Documenting life during the first attempt at restoring a vintage motorcycle.

Similar to the zen -like feeling that is realized through surfing,
motorcycle repair can elevate the mind to a meditative state that eludes time and space...
Meaning I obsess over it, get frustrated, yell, laugh at myself and overall waste a lot of time.


Pieces of The Pie - Gettin Weird with Wires

This is actually just 1 page of 20 or so from the shop manual for the bike. Although I have been electrocuted more times than say, I don't know, Ben Franklin during his storm kite-flying days, I am by no means qualified to do any sort of electrical engineering work. I have the burn scars to prove it. Now, this is a simple bike, as far as motorcycles go... ignition, lights, signals, horn. How difficult can it be to wire the damn thing up and get her going? Well as I slowly turn my gaze from the black & white, 70's wiring diagram to peer inside the oil-stained cardboard box filled with a tangled rat's nest of wires, the sound of crickets echoes inside my vast and cavernous head.

I can only imagine routing the blue wire accidentally to the yellow terminal and somehow the motorcycle becomes self aware, assembles itself into a giant laser shooting robot and rampages the poor beach community of Venice. The smell of burnt hippies would be palpable for miles. This weekend I will attempt to not build a robot and see if I can actually make some progress on this thing. Whats the worst that can happen?

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