As The Wrench Turns -- Rediscovering the Mechanical Me

Doing some carburetor work on my Honda (motorcycle) today made me realize some things, including how our skill sets change with the passing of time.

As a kid, I would watch my father tinker with everything. He was a machinist by trade, and was always building something or tearing something apart and rebuilding it. In the 1930s, he had built a midget race car (he got rid of that and his Harley Davidson when he married Mom). I picked up on some of that tinkering instinct and, despite my fondness for book learning, I would imitate my father. I rebuilt some bicycles and generally farted around with mechanical stuff here and there as a kid.

All three of my brothers picked up Dad's mechanical enjoyment, as well. They all did a fair amount of work on cars, especially Henry. I never got too into cars. No, the (then) black sheep of the family had to be different. I had to have two less wheels. And then I traded wheels for wings, to some extent.

I spent my first eight years out of high school as a military aircraft mechanic. Most of that time was spent as a helicopter mechanic, and I was a good one. My attention to detail, obsessive level of focus, ability to comprehend written material, ability to learn quickly, and perfect eyesight were assets in that line of work. The main thing that worked against me was my lack of patience and my disdain for getting dirty (I know: odd). I really loved being a military helicopter mechanic and door gunner, but I disliked many things about the military itself (that's a blog for another day). When I left the military, I had no desire to work in commercial aviation. The idea of being under pressure as a mechanic to ensure profitability was not appealing. I had talked to other mechanics who had worked in the civil aviation field and they had remarked on the pressure to try to get more time out of (admittedly expensive) parts in the interest of preserving profit. That wasn't a situation I was willing to put myself in.

Back then, I also would work on motorcycles and bicycles here and there, and even tinker with some auto maintenance. I had a pretty thorough set of tools (see my recent blog on equipment).

These days, I do very little mechanical work. The cars go to mechanics for oil changes and darn near everything. One of the reasons I bought a new Ducati was because I wanted something computer-controlled so I wouldn't have to worry about synchronizing carburetors, adjusting this and that, etc. Just turn the key on, hit the starter button, and haul ass -- The ideal Cycletherapy program contains just those three steps.

But my '95 Honda CBR1000F developed a carburetor issue last year. One of the starter plungers (AKA, choke thingies) was hanging up. With four carburetors, a whole bunch of tubes and wires under the tank, and my desire for things dirty and mechanical well behind me, I really didn't have much desire to tackle it. I procrastinated.

Now that I have been back riding this year, I miss the chance to switch bikes every so often. The Honda is more comfortable than the Ducati for longer trips, and it has a totally different feel and sound. It probably has a little more top-end speed, too, but I have never gone any faster on it than I have on the Ducati. I also can't (won't) take passengers on the Ducati, due to its passenger-unfriendly accommodations and the fact that I like to whack the throttle on the Duc every so often just to feel that cool midrange lunge that it has. My sister has expressed an interest in going for a ride on a motorcycle, and I've heard that my niece's kids might be interested, as well. That means getting the Honda back on the road.

So a week or so ago, I went online and bought the parts I thought I'd need to fix the problem. Being me, I bought some other parts, too, just in case the problem was more than I had diagnosed. Since they arrived, I have been waiting for decent weather. It has rained almost every day in June on Long Island. I don't recall ever having seen such a rainy period here.

Today, it was overcast but not raining, so I decided to go work on the Honda. I had to disassemble a fair amount of stuff and work in some dark, tight spaces with some tiny parts. While working on it, I realized some things about the 45-year-old mechanical me, versus the 25-year-old mechanical me that did this stuff more often. My manual dexterity is still good, handling tiny screws in unseeable spaces just fine. My eyesight is no where near what it used to be, though. That's pretty frustrating. On the positive side, I am wiser in my approach, seeing the big picture and watching for any potential problems, rather than just diving in. This probably is largely a function of the other positive change I noticed: Patience. Sure, I could feel the edge of impatience when I couldn't find my 1/4-inch ratchet, but I adapted (pardon the pun) and moved forward without freaking out.

My lack of patience almost got me into trouble twice while working on military helicopters. Once, I got really pissed off about something and slammed a screwdriver into the side of a Blackhawk helicopter, leaving a hole in the skin. Thankfully, the sheetmetal guy quietly fixed it for me. On another occasion, when I was in the 101st Airborne Division (B Company, 158th Aviation Battalion), I was under a Blackhawk safety-wiring a switch on the left lending gear. I was having a tough time of it for some reason or another, so I yelled at it: "You bitch!" Well, little did I know that our maintenance officer -- our female maintenance officer -- was in the hangar. I got a nasty stare, and probably turned red as a beet, but nothing ever came of it.

The whole process with the Honda went well today, though, and the neighborhood kids weren't treated to any new and creative language usage or flying tools. The choke seems to be operating fine, now. Unfortunately, the battery is toast, so I have to wait for my eBay seller to get the new one in the mail.

Spending a little time turning wrenches made me realize that I actually liked doing that sort of stuff, perhaps because it was a part of my childhood, presented some challenges, and was something that made me feel connected with my family tradition. I almost had fun, even, and might consider taking on more mechanical tasks in the future. Of course, that'll have to wait until I clean out the garage...