We have parts!

We are go!

I head into town and spend a few hours looking for a place to work.

I find a very whitewashed, very clean car dealership that does servicing. They’ve got a small motorbike arm attached to it.

Perfect.

I go in and smooth talk my way up to the boss. I fill him in on the story so far, and ask if I can use one of their hydraulic lifts tomorrow - for the day - borrow the workshop tools to work on the bike.

He comes back with the usual reply that they’ll do the service themselves.

I don’t want anyone else touching the bike. Not even here.

I say that I’d rather do it. He shrugs his shoulders.

Done.

For free.

Beautiful.

A full day to have a crack at it.

---

Up early.

Off to the servo to give the Shrike its first non-river-water clean in a long time. Only out of necessity; I prefer the “I’ve been places, hard places” look. Covered in shit is when the Shrike looks its best, it’s gnarliest. But working on a filthy bike is suboptimal.

So it gets a good pressure hosing.

A serious pressure hosing.

But it’s not enough. The mud and dust is just everywhere. Completely ingrained, like it's etched into the paint and metal and rubber and leather.

The sprocket is still absolutely covered in shit.

Won’t be moved. Pressure hose or not.

Whatever. It’ll have to do.

I go buy a spray can of “carb-clean”. This stuff isn't one of God's chemicals. It'd melt the paint off walls...

It'd dissolve anything.

I've seen it go through thick grease like a hot knife through butter.

Into the workshop and onto the lift. I give it to the lump of grimy oil, and it's exactly like I hoped it would be. After emptying the can and feeling light headed from the fumes it's clean as a whistle in there.

All the tools I need are here, but they’re sprawled out all over the workshop. But I'm taking it as a win, as there's nothing worse than a nit-picky, clean-as-a-surgeon mechanic.

I'm sharing the workshop with a chubby, young mechanic who’s keen to get involved in fixing up the Shrike. I tell him I’ll yell if I need a hand; I don’t want anyone else's hands on it.

Right.

"Scalpel..."

I drain the sump while the oil is still hot and will flow easily.

First things first: all the usual servicing stuff.

Consult the manual.

I clean the little magnetic collector in the sump screw. It’s always covered in little shards of shaved off metal. Always mildly disturbing.

Tick.

The spark plug comes out after popping off the cable lead with a screwdriver for leverage and then unscrewing it with a socket. When brand new the bit where the spark makes it's arc is whiter than my teeth. If it’s a dark brown it means that it’s time for a change.

It’s black.

Charcoal.

Doesn’t take a mechanic to tell you that that’s fucked...

I’m surprised. Then I’m surprised that I’m surprised.

What was I expecting? All that Congolese cat piss I've been putting in the tank; all those day’s where it ran like a twenty year old dog...

If the spark plug looks like this, the cylinder can’t be far different, and that can’t be good.

I wouldn’t know where to start with cleaning that up...

Seems complicated...

Yeah, fuck that.

This is not “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”.

This is "Insanity and the Art of Getting it Done".

I can change the spark plug though, so that’s something, I guess.

The new one screws in just fine. But something weird is going on with the lead; it won’t make that satisfying neat little click noise as it goes back on.

Have I got the wrong plug type?? Don’t think so...

Right...

Fuck it.

Tick.

Moving on.

The oil filter lives in the engine cover, jammed into its housing like a jack in the box - a big spring in there under constant stress to make sure that no oil bypasses it.

Coming out of the housing it’s no dramas, just gotta undo the three screws that hold its lid in place without it coming flying out, but getting the new one in there is always a pain in the arse. Like wrestling a bear into a box.

I need three hands for this...

Through no special technique and just trying over and over again I get the bolts screwed back in without it all coming flying back out at me.

Not sure it sealed right...

Fuck it.

Tick.

The fuel hose linking the petrol tank to the fuel injector looks scummy and cracked like perished rubber, but it’ll last.

Tick.

Throttle “play” is a little bit too much – that’s how much you can twist the throttle handle before it actually picks up the throttle, basically the amount of slack in the throttle cable; how loose it is. Fixing that is as simple as tightening a little nut where the throttle cable connects to the motor's air intake under the seat.

Easy.

Tick.

All the rubber bits and hoses from the air box to that inlet stuff look ok. I reckon that the “replacement schedule” for all that stuff is way over the top; why replace it if it’s not broken/looking like shit?

Tick.

Air filter. Looks ok... I give it a clean out in some engine oil. I still feel weird about cleaning an air filter out with motor oil, but I know that’s what I’m supposed to do with this fancy type of filter. I leave that aside to drip dry.

Tick.

“Inlet/Exhaust valve cleaning: Inspect"

Shit.

Those are the valves inside the motor.

How do I do that?

I’d have to take the whole top off of the bang-bang part of the motor just to get at the valves. Looks complicated. Looks above my pay-grade. Looks like there’s lots of places to fuck that right up. Not to mention the time... We’re already nearly lunch time...

Fuck it.

Tick.

"Cylinder head/combustion chamber decarbonise."

Erm...

Tick.

Lunch!

Tick.

Clutch lever “play”. I tighten a little nut down by where the cable connects to a little pivot down by the gearbox housing.

Easy.

Tick.

It says to grease the rear brake pedal pivot. That’s not important. I whack a bit of motor oil on it.

That’ll do.

Tick.

Inspect the battery. Out comes the battery. Water level looks a little low. I don’t like mucking with that. Battery acid isn’t fun... Plus, it needs distilled water, that’s distilled, not filtered or spring water or whatever. Distilled water's the stuff you're supposed to use in a clothes iron, and it's the reason that we get all that white shit when we just use tap water.

Distilled water isn't a complicated thing; it's just pure H2O and nothing else. But finding it here is tricky....

Fuck it.

Tick.

I whack some lube on the terminals. It's just Vaseline. I think that’s to stop them from corroding from water contact.

Tick.

Front fork oil change. Too hard. I’ve never done it. Suspension works fine as is.

Tick.

Chain play. That's a problem for when I change the sprocket...

Half-tick.

Rear brake play. It’s fine.

Tick.

Lube rear brake cam. I don’t even know what that is. Never done it. Rear brake works fine.

Tick.

Lubricate steering ball races. Again, no idea. Steering works.

Tick.

Spoke tightness. I ring a screwdriver around the spokes like a playing card in a pushy wheel and listen to the tune. If it doesn't make sounds like a wind chime and instead makes a dead sounding thunk, that's a problem, allegedly. They ring true.

Tick.

Swing arm pivot bush and spacer. That's what was giving me the willies before with the swing arm rocking from side to side.

I tighten the swing arm bolt up, with no effect.

The bushing must be fucked. Not surprising, really; the shit I've been putting that suspension through...

I don't have a new one, so that's that... Dodgy, but what can I do about it?

Tick.

Tyre wear. I'm not happy with the way that that back tyre's knobblies are getting chewed by the tarmac. It's a shit tyre.

I head over into the dealership to make enquiries. They've got nothing that's the right size.

Tick.

Service done.

Kinda...

Righto, now the rest.

Wait... The carb clean has fucked the metal of the engine housing! Jesus, it’s dissolved a bit of the metal engine case, has it? The surface gone from smooth to rough. Fuck. This is powerful shit! It’s already evaporated off so there's nothing I can do. It’s only chewed one type of metal. Plate aluminium maybe? Obviously some severe reaction going on there...

Should I re-paint it?

With what??

Nup. Fuck it. Let’s just see what happens.

Hope it’s not still being eroded away...

Anyway. Moving right along.

I unscrew the bolts and the whole engine cover comes sliding off.

Inside, it's pristine. Mint condition metal dripping with clean oil. Chalk and cheese, compared with the rest of the bike.

On the inside, I know that one of those things is the alternator, the copper coils are a dead giveaway. There’s also a rod poking through from the other side of the engine that does the gear changes. Other than that, I've got no idea what any of this is. There’s some cogs with teeth but not a whole lot else. The gearbox is on the other side of the engine. Which is good, because that means there’s less that I can fuck up.

Wait. I fucking knew it. I knew it! There’s supposed to be a black rubber sleeve on the end of that rod, that changing gears rod.

It isn’t there.

Don’t ask me why, but I had a nagging hunch that has dogged me since way, way back, after the last time I pulled the Shrike apart in Ghana. I knew it. But I wasn’t about to pull it all apart again to check; I thought I was being paranoid.

I remember the English mechanic saying “whatever you do, before you put it all back together, make sure that this little sleeve is on, and make sure that this little O-ring is in place. They’re important”

Didn’t do that last time. And now it’s not there.

Be fucked if I know where it got to. I wouldn’t have touched it last time, and there’s nowhere inside here that it could possibly go missing...

I'm not entirely sure what it’s supposed to do either...

I don’t have a spare.

Fuck it. What can I do?

I make a mental note of it and move on.

At least the little O-ring is there.

Gotta be careful from now on; anything that gets into this space is going to stay in the engine with the oil until the next change. Which is bad... I remember when we changed the sprocket for the first time back in England that the mechanic was super particular about this: Don’t get shit in the engine.

But that’s gonna be tough; there’s still mud everywhere around the sprocket that was obstructed from view by the engine cover.

I spray carb clean over it as carefully as I can, but shit gets everywhere. I can’t clean this and keep the inner bits pristine. I do my best.

I get the camera out and go full paparazzi on the internals; you never know when they might be useful, particularly for remembering how it all goes back together again. Rough, I know.

The stator of the alternator looks weird. That’s the copper wire bundle bit. There's black string wrapped up in it for some reason. I don't remember that being there before... Like it’s been caught up in it somehow.

On further inspection, it doesn't look like it could have possibly got there by accident.

I check through the photo archives. I’ve never thought to take a picture of it before. Damn it.

New photo taken, moving on.

Sprocket.

I go to flatten out the little flap of metal that “locks” the sprocket nut down. And the sprocket nut moves.

Fuck a duck!

Shit a brick.

Cheeeesus H...

It’s not even finger tight.

Back in England I remember them tightening that nut with a spanner as long as my arm...

Now it’s just floating there! The only thing holding it where it is is that flimsy little locking flap of metal.

Fuck. If that let go... Jeee-sus.

How does that even happen?

How long has this thing been on the cusp of completely letting go?

Looking on the bright side, at least it’ll come off easy.

Silver linings...

Off comes the nut. I pull the sprocket out and compare it with my spare.

The old one has its teeth worn away, but not that bad. Subtle, even.

I want to keep the old one; going back down from 19 teeth to 18 teeth is going to make the top comfortable cruising speed 1/19th less. Which is, what? a touch over 5%? Doesn’t seem like much, but I’m going to be doing a lot of straight line, boring highway from here on out. I want all the advantages I can get...

I’ll worry about that later. Right now: Seals.

I’m keen to stop that oil haemorrhage. I reckon that the culprit is busted seals.

Pretty simple thing, seals; just a black ring of hard plastic that goes between something that spins, and something that doesn’t. Nothing technical. Basically stops all the oil from bleeding out.

The seal that I reckon’s had it is the one that goes between the shaft the sprocket sits on and the engine housing. I can get at it now that the sprocket’s out of the road.

I try to get it out with some pointy nose pliers.

I feel like I’m playing the game “Operation”...

The seal is doing too good of a job, it’s locked in there, hard.

I can’t get enough purchase on it to pull it out. But I can get enough purchase to completely butcher it.

If it wasn’t fucked before, it definitely is now...

After ten minutes of hacking away I’ve make no progress, except to gouge chunks out of the bloody thing. If I can’t get this out, with the seal this fucked, the bike won’t make it down the road... I’m pissed.

Young chubby mechanic buddy comes round to ask what all the fuss and swearing is about. He wants to have a crack at it.

Why not?

He’s does exactly what I’ve been doing, just chopping up the seal.

While he’s here anyway, I ask him about the old sprocket.

“Do ya reckon it’s ok to keep using?”

He takes a good look at it. I show him where the teeth have been worn down. He says it’s still good. No worries. Just turn it around.

"Flip it."

I’m happy to be backed up. But I do wonder about the veracity of the opinion... I wonder if he knows what the fuck he’s on about...

He keeps hacking away at the seal.

Seems about as pro as me. Which is to say, a flog.

We’re not getting anywhere, he buggers off.

I stay at it; It’s gotta give eventually; there’s no alternative. I can’t win by just butchering it, or cutting it out, because the plastic is mounded around a steel spring. Fuck this.

A random bloke comes past.

He - roughly - asks me what I’m doing.

He’s not a mechanic; he's not wearing the kit. Rough looking bloke. Maybe not rough. Sounds rough... Maybe “rugged” is better. Three-day beard. Middle age. Yeah, bit rough. Windswept.

“I can’t get this fucking seal out." I keep hacking at it.

“Stop.”

He goes and grabs a big wrench, wraps it around the stainless steel pipe I'm trying to pull the seal off, and pulls the whole lot out.

Who knew that that wasn’t connected to something??

Not that chubby fat fucker, that’s for sure.

It’s not a pipe, like I thought, more like a little collar, and the seal has come out with it.

The bloke pulls the seal off with his fingers.

“There you go.”

“Uh, I didn’t know it did that... Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

He nods and goes to leave

“Hey, are you a mechanic?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think of this sprocket?”

He looks at it for half a second. Less.

“Completely fucked.”

Well, it’s hard to get more definitive than that...

“Completely fucked?”

“Yeah, completely fucked,” He looks at me enquiringly, not sure if I’m a little thick in the head. Like it's bleedingly obvious. He sighs.

“Do you see all this...?” he points at the teeth. "that's fucked..."

He puts down the down the sprocket and picks up the chain. Feels the links and takes a close look.

“This is fucked too.”

“What? The chain??” No way... But he nods. "Mate, that chain’s brand new."

“How can the chain be new? It's fucked. You’ve got to change them together; chain and sprocket. Wait... You changed the chain without changing the sprocket?”

“Ah, yeah? Why?”

“What did you do that for??”

Maybe I am thick in the head… School’s definitely not out. I feel like a kid.

“The chain snapped out on the road. I couldn’t do a sprocket change out there. It was only a couple of hundred kilometres ago...”

“Yeah, well, this chain’s fucked now”

“But, I’ve hardly ridden on it...”

“I don’t know what to tell ya. You’ve gotta change the sprocket and chain together. Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

And off he goes.

Shit!

Well. At least I’ve got the seal off now...

That silly chubby wanker was telling me to “flip it”. Fuck’s sake. What is it about folks and never being able to use the words “I don’t know” here?

It’s like they’re allergic to it.

“Flip it”.

Dickhead.

Anyway. That whole “links sitting up on the teeth and then pop down into place” thing - combined with the crazy tightness - must’ve turned two hundred kilometres into twenty thousand...

Right then. No use crying over spilt milk...

I go over to the dealership to enquire about a new chain. They don’t have anything on-spec. That’s a bit shit.

I’m not about to go on a wild goose chase through Windhoek for another chain when the chain I’ve got is still working.

Bugger it. I’m running out of time.

The new seal goes on even tighter than the first one. Which, I guess, is what I was going for, right? But this one feels way too tight. Like, I've-got-the-wrong-part sort of tight...

Shiiit.

Out of time.

Tick.

I flick out a similar seal on the gear lever where it meets the housing with a flick of a flat-head screwdriver. New one goes in. Feels like it fits.

Tick.

Right. Now. Put it all back together...

Sprocket slides onto the shaft. Can't tighten it till I've got the chain on (otherwise it'll just spin).

I undo the rear axle and slide all that forward, put the chain on the two sprockets, slide the wheel back to tension the chain, lock it up tight.

So much fucking easier with the right tools, when you're standing up, and it’s all right in front of your face, and there’s no white-hot exhaust pipe.

I whack one hand on the rear brake pedal to stop things from spinning and torque the shit out of that sprocket nut with a monstrous spanner. No chance that’s coming loose. Ever. Up goes the lock flap.

On goes the new engine cover gasket - which is just glorified cardboard cut-out – and then the whole engine cover on after it. It’s tricky; if you don’t get it just right the gasket will fold, or miss the mark, and you’ll get a leak. I can’t see what I'm doing, there's too much motorbike in the way of getting my head in there to look.

I think I’ve got it right... But there's no way to test it.

Tick.

On go the skinny bolts that hold it in place.

Oil.

I go and ask what they’ve got. Nothing’s on-spec.

And I'm running out of day...

I need an oil spec of "15w50". I’m not 100% on what that even means; I think it’s to do with viscosities at two different temperatures? Or the other way around? Nothing to do with quality, anyway.

Not sure I want to roll the dice here though. Plus, here the spec is some weird "SAE" format. I’ve got no fucking clue what that means. No one here can give me a straight answer either.

Nup. Time to take a walk. Hunting petrol stations.

---

First station is a negative. SAE.

Second station, same again.

Third one, same again.

I must’ve walked a couple of clicks by now, and I’m getting further and further away from the workshop.

It’s getting late.

What else can I do? I keep walking.

---

Fourth one, right on the outskirts of the city.

Yes. Victory.

20w50.

That’ll do.

I buy five bottles and head back to the workshop.

---

Must’ve taken me over an hour. It’s a lot darker on the walk back to the workshop than it was on the walk out...

When I get back, the lads at the workshop are wondering where I’ve been.

They’ve cleaned up. Ready to go home. Waiting for me.

Shit!

Time to move...

I dump four bottles into the sump and that’s it pretty full on the sight glass. Seems about right. Happy to have a spare bottle in case I haven't patched the leak and it’s still pissing oil.

Right.

Done?

I give it a looking over. Making sure I haven’t missed something obvious.

I've got an audience. An impatient audience.

Throttles and clutches and nuts and oil levels and tyre alignments and rear wheel...

I spin the rear wheel again...

The wheel won’t spin. At least not freely.

What?? Nah. What’s going on??

Brakes? Is the brake stuck on?

No.

Spin. Stop. Spin. Stop.

In neutral? Yep.

What’s going on? It should spin almost as easily as the front wheel does...

Erm...

Blanks... I’m drawing blanks.

I haven’t touched the rear brakes.

Shiiiiiiiiiiit. SHIT!

I’ve got no idea.

I’ll have to figure it out later, or hope that it sorts itself out...

It’ll still roll. And I've gotta leave.

I roll the bike off the lift and roll it around the workshop.

I can’t feel an appreciable difference. It’ll be ok.

I throw my kit on, jacket, gloves and helmet, while I’m thanking the guys who are left over for letting me use all their stuff and for being patient and just, thanks for everything.

Half my head is still trying to figure out why that wheel wont spin. It’s either something in the rear wheel, something in the chain, or something in the sprocket...

I turn the key and let wait for the whirr of the fuel pump to finish. I hit the ignition.

Nothing.

I hit it again.

Nothing. Not a sound.

I hit it again.

Silence.

Shit fuck shit what the fuck??

I’m in deep shit now.

I turn the key off, wait, turn it on again - wait for the fuel pump - hit the ignition.

Nada.

What the fuck?

The battery’s connected, otherwise the fuel pump and lights wouldn’t work.

Spark plug? It never clicked properly when I replaced that lead...

I shove on that.

Hit the ignition.

Nothing.

Erm...

Blanks. Mental blanks.

I’ve got nothing.

Neither does fat fuck mechanic. Not sure I’d trust him anyway.

I fiddle with everything. Throttle, clutch, move the steering around, flick around the headlights, move the choke. Useless shit. I know it is.

I can hear in my head an old quote from Einstein; something about the definition of stupidity being "to do the same thing twice and expect a different outcome." Or something like that...

What else can I do? I’ve got nothing but stupid left.

Turn the key off again, turn it on again. Hit the ignition.

Click-a-click-a-click-a-boom! Boom boom boom...

Alive.

None of that makes any fucking sense.

Right. Fuck it. It works.

That's Enfield's for you.

Get out of here.

---

On the road and something feels wrong. Off. Weird. Not right.

Don’t know what it is.

Might just be me...

Fifteen minutes and we’ve made it to the hostel. No dramas.

I get off, whack the Shrike on its centre stand and spin the rear wheel.

Now it’s really, really stuck. Seizes up much quicker than before. Like. Locked up.

And something’s making a squeaking noise when I force it to spin, like there’s a mouse trapped in the gearbox.

Faaaaark.

While I’m playing with it I draw a little crowd from the hostel. Standing around me and the Shrike while I lie on the floor and try to figure this out.

One of them is a real weird fucker who’s been here at the hostel longer than I’ve been here. I reckon he’s here permanently. He's on the other side of middle age. I reckon his eyes are fucked too - he’s always looking past me. Half blind, maybe.

You’ve never met anyone more casually racist in all your life. Some of the shit that’s come out of this blokes mouth... The yarpy’s a fruit loop. And that accent... fuck me. Normally, it’s a little funny, but on this bloke it’s like someone whining while running nails down a blackboard.

Anyway, my mate, he wants to know what’s going on, so I give him the story.

“Oh, it’s definitely the chain”

Right. Thanks...

Over the next ten minutes it goes from being "definitely the chain", to definitely the wheel alignment, to the axle, to the sprocket. Free advice from dickheads who have no idea what they're fucking talking about. Like a pack of hens clucking away. It’s fucking infuriating.

I try to take the attitude that this is great practice for dealing with wankers, but that’s wearing thin, and quickly...

Anyway. I reckon that squeaking’s coming from the gearbox. And that’s probably not good.

I’m spinning the wheel with my foot and listening with my ear to the engine case. Homing in...

It’s the seal.

Yup. Definitely coming from that seal I replaced.

“It’s the seal” I say.

“You should put some Vaseline on it”

“What? Is that a joke?”

“No, you should have put Vaseline on it, why didn't you do it?”

“Yeah, alright mate, maybe next time.”

There’s nothing I can really do about it, short of waiting here another few weeks for a new seal to come in, and then do the exact same thing again...

Nope. Going to cross my fingers and just hope that it "wears itself in". That’s about all I can do.

Fuck I wish someone would show up in a truck, heading to Cape Town.