Never Take a Free Car

Don’t be like Mikael. Mikael is dumb. When someone offers Mikael a free vehicle, he takes it. No one ever gives away a vehicle worth owning. No one ever gives away a vehicle worth saving. Like the ineffective ’80s anti-drug campaign preached, Just Say No™.

Do I take my own advice? Of course not. Like a libidinous teenager playing Truth or D.A.R.E., I jump for dare every time, trembling in anticipation of the potential seven minutes in heaven with a gorgeous, curvaceous beauty. Unfortunately, more often than not, seven minutes in heaven turns into seven years in Project Car Hell – tracking down impossible to find parts and dealing with bodgey, hack repairs performed by a multitude of dodgy, hack previous owners. The one upside to a free car is the inevitable weight loss. Unfortunately, that weight loss is entirely a result of your wallet being continually emptied by a billion unforeseen expenses; enough to part you and your cash just about as quickly as your Dave Ramsey-loving spouse can preemptively chop up all of your credit cards.

The first free vehicle I accepted was a 1974 Kawasaki H1. Yes, the WIDOW MAKER. A motorcycle wrapped up in nostalgia and legend like almost no other. Everyone has a crazy uncle who rode one of these bikes back in the day, and every Christmas his stories about the bike’s legendary acceleration, the triple-chainsaw 2 stroke roar, the obscene wheelie ability, and the atrocious brakes and frame become more and more outlandish. Next year he’s going to claim that the bike beat John Henry is a steel-driving contest with the help of its big blue ox.

A friend’s parents were moving to Texas and they were looking to get rid of the bike that had been sitting in their barn since they started having kids in the ’80s. They heard I was “into motorcycles” and offered it to me. Come on, man, just try it. It’s some good shit. Don’t you wanna have a good time?

So I loaned my SVT Contour to my roommate for the day in exchange for the use of his S10. I loaded up a length of 2×10 pine and headed out into the middle of nowhere to grab this.

It also came with the seat pan and sidecovers. Obamanotbad.jpg? It was bad. Getting the bike back into usable shape took two years and thousands of dollars. The crankshaft has rubber seals that separate each cylinder, and these rubber seals can only be replaced by disassembling the crankshaft, which can only be done with specialized tools that only a handful of people in the country have – that alone was over $1000. Not to mention that resellers treat parts for these bikes as if they’re plated in gold and filled with that lab-grown meat that costs $325,000 per pound. So every gasket, nut, bolt, o-ring, and seal was priced as though it went on some kind of antique space shuttle designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and painted by Michelangelo. But I persevered, and out of the other end of the tunnel came this:

A pristine example of what the bike looked and felt like the day it rolled off the assembly line in Kobe. And worth only a fraction of what I had put into it.

That’ll teach me, right? A bad trip like that should scare me away from any further experimentation for good. Until once again I heard that distant call, an angelic siren song from a mythological entity, enticing me to ignore my engagement with sanity and elope. Or more accurately, it sounded like my phone’s “new mail” alert. A friend had just finished parting out a couple of bikes and wondered if I wanted the remains. It’s one thing to take a complete bike, it’s quite another to take on something has already been parted out. It’s the difference between taking an old dog for a walk and giving a flea bath to a skeleton.

But there I was, headed out of state with a rented trailer in tow, ready to relapse into yet another terrible decision that would take years of my life and thousands of my dollars. Not even Nancy Reagan could talk me out of it now.

For those that don’t know, here’s how to properly part out a bike. First, you remove anything from the bike that has any value whatsoever, and you sell it. Then what you’re left with is the broken junk nobody wants, which you immediately throw away. Or better yet, find some idiot to come and take it away for you. For free.

The best way to flunk out of a 12 step program is to go back to the same old people, places, and habits, yet there I was with two new bikes in my garage. I spent many late nights on eBay searching for that better high, like a brake master cylinder from a CBR1000R or a rear wheel from an NT700V. But as the tasteless saying goes, “AA is for quitters” and I ain’t no quitter.

Of course, the bike turned out gorgeous. With 17″ wheels, CBR brakes, a hand-sewn seat cover, rearsets from an R6, and more, it is probably one of the nicest and best performing Nighthawks out there.

 

And sure, looking at the bike invokes a shining-bright euphoria, increases self-confidence, imbibes me with energy, and induces a love for all of humanity. But not before stealing years of my life, ravaging my wallet, and straining relationships with those that love me the most and know me best.

This time I’m done for good. I’m sure of it. More than a free bike, I want stability and financial solvency in my life. I’ve tried the drug called “Free Bike” and I’m over it.

Until a friend mentions he’s going to throw a car up on Craigslist. For free. It’s a 1969 Cougar. It spent 1969-1978 being drunkenly driven into any obstacle that dared get in its way, then starting in 1979, it sat.

What’s a 1969 Cougar in nice shape worth? Not an Eliminator mind you, not an XR-7, not even a stick shift, just a basic 351 with a 2 barrel. Oh yeah, those go for about a third of what it would cost to get this one in nice shape. I pick it up on Sunday.