Get your Sportster running…

Part 1: Life is either cherry red or midnight blue

By Bill Andrews

Apr. 29 –  It's no beauty queen, it won't win any races, it tends to mark its spot even as it's rumbling down the road, and for more than half of its life, this poor 1975 Sportster has either been sitting, or in pieces—mostly in pieces. But for roughly 60 bucks, I've finally been able to get my rather non-stock Sportster back on the road, where it belongs.

When this Sportster was new, U.S. forces had just pulled out of Vietnam, Watergate was on everybody's lips, the Eagles were singing "The Best of My Love", and I was only 13 years old. Now I'm 41, and I had inherited this machine, which had been passed around like a bad penny from garage to garage for most of its life.

And, sadly, for no real reason.

The story on how this Harley came to my garage, though, starts some 20 years ago, when the bike wasn't even a decade old.

My buddy, Mike, and I were two care-free bachelor types just starting to play with Harley-Davidsons. One day, Mike found pieces of an old Sportster in our neighbor's shed. From that first Sportster would come many of the ingredients necessary to build what would ultimately become my '75.

Mike bought that first one for a song, and decided to name and paint the bike midnight blue, after the song by Lou Gramm. After a short while, that Sportster came to life.

Mike, always the one for modifications, decided "Blue" was too stock for his liking. So once again the bike was completely torn down.

It was also about this time that the '75 Sportster came into the family, like most of Mike's bikes, literally in crates.

Utilizing the tank, fenders and other odd pieces from Blue, he succeeded in getting the '75 running for nothing more than a little of his time—a theme that would be repeated.

The '75 was now known as "Blue," since a majority of the parts came from the first bike, and Mike was rapidly becoming known as the Dr. Frankenstein of Sportsters.

The new Blue ran reasonably well, but never great, and it always had a nagging electrical short that would crop up from time to time and render the engine silent. After tiring of trying to fix it in the wiring harness, he simply kept a wire with alligator clips handy so he could jump the battery to the coil and fire the engine. Oh, the simplicity of points.

Though the paint job was acceptable, the bike still had the look of something cobbled together in a motorcycle graveyard at midnight with lightning serving as both illumination and atmosphere.

Over the years, Dr. Frankenstein settled down, got married, had kids, and somewhere along the way, lost interest in his poor Sportsters.

It pained me to see the old bike rotting, so a few years ago I offered to take Blue off Mike's hands and fix it up—keeping it in the family, so to speak.

But like most plans that involve time and money, this one kept taking a back burner in my garage, too. Finally, in exasperation, I decided to let an expert take over the restoration project.

Funny things happen, though. A few job changes and a move to the AMA that would take me 1,200 miles from home (and my friendly mechanic) would slow the project. And once again, the Sportster sat.

Then fate lent a hand. It seems my mechanic friend, Dave, moved to my neck of the country, and he brought the old Sportster with him. I no longer had the means to do a full restoration, but I would at least get the bike back—albeit in its current state of disassembly, which was starting to feel like the bike's natural condition.

The machine sat for another year or so, until a couple of friends here at the AMA decided they had heard enough of this non-running antique. They forced me to pick a day and time that they could come over and see if the bike would actually run again.

Since it didn't have anything critically wrong before it sat, and I was in the habit of kicking the engine through occasionally to keep things from seizing, I was fairly certain it would, at least, start. But letting things sit is never a healthy situation, especially mechanical things, and especially when they are mine. I was concerned the bearings may have been damaged, or the seals would simply hemorrhage oil.

I also had a minor budgeting problem. This bike, as usual, would have to run with practically no money put into it.

On a rainy day in the waning days of a particular nasty Ohio winter, my friends came over. It was March of this year, and the garage was so cold I was also using it as a walk-in beer cooler. With just a small space heater keeping us warm, we went to task. Good friends, huh?

After a few hours of simply bolting parts back on, a cursory inspection showed that I had no front brake, no oil in the engine, and a gas tank filled with rust. The tires looked iffy, and I certainly wouldn't want to press them in a corner. The air cleaner looked like it needed a good washing, but that would probably destroy it, so we just put it back for now.

And then there were those fishtail pipes. They were what you'd call "loud." They were straight, as in going straight from the exhaust valves, down to the rear of the bike and out without a thing in the way. This obviously would not do.

But first, we wanted to see if the engine would even run.

On the positive side, we had compression, and after hooking up a donated battery, we also discovered the points were still working fine. "Dave the Mechanic" had graciously thrown in a clean, flame-painted, fuel tank. So once again, with the parts of many, the Sportster would become one.

We filled the oil tank and checked the transmission. The fluid was surprisingly clean after all these years. It would also need to be changed, but not immediately.

It was time for the moment of truth. We put about a quart of gas in the tank, and watched as the fuel filter filled. With a couple twists of the wrist, I could hear the soft spray from the accelerator pump letting me know that the fuel had indeed filled the float bowl and was ready to go.

I knew all the right conditions were in place for internal combustion. The only thing left was to come down on the kicker and let it happen. But after the bike had sat for more than a decade, I was worried about what would happen. Ah, what the heck.

With a full choke, I came down on the kicker and got a satisfying pop. A few more kicks, a few more pops, and then a sputter. The machine definitely had some life in it. Then, with the throttle partially cracked, it came to life.

Boy, was it loud.

Amazingly, it wasn't even burning any noticeable oil. I couldn't keep it running, though, let alone get it to idle. I knew I needed to take a look at the carburetor, but we were done for the day. Over a celebratory beverage, I thanked my friends for giving me the shove to make the thing run again. They said they were amazed just to hear the bike fire up. To be honest, I was too.

Next: Get your Sportster running... Street legal.