Buyer Beware

© Ken Bingenheimer / RumBum.com

Fix it right or your bike may end up beyond the point of return.

My Honda CB750 Custom has always leaked oil from the head gaskets, with the result that I go for a long ride and come home with my jeans spattered with oil from the knee down. One summer I decided I’d had enough of this and, feeling flush, took my bike it to a shop and told them I wanted the oil leaked stopped.

The manager told me that breaking it down to get to those gaskets would mean essentially taking the whole thing apart, and as long as we were going to do that I might as well pay just a little extra and have a ring job, too. I didn’t have compression issues but it sounded like a good idea so I said sure, go ahead.

“Just one thing,” I cautioned. “We’re leaving on our summer trip in three weeks so it absolutely has to be done in time for that.”

“Not a problem,” he replied. “It won’t take anything close to three weeks.”

We filled out the papework and under the job to be performed he wrote “ring job.” That should have been my first clue.

Days passed and after I figured they should have it pretty well taken care of I called to check. No, it wasn’t done yet.

“You do understand that I absolutely have to have it by this date?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. Not a problem,” he replied.

More time passed and I checked back and got the same answer. And again. I was getting very concerned. This was a job I didn’t need to have done. If they weren’t going to have it done by the time we were leaving I could just bring it back in after we got back. But each time I called I was assured they would have it done in time.

Finally it was the day before we were leaving. I called again and asked, “Is my bike done? We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“No, your bike is not done and it won’t be done tomorrow either,” was the reply.

“Well, will it at least be done on Saturday?” I asked with more than a little irritation in my voice.

“No, we’ll have it for you on Monday.”

“First thing Monday?”

“No, the end of the day Monday.”

I was furious, but there was nothing I could do. They had the bike, it was torn apart, and clearly I was not leaving with John and Bill. We agreed to meet up at the north rim of the Grand Canyon on Wednesday and they left.

Monday afternoon I finally got my bike back and got everything in order to leave early on Tuesday. Tuesday I blasted out of town headed for Durango where I planned to spend the night. I hadn’t gone far before I realized the shop had failed to put one of my highway pegs back on, so that only added to my irritation. And then, as it turned out, not only was the oil leak not fixed, it was much worse, coming now from the valve cover gaskets as well as the head gaskets.

The hatred I felt for that guy was extreme. It wasn’t just the way he lied to me. You have to understand, I had bought my bike at what was the very lowest point in my life, and the bike was one of the things that brought me out of that terrible time. For me, that bike meant pure joy. Now, for the first time, there was anger associated with my bike, and I resented that fiercely.

In Durango, I got a makeshift highway peg put on and I rode on to the Grand Canyon and met up with the guys for the remainder of the trip. After we got home I took the bike back to the shop to demand a fix to the oil leak. The creep manager agreed that they would replace the valve cover gaskets, which were leaking profusely, but no dice on the head gaskets.

“That was why I brought the bike here in the first place,” I protested indignantly.

“Look here,” he said, showing me the job ticket. “We were doing a ring job. We did the ring job. We’re not going to tear the whole engine down to redo the head gaskets.”

I also brought up the missing highway peg and he started telling me that if I didn’t point it out when I picked up the bike . . . yadda, yadda . . . they were not responsible . . . yadda, yadda . . . Fortunately, the mechanic who had done the work was there at this moment and immediately ran to his bench and returned with my peg and put it on.

They replaced the valve cover gaskets and I left with anger just boiling over. But one thing made me feel a bit better just three weeks later: The shop went out of business. Closed. Kaput. Gone. Karma doing what it does, cycling back around.