"You'll Figure it Out......"

"You'll Figure it Out......"

Part 6 of a series on the restoration of a 1961 Triumph
By Jan of West Virginia Bikers

Since I first started work on the War Pony, those four words have caused me more frustration that you can ever imagine. I am the first to admit that I am mechanically challenged. I can't 'eye' a nut and tell you what size socket I'll need. I can't look at bolt and tell you if it's fine or coarse thread. It's beyond my mental capacity to understand how a lightbulb works, let alone the wiring on the Triumph. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm stupid, it's that I've chosen to be selectively intelligent. By this, I mean, I can tell you which watt bulb I need for any given situation, I can change the bulb, change the fuse, and turn on the circuit breaker. I never saw the need to understand the 'rest of the story' behind it all.

adjusting the bars While growing up, I had a father who took care of the rest, and I figured when I married John, he would also 'take care of the rest.' Each time I would run into a situation I didn't quite understand, John would usually give me that sly smile and tell me, "You'll figure it out," as he walked back into the house. Everytime he did this (somewhere about 74 times so far, but who's counting), my blood pressure would raise, my breathing would get a little more rapid, and I would grit my teeth together. I'll not go into the details of words that were muttered under my breath.

John worked out-of-town for most of the spring and summer, and he would return late Thursday evening and ask, "What did you get done on the Triumph this week?" I usually began my answer by telling him everything else I did besides work on the bike . . . "I canned 16 quarts of tomatoes, I mowed the yard, I cleaned house, I did laundry . . ." I think he grew to expect that I had done nothing while he was gone. But you have to understand my way of thinking. I was afraid to do anything! I was scared I'd ruin something that couldn't be replaced. I didn't know what I was doing and I admitted it. "You have the manual don't you?" he asked. "Sure," I'd answer, "but I don't understand it either."

fitting the tank Remember when I told you about reading the book on painting? Well, this is pretty similar, except it's written by the British who use those nice terms like petrol, stop lamp, litres, and centimetres. While I'm on the subject of "The Triumph Workshop Manual," I'd like to add that nothing basic is explained. Technical stuff like 'renewing the main bearings,' 'suitable re-bore sizes,' and 'pushrod inspection' are covered at length. Nowhere can you find simple stuff like 'what's the cruddy stuff that looks like white corn in the bottom of the Amal carburetor?' or 'how do you get the wires, the battery and the switches all in that little compartment beneath the seat?' or the ever important question, 'why doesn't my motorcycle look like the one in the picture?'

Maybe John was hoping I'd learn something on my own or maybe he was just trying to let me learn by doing. Either way, it always left me with another lesson in frustration. "How do I get the handlebars to stay where I want them?" I'd ask. "You'll figure it out," he'd answer. "I mean, I can get them where I want them. I just can't hold the handlebars and tighten up the little thingies at the same time," I'd say in a more urgent voice. "You'll figure it out," he'd reply. "But what about the . . ." I'd start to whine. "Just look at it. You'll figure it out," I'd hear him say just before the door shut.

installing exhaust First, I began by telling the handlebars what to do: "Ok. You stay right there." I got the two brackets lined up and started the hex screws into place as the handlebars rolled toward the floor. Now came the hard part. I sat back where the seat was supposed to be, kinda lifted myself a little bit to pretend like there was a seat and decided that wasn't going to work.

I went into the house and got the new seat (it's a nice solo seat with those two big, shiny springs under it), and put it in place. It wouldn' t stay, as there was nothing to hold it up and the springs kept sliding off the frame each time I lowered my weight onto it. Putting the seat back, I saw the plastic box which held John's electric drill and grabbed it and put it on the frame. Next, I added a little height by placing the Dremel box on top of it. I gently sat on my perch and began work.

I got the handlebars where I wanted them, grabbed the hex wrench with one hand, and put it into place. Next, I leaned over, stuck out my chin and held the handlebars in place while I slowly took my other hand off the grip. Yes, I had to use two hands for the hex wrench. I told you I was mechanically challenged, but hey, the handlebars are on.

At some point, this motorcycle may be complete. It might not be in my lifetime the way things are going.

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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