I had a fun weekend and wanted to share with the ST crew. For the past couple of months, I've been the caretaker of my dearly-departed friend & next-door-neighbor Tom's Norton 850 Commando, which hadn't run since the early 1990s. Tom passed away after a fight with esophageal cancer at the end of September, and I miss him.
With hopes of boosting the price that his partner Johanna will be able to ask for the bike -- and the purely selfish reason of wanting to hear it run -- I've dug into it just a bit. I've mostly worked to get the 15+ year old gas out of the tank (and am dealing with the rust left behind - I've always used the POR-15 kits, but tank sealer recommendations are welcome), cleaned up the carb & checked out the electrics.
With the help of Tom's friend and long-time Norton nut Jim Gray, I removed the Norton's dead battery (which showed a whopping 1.1 volts on the meter) pulled the battery out of my truck for power, since we knew the Commando's starting system is pretty challenged even under ideal conditions, and we correctly guessed there was going to be a whole lot of cranking in our future.
Because the bike's gas tank is still full of rust, we rigged up a length of fuel hose & a two ounce funnel to supply gas to the carb. Most of that two ounces would slop out onto the ground when ever I tried to kick the thing, but it was the only reservoir I could find with a nozzle that would fit tight in the hose. And yes, Ann Marie did give me a little hell for using kitchen gear as a tank.
Through the afternoon we got several hopeful pops and false starts, but nothing we could really call running. Finally, on our official "one last try," with Tom's widow Johanna looking on for good luck, I thumbed the feeble "starter," gave it a good kick - the motor caught, rumbled to life, blew a dozen or more whole peanuts that some hopeful squirrel had stashed in the left exhaust, and quickly sucked through the ounce or so of gas it had available. It was beautiful.
Because the bike's gas tank is still full of rust, we rigged up a length of fuel hose & a two ounce funnel to supply gas to the carb. Most of that two ounces would slop out onto the ground when ever I tried to kick the thing, but it was the only reservoir I could find with a nozzle that would fit tight in the hose. And yes, Ann Marie did give me a little hell for using kitchen gear as a tank.
Through the afternoon we got several hopeful pops and false starts, but nothing we could really call running. Finally, on our official "one last try," with Tom's widow Johanna looking on for good luck, I thumbed the feeble "starter," gave it a good kick - the motor caught, rumbled to life, blew a dozen or more whole peanuts that some hopeful squirrel had stashed in the left exhaust, and quickly sucked through the ounce or so of gas it had available. It was beautiful.
BRAD DeVRIES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The road goes on forever, and the party never ends. - Robert Earl Keen, Jr.
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