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elizilla"You just have to admire the folks who selflessly post their bonehead mistakes so others can learn from them." -Phil Ross
At 9:20 on a warm Saturday night, I lay on the floor of my friend Erik's garage, holding my bike up with both hands to keep it from falling on me.
The bike was a Honda VF1100S, otherwise known as a V65 Sabre. With seventy thousand miles on the clock, the rear suspension was not what it had been sixteen years before when the bike rolled off the assembly line. The damping was poor, and if I bounced up and down on the seat, the squeaking was audible even over the roar of the motor.
A stock VF1100S has a Showa monoshock. The top of the shock attaches to the frame just below the seat. The bottom attaches to a piece Honda calls the prolink. The prolink then attaches to the frame and the swingarm. All of these attachment points are pivoting bushings and most have needle bearings in them.
I was certain that the squeaking was coming from one or more of the bushings. I was less certain of the cause of the damping problem, but I hoped it would be improved by replacing the fluid in the shock.
I worked through the late afternoon and evening. Everyone else that was working in Erik's garage that day had left, but I was on a roll so I kept going. Besides, if I didn't get the bike back together, I'd have to find another way home.
With the bike on the centerstand, I had removed the shock, replaced the oil, put it back into the bike, and attached it at the top. I had disassembled and greased all the bushings, and I was working on reinstalling the prolink. I got the first bolt in, but to get the second bolt in I needed to lift the rear wheel. And to do this I needed three hands. One to line up the holes, one to hold the bolt, and one to move the wheel.
My bonehead mistake was when I decided to use my feet to move the rear wheel. I lay on the floor next to the bike, and pushed the rear wheel up with my right foot. I had both hands up inside the cavity where the prolink lives, when "SQUEAK!!!" the centerstand folded. I barely got my hands out in time, as "SLAM!" the weight of the bike fell onto the rear wheel, slamming it up into the fender. I grabbed the frame just in time to keep the 500 pound bike from falling on me. There I was, trapped. I couldn't get off the floor, because I needed my hands to keep the bike from falling. I'm not a contortionist. There was no way I could get up from the floor without moving my hands.
I looked around to see if I could reach anything, perhaps with my feet, that I could use to prop the bike up. I couldn't find a thing. I could push it over to fall away from me, and at least avoid injuring myself. I cringed at the thought of the damage this would cause, and held the bike upright, thinking over my options. Was I expecting anyone to stop by? Unfortunately, no. I couldn't rescue myself, and I couldn't expect a friend to come and rescue me either. It would have to be a stranger.
The massage parlor next door had been doing a steady business most of the evening. Men had been walking nonchalantly past the open garage door every fifteen minutes or so, and I had been studiously pretending not to see them. I didn't want to embarass the neighbor's customers. But I made up my mind that I'd have to speak to the next one.
I lay on the floor and waited. And waited, and waited. About fifteen minutes later, a car with open windows cruised past in the alley, on its way to the drive-up window of the fast food place across the way. I yelled "HELP!" at the top of my lungs. I had just decided they must not have heard me, when the passenger door opened and a young man came sprinting across the drive asking if I was all right??? He held the bike while I got up from the floor, and helped me put it back on the centerstand. I thanked him profusely. He went back to his dinner, pleased to have had the opportunity to be a hero.
I went into Erik's office and called for reinforcements. Michael and Susan responded to my call and came right over. Marcus also stopped by. With ten minutes of help from them, I had the prolink reinstalled. They left, and I finished the rest of the job on my own, cleaned up the shop, and rode the bike home a little after midnight.
How effective was my repair job? Only partially. The squeaking sound was gone, but the damping had not improved. A few weeks later, I replaced the shock with one from a parts bike, and that resolved the problem. I haven't yet done an autopsy on the failed shock, so I don't know what was wrong with it.
At 9:20 on a warm Saturday night, I lay on the floor of my friend Erik's garage, holding my bike up with both hands to keep it from falling on me.
The bike was a Honda VF1100S, otherwise known as a V65 Sabre. With seventy thousand miles on the clock, the rear suspension was not what it had been sixteen years before when the bike rolled off the assembly line. The damping was poor, and if I bounced up and down on the seat, the squeaking was audible even over the roar of the motor.
A stock VF1100S has a Showa monoshock. The top of the shock attaches to the frame just below the seat. The bottom attaches to a piece Honda calls the prolink. The prolink then attaches to the frame and the swingarm. All of these attachment points are pivoting bushings and most have needle bearings in them.
I was certain that the squeaking was coming from one or more of the bushings. I was less certain of the cause of the damping problem, but I hoped it would be improved by replacing the fluid in the shock.
I worked through the late afternoon and evening. Everyone else that was working in Erik's garage that day had left, but I was on a roll so I kept going. Besides, if I didn't get the bike back together, I'd have to find another way home.
With the bike on the centerstand, I had removed the shock, replaced the oil, put it back into the bike, and attached it at the top. I had disassembled and greased all the bushings, and I was working on reinstalling the prolink. I got the first bolt in, but to get the second bolt in I needed to lift the rear wheel. And to do this I needed three hands. One to line up the holes, one to hold the bolt, and one to move the wheel.
My bonehead mistake was when I decided to use my feet to move the rear wheel. I lay on the floor next to the bike, and pushed the rear wheel up with my right foot. I had both hands up inside the cavity where the prolink lives, when "SQUEAK!!!" the centerstand folded. I barely got my hands out in time, as "SLAM!" the weight of the bike fell onto the rear wheel, slamming it up into the fender. I grabbed the frame just in time to keep the 500 pound bike from falling on me. There I was, trapped. I couldn't get off the floor, because I needed my hands to keep the bike from falling. I'm not a contortionist. There was no way I could get up from the floor without moving my hands.
I looked around to see if I could reach anything, perhaps with my feet, that I could use to prop the bike up. I couldn't find a thing. I could push it over to fall away from me, and at least avoid injuring myself. I cringed at the thought of the damage this would cause, and held the bike upright, thinking over my options. Was I expecting anyone to stop by? Unfortunately, no. I couldn't rescue myself, and I couldn't expect a friend to come and rescue me either. It would have to be a stranger.
The massage parlor next door had been doing a steady business most of the evening. Men had been walking nonchalantly past the open garage door every fifteen minutes or so, and I had been studiously pretending not to see them. I didn't want to embarass the neighbor's customers. But I made up my mind that I'd have to speak to the next one.
I lay on the floor and waited. And waited, and waited. About fifteen minutes later, a car with open windows cruised past in the alley, on its way to the drive-up window of the fast food place across the way. I yelled "HELP!" at the top of my lungs. I had just decided they must not have heard me, when the passenger door opened and a young man came sprinting across the drive asking if I was all right??? He held the bike while I got up from the floor, and helped me put it back on the centerstand. I thanked him profusely. He went back to his dinner, pleased to have had the opportunity to be a hero.
I went into Erik's office and called for reinforcements. Michael and Susan responded to my call and came right over. Marcus also stopped by. With ten minutes of help from them, I had the prolink reinstalled. They left, and I finished the rest of the job on my own, cleaned up the shop, and rode the bike home a little after midnight.
How effective was my repair job? Only partially. The squeaking sound was gone, but the damping had not improved. A few weeks later, I replaced the shock with one from a parts bike, and that resolved the problem. I haven't yet done an autopsy on the failed shock, so I don't know what was wrong with it.
