Found this old Honda Transalp gathering dust in my neighbor’s shed last spring. Looked rough – tires flat, seat torn, and leaning sideways like a drunk guy against the fence. Wife thought I lost my mind when I handed over cash for this heap. “It runs,” the guy claimed. Yeah right.
The Teardown Mess
Cracked open the garage door next morning. Started stripping everything off. Took photos with my phone before each disassembly because no way I’d remember where fifty bolts belonged. Tank came off first – smelled like varnish inside. Petcock? Clogged solid with orange gunk. Drained black syrup from the crankcase. Oil filter looked original from ’89.
Key discoveries:
- Air box packed with mouse nests (gross)
- Front brake caliper seized tighter than Fort Knox
- Carbs varnished shut with crystalized gas
- Chain had more rust than metal
Parts Hunting Nightmare
Scoured eBay for weeks hunting NOS parts. Some dude in Poland had the OEM seat cover. Paid too much for discontinued front brake pistons from Australia. Local machine shop bored the cylinders – walls were scored like prison escape routes. Replaced every rubber hose and seal while at it.
Cleaned carbs three times. First rebuild kit had wrong float needles. Second kit’s jets were metric but the threads were imperial? Third kit finally worked after soaking everything in vinegar overnight. Sync’d them with homemade manometer – two beer bottles and clear tubing.
The Moment of Truth
Poured fresh 91 octane, crossed my fingers. Kickstarter felt stiff. First ten kicks: nothing. Eleventh kick – backfire shook the garage windows. Twelfth kick: sputtered like an asthmatic. Thirteenth kick BAM – engine roared to life blowing blue smoke everywhere! Let it idle til headers glowed cherry red.
Took maiden ride around the block. Shifting felt notchy. Clutch slipped when gunning it uphill. But hey – IT MOVED UNDER ITS OWN POWER. Felt like winning the lottery while getting punched in the gut.
Where She Stands Now
Still leaks oil from the countershaft seal. Speedometer jumps between 0 and 70 randomly. Tail light works only when it rains. But every Sunday morning I ride this clattering beast to the diner. Mechanics stare at my grease-stained jacket and shake their heads. Worth every busted knuckle and marital argument. For now.
Still hunting that damn neutral light switch though.