third week of National Novel Writing Month, I’m 21,287 words in and I have hit a wall. Or to be more accurate, Sunday Football and other work got in the way over the weekend and now I’m struggling to find the motivation to return to my daily word count. To make matters worse I’m at the dreaded mid first draft hump.

It’s my experience that most novels that never get finished usually fall apart around 20,000-30,000 words. I have several aborted attempts at novels of about this size and I’ve heard countless tales from other writers echoing my own experience. I wonder, what is it about this number of words that cause us to fall off?

I think it’s because 20,000-30,000 words is a sufficient number of words to be into the story, but not enough for the story to come to a conclusion. We get lost, and unable to see the forest for the trees get frustrated and give up. 20,000 words is sufficient length to tell a story, but not enough for the story to be a novel.

By 20,000 words we are far enough in that we forget the story we intended to tell. The story has changed so much it no longer matches the outline, and there was never enough detail in the outline to begin with, so while the end may have already been thought up, getting there is still daunting. It’s at this point that starting a new story sounds better than finishing the one that’s currently causing so many headaches.

However, stopping means the novel will probably never get finished.  The only way forward is to keep writing.

Cheaper Than Therapy

Standing at the paint table for what seemed like the umpteenth time (really only the fifth) sanding spot putty and primer from my gas tank I began to wonder, what’s the point. Why am I doing this? Why am I spending over a dozen hours trying to smooth down the lumps, fill the holes, and round the curves? Wouldn’t it be better to spend my hours toiling on a project that pays me money so I can just hire someone else, someone more skilled, someone who could do a better job than I could ever do?

TIM before

TIM before the rebuild.

The resounding answer is no. I wouldn’t be better off letting someone else do it. Why? Because the point isn’t the end result. No matter how misshapen, or terrible the paint turns out, the point is the act of doing.

Tank all stripped with paint idea marked out.

Tank all stripped with paint idea marked out.

Some people build bikes, because they have a passion for it or because they can’t do anything else. Other people build them as a hobby, something fun to pass the time. And a few, mostly naive hipsters fueled by trust funds, foolishly try to build them as a way to fame, fortune, and glory.

Me, I work on my motorcycle as a form of therapy, It gives me something physical and tangible to show for my money and time. Something that works, something that’s not just bought with money, something I’ve built.

 

This is way too much bondo.

This is way too much bondo.

When I first left my big boy job as an associate attorney, the one with the secretary, paralegal, office with a view, healthcare, and decent salary. I thought I was crazy. Many of my friends, who were still struggling to find work, almost two years after being licensed agreed. At the time I was despondent and filled with anxiety, so I began to see a therapist. Once a week for over six months I sat there telling him all my problems, paying him money to listen. Eventually though I realized that instead of repeating my same problems, I needed to do something.

 

A lot less bondo, not quite, but getting there.

A lot less bondo, not quite, but getting there.

I don’t have anything against therapists. I find they can be helpful and I have at times benefited greatly from talking to them. But for me the act of creating is ultimately more therapeutic than sitting around endlessly talking about my thoughts and feelings.

Building a motorcycle is more than just a hobby, it allows me, even if for a brief period of time each week to turn off my over active brain and ignore the problems I see in the world. It doesn’t matter if it’s, the rising trend of religious fundamentalism, Russian separatists in Ukraine shooting down a jetliner, the ups and downs of the stock market, my frustration with a piece of fiction, or just my often depressed and anxiety ridden thoughts, even a bad day working on a bike allows me a respite. It allows me to escape into reality.

Underside painted with Truck bed liner.

Underside painted with Truck bed liner.

When I first got TIM I loved the knee dents and black pearlescent paint job. I wasn’t a fan of the silver stripes. So I took them off. In doing so I removed a not insignificant amount of paint, which led me down an epic rabbit hole. The knee dents were poorly done, and it was only massive amounts of paint, bondo, and spot putty that made the tank look decent. All of which only became apparent after I’d stripped the tank to bare metal.

Mandatory selfie of your Intrepid author covered in dust.

Mandatory selfie of your intrepid author covered in dust.

Lessons I’ve learned From my Work on the Tank:

1. Use less bondo than you think you need.

2. Sanding down takes longer and is more of a pain in the ass than layering up.

3. Mr. Miagi was right, “wax on, wax off.”

4. “Whatever you can see after it’s been primed you will see when it’s painted.” (Words of wisdom from Ernesto)

5. Doing it the wrong way is still worth while, but only if you learn how to do it better the next time.

6. Wear appropriate protective gear.

Tank prepped and mocked up on the frame.

Tank prepped and mocked up on the frame.

If I had to do it all again, I would be able to do it quicker and better. In all so far, I’ve spent close to fourteen hours sanding and prepping my tank. This doesn’t include the time I spent stripping the paint and old bondo, the time spent staring at it in agony trying to figure out what I was going to do with it. It also doesn’t include the time I will spend painting it, sanding it, repainting it, cleaning the insides of rust and then resealing it so it lasts another thirty plus years. I expect when its finished to put in close to fifty hours on a single gas tank.

Why? Why am I doing all this? Because it’s cheaper than therapy, that’s why.

(Side note, look for the soon to come release of the first original fiction piece Odyssey of the Heliotrope, written by yours truly, cover art by Tom Vincent, available for purchase digitally.)