Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater
Man, it's been forever since I got a chance to sit down and write
in here, but a number of interesting things have happened.
First up, the Story of Free Stuff.
Late last week, I took my cello in to the shop to have some long-neglected repairs done. Because of that, I ended up borrowing another cello from my friend Cam, who has been unable to play for several years due to a hand injury. (This is all apropos, I swear.)
While Cam and I were talking about cellos and sidecars and all (I'd driven the sidecar rig over to her house to pick up the cello), I happened to mention that I was thinking about buying a cheap set of free weights, which I would use as ballast in the sidecar. I think we had drifted to the subject of gyms and working out, which is what prompted the thought.
The next day, we were chatting on irc, and she happened to mention this ad she'd seen on Craigslist, for some free stuff. Among the stuff listed was a set of free weights. I thanked her, and check out the ad. Looked good inasmuch as poorly written text on a website could look good, so I decided to go check it out after work.
I got to the place without any trouble. Sure enough, there was a set of free weights and a weightlifting bench sitting on the sidewalk, along with some other stuff. I examined the set, and counted out 90 pounds in 2.5, 5 and 10 lb weights. Perfect! Delighted, I grabbed the weights and brought them over to the sidecar. I dismounted the weight discs from the bars, and laid them out on the floor of the sidecar, so they would hopefully stay in place.
Not knowing what to do with the bars, I just tossed them in the car as well, figuring I'd probably throw them away or come up with some clever use for them at home. I didn't want to just leave them there, since that seemed against the spirit of helping someone else get rid of stuff.
I geared back up and was just getting ready to leave when someone came up and asked me if I lived there. I indicated I didn't, and figured that was that. He went over and looked over the pile, with a particular eye for the weightlifting bench.
He actually looked just like the sort of guy who would have beat me up in grade school. Big and beefy, with a kind of permanent sneer on his face. He didn't seem unpleasant at all though, aside from my intitial "bully == fear" reaction. I hopped on the Goldwing and set off.
I'd only driven about two minutes when I turned around and headed back. I'd realized that if he was looking at the bench, he might well have some use for the bars. He looked like a weight lifter, in that too-much-bulk-up-powder sort of way. I motored back up to the free stuff house, and was pleased to see that he was still there.
I offered him the bars, and a look of genuine happiness spread over his face. He explained that he had all the weights he needed, but he was really hoping this free pile would include the lifting bars. Particularly this fancy double-bend bar I was handing to him. Huzzah! It worked out perfectly for both of us. I was very glad I'd turned around and gone back.
So, I now have an excellent set of weights to leave in the sidecar as ballast. Much smaller than 10 gallons of water for the same weight.
The next story isn't so cohesive, and is the story of Race Day.
Jesse had his first race of the season this last weekend. I finally had all the stuff I needed to film the event, so I packed up my tripod, little video camera, and a bunch of food and clothes and such. Naturally, it all went in the sidecar, being about 5x more volume than I can reasonably carry on the motorcycle alone.
Unfortunately, race days start really early, and I was hoping to get a fair amount of each day on tape. I woke up at about 6:00 on Saturday morning, and after a bit of dithering because of the rain, finally left around 7:30. It was a cold ride down to Pacific Raceways.
The rain didn't particularly let up on Saturday, which made for a wet track, and a wet crew. We were all complaining of the wet and cold. I never warmed up after my cold ride, and spent the whole day with my riding suit on, because I didn't want to lose the marginal warmth it was helping me retain.
I did end up filming a number of the pit discussions, which were interesting, and may or may not actually make interesting film. I also shot the two practice runs, once from track-level at turn 10, which is called "The Bus Stop" for its hard, 10 MPH curve. I also filmed from up in the grandstands, where I had a view of the same corner, but from higher up. I could also see farther around the track.
On Sunday, I got there around 9 am, and was just in time to try filming the first practice run before the two races. Unfortunately, the sun was in such a position that filming was pretty well pointless, so I gave up and went back to the sidecar, where I took off the riding suit and ate a belated breakfast.
However, an important point from that last paragraph: Sun! The clouds were breaking up, and it looked like the day would be at least fairly rain-free, if not actually sunny.
Jesse's bike was working well, although he arrived after the practice on the crash truck (so-called because it's there to help transport crashed or non-functional motorcycles from the track to the pits). He said at first that he thought it might be a battery problem (these bikes run with no electrical power generation, so the battery just slowly discharges over the weekend). A short while later, with some chagrin showing in his face, he annouced that he found the problem with the bike: it had run out of gas.
Meanwhile, I was helping a man named Arash (pronounced "Ar-ash") with his bike. It looked good: clean, well painted, no dirt. Unfortunately, he said it got him up to the starting line, then just died. Another vintage racer and I went through and checked the obvious stuff, and found a number of problems. The carburetors had some weird parts in them, which would probably make the bike run funny, but not suddenly die.
Then I pulled out the multimeter and checked the battery. It read 3V. Yes, three. It's supposed to read 12V or so, or 11 if it really needs to be charged. Ooops. Fortunately, Robin (the other vintage racer who was helping out) had a charger for just such occasions, and we set Arash's bike to charging.
Long story short, it was indeed the battery. The carburetor adjustments we'd made would definitely help things out, but the battery was the fundamental problem. I really like working on these old bikes; they're so simple. After missing the first practice run and the first race, Arash was able to run most of the second race. I don't think he actually finished, since he said the bike started running rough near the end of the final lap. He decided that pulling off the track and getting a ride back in the crash truck was better than having the engine suddenly die in a corner -- an excellent choice.
I'm impressed that battery actually made it around five laps. After running the bike around the pits for a minute or two, he came back and we measured 9V after reading 11V before he started. I didn't think it would power the spark plugs for more than 1-2 laps.
I don't remember the exact result, but I think Jesse ended up posting a 2:20 lap as his best time. That's up 7 seconds from his best last year of 2:13, but this was the first race, on a different bike, and when the track was cold and relatively damp (fortunately it was dry enough not to be a real factor).
I think I got some good footage out of it. I'll have to review it and see what looks good. Hopefully the pit conversations are interesting and audible and cohesive enough to mean something.
It was a fun weekend, but when I got home at 5:30 (daylight savings time had kicked in that morning, so I was extra-tired from missing that hour of sleep), I had just enough energy to flop on the bed and sleep for an hour. That was nice. The rest of the evening was spent watching a movie, despite ambitious plans to review race footage with Jesse.
Posted at 23:45 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater