Yesterday was busy.
After I went to the parsonage and cleaned paneling, I came home and napped. When I woke up from that, I went to the store to pick up a few things--Walt's for sundry cookout necessties, and the corner store for cole slaw.
At about 7:30 I cut the grass. It didn't really need it, but since we got that rain a few days ago I knew it was just a matter of time before it did--and if I put it off it'd be that much worse.
Once I'd recovered from that, then I dove in to work on getting the dirt bike back out of the family room.
My brilliant plan worked, and the exhaust flange is now firmly attached with two studs, for the first time in literal decades.
That completed, I turned my attention to the speedometer. I was able to do everything I'd intended to do there. I couldn't decide which housing to use, but finally I decided that the one that came with the functioning unit was probably the best choice even though the bezel was cloudy.
See: I took some toothpaste and used it to clean the bezel. Toothpaste has a very fine abrasive in it, and it works well as a polishing compound--and so I was able to get rid of nearly all the cloudiness with about $0.03 worth of toothpaste and some elbow grease. The bezel is still scratched but it's clear and you can easily see everything the gauge has to tell you, so I glued it together with RTV and proceeded to work on connecting it to the bike.
The first problem was that the wiring harness for this speedo was different than the one for the '72 TS90. The '72 harness is perhaps 18" long and connects to the bike's electrical system with bullet connectors. The harness for this speedo is maybe 10" long and connects with a multipin plug.
"No problem," think I. "Though I didn't want to do it this way, I'll just reuse the harness on the bike."
Well, problem: the bulb sockets are also different. They're a larger diameter on the '72 harness.
So I pulled the speedo apart again and began trying to attach the new mechanism to the '72 backing plate--well, it was already past 1:30 AM and I wanted to get to bed, so I gave up on that and just decided to get the bike out of the house for now.
As I was getting the bike outside, I thought, "Instead of pushing it around the house, wouldn't it be fun to ride it around the block?" But it wouldn't start. After pushing it around the house I tried push-starting it, and after walking down the street a bit with the thing in third gear it puttered to life and I was able to ride it. I just rode it up and down the street a bit; it had almost no power but it did work.
Then I put it away, kitted up, and rode the road bike a bit.
...yeah, I really wanted to get to bed, didn't I?
Well I was about two miles from home when I realized, Gee, that rear end feels awfully squirrely and so I rode to a gas station and checked the rear tire.
[Many, many bad words redacted]
I limped the bike to a gas station--2:30 AM, no one on the roads, so I could ride 25 in a 40 without annoying anyone--and their f-ing air pump charged $1, so I said, "Fuck that shit; I'm not that far from home" and limped the rest of the way home.
Filled the tire with air, and then sat there with a flashlight trying in vain to find the cause of the leak. I found nothing--no new punctures, no nails, nothing--so I went for a ride, and all was well--but that BS had cost me enough time that I couldn't go for a nice relaxing ride.
...all the while wishing I could find the asshat who vandalized my bike on Sunday, and hit him a few dozen times with a tire iron--because I'm pretty sure he let the air out of the rear tire as well as trying to steal the insignia.
The insignia, that's annoying; but letting the air out of the rear tire is malicious. What if I'd gotten on that thing and ridden out to the highway instead of taking back roads home and not going faster than 25? The fucking tire could have come off the rim while I was taking the curves east of town at 50--and if that had happened my ride would have been over, rather abruptly. And painfully.
I was inclined to forgive the motherfucker for trying to steal the insignia, because people can't help being dickheads, but I'm not inclined to be as charitable after discovering that the asslicking pederast endangered my life.
All this means that I can't ride my motorcycle to church any more, I guess--or leave it anywhere unsupervised for longer than fifteen minutes--and that I have to check the tires every time it's parked somewhere outside or not locked in the garage.
Jesus. I remember when people had some modicum of respect for other peoples' property.