Life's a Dance you learn as you go

In my last post, I was reminded of a song:

"Life's a dance you learn as you go,
Sometime you lead, sometimes you follow,
Don't go crazy 'bout what you don't know,
Life's a dance you learn as you go."

As I try to figure out this bike and to tell its story-- and subsequently MY story-- this song is running through my head.   I was AMAZED at how many microscopic pieces and openings there were inside the carburetor I disassembled 2 days ago!  Unbelieveable.  And, the fact that if any of these pin-sized holes is clogged your bike isn't going to operate at its full capacity, is insane to me.  But, I have disassembled the entire carburetor, nonetheless, and it is ready to go through the sonic cleaner at a nearby mc shop.

But, first, back to that stuck pilot jet...

So, I'm disassembling the carb, and all is good... until I get to the pilot jets.  Two are stuck and won't come out.  When I was at the Home Depot a few days ago, I had one of those experiences where you see something, and your mind messes with you.  It's happened to me frequently enough in my 40 revolutions around the sun, that I am very familiar with what's happening:  As I'm walking through the store to go to the checkout, I randomly see a can of PB Blaster.  And I think, "Hey, I just saw that on one of the YouTube videos I watched.  That helps get rusted bolts unstuck.  I'm gonna need that."   Then, my mind says, "No, you won't need that.  If you do need it, you can come back and get it." (Now, who in the hell wants to be in Home Depot to begin with, and then who in the hell wants to stop their motorcycle rebuild in order to run to Hell Depot for PB Blaster?!?!?)  But, fortunately, then my mind says, "Hey Dumbass, you've done this before-- you saw something that you thought you would NEED, and then you talked yourself out of buying it, only to go home and immediately discover that you NEEDED it even worse than you had anticipated you would!!!!  (Can I get an AMEN! if this has happened to you a hundred times before?!!

So, I listen to the voice that I like to call "gut instinct" and I purchase the PB Blaster, which was good, because I used it to removed one of the two stuck pilot jets.  But, the 4th and final one was being terribly stubborn.  I silently prayed and even cried a little.   But, most importantly and most intelligently, I STOPPED.  One of the things I have discovered as I get older is that sometimes you just can't rush things.  Like trying to get a tree to bear fruit when YOU want it to, it doesn't happen that way.  And we usually make our problems WORSE by trying to force something that wasn't ready to happen or wasn't supposed to happen at all. 

But what do I do about this stuck pilot jet?  I REALLY want to complete this rebuild while I'm on winter vacation.  You got it-- go to the internet and YouTube.  From a quick round of research, I discover my following options:

How to get a pilot jet unstuck (according to various forums and YouTube videos):  in no particular order:
1)  Left-Hand drill bits
2)  Soak it in PB Blaster overnight
3)  grind down an Allen wrench, hammer it into the jet to get a good grip, and try to unscrew it
4)  apply heat to the outside of the stuck jet-- but be careful not to melt the metal.  (I skipped this option because of that warning.  The last thing I want to do is destroy this carburetor, which I have painstakingly disassembled.  Not to mention that I don't want to buy another one, and they aren't cheap!)
5)  Get nitric acid from a jeweler.  Theoretically, the nitric acid would eat the brass jet, but not the carb body. I also don't like the sound of this.
6)  Use an EZ Out screw extractor, but be careful not to crack the carb body in the process.  (Oh God, I REALLY don't want to do that!!!)

What to do, what to do?!?!?!?

Well, after doing 1, 2, 3, and 6 (very gently), the jet is still stuck.  And I need professional help-- in more ways than one!!!

In a hurry-- on New Year's Eve, mind you-- I grab the carburetor and head to the only motorcycle shop i know in the area.  The sign on the front door says they're closed for the holidays, but the door is open and the owner of the shop is working with AT&T to install a new phone/internet cable in his shop.  I show him my carburetor, and his first response is "Wow-- that stinks!"  What he's smelling is a combination of fuel that turned into varnish and sat in the carb bowls for 3+ years, along with carb cleaner and PB blaster.  So yeah, I'm sure that my carburetor AND my garage reaks of that stuff.

I tell the shop owner my sob story and he says he'll take a look at it, but that he's no hero.  He goes to his work bench, grabs an e-z out, and with a few taps and turns the pilot jet is set free, and I am a VERY happy man.  He asks me what kind of bike it's from, and I tell him: a 1981 Yamaha Maxim XJ550.  "Oh-- he says.  That's a UJM.  The really good bike was the 650 Seca.  Now THAT was a cool bike."  UJM, I ask-- what the hell is a UJM?  It stands for Universal Japanese Machine.  Apparently my pride and joy-- the bike that I love so dearly and am attempting to resurrect after 15 years of neglect-- is, according to this repair guy, nothing more than a Universal Japanese Machine.  And, while I appreciate his opinion, everyone has one.  I'm not fixing or riding this bike, because OTHER people think it's cool.  I'm fixing it because I think it's cool!!!   I am very grateful to this guy for his help, but not so much for his opinion.  After putting so much work and money into this project, his comments initially made me question what i'm doing and why I'm doing it, but now they're actually fuelling me to keep going!!!  I must say, though, how grateful I am that he helped me out, considering that his shop wasn't even technically open.  I will definitely be going back to his shop for his help to complete my rebuild.

The last thing the repair guy says to me before I leave the shop is, "You don't have a hot hand, so don't put any more money in the poker pot." Well, it's too late for that, I quip.  I'm pretty sure that when this is all said and done, I will have spent more than $2,000 to resurrect a bike that cost me $1100 in 1996, and is probably worth $600 in its current condition. 

Sometimes life is like this.  You get motivated and inspired, and if it's important to you, then it doesn't matter what the cost is-- financially or personally.  If it's that important to you, you HAVE to make it happen.  You owe it to yourself and to the universe. 

Reflecting on Mr. Repair guy's comments, I can't stop thinking about the song The Gambler, as it relates to my bike resurrection:

"You gotta know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away,
Know when to run.

You never count your money
while you're sittin' at the table,
There'll be time enough for counting,
When the dealin's done."

Maybe I should have walked away a long time ago?  Oh well, "Life's a dance you learn as you go!"