My Kawasaki

“What do you mean you want another $150?” I asked in astonishment. I had just signed the paperwork at the bank where I was taking over payments of the Kawasaki. “I remember the ad I saw in the barracks of our squadron, it said $850 or take over payments.”

“No! The price of the bike is $850, if you take over payments you still owe $150.” My newfound friend who just turned his coat red and became my #1 enemy was taking a stand in front of the banker who just made me the proud owner of a 1972 750 Kawasaki H2, Mach IV motorcycle.

“Shit!” I thought. I am always getting screwed. I didn’t have any more money because I spent it all on those Mikuni Carburetors that resulted in the demise of my Honda. The Honda twin, that followed me all the way to Idaho from West Germany. How could I get out of this one and still have the bike? Just pay the man.

“How about if I pay you when I get paid at the end of the month?” I asked, realizing I was on shaky ground.

“OK,” He said. “You don’t look like you are going anywhere, I guess I can trust you.”

I got the key from him and rode back to the barracks. I was so happy to have the bike it only took two minutes for me to forget that I still owed almost a full paycheck for the bike. The first thing I did when I parked the bike was to go upstairs to my room and get some tools. I went right back down and I pulled the hard cases that came with the bike off. These things were hard fiberglass with chicken shit little lids. The style was ’60s Nuevo; with little keyed twist locks in the top of each lid. I just couldn’t ride anything with this kind of saddlebags on it and they were coming off right away.

And into the dumpster they went.

The Kawasaki Triple was a two-stroke machine. That means oil is injected into the motor by a pump. Kawasaki thought they had the world by the tail when they replaced the traditional method of pre-mixing oil and gasoline in the tank with an injection pump and oil reservoir. This system was called injecto-lube. And it left a lot to be desired. I stuck with the system as any good die-hard should, but it was the reason I had so many troubles with my Kawasaki.

Ask my cousin Paul some time about the trip to Lovelock Nevada he and his dad did one Fourth of July weekend to rescue me from the desert. Remember Paul? It was the day Evil Knievel jumped the Snake River Canyon in Twin Falls Idaho.

But I am getting ahead of myself now.

Having a powerful and quick machine like that allowed me to make a lot of friends and to get out on my own while stationed in Idaho. My favorite trip was the same one I took that first day on my Honda when I smoked the motor. I would leave the base and head south on a back road to the Snake River, about 10 miles south of the air base. There was a road that followed the river east that would wind with the river through a very exotic area of the desert. I would go past a part where water would seep out of the face of the rocks in the canyon wall. It was called Thousand Falls.

Idaho is in volcano country, there are various places that exhibit evidence of underground rivers created by the flow of lava, I don’t know how long ago, beneath the desert floor. We had parties in some radical places, one of which was inside a cave hollowed out by the flow of lava. Someone made a ladder that was about 25 feet long, they dropped it into one of those caverns and we all climbed down to the party, complete with huge bond fire and kegs of beer.

It was in the middle of the night, as most parties are, and I wanted to venture into the cave as far as we could go. Flashlights were dug up and off we went, south because we could see the end of the cave north. We were probably about half mile into it when someone said lets turn off our flashlights. Whoa. did it ever get dark in there. It hurt my eyeballs.

Anyway, the river flowed underground for hundreds of miles, I rode up to the top of the canyon on that side and it was just dry desert up there. The river flowed underground, I would not have believed it if I didn’t see it myself.

Oops, I got off the track there.

I would ride into Twin Falls, the biggest city along the Snake River after it leaves Pocatello, fuel up and take the Interstate home. I never stopped in Jerome again.

So what was so bad about my Kawasaki?

The engine seized up on me on three occasions.

The first time the left cylinder seized while I was just out on my own having a great time. I didn’t know why but my rear tire just locked up and I came to a very abrupt halt in the middle of the road. I figured it out in short order and used the clutch to get it off the road. After the motor cooled down I nursed it home and pulled the motor apart in the frame and replaced the left piston and rings.

It was a simple repair after I was coached by the local Kawasaki mechanic in town, Mountain Home that is. The price of the piston, rings, and gaskets was not very much considering the time and I became a two-stroke mechanic.

The second time it seized it was the center cylinder. I knew right away what was happening and I pulled the clutch in before I lost more than 10 miles per hour. That is excellent reflexes if you are making a comparison here. About like being the quickest draw in the west. This time I pulled the exhaust pipe off to look at the pistons and diagnose the problem on-scene. I really knew what to do, I stopped at the Kawasaki dealer on my way back to the base and viola, and I had it repaired the same day. This time though I had to remove the tank and one of the outside cylinders to get to the center for repairs. No biggie, I just needed an extra head gasket.

The last time I was headed to Modesto to visit my mom for the long Fourth of July weekend. I was traveling at night and had just left Winnemucca Nevada at around midnight. About 10 miles out of town it happened, again the quick reaction saved me from a flat spot on my rear tire. Except I knew something was really wrong here, I could see one of the connecting rods sticking out of the crankcase.

I got it off the highway and fell asleep in the bushes.
In the morning I took another look, yep it was trashed. So I hid the bike in the bushes and I walked out to the road and stuck my thumb out in the direction of California.