Out of the Weeds and into the Garage

Out of the Weeds and into the Garage

Part 1 of a series on the restoration of a 1961 Triumph
By Jan of West Virginia Bikers

I would guess that many guys have the dream of restoring an old motorcycle. You know the kind of bike - they are found in back of people's barns, covered with dust, unused for 30 years and just waiting for tender loving care.

Well, needless to say I'm not a guy, and I never harbored that dream of building and restoring. Although I loved old motorcycles, I was more inclined to notice the kind that are ride-ready, not ones covered in dust and caked with old oil.

Besides, I swore to myself I'd never ride again after spilling a 1956 Panhead down the road with me under it. I'd ride with someone, but not alone. So why would I consider owning something I would never ride? Good question.

When my husband offered me the privilege of restoring and riding his 1961 Triumph, I was sure I wasn't up to the task. It sounded like a lot of hard work, and I knew virtually nothing about the actual workings of a motorcycle engine.

After spending the day sitting and silently staring at the bike in the weeds, I decided to take him up on his offer. John's a good wrench, so I knew all those questions would be answered, plus he has the patience of a saint - two good qualities for helping a beginner. Little did I know how soon these qualities would be put to the test.

I put off the inevitable until February, as I still wasn't completely sure I could ride again or even hold up the bike for that matter. After a few spins (and falls) on the dirt bike, I had regained my nerve and was ready to begin.

Step One - Give the motorcycle a name. Maybe you guys don't see this as being important, but females have that nurturing instinct. In order to nurture, it must have a name. I chose War Pony. Every warrior must have a good pony to carry them into battle. I figured if I were riding again, it would be a big battle - that of gravity, age, slower instincts, and a big fear of the sound of gravel sliding beneath you.

Well, with that out of the way, I rested for a few days, surfing on the Internet, browsing through parts catalogs. With the catalogs, I didn't really know what I was looking for, but felt it was something a 'motorcycle owner' should be familiar with. The more I surfed and read, the more I realized how little I actually knew about anything. Feeling nearly defeated before I began, we went to…….

Step Two - After practically dragging the motorcycle out of the weeds (it had at least one dry-rot tire that was hard to roll), we pushed it into the garage. Large sheets of cardboard covered the floor; the heater was turned on; John brought over a huge selection of tools and I took a deep breath.

Maybe I wasn't ready. Maybe it was too cold. Maybe I couldn't do this.

With a voice of experience, John started pointing to things (I think he forgot about me being female at this point). "Take off the wheels, the fenders, the drive chain, unhook the electrical system….that should get you started," he said as he left the garage for the warmth of the house to watch television. "Yeah, right," I thought.

I was alone. Alone with an oily, black machine that I wasn't sure actually wanted to be resurrected.

The first bolt was the hardest. Unlike guys, I can't seem to eyeball a bolt and tell you what size it is, so I had to try at least ten different sockets before finding the correct one. Leftie loosie, rightsie tightsie kept going through my mind. I think I was holding my breath, but the first bolt was out.

I sat back for a few seconds and got this stupid looking grin on my face. Yep, I was doing it. My hands were starting to get black with grease. I had black half-moons under my fingernails.

After an hour or so, I had a box full of nuts and bolts, parts and pieces. Basically, everything I could take off that was easily accessible.

I had to call for Mr. Wrench when I reached the chain. He explained about the master link which I readily found. Then came the hard part - well, at least to me - lifting the engine and transmission off the frame. A few more pins came out ("now what ever you do, don't lose these pins," he said), and there was now a big gaping hole where guts of my War Pony used to be.

Jan is a resident of West Virginia, the boss of Hawk Mountain Trading and the webmaster of West Virginia Bikers. To learn more about her, check out her biography or visit her web site.

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