No sooner had I sorted out the CARC issues on my Breva, another problem arose. Well, she is thirteen years old now. While refueling the bike I noticed a small oil splatter on the ground. I assumed that it was from a previous vehicle, but when I arrived home, I put the big gal up on the centre stand and slid a sheet of paper under the sump. Yep, there it was the next day…an oil spot.
Groaning around on the floor, I determined that it wasn’t the sump plug — I keep reusing the sump plug washer and was sure that I was about to be punished — but that it was coming from the blow-by-system oil pipe where it attaches to the sump. And it wasn’t coming from the metal fitting screwed into the sump, but from the textile-covered oil hose where it attaches to the fitting. A new one retailed at about $150. Heck, how much oil goes down this hose, anyway? Maybe I could put up with an intermittent oil drip.
No, I couldn’t. I drained the sump and pulled the fuel tank off, after an argument with the quick-release fuel line, and examined the hose’s route through the engine. Cripes. Then, an epiphany…a brilliant idea that occasionally comes to bods who work on their own bikes. I pulled the starter motor off, after extracting the 30amp fuses, and all was revealed. Five minutes work and the hose was out. It seems that the hose had perished at the join and was oozing oil. The manner in which the bike had been assembled — with the fitting hard up against the back of the engine — had put pressure on the hose at this point, and it had perished at the junction over time.
I headed off to ENZED Wangaratta (the “Hose Doctors”) to see if they could repair it. No probs but they didn’t have the textile-covered hose…could have it on special order. So, I settled for plain hose and 30 minutes later, and $30, it was in my hands along with a couple of hose clamps.
The new hose was quite flexible and fed easily through the engine. Attached this end, attached that end, replaced the starter, replaced the tank, replaced the 30amp fuses, REPLACED the oil — it’s easy to get too enthusiastic — turned the key, watched the needles do their thing, and thumbed the starter.
She started. No errors displayed. No left-over nuts or screws. Oh Magoo, you’ve done it again!