Necessity – also the mother of innovation?
Part of the challenge of rebuilding a classic motorcycle is not how you put it together, but all those behind-the-scenes devices and gizmos you have to invent, innovate and construct in order to get the job done. Malcolm Mowbray shares a few of the tools he has made – out of scrap, he is proud to say – and why he put his workshop upstairs…
For quite some time I have been wondering what and why we do what we do to further our passion/hobby/escape from the wife! (Delete as applicable!) This little article is not to show what I have done, but rather what I had to do to get it done, and I offer it to you in the hope that someone may find it mildly interesting.
We live in an old farmhouse in France with an attached barn. Many years ago I converted the downstairs to a second lounge and a small bar (always my dream) and, in my wisdom (or perhaps that should be ‘error’), I made the upstairs section into my workshop for the renovation work we had to carry out on this old property. Between you and me it was no contest really, as the bar would always have had priority – but don’t tell ’er indoors.
At the time of converting my workshop the only access was a ladder through the dormer-type window and this was only ideal for long lengths of wood, etc. So pedestrian access became of the ultimate priority and this was achieved by a very narrow and steep miller’s staircase, a necessity as space was at a premium. My workbench was two steel trestles with an old door screwed to the top and an 8’ x 4’ sheet of flooring chipboard on top of that. This worked well but it was not always the ideal height.
So, as needs must, it had to be modified to be adjustable – always with a future motorcycle renovation in mind.
The result was satisfactory but it was too heavy to adjust by hand so automation became necessary. After much consideration I opted for a one-ton rope winch from Amazon. Together with that, and several pulleys and hooks, I obtained what I was after: an automated, adjustable workbench. Although I had to fit a variable voltage regulator to slow it down, it works just fine.
My next problem was moving heavy objects into the workshop as lugging them up the stairs was extremely difficult and dangerous should I slip or miss my footing. The answer was to make two removable tracks out of leftover wood and lay them down each side of the staircase with a bogey to run on them. The bogey base was the bottom half of an old plywood barn-style door I made a long time ago while the four round, flattish wheels were, in a former life, feet once fitted to an old settee. These were shod with strips of rubber from a car floor mat to form tyres for better high-speed cornering when on the flat of my workshop floor and to keep the noise down, studding providing the axles.
Because of the acute angle, the bogey needed to have an adjustable base so when on the stairs the load was horizontal but could be lowered once upstairs and on the flat. Hand operating was out of the question so, by unhooking the steel rope from beneath the work bench and with the use of a small length of chain which was once a motorbike security chain wrapped around the huge oak main beam of the building and another pulley (good old Amazon again), I could stretch the steel rope across the workshop and then down the stairs to hook on to the bogey. Thus an automated hoist was made.
It has actually crossed my mind that when my knees finally give up the ghost I could sit on the bogey and hoist myself up the stairs (ha! ha!). With this not being an impossibility I lengthened the operating cable for the winch so it could also be operated from downstairs (well, you never know), but I have plans in the future to replace this with some form of vertical lift.
All was now set for me to test just how well this workshop arrangement would work [and clearly not an excuse to buy another motorcycle! Ed.] so, after some shopping around for a lightweight machine for my attention, I came across a 1932/33 Hercules Lilliput with a 98cc Sachs two-stroke engine. I say ‘1932/33’ because the seller claimed 1932 but the motor wasn’t made until 1933. ‘Poirot,’ as I’ve named it, was virtually complete and with a claimed working motor, though so that’s far untested.
Getting it upstairs proved to be a bit difficult as it was too large for the bogey and I had no intention of grovelling around on the downstairs floor to strip it into manageable pieces. After all, that was what the adjustable bench was for, so I could work in comfort at any height.
The problem was, of course, the adjustable bench was upstairs… So, putting the two loose wooden tracks together in the centre of the stairs, and with my trusty right-hand man (’er indoors) on the hoist and me behind holding the bike upright, we pulled it up on to the workshop floor.
However, just as it breached the edge of the floor the centre stand became jammed under the lip of the floorboard, which resulted in me fighting to free it. I succeeded eventually with little damage to the floor, no damage to the bike but with me spending two days in bed due to having done my back in. Still – no pain, no gain!
With the bike safely on the work bench I could begin stripping it down. To make it easier to get at parts, I fabricated/bodged a turntable so that I could turn the bike around in situ to any position I wanted. Using the enamelled cover from an old cooker which
I had kept should it ever come in handy, and a circular piece of thick plywood which had been hanging around for 15 years in case it was ever useful (I never throw anything away), and with eight round-headed coach bolts upside down protruding underneath to act as bearings, I put a central pivot through them both. The round heads slid easily on the enamel surface and I had a perfect turntable. The resulting strip down proving very simple, all I had to do was find somewhere to store all the bits so I lashed out on another steel shelving system. It’s incredible that the whole machine is there on one rack, as you can see from the photo.
Of course, taking anything to pieces is not without problems as certain little tools had to be made, but luckily this involved nothing too complex. Next was the cleaning of the old parts and stripping of the old paint/rust. Not having access to shot blasting (a definite for the next one), I opted to hand clean everything. This meant that special arrangements needed to be introduced in the form of holding jigs and cleaning apparatus.
To make it possible to clean out the tank and treat it for rust before sealing it, I constructed a little seesaw to hold it while I rocked the tank back and forth easily as I didn’t fancy holding it up in the air all the time. Rubbing down and painting were facilitated by a holding jig, both items made from bits of wood and studding (naturally).
The wheels needed to be held securely while attending to the spokes and rims, so two simple stands were made from bits and pieces. However, removing the old paint proved to be a bit of a problem, so I needed to soften it up with acetone. A garden planter came in at just the right size but it had two drain holes in the base. But patches cut from a margarine tub lid and bits from another garden article which sacrificed itself for a more worthy cause were welded in place on the inside and outside, using an electric soldering iron. It was not pretty but it worked fine.
Acetone was then added to the planter and the wheels mounted over it with the rims under the liquid which softened the paint sufficiently to be easily removed by a scraper and wire brush. The same system was used for the mudguards and to treat them all with rust converter. Doing the extreme ends of the mudguards required some extra support to hold them vertical, which is where my ‘third’ hand came in. This was made from the support of an old desk lamp rescued from a neighbour’s scrap heap (I knew it would come in handy one day!) to which I welded a small set of cheap mole grips on the end, the whole bodgery-do working perfectly.
The spokes were not too bad and fine steel wool brought them back quite well, obvious flaws being filled by the use of a chrome paint pen. The finished spokes then needed protection while the rims and hubs were being painted, so plastic drinking straws were slit down their length and slid on to them before being taped into place. The small round chrome spoke heads also needed covering so a 6mm nut was used, sticky tape laid over it and an upside down, round-headed coach bolt was tapped on to it. This resulted in perfect little 6mm sticky discs cut out every time which were placed on to the spoke heads using a pair of tweezers. They worked fine and were very easy to remove afterwards.
Gold lining required an air brush but my portable compressor was a bit too basic. I needed something with a finer regulator so, upon searching the internet, I discovered I could buy compressed air in small cylinders, much like the camping Gaz I use in my blowlamp. “Surely some of these containers are standardised,” I thought, and, sure enough, the small, adjustable regulator for the air brush is the same thread as the Gaz cylinder. As I had one cylinder just about done, I emptied it fully then drilled the base for an air hose attachment.
Of course, the metal was far too thin to cut a thread so the air hose fitting was pushed through the hole and glued in place using a plastic metal. Once again, not pretty but very functional.
For small parts I concocted a tumbler from odds and ends. The wheels are discs cut from plywood, then glued together to a wide section. Tyres for better grip are more strips of car mat. Power is courtesy of my Ryobi hand drill and four-wheel drive via elastic bands, and studding, of course (what would I do without it?). The parts container is a length of evacuation pipe, capped and with guide fins to keep it central between the rollers.
In this tumbler I tried sand, granite chippings from my drive and old nails, screws, etc., as a grinding compound. The sand proved too fine and jammed the screw-on end cap, resulting in needing to make a large plywood wrench to fit over the knurled cap to force it off each time. The chippings disintegrated somewhat to leave a heavy grey powder residue on everything, but the old bits of metal, etc., work fine, especially if any painted pieces are soaked in acetone first to soften them.
The only problem with this system was when the mass of tumbling material reached a balance, the drill – no longer needing to work hard – would suddenly speed up to a point that it would throw the tube from the machine. I solved this by using a doubled-over length of plastic strapping (which I kept as – yes you’ve guessed! – I was sure it would come in handy one day). I screwed this loosely over the drum to prevent it falling on the floor. The system works well but I do need to keep a continuous ear open for the sound of the machine over-revving or, at the other extreme, stopping altogether when the material inside becomes once more unbalanced.
Painting of the parts required a spray compartment which was obtained by screwing odd bits of wood together to form a frame and then wrapping a plastic dust sheet around and stapling it in place. It looks naff but it works!
Of course, as always, other special things had to be made, besides the invaluable ‘third hand,’ such as small tools for specific tasks and wire brushes to get into difficult areas, or even the spring spreader for the two main saddle springs to open them up in order to facilitate cleaning and painting between the coils properly. (I was amazed at the seat construction, 27 pieces for the support alone.)
I have learned an incredible amount while doing this project (which is still ongoing). Almost everything has the maker’s name stamped on it, including the front brake plate and nearly all bolt heads as shown here, while something which surprised me was the fact that the wheels were welded steel bands. The tank and rear enclosure decals for this machine required some internet research as the originals were so deteriorated to the point of being almost illegible. As nothing like them was available, they had to be designed and printed on the home computer. They’re not perfect but close enough, I think/hope.
Currently I am experimenting with a laboratory variable voltage apparatus on removing old chromium plating by electrolysis and nickel/zinc alternatives to chrome which is informative at least. I am experimenting on a copperbased acid etch for mild steel – it’s good fun and it keeps me off the street corners.
I hope that you’ve found my solutions to problems and jobs interesting, and I’m sure that many of you will have made similar apparatus when rebuilding a motorcycle. It would be nice to see and hear other people’s adaptations for the various jobs required in this fascinating and time-consuming passion.