There’s this stereotype of guys never asking for directions. Of course it’s not true, because I personally asked for directions once, in 1962. I was looking for the only Interstate in San Diego County at the time (unknown to me, the entrance ramp was located only a block away).
I have long since learned the value of knowledge, and the value of asking for directions that might actually help me get un-lost. This came after a lifetime of being lost, and of losing things like keys, reading glasses and instruction handbooks. Losing keys and reading glasses usually stops forward progress immediately, although not having an owner’s manual never impeded my efforts to totally screw something up.
In my younger years I studied manuals and instruction sheets as if my life depended on it. Which it actually did in the case of my first motorcycle when I barely knew how to coordinate the clutch lever with the throttle. In fact, at that time I had no idea what a clutch lever was supposed to do, other than stall the motor when I released the lever. I also learned that with enough throttle applied, the front end would become airborn.
I always study every detail of a motorcycle owner’s manual. I want to know all the bike’s specifications, its service intervals, how to find where things are located, where to put the oil and how much to pour into all the cavities that contain metal parts that can wear out or break.
Years ago I also wondered why the owner’s manual didn’t tell me more details about repairing things, like how to replace the transmission’s second gear on my 1967 BSA Spitfire. In time I would learn that there are two good reasons why this valuable information is not included in a handbook dedicated to instructions about operating a vehicle. First, manufacturers don’t want guys who won’t ask for directions to work on their own motorcycles (for their own good); and second, I suppose there are profits to be made by selling service manuals.
Once I learned that such mechanic’s handbooks existed, I quickly bought one for said BSA, and promptly installed second gear backwards. Apparently I did not ask for enough direction, or I asked the wrong questions, or more probably, I didn’t know the concept of how gears are supposed to fit on transmission shafts.
After installing the gear correctly, the gear cluster wouldn’t fit into the crankcase. In frustration, I finally resorted to asking my local BSA dealer, who happily pointed out my problem: I had ordered the wrong gear. The Spitfire used a 22-tooth gear, and I ordered a 23-tooth gear for a Hornet model (or some such thing) by mistake. Manuals are good, but rank amateurs are not.
In this issue our technical guru Joe Minton explains why your Harley’s service manual is important and the significance of this question-answering data (see page 70). He also proposes the question: couldn’t The Motor Company make its already ample owner’s manuals even better? ...At least he asked.
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