I didn’t start out working for Mr. Bray. He was a deep red construction foreman who had been baking in the Florida sun all his life. His nose looked like Bob Hope’s except God had pressed his thumb into Mr. Bray’s right nostril and kind of smooshed the thing to the side. Mr. Bray ran projects all around Miami. I was a laborer helping my dad who was an equipment operator. The main job of labor for an equipment operator is to never let the operator get off the machine. Anything that needed to be done in order to keep him in his seat was my responsibility.
Mr. Bray had hired my dad to do the earthwork on a shopping center he was building in North Miami. I was a hard worker because I wanted to make some seed money and go back to California. I was taking growth hormones and steroids at the time. It was all I could do not to tear the footings out of the ground with my bare hands. The meds were prescription: Starting with a 5-foot tall, 98-pound body the pills added 6 inches in height and 27 pounds in acne over 3 years. I had abundance of energy, man. I tore around the construction site like a banshee. Mr. Bray liked a hard worker, drug-induced or not, so he hired me away from my dad just by offering twice the money.
The job was Union, which meant I had to join one. Mr. Bray had connections at the carpenter’s local so he arraigned for my union card. This was a big deal because normally you’d have to wait in line to join and then you’d have to wait in line until the Union sent you out on a job. It might take several years to clear the backlog. I was a First Period Apprentice without missing a paycheck.
When I got that paycheck it was a disappointment. The Union dues sapped a lot, then the federal and state deductions sapped some more. My dad paid cash, you know? I ended up making less money than before. Mr. Bray had pulled strings to get me in but I showed him my pay stub anyway. “That’s not so good, is it?” Mr. Bray said. I told him that it wasn’t but that I would carry on. I mean I had taken the deal; I felt obligated. “Lemme see what I can do about it,” Mr. Bray told me.
The next paycheck I received my rating was Third Period Apprentice (equivalent to 1-1/2 years of experience and passing several written tests) and I was making 8 dollars an hour. This was more money than I had ever made in my lifetime. From then on my loyalties were clear. I was Mr. Bray’s boy. If he needed a body buried on the site I would do faster it and better than anyone else.
Mr. Bray’s crew consisted of a journeyman carpenter, a mid-level carpenter, a laborer and me. In practice, we weren’t tied to a trade. I might have to do a little wiring, relocate pipe or dig a foundation. We formed all the foundations, then the steel workers would tie the steel and we would pour the concrete. These were non-cosmetic jobs. For slabs we hired a crew of finishers.
It didn’t set well with the other guys when Mr. Bray made me the foreman the few times he had to go off site. I only had like two months of construction experience but had absorbed a lot more knowledge just by being around my dad. The journeyman carpenter got sulky taking orders from a third period apprentice.
I have never been a leader of men. My approach to management is to tell everyone to stay the hell out of my way and I’ll do it myself. Surprisingly it worked in this instance because these guys still had remnants of a conscience. We usually got more done when Mr. Bray was gone.
Mr. Bray used my size to motivate the crew. Whenever there was something heavy to move the guys would bitch and want a crane. “Gresh, put that plank on the roof.” That was all I needed to hear. I was a greyhound shot out of a gate. I’d shoulder the 10-inch wide, 20-footer, run full tilt at the building, spear the end of the board into the ground like a pole vaulter and walk the board vertical onto the wall. While the rest of the crew shook their heads in pity I’d run up the ladder and grab the board, hand-over-handing the thing until I could rest it onto my shoulder. Putting the wood onto the roof took about 45 seconds.
The whole thing had a creepy, Cool-Hand-Luke-when-he-was-acting-broken vibe but I wasn’t acting. It was more an act of unreasonable anger. I wanted to get stuff done. It was all that mattered to me. Mr. Bray would turn to the guys and say “Look at Gresh, he did it easy. You don’t need a crane. Now put the rest of those damn boards up there.” Picturing the guys pole-vaulting the boards up one by one I’ll never understand why they didn’t beat the crap out of me when Mr. Bray turned his back.
Another Union trade on a construction job are the bricklayers. They would put up walls on the foundations we poured. The floors were left dirt to allow new tenants to choose the interior layout. After they put up the walls we would tie the steel and form the gaps between sections of wall then pour them full of concrete. The poured columns made a sturdy wall. Unfortunately, being only 8 inches wide, the wall is very fragile until the concrete columns are in.
Mr. Bray was always looking for ways to save the company money and as my dad’s equipment was still on site he would have me do small operator jobs rather than have my dad drive to the site and charge him. We needed a trench for something, I can’t remember what but since we only had a 14-inch bucket it didn’t matter. I was digging inches away from a wall with the backhoe at 45 degrees to allow the bucket to dump the spoil. I could only put one outrigger down because the wall was too close. The whole setup was wobbly and when a return swing ran a bit wide the boom tapped the wall. Not hard, it didn’t even chip the blocks.
It happened so slowly. The wall teetered. I pulled the boom away. I was wishing it to settle down. The wall tottered. More thoughts and prayers were directed at the wall. Slowly the wall went over and smashed into pieces. After checking to see that I didn’t kill anyone I went to Mr. Bray. “Um…we have a problem, Mr. Bray.”
He was marking stuff on his critical path chart. “What is it, Gresh?”
“You better come take a look.”
We walked over to the crushed wall. I explained everything like I just did. Mr. Bray was fighting some inner demons for sure. Finally his face relaxed and he said, “Don’t worry about it, we’ll tell the bricklayers the wind blew it over.” Man, I loved that guy.
From my dad I learned a perfectionism that I have rarely been able to equal. From Mr. Bray I learned that perfection is a great goal but the job needs to get done because another trade is waiting on you. Mr. Bray would let a lot of things slide that my dad would obsess over. Working for Mr. Bray was much less stressful and customers inside the finished shoe store could not tell the difference.
The shopping center was nearly done. I had worked for Mr. Bray 6 months. I had a couple thousand dollars saved and told him I was going back to California. “Why don’t you stay on? I’ll train you in construction management, you’ll be a journeyman carpenter in 5 years and you’ll be running jobs like this.”
Mr. Bray was offering me his most valuable gift. He was offering me everything he had: To pass his lifetime of knowledge on to me. I had to go back to California though and I left feeling like I had let Mr. Bray down in the end. And even today I’m not settled. I’m still trying to finish the damn job.
The positive battery cable was swollen like a snake swallowing a pack rat. I cut the jacket away to reveal a green, copper powder. This is never a good sign and even though the cable will still read ok on an ohmmeter, under high current the flow of electricity will be restricted.
I de-soldered the original battery lugs and re-crimped and soldered a new 6-gauge positive lead. The original battery terminals are shaped to lay flat alongside the battery and you won’t find anything to match them at your local Home Depot. The terminals are solid copper so they clean up and take solder nicely. I also added a new 30-amp, inline fuse holder to replace the melted original.
This 3-way connection is the heart of Zed’s power supply. One lead is to the 20-amp fuse from the battery positive. One lead is charging current from the rectifier and the last lead supplies power to everything on the motorcycle (except the starter). This connection takes a beating and Zed’s was discolored, and overheating had taken the spring out of the female bullet connectors.
I decided to go off-script here because the three-way connection is one of the few bad design choices Kawasaki made on the Z1. Instead I used 3 soldered ring terminals and bolted the connection together. Then I insulated the connection with electrical tape and thick red heat shrink tubing (not shrunk).
With the new fuse holder, jumper harness, battery cable, grounds to the block, blinker relay, brake light switch and tail harness everything under the right-side cover is complete. It’s not the prettiest wiring and may not faithfully follow original Kawasaki wiring practices but it should work and hopefully not melt down.
Hardcore Zed’s Not Dead fans will recall the hokey swing arm zerk fitting that was gnawing into my Zen. The main issue is the swing arm is metric thread and I’m too lazy to find a stock metric grease fitting. I pulled the offending fitting and cut the entire top off of the thing then drilled and tapped the part that fits into the swing arm for a ¼-28 zerk fitting.
The new set up is much cleaner looking and even though no one will ever see it I’ll sleep better at night knowing it’s there. Oooooommmmmm…
The left handlebar switch cluster was a cluster. The blinker switch was stuck and no amount of WD40 would free the lever so I dismantled the switch and cleaned all the tiny, rusted parts.
The switch now moves in all the right places. It remains to be seen if it actually directs the electrons where they are supposed to go. The last major electrical challenge on Zed is the instruments and the connections inside the headlight shell. I’ll tackle those in Zed 15.
Until I misted the swing arm, for some reason the transition zone between bare metal and original paint bubbled up making a mess out of the thing. I don’t know what the difference was but after trying to remedy the situation four times I gave up, sanded the swing arm and shot it with primer. The black paint laid down nicely after that but so much for keeping it original-ish.
I started on the front brake system and noticed this cool little eccentric bolt that adjusts the free play on the master cylinder. There are so many nice touches like this on the Z1. Kawasaki tried to build the best motorcycle they could. The master cylinder was in good shape. These things are a bear to reassemble but after five tries I managed to get the plunger in the bore along with the c-shaped travel stopper and the snap ring. The only complaint I have against the Z1 Enterprises master cylinder kit is that it didn’t come with the rubber bellows (the part that keeps brake fluid from sloshing in the reservoir) so I’ll have to order that bit.
The metal brake line to the caliper was stuck mightily. I tried heat and penetrating oil and even bought a set of metric line wrenches but in the end it took a vise and brute force to remove the line. It’s not destroyed but I’ll be buying a new metal line along with both flexible hoses and the little bracket that holds the line away from the front fender.
Once apart, the caliper was in excellent condition. I sanded the bore to remove corrosion and the 
The previous owner had the rear axle assembled wrong and my book was illustrated with the spacers reversed so a quick message to Skip Duke and I had the spacer order correct.
The sprocket side gets only the seal spacer while the drum brake side gets the long, necked-down spacer. The thick washer-spacer (that was jammed into the drum brake side) is actually a washer. It spaces the castle nut the correct distance for the cotter pin or hitch pin hole.
The stock swing arm grease nipple would not accept my grease gun fitting resulting in grease all over the place. In this photo you can see the differences. Rather than get the correct tool I tapped the fitting for a standard nipple and screwed the mess together.
I’m not happy with the grease nipple set up although it did allow me to grease the swing arm. I’m going to remove the fitting and have another go at making it look better.
Zed’s rear end is coming along nicely. I think the 4.10X18 tire looks a little puny on the bike so you may get a Smokey burn out video after all. Next tire I get will be a 4.50X18.
While I’m busting a new tire onto Zed I figured I might as well replace the rear wheel bearings. I could have cleaned them and re-greased them and if I was broke I would have. 
Kawasaki made a nice motorcycle when they built the Z1. Stuff like a brake shoe wear indicator was rare back in the 1970’s. Mama K even went to the trouble of recessing the brake shaft opening to fit a felt dust seal. That’s class, man. I’m not sure it does any good because the brake shoes generate more dust than you’d get kicked up from the street. Maybe it helps the shaft grease stay clean.
Kawasaki threw everything at the Z1. The sprocket carrier has its own bearing so that gives a total of three rear wheel bearings. Pretty sweet; I wish my Yamaha 360 had a better sprocket carrier design. The hub wears out and I have to feed spring-steel from a ¾-inch tape measure to take up the slack.
Part of the fun of working on motorcycles is setting up the exploded parts shot. I like to get all the parts clean before reassembly because they will never be cleaned again. Rear discs are mostly standard now but a husky rear drum like this will stop a bike just fine.
Changing tires is a lot of stress for me. If you don’t plan to use the tube or tire you can cut the work involved in half by cutting the old tire off. Use a razor, utility knife and lube the blade with a little oil. Then plunge in and pull the knife. Don’t saw at it. As you cut move around a little and you will find the thinnest part of the tire. Once you’re there, ride that sucker all the way around. After you do both sides the tread falls away leaving two beads. They pop off easy with no tire to create resistance and you can peel the remains off the rims without a tire iron.
I removed the swingarm to check the bushings and lube the mess. Zed’s battery box is pretty rusty so I removed it to clean and paint the thing. I looked at the rear of the bike and decided there wasn’t much more to take everything off and give the rusty frame tubes a lick of paint. So I did.
Reassembling the rear of the bike is going well and the 
Water Canyon Road, west of Socorro, New Mexico is paved all the way to the Water Canyon Campground. The Campground is beautiful, wooded and self-serve: You put your fees into a pipe and pitch your tent. There are clean pit toilets and yodeling coyotes along with bear-proof trash cans. I’d like to hang out here but we are heading to The Magdalena Ridge Observatory.
The mirror at the MRO is an ex-Hubble part of which there were three built; one is inside Hubble floating around space, the other is at The National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC.
Zed is missing its chrome seat bar and rather than finding a stock replacement I grabbed this $50, period-correct luggage rack from eBay. All my motorcycles have rear racks. I need a place to strap stuff because I get around, you know? I dig the square tubing and the big-hair, 1980’s plastic plugs filling the open ends.
Zed’s 41,000 mile, front wheel bearings are probably stock and I could’ve cleaned them up and re-greased them but a new set is not that expensive so I popped the old ones out and fitted new bearings.
I had an old-ish Dunlop tire in stock. I bought it new to put on Godzilla for a run from Hunter’s place in Oklahoma to Florida and that’s all the miles it has done. I guess I should worry about the rubber aging. In my defense, it’s been stored in a dark trailer and the Fingernail-Probe test reveals a fresh feel to the rubber. Anyway, the Dunlop is about 20 years newer than the tire that came on Zed so I call it a win. No one will believe this but I did install a new tube in the front and managed to get the tire onto the rim without pinching the tube.
The grease inside the speedometer drive was hardened so I cleared out the muck and squished new grease into the worm drive parts. I also had to swap the disc to the opposite side of the wheel as Zed came with the caliper mounted backwards. They tell me this mod improved handling but I’ll not ride around listening to Z1 experts constantly telling me my brakes are backwards.
My latest order from 
The most expensive part of the order was the ignition advancer @ $159. My buddy Skip sent me a couple advancers in the hope one would fit but as luck would have it there must be 537 different advancers for the Z1. The left advancer fits the crankshaft bolt (loosely) and looks close from this side but the advancer has timing marks only for cylinders 1 and 4. Also note how close the “T” (top center) and the “F” (ignition fire) marks are. The center advancer unit has all the correct cylinder markings but the bolt hole is too small for the crank bolt. This unit also has “F” and “T” close together.
Moving to the backside of the three advancers we see that the left unit has a cup that prevents the advancer from sitting flush onto Zed’s crankshaft end. The middle unit will marry to the crank ok but note the slight degree angle difference on the locator-pin hole. Finally the new unit, like the bear’s soup, is just right.
To attach the points plate I had to shorten 3 screws. The best way I’ve found to do this is to run a nut onto the screw, cut the screw, grind the screw making the grinding wheel cut towards the center of the screw (or dragging the metal away from the threads). Removing the nut will clean any swarf left in the threads. The nut should start back on the screw without problems, if not, I’ll clean the screw up some more with the grinder.
Zed’s exhaust system hangs low and as such has hit the ground frequently enough to create pinholes. When pipe gets this thin I prefer to braze the holes closed. The brazing rod requires less heat and leaves a nice, thick pad to give a dirt rider something to beat on.
Finally, when I fit the exhaust headers I tape around the frame tubes to help prevent scratches. I also tape the headers to keep the exhaust collars from falling down the pipe scarring up the new paintwork.
Back when we were running Briggs and Stratton mini-bikes a few kids had Yamaha Mini Enduro 60cc or Honda Mini Trail 50cc bikes. Both of these bikes were stone reliable and a real leap forward from the hard-tail, flathead, one-speed stationary motored mini-bikes. I had a blue Mini Trail Honda that was indestructible. Riding the Everglades of South Florida the cooling fins would cake with mud and the engine would overheat until it would stop running. Just stop.
Into these tiny times strode a colossus: The Steen Alsport 100. What a machine! The Steen was equipped with a 100cc Hodaka engine, and the front forks were Earles type utilizing a swingarm and held up by two oil-damped shocks. The gas tank was fiberglass and beautifully shaped. White was the only color I saw but there were other colors. Steens were rare around the neighborhood.
Dealerships more so than motorcycle quality determined motorcycle popularity at the start of the 1970’s. There were no Hodakas to be found. Very few Kawasakis or Suzukis populated our riding areas. Oddly enough a Montesa or Bultaco might ride by. These were huge motorcycles. The Steen didn’t have much of a dealer network In Miami so there was only the one kid who had a Steen in our group. I should remember his name but it has slipped away to that place all memories eventually slip.