OUR CARS – MORLEY
GNASHING WHEEL BEARINGS
A WEIRD thing happened the other day. Ever since I’ve owned the VNSS, it’s had a gentle howl in the rear end. It sounded to me like a classic case of shot rear wheel bearings, possibly the result of the car sitting in the previous owner’ s garage for something like seven years without moving. The problem, I figured, was that the top part of the wheel bearings had dried out and rust had moved in to pit the races and cause a general cock-up of t he bearings.
Of course, because I never drove the thing much and certainly no real distance, I never bothered about the whiny rear end too much. But now that I’ve recommissioned t he old girl, there’ s every chance I’ll take it for a decent gallop now and t hen, a job an injected V 8 and a five-speed is actually still very good at.
So I had a yak to my mate Graeme at well-known local workshop–a proper
"ABOUT HALF WAY HOME I STARTED TO HEAR METAL-ON-METAL SCRUBBING"
one, complete wit h oily bits ever y where and blokes in overall s–De sand Gray’s in Ferntree Gully and we decided t hat he could tear into the old girl’s third member and swap out the bearings for me. I was going to have a crack myself, but I didn’t think my press has the range of adjustments to tackle the length of axle we’ re talking about here. Plus, I’m a shift less bastard at times. And this was one of t hose times.
Anyhoo, Graeme calls me later in t he day and tells me the VN is all ready togo for another hundred-thousand kays. So I rock around there on foot, grab the keys and five-five it down the street, happy that the job has finally been done. And I’m still clean. I decide I’ ll celebrate by driving the SS home for the night which gives me the chance to scare the neighbours and make sure ever y thing is hunky and/ or dory.
But about half-way home, I start to hear a metal-on-metal scrubbing noise from the rear end. At first I put it down to a rubbing dust-shield or maybe the handbrake has been adjusted and is now a fraction tight. No probs, it won’t be anything major and if it’s the handbrake it’ ll seat itself In a few kilometres. Next morning,
and I’m due for coffee wit h the mob that wrangle this fine magazine ever y month and it’s raining, but I decide to take the VN anyway.
Thanks to a typical Melbourne summer downpour, the noise of Pirelli P Zeroes sopping up 10 litres of water ever y second means I can’t hear any t hing amiss in t he rear end. But on the way back to The Melbourne Bloke Centre, I can, indeed, hear t hat a ll is not well in t he Commo’s butt department. And then, half way back to base, I fell a slight t hump and hear an awful grinding noise out back. I pull into a side street for a look, but can’t see any t hing. So I gingerly pull back on to the main drag and point the V N’s nose for Graeme’s workshop which, luck ily, is just a couple of blocks away. And now I can also smell something hot.