The ultimate tool.

Truth be told, the old knees are not what they used to be. A serious session of motorcycle maintenance means a morning after reminiscent of a good beating with a cricket bat. Or baseball bat, if you prefer. (I do not).

After the last such session I decided that I could either delegate maintenance tasks to the local Airhead specialist or get a motorcycle lift. As the average trip to that specialist runs $500 and up, cost recovery would not take long even for a premium priced American product, and I very much wanted to buy American made, not an import from the Far East.

As for paying up for American labor and steel, what’s your life worth? More importantly, what’s your bike worth? And with 30 years on my Airhead you could say we have formed something of an attachment.

Visit any professional bike mechanic’s workshop and the chances are you will find that the lift used is made by Handy Industries of Iowa. Yup. American labor, American steel.

The guys (and gals) at Handy, a division of Janco Industries.

For an excellent video review of the Handy SAM 1200 motorcycle lift click here. It’s what convinced me to buy one. The video is professionally produced, devoid of the puerile commentary and raucous music usually found on YouTube pieces, and written by an objective, dispassionate engineer. There is extensive comparison with earlier Handy lifts and also comments on the cheap imports out there. My review, which follows, is more focused on the user experience and also addresses related issues of how to prevent the lift sliding on a slick garage floor, how to use tie down straps and how to select, adapt and use a jack to raise the rear wheel for removal through the removable rear plate. If I disagree with one opinion stated in that video it is about the slots for tie down strap hooks which the reviewer does not particularly care for. I have found that they work perfectly. Like that reviewer, I have no connection, economic or otherwise, with the Handy’s makers, other than I paid with my own hard cash for one. The reviewer’s inspired idea of using a furniture dolly to move the collapsed lift is repeated in my narrative, below, and is entirely attributable to that reviewer.

There’s a reason Handy has been in the business since 1964. Parts availability is not an issue. The range is broad, and I settled on a pneumatic model, the SAM 1200, which uses rubber bellows, powered by your air compressor, to raise the lift table. This is the SAM 1200. The capacity is 1200lbs. which will make Harley riders happy; my 1975 BMW comes in at 435lbs. wet. Handy states it has tested this design to 25,000 cycles (I will be 178 years old by then) and it’s ingenious. Instead of a hydraulic cylinder the lift uses sturdy rubber bellows to raise the table, with an automatic mechanical locking device to retain the table in place. Air pressure is only used to raise the table. It is not the support mechanism when the table is in use. Mechanical locks do that. That is a safe approach.

While the Handy costs three times as much as the one at your local Harbor Freight, it’s safe (safer?), parts are available and, as I can now testify, the quality and finish are gorgeous. COVID has slowed production somewhat and it was some seven weeks between order and delivery. Communications were fluid and the lift arrived on schedule, just in time for the end of the furnace which is summer here in Scottsdale. Work in the garage during those summer months is out of the question.

The lift arrived on a wooden pallet with a total weight of 397lbs. 322lbs for the lift, which is fully assembled when shipped, 37lbs. for the massive wheel vise and the rest for packing materials. Another $20 for the truck driver saw him use an electric Toyota fork device to deposit the whole thing in the garage. It’s a real bear to move. Mercifully that Toyota electric lift was rated for 4400lbs!

As delivered. The vise is in the top box.

The vise is removed and then the pallet with the lift box tipped over through 180 degrees along the longitudinal axis. This places the legs at the top of the box. After removing the pallet, the box is opened and any internal strapping removed. An air hose is connected to the lift which causes the legs to rise, allowing leverage to be applied to the raised legs to tip the whole thing first on its side, then upright.

My son Winston models the lift. Vise in place is about to be bolted down –
10 provided nuts, lock washers and bolts. Phenolic wheels protect the floor’s finish.

Can one person do this? Just about, though it helps if he works out with Schwarzenegger. Two people make it easier. Soft rubber self-adhesive pads are separately provided and have to be stuck to the sides of the vise to prevent marring of wheels. The jolly red finish is an alternative to the standard grey, and is available at a small premium.

As is clear from the above image, the Handy lift uses a scissor leg design, with no base frame to trip on. This allows the use of a small furniture dolly to support the lift as it is ‘deflated’, and the legs will rise off the ground when the air bellows are fully evacuated. This makes for easy movement and storage in the garage. If you propose moving the lift with a motorcycle in place, I would recommend a far heavier duty dolly than the one I have linked.

The dolly is visible above. Movement of the 359lb. assembly is trivial.
When fully collapsed the legs are off the floor.

After some experience in use, I extended the central section of the dolly with a piece of pine and countersunk bolts, using a Forstner bit to cut the countersunk recess, for a plane cut surface. This allows the ends to protrude when the table is being collapsed, simplifying proper placement:

The load is still borne on the carpeted surfaces.

Both the removable rear panel – for wheel removal – and the removable sloping platform for bike installation are visible in the image above. The lift screams quality and the innovative design works well. I use a 20 gallon 5hp air compressor, a real beast, for inflation, but one with a smaller tank will work as well though you may need to recharge the tank part way through the lifting process. Handy states that 110lbs of pressure is the permitted limit. To avoid moisture build-up I use an in-line water filter, though the dry desert climate of southern Arizona is not really an issue when it comes to air borne moisture.

When additional worktop area is required for other tasks the lift can be raised to working height. The maximum height is 39″ and the table’s size is 84″ x 24″, with the sloping, removable loading ramp adding 30″.

Note the hollow square section of the right hand leg. You can insert a long steel pipe in there if additional stability is required with a really heavy, tippy bike mounted.

The air pedal for the lift.

Strangely, the air pedal for the lift is not marked Up/Down, though it’s easy to figure out looking at the connections. I’m forgetful so a simple line of white paint tells me which side is Up. The pedal comes with a female threaded socket for your air compressor hose, but I fitted a QD one to permit easy storage of the hose when not in use. In the image, the upper black hose provides air to the bellows while the lower connector is to the compressor. Handy has fitted compressed ceramic filters to the exhausts on the foot pedal, probably to counter complaints about exhaust noise. The noise levels are well below those dictating ear protection.

The lever which ensures that the pawl engages with the teeth welded to the underside of the table is here – I added the label:

The locking lever.

This lever has to be moved to the rear before lowering the table, which has to be raised a tad using air pressure to permit the change. That not only frees up the pawl, it also ensures that any air which has leaked is restored in the bellows before lowering. Without a full air load the table would come crashing down. When the table is fully retracted the lever resets to the ‘Up’ (forward) position. Nice. The red vinyl tell-tale cover, visible either side of the table, is too loose. A dab of 3M rubber cement takes care of that. A classic product, and one every mechanic should have at hand.

Here’s the parts diagram – the componentry is fairly simple:

Click the image for a larger version.

There are no fewer than 16 Zerk grease nipple fittings for regular lubrication service. The detent pawl (#23142) engages two racks of teeth which are welded to the underside of the table, and are not visible in the parts diagram. It is this system which confers mechanical restraint on the table to prevent it collapsing, the pawl engaging with successive teeth as the table is raised pneumatically.

More in Part II when I put the lift to use, and while my knees stage one final recovery from the unpacking process.

The furnace cools.

Our daytime highs in Scottsdale, Arizona have finally dipped under 100F after the hottest September on record. So it’s time to dust the old bike off, fire her up and get on the road. Early. When it’s still below 80F.

Sadly, the cooler weather also brings out the Deplorables, white trash on Harleys with loud exhausts and even louder stereos. But the Airhead rider needs none of these things to commune with machine and nature.

Click for the map.

Later, at the local Shell, it’s strictly 93 octane high test. While the compression ratio of the two valve, 900cc air cooled motor is a relatively modest 9.5:1, by modern standards, computerized ignition advance and knock sensors were but a far away dream in 1975 when the machine left the Berlin factory. Whack the throttle open at 4,000rpm and you will hear a ping or two from the motor as it protests your brutality. There’s really no call for that sort of behavior on a classic machine. Other than that, all is sweetness and light.

1975 BMW R90/6. 43.7mpg. 60hp. 93 octane.

iPhone11 Pro snaps.

An utter disaster.

It used to be the case that if you had awful taste, cared not one whit for good engineering and valued form over substance, that there was only one motorcycle which fit the bill.

That was Harley-Davidson, which continues to make some of the worst two wheeled powered machines on the planet. Massively overweight like its owner, poor reliability, loud and crass, made by proud American workers with their lank, greasy hair, AC-DC T shirts and beer bellies, the workers were much like the riders.

For the class end of the spectrum there were several choices. BMW, of course, but also Ducati and Moto Guzzi, the last two hailing from Italy. Maybe not as reliable as the many fine machines from the Big Four in Japan, and certainly costlier to acquire and maintain, they were beautifully engineered, did not leak or break down that often, and you would get to enjoy the company of like minded fellow riders without the need for broken beer bottles and bar fights.

Then around the turn of the century BMW decided they would target the cruiser crowd and came out with a porker named the R1200C. They even had Pierce Brosnan ‘ride’ one in a Bond 007 movie, manacled to a beautiful accomplice, no less. Must have made for tough clutch operation, what with his left hand tied up like that, but at least she knew her place, which was (mostly) on the back of the bike. Sporting a detuned 1200cc version of the air and oil cooled boxer motor, they sold about ten of these in the US and the bike was quickly – and rightly – forgotten. Overweight, underpowered and with enough chrome to make an H-D owner take notice, the bike was an utter disaster.

R1200C + Brosnan in riding gear.

But BMW was determined not to learn from its folly and is now releasing an even worse example, if that is at all possible, of the R1200, the R18. Think of it as an R1200C with ccs and avoirdupois added.

A brief table of data, comparing the r18 with my air cooled 1975 R90/6 tells all you need to know:

45 years of progress. A not so pretty comparison.

It’s the red statistics which jump out at you. Weighing almost twice as much the engine, also twice the size in the new machine, produces 25% less horsepower per liter – and this with every electronic gizmo known to man with fuel injection thrown in, while the chassis sports an unmanoeuverable wheel base some 10″ longer. And they want $20,000 in bare form for this monstrosity, which means $25,000 out the door.

As for fit and finish, any H-D owner would be proud. Just look at the atrocious onion peel paint finish on the tank:

American quality paint finish.

They did it just a tad better in 1975:

My 1975 R90/6.

To add insult to injury, the lovely pinstripes emulating the original machine (mine!) will only be available in the 2020 model year. Assuming there is a 2021 model – doubtful – pinstripes will likely add $2,000 to the price.

Anyway, for poseurs who cannot ride and have to stop for both filling and new fillings after the 100 mile tank is on reserve, this could be just the bike for you. You see, the 4,000 rpm sweet spot coincides with the worst vibes. By design. But frankly, at that price I would prefer a Harley and would likely have enough left over for a tattoo or two. $2k less, same vibration and a heart with an arrow through it on my bicep. Just the thing.

Cycle World does its level best to find something good to say about this abomination here. Read. Weep.

Age. You forget things. That periodic table of elements I could merrily recite from memory down to the 60th element or so a few decades ago now sees me stuck at fifteen. Potassium, if I got that right.

And what with American liability law being what it is, with no one willing to accept responsibility for their actions, can you wonder about surgeons’ approach to tool management as a counterpoint to age? Each instrument is inventoried before and after the operation, in the hope that a scalpel, say, is not left inside the patient when he is sown up. I call this the ‘Surgeon’s Rule’.

This disciplined approach works every bit as well for this aging amateur mechanic, for while the risks are lower and the only person left to sue is yourself when you mess up, accounting for all your tools is no bad thing before exiting the hallowed workspace and flooring the throttle.

The wrench section on the peg board wall.

It is proper inventory management which has long seen me hang most of my tools from pegboards, believing that keeping them in drawers is exactly wrong. So forget those dreams of mega-buck SnapOn rolling tool chests. An utter waste of money. A tool you cannot see is a tool you mislay.

Further, those peg boards are white because not only are the stock brown ones depressing to contemplate, sucking light out of the workspace, white also sets the tools off nicely for ease of location.

The peg boards are attached to pine battens, the latter screwed into the wall studs behind the drywall, using a stud finder. That finder is like a politician, lying much of the time, but you get there eventually. The battens ensure that the whole thing is robust – tools can weigh a lot – and also provide offset from the wall for the hooks, once inserted.

Another dictate is that tools should never be stacked, as the one in the back will be every bit as lost as the one in that rolling cart’s tray. As the image shows I break this rule here and there, for lack of space, but overall it’s what you might style a solid effort.

That image speaks to a disciplined filing approach, if nothing else, yet the Surgeon’s Rule let me down the other day, because I failed to follow it. Check the red circle and there’s obviously a 19mm combination wrench missing. It is now to be found in one of my neighbors’ garages as it was left in place by yours truly when tightening the 19mm bolt on the crossbar which retains my old bike’s engine in the frame. I place one 19mm wrench on the left where it ‘locks’ against the exhaust pipe, then have at it on the other side to loosen the crossbar which allows the frame’s downtubes to separate ever so slightly, in turn making the oil filter cover accessible for removal. Not the greatest design by BMW, but not a big deal in the grand scheme of life.

I did not inventory my tools before riding around the neighborhood when the job was completed and later realized I had left the beautiful French Facom wrench in place when riding off. It fell off somewhere in the vicinity of my home and subsequent desperate searches (heck, any excuse for a ride) failed.

So I had to resort to this – mercifully Amazon stocks German Stahlwhille wrenches, if not the even more lovely French Facom ones:

The replacement.

So the rule here is to follow the Surgeon’s Rule religiously. And never, never, never buy cheap, imported tools. Real wrenches are made by Stahlwille and Facom. Yes, a few more dollars but a lifetime investment and one which will repay the premium paid every time you grasp that beautifully finished surface.

The hibernation is over.

Unlike grizzlies, BMW Airhead motorcycles hibernate in the summer, when it’s too darned hot to leave a vintage machine in a 130F greenhouse passing as a garage, here in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Back on May 1, 2020.

So with temperatures finally dipping back into single figures, it was time to get the 1975 BMW R90/6 out of its refrigerated comfort zone and back on the road. Where it belongs.

The Odyssey gel cell battery needed no recharging, having dropped from 13.11 volts to 12.97 volts. On the other hand, the tubed tires did need air, each having lost some 50% of the usual 32/36 pounds in pressure. Easy. Oil? No need to check. German motorcycles do not leak.

So a gallon of high test later – the tank had been drained before indoor storage – a prod or two on the kick starter to get oil to the piston rings, full choke just for the start, a touch on the electric starter button to get that huge, antique Bosch lump of a starter to do its bit, and off we go. Kicking those big twin 450cc pistons into life from cold is no fun. Electric starting is the way to go, introduced in Airheads in 1970.

Nothing, but nothing, beats two motorized wheels.