Origins Specific...

The first comment on the previous post prompts me to recount Cherry Bomb's epic ressurection, for those who may be interested. I bought her as a wreck on eBay when I was living in England, in the spring of 2004. We hired a van and drove to Wales to pick her up one sunny Saturday afternoon. We found the house, found the guy, and he showed me The Bomb. She was worse than I feared. MUCH worse. She was even worse than the guy selling her had originally thought when he'd acquired her just a few weeks earlier, and put her on eBay for sale. My first thought was "F**king hell, whoever had this poor machine has treated it so badly he should, at first request, be put against a wall and shot. As a less punitive and more socially acceptable alternative to probably everyone but me, he should never, EVER!!!!! be allowed to have another motorcycle, EVER AGAIN in his miserable pathetic life. Cherry Bomb had been left out in the rain, on her side, for two years in all weathers. Her paint was all faded and cracked on her exposed left side, she had a dimple-dent in that side of her tank, and her wheel spokes, brake discs and many other parts were badly rusted. Beyond that, and the "starter motor fault" she had been described as having, we discovered on closer inspection that the starter motor idle gear shaft had broken, badly damaging the crank case and starter ring gear. Teeth had sheared off and were floating around everywhere inside.
I consider myself fortunate that I've somehow been blessed with creative vision for potential: for what things, places and people can be, far beyond what I sometimes see as a shambles in front of me. Not everyone shares that gift, however... "BARGEPOLE!!!!" screamed Kerry's eyes as he stared at the bike in horrified silence, trying to catch my eye to give me That Look (the one that says "you must be completely insane!"). I studiously avoided looking at him, as I fought back the anger and sadness at seeing this lovely little machine in such a terrible mess. Two things happened in my head. Firstly, she looked so desperately sad, I could hardly stand it. And, secondly, as clear as if a photograph had been waved in front of me, I could see far beyond the state she was in, to what she could be. I couldn't have walked away from her. I negotiated the sale price to reflect her actual condition, loaded her into the van, and drove home, Kerry mulling over in his head at what an epic waste of time and money it was all going to be. But he realised my passion for saving this sad bike, and we got on with the job.
It was an unrealistic expense to replace the crank case (even if I could have got one), so the whole engine was stripped down and the shaft support welded, and new parts were put in as we needed them. The exhaust rocker was worn, owing to incorrect maintenance (read - NO maintenance!) so the cam shaft had worn. These parts were also replaced. It was a bit of a shame at just 14,000 miles. The icing on the cake came when I found a local spray painter who pannelled her where necessary and gave her a complete repaint, in her original factory colour (hence her name). Baby, Just Look At You NOW!!!