Classic engines as an investment? No dude! Do some Fyra shares or something. Of course there are a number of engines that have a hefty price tag. Engines that may become even more expensive. Or not. But even that is often the issue of the day. So cherish the dream value and do not sell.
Classic motorcycles are fun because they are fun. Not because they will ever be worth a lot.
And when the Z1300, which has been advertised in various magazines for over a year and a half, came along again, it was time for action. The man was a lover. The Kawasaki was a beautiful car that slept under an exemplary motorcycle cover in a neat garage. The engine block was alibi-free cold. The freshly charged battery was put in his loft. Fuel, Ignition. GO! The starter engine of the six-cylinder engine blew up cheerfully. Furthermore, nothing convincingly happened in the engine room. Time to check if there were any sparks. There were sparks. Spark plug in again. Again that nagging whining. It was checked whether the fuel was at least about its place. That seemed to be the case.
The Kawasaki owner had apparently forgotten over time that the six-cylinder engine had a strange character trait. If such a thing - back then with real old-fashioned gasoline in it - had slumbered for a week or two, it would always start the first time. Or not. We had a serious case of never never here. That required heavier resources. In fact, the dismantling and cleaning of the entire carburation hassle.
In the meantime, the Salesman was already a bit excited. A spray can with a pilot start - in other words - is usually good enough to get a dead horse back on track. After the third shot, it started to smell like a hospital in the garage, but the clumsy beauty hadn't given it a shot.
The starterij became a team sport: "If you accelerate and start, I will spray some ether in the air filter". We went for gold. During the next action, the key in which the starter motor whirled fell and the ether fumes in the shed became almost intoxicating. The hopeful potential prospective former owner was almost completely in the air filter. Then, somewhere in the greasy darkness of the block, apparently a spark fell in his bed of ether vapor.
A hollow "WHHHOEPP!" Sounded and a nice round, white fireball rose from the air filter box.
The head of the Kawaii enthusiast was completely surrounded by the fire cloud. He came up surprisingly smoothly from the squats and clattered against a cupboard behind him. Sounds of falling things came from the cupboard. The cloud of fire had robbed the cheerful ether pirate of crest, eyebrows, mustache and beard. His spectacle lenses were frosted.
That seemed like the right time to buy a Kawa. Silently and in peace, half the asking price plus a little in small denominations was stacked on the buddy. The owner still smiled after. "It is well. I pick up the papers, put it on the outside ”.