From Spain with love

wheelamtnz

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Hi you all! Im new in the xs game. i bought a 77 xs a couple of months ago it was owned by a german who lived in the north of spain. When I bought it have no spark and a couple of modifications like little speedometer and tach, boyer bransden ignition, car oil filter... After start it rode a bit of kilometers and a bad noise from the top of the engine appear. Take it all apart and booom no oil in the camshaft. Now all assembled again want to get a rancid chop like uk's triumphs in the 60's.
Thanxs in advance for everything Ive already learned!
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That's a beautiful machine, so here's a word to the wise: if you're going to make a "rancid chop," consider starting with a bike that's in poor cosmetic condition. You're going to change everything anyway, so why tear up something that's in fine shape?
 
Totally agree. Find a bashed up bike and do as you wish but don’t cut up a nice old Standard bike like that one.
 
Hi again! I’ve never heard the term “cocktail” exhaust. Do you have a photo of one?
 
Ahhhhh - I have seen that type of thing, but never heard them called that before.

Thanks!
 
Hi Pete,
we'd call 'em "cocktail shakers" and I don't think "rancid" is appropriate usage, perhaps "radical"?

I was going with the assumption that "rancid" was being used like "sick". Personally, I find describing something you like as "sick" is, well,...sick. :p

But then, I expect my parents felt the same way about "groovy" and "far out" so there's that...:laugh::shrug:
 
Indeed.

My Dad used to look at my afro-hairdo/birdsnest and scratch under his arms like a monkey and make oook-oook sounds (while my Mom quietly said under her breath - "Pick your battles Don, pick your battles. Nobody ever died of having long hair"). In the end, we got along great and now, I'd give my right one for just one more hour with him (or her).

At this point, I'm slightly to right of Atilla the Hun - but as my Dad used to say, "there's nothing like having a bunch of daughters to turn a man into a raging right wing conservative".
 
Indeed.

My Dad used to look at my afro-hairdo/birdsnest and scratch under his arms like a monkey and make oook-oook sounds (while my Mom quietly said under her breath - "Pick your battles Don, pick your battles. Nobody ever died of having long hair"). In the end, we got along great and now, I'd give my right one for just one more hour with him (or her).

At this point, I'm slightly to right of Atilla the Hun - but as my Dad used to say, "there's nothing like having a bunch of daughters to turn a man into a raging right wing conservative".

We could be twins...
From birth to 18, my Dad determined how I cut my hair (short...)
From 18 to 40, the US Navy determined how I cut my hair (short...)
I retired at 40, and Mother Nature determined how I cut my hair (gone...)
:redface:

I raised two daughters. The older one was a terror. The younger one was (as far as I knew) an angel.

Younger one had a suitor when she was like 15 or 16 that would NOT take a hint. Persistent little shit. He knocked on the door one Sunday afternoon, daughter looked out the window and muttered something I couldn't quite make out. As it happens, we'd just got back from shooting and were cleaning weapons on the kitchen table. She grabbed my S&W .44 Mag and answered the door with it hanging from her dainty little hand (and yes, Virginia, she COULD shoot that thing!).

Funniest damn thing I ever saw. That kid turned white as a sheet, spun on one heel and all I saw was assholes and elbows disappearing down the sidewalk... :laugh:
 
A young lad showed up in our driveway and honked his horn for my daughter come out - so I went out instead and pitched his car keys down the street to encourage him to depart......
 
A young lad showed up in our driveway and honked his horn for my daughter come out - so I went out instead and pitched his car keys down the street to encourage him to depart......

Hi Pete,
oh, you rough Colonial, you. I'd have told him, "The horn seems to work well, now you should try the lights."
My younger daughter used to hang around with Delmer. A total waste of my daughter's time who I wished would go away.
It was my wife who got rid of him though, just by being herself.
He was talking with my daughter in our yard and looking in through the kitchen window at wife doing something inside.
"Glad to see" he said "that your mother still rolls out her own pastry."
"Oh no, she's not rolling pastry on the kitchen table, she's rolling her target arrows to check they're still straight."
We didn't see much of Delmer after that.
 
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