Alright, so folks have been asking about that Harley Davidson ’82 project I’ve been wrestling with. It’s been a ride, let me tell you, and not always the fun kind on two wheels. More like a slow, greasy, knuckle-busting crawl through the seven circles of mechanical hell. But hey, that’s how we learn, or how we confirm we’re just plain stubborn.
Getting Stuck In
It all started with this ’82 Shovelhead, sitting in a buddy’s shed for who knows how long. Looked sad, man. Real sad. He was gonna scrap it. I thought, “Nah, can’t let that happen.” So, I dragged it home. First thing, just staring at it. You know that moment? Where you think, “What have I gotten myself into?” Yeah, that was me, for about a week.
Then, the teardown began. Tools out, music on, and just started taking bits off. Everything was either seized, caked in ancient gunk, or both. The wiring? Oh boy. Looked like a rat’s nest designed by someone who hated future mechanics. I swear, half the wires went nowhere, or to places they shouldn’t. Spent a whole weekend just labeling what I could and cursing what I couldn’t figure out.
The Usual Headaches
Finding parts for a machine this old, it’s a whole different ball game. It ain’t like walking into a store and picking stuff off a shelf.
- Some bits, you find online, pay a fortune, and they show up looking like they were pulled from a swamp.
- Other times, you get lucky at a swap meet, dig through a box of greasy treasures.
- And then there’s the stuff you just gotta make, or make fit. That’s where the real “creativity” comes in, if you catch my drift.
The engine itself, that was a big one. Pulled it, got it on the bench. It needed a full strip. Pistons were okay, surprisingly, but the seals, gaskets, bearings – all shot. Every single bolt fought me. I swear, I invented new curse words working on that motor. Cleaned every part like it was a religious experience. Hours and hours, just scrubbing and inspecting.
Putting it back together, that’s where you really test your patience. You think you remember where everything goes. You think. Then you’re staring at a mystery bracket at 2 AM, coffee cold, wondering about your life choices. Had a few of those nights. Bolted something on, then realized I missed a washer or put something on backwards. Classic.
Where It’s At Now
So, where am I with this ’82 beast? Well, the frame’s clean, painted. Engine’s mostly back together, sitting there looking mean. Transmission was another adventure for another day, but it’s rebuilt. Still got a ways to go. Wiring is next on the big scary list. Then all the tins, the controls, the little bits that take forever.
It’s slow going. Some weeks I get a lot done, feel like a hero. Other weeks, I just look at it, shake my head, and go mow the lawn instead. But it’s taking shape. It’s more than just a pile of parts now. It’s starting to look like a motorcycle again.
Honestly, it’s a pain in the backside most of the time. But there’s something about bringing an old iron horse like this back from the dead. It’s a challenge, yeah, but it’s satisfying too, in a weird, masochistic way. Every busted knuckle, every late night, it’ll be worth it when I finally fire that thing up. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.