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no self respecting hooligan, film 
star wannabe, Youth Congress 
activist or milkman was seen 
without one of the thumping
exhaust singles.
Flash of the Thumper
 

Boozo Boz, Johnny the
wild one, Harley Davison
& the Marlboro Man
Screen Wheels
 
 

Diesel Enfields, Mz and
Nato experiments
Selling a Horse in
Donkey's country
 

Unqualified and self taught 
mechanics on one hand,
and unscrupulous dealers
on the other
...and the art of 
motorcycleMaintenance.
 
 

“Do you have gas shockers ?? 
For Enfield Bullet ??
No demand, doesn't Sell
 
 

A stallion on Viagra? No just
a Lemon from Bimota
Return of 2-stroke?

...and the art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

“We should form a Bullet Club in the city” voiced one of my friends with a long history of involvement in school, college and club politics. 
“Yeah !!” sneered another “and you know who would be joining? Every time there is a robbery around the cops would be busting us.” 
Whether warranted or not, a considerable number of riders of the thumbing single are distinctly of ill repute. Even though the motorcycle's quirkiness,  series of false neutrals and total lack of sprint has kept terrorist usage at minimum, its numerous scowling scar faced riders still attract the social inquisitor's eyes. 

Anyway, what was more interesting in this deliberation of Enfield rider's morals and forming MCs was that I was the only Bullet owner in the crowd. A couple were occasional users while the bulk rode Vespas and Hondas. Yet, at one point nearly all of them possessed an Enfield Bullet and it wasn't police harassment or public opinion that made them change their transport, but maintenance related problems and expenses. 
The most pathetic example was my neighbour, a tall well built former State level sportsman who after years of ridding a Bullet changed overnight to a 100cc Hero Honda. “Very expensive to maintain” he was heard muttering for several months, averting his eyes from anyone  gawking at his sudden demoting transformation. 

If the gas guzzling reputation of Bullets is all pervading, that of them being maintenance hounds is doubly so. Nevertheless, I have my reservations about the allegation, as personal experience proved the spares of newer bikes  much costlier and that a monthly tuning and tightening up, along with a regular oil change makes an Enfield go a considerable way. 
Of course there is one difference, wile I do all maintenance and repair work by myself , my friends like most other Bullet owners of the country, relied upon the street corner garages of Lakshman, Ramu Bhaiya or Ustaad. A weekly ritual involving a day spent contemplating life with the purported Enfield maestro, while he or more likely his chotu assistant pounds in the replacement part.  The predictable outcome is that the motorcycle never runs perfectly and recurring visits to the mechanic are taken as predestined.

On the other hand, the few garages in town with a reputation to preserve, usually achieve their objective by ensuring that no customer would ever forget them because of  their charges. Likewise, the company authorised workshops are hardly ever visited once the warranty period is over, unless of course a third party pays the bills. Initially of the opinion that it was only the Enfield dealer of my hometown who was so tainted, an extended tour across the country proved that he was just an affiliate of a countrywide tradition. The manager of the Enfield dealership in Bhatinda, Punjab, was a nice earnest person, but his mechanics were the brazen opposite. My companions gearbox was locking gears and though we asked for a complete strip down they stubbornly refused, preferring to toy with the gear selector pin. The bike limped to Bikaneer where the cogs locked up once and for all. 
The dealer in Panaji was so concerned with the same bike that when my friend wanted to change his primary chain, he changed the engine sprocket and the clutch housing as well, along with a new set of clutch pressure and friction plates. Exercising my eyes at the beaches of Anjuna, I heard of the day’s development only much latter and had to deal with a very unfriendly works manager who couldn't stand an Indian demanding explanations about a foreigner's bike. 
So far taking care of my own machine, it was only in Cochin where I got a taste of what others have been enduring for years. I deposited my bike with the city’s Enfield dealer for a wash and asked them to replace one leaking fork oil seal and to try to diagnose a faint but persistent engine rumble. My bike was waiting for me all shiny and clean at the designated time along with a bill of Rs.160. I again cross-checked with the foreman “ Oil seal changed ? Could you diagnose the strange sound ??” “yOil seal changed, yenjin na prablema, Ser.” 
Luckily I checked the fork and found the seams of the bottom nut still coated with a thin layer of grime, indicating it wasn't even touched. The foreman vanished and the manager started an apparently well rehearsed flurry of apologies. I changed the seal the next day myself and approximately 500 km onwards my crank seized because of a defective roller bearing. The cause of the rumble at last revealed itself. 

Unqualified and self taught mechanics on one hand, and unscrupulous dealers on the other, Enfield and for that matter owners of every other make of two-wheelers in the country are hardly in an enviable position.  And yet, the answer to the predicament might be lying in our own hands, as I remember once reading an article in “Classic Bike” magazine, which mentioned how bikers from the dawn of the century were usually well versed in engines on account of being too broke to pay the mechanics!! The trend continued and even today bikers world-wide, unless ridding fibreglass enclosed fuel injected Japanese crotch rockets, are usually more apt with nuts and bolts then their four wheeled brethren. Though again, I have my doubts about how true it is for India, where usually both sections can compete in ignorance about their vehicle's innards. Pushing a bike to the mechanic, because of a fouled plug or a flooded carb is as darn a common sight today as it was a decade back, with hardly anybody interested in acquiring any mechanical prowess.

An acquaintance once came for advise about which bike to purchase for his college going son. “Buy him an old junk, give him a small amount for spares and let him learn to repair it himself,” was my counsel. Apparently finding the thought ludicrous, the father grimaced and asked “do you want him to become a mechanic, besides when will he study if he spends his time repairing the bike?” and walked away. Definitely an insulting proposition for the parent of an engineering student with emigrating aspirations !

Well, the advice was based upon my own experience. As a teenager I inherited a mechanically hexed Rajdoot, with nary a penny for gas or mechanics. To make it worse, it was the time when Jap bikes first appeared and all other young chaps were either zipping around or crashing into busses on them. A Earl forked, black, three speed Rajdoot was certainly no sex symbol catalyst and considering that mine hardly ran, was as disastrous a steed as Sancho Panza’s ass (donkey). Thus, taking a clue from Grease II ( well Michele Pfieffer came into my life much later) where the bike-less hero procures  a two wheeled heap and rebuilds it himself, I too started fiddling with the Rajdoot. And after many, many frustrating and goofy missteps, I could finally get it run to run problemlessly and to go pretty fast. 

Sure, the years spent twisting spanners and sporting greasy fingers while mastering the art of motorcycle maintenance, along with my academic record didn't prepare me for a slice of the American Pie. But instead it empowered me with the confidence to face most mechanical ordeals without losing my cool (a slight exaggeration), ride the vehicle of my choice without having to pay crazy repairing bills and to be able to simply swing my leg over a saddle and ride off into the mountains sans any apprehension, sparing the possibility of rains.
I am sure my story is not unique and that there are a whole lot of bikers and motorists all over the country who love maintaining their own vehicles and excel in the task. And it would indeed be a positive step on the part of the manufacturers if instead of writing “contact dealer to rectify problem” in the troubleshooting section of the owner’s manual, would also add “or check page no... Of  the maintenance guide,”  simultaneously holding periodic or regular classes for their mechanically inclined clientele.

Here at least Royal Enfield has scored by releasing a laudable “Worskshop Manual” for the benefit of their motor-headed patrons, which they sent to me free of cost. A smart lady executive of the company also informed that they hold regular courses for their mechanics in different parts of the country, which the Bullet owners can also join  (though she never sent me the details).
I am not aware if any other  manufacturer of the country is carrying out similar exercises,  but if they are not, maybe it is high time they take a clue.