Old Irons 2024 - a report.

"I heard there may not even be a rally this year..."

"I heard they were changing location and that it's going to be an invitational..."

"nobody knows for sure yet, it might be last minute..."

These were the rumors surrounding this year's Old Irons rally, and the reason is simple. As I had mentioned last year, this rally is a small miracle and relies on a delicate equilibrium in order to exist. Well, now that equilibrium has been disrupted, possibly irreversibly so: what was once a remote and hard-to-reach plateau is now inundated with all manner of vehicles and the untold masses that bring them up there. We rode past what must have been thousands of people and at least forty or fifty camper vans, huge, white and bulbous, like a grotesque display of beached beluga whales.

The motorcycles weren't much better either, all new and plasticky, all electronic, all the same...

This place is finished and I have a sense the local authorities will have to step in and regulate access, or the next thing to make the headlines around here will be "national natural landmark suffers serious environmental degradation". 

But let's go back to the start of the day, when my dad aboard the Interstate, Lele on the Sportster and I on the Rising Star set off along the Salaria, all the way to Antrodoco and then up and over towards l'Aquila. A nice easy stroll along the sweeping turns and mellow scenery of the "sabina" and "reatino" areas. It was a hot day and I was being careful not to overdo it, but the BSA was turbine smooth all day. The route was also very easy with basically only one turn where to pay attention, and a bit of a slow crossing at l'Aquila; otherwise the most challenging part was precisely up on the Campo Imperatore plateau where by some miracle the Rising Star didn't shake itself apart and I got through with only a mild buzzing sensation in my arms. This little chopper has no right to be as tough as it actually is, it keeps leaving me astonished at how strong and capable it really is.

Once we got to the mountain kiosk, it quickly became apparent it would have been impossible to stop for food there, so we continued since there really wasn't far to go. The descent towards Rigopiano was peaceful and relatively quiet; of course all along the way we met many others on choppers and other cool contraptions, which all adds to the atmosphere.

From the road, the only giveaway that there was something going on was seeing maybe a dozen bikes parked along the edge, otherwise this is very secluded indeed. A short climb on loose limestone gravel gets you to the metaphorical gate onto a clearing, immediately flanked by the mountain, itself cloaked in impossibly tall beech trees.

What I noticed right away was that everyone looked, in a word, enthusiastic about being there. This location managed to recapture the grassroots essence of this rally, as well as breathe new life into it. We all wonder what the future may bring, but it looks promising!

It seemed easier to catch up with everyone and we soon had a large group of old friends eating, drinking and spouting absolute nonsense about motorcycles and chickens.

Even Witold managed to join at the last minute but by no means late, aboard his R100GSPD, that poor bike needs a substantial amount of work and attention... and yet remains unstoppable. As to the reason why that bike needs an overhaul, that will be the subject of future discussions, but better not speak of such things at a chopper rally, so off you go into the woods:

With no time to waste, we set up our tents and figured out some helpful tips for next year (get there early to find a nice spot, bring a good flashlight and possibly leave a couple of LED beacons on so you can find your tent in the dark. Bring lots of water...).

It's so much easier being there than way up at the top where you're completely exposed to the sun beating you over the head and the wind robbing you of body heat. Instead, everything is within a few steps, be it the kiosk (hardly ever a line), the beer stand or the bikes. Lots of really nice rides this year, from Panheads to Shovels, Duo-glides and Electra-glides in their original paint, period accessories and just the right amount of patina.

One machine I kept going back to was this R90/6, with the impressive period optional twin disc brakes, a sports seat (possibly a Giuliari?) and modern shock absorbers (Wilbers, I think), the original luggage and absolutely no fuss or fanfare, just an eminently practical tourer. I find this particular model to be very appealing, though I don't know it well enough to tell whether it would suit me. At any rate the handlebar is too narrow and the master cylinder for the front brake is something that gives me pause, having seen it on our own /7.

There's something about these Bavarian airheads... they're not cool, they're not particularly good-looking, powerful or agile; and yet they can't be ignored. 

The evening's festivities continued late into the night, long after we grilled the last skewers and drank the last beer.

I couldn't fall asleep but I must have eventually passed out and woke again as the first sunrays entered my tent. We all packed up with no particular hurry and already noticed one more surprise this new place had in store for us: the morning was nice. No hurry to get going, and a breakfast stand ready to serve decent coffee and sweet or savory home-cooked items.

One thing I did do was to tighten the steering stem nut on the Rising Star, which was way too loose, probably due to all the abuse along the Majella park at the end of June. I'll need to keep an eye on this.

a lengthy detour back home was a good opportunity to revisit some nice spots like Roccaraso and the higher part of the SS17 especially. We also hit torrential rain down towards Barrea and further along, not to mention horrendous heat. Although we had no real mechanical trouble, the starter motor on Lele's Sportster is giving us cause for concern, I think this will need a rebuild and possibly an overall check of the electrical system very very soon.

Black & Gold, never gets old.

Harley-Davidson's Aqua Pearl, an underrated and now rare, super color.

Thanks to Lele for his company, patience and photos.

Majella tour 6. - Chopper edition

I had to test-ride the Rising Star with its new gearbox sprocket and improved oil circuit, just a quick blast along country B-lanes to figure out if it all works and nothing falls off. So I fire it up (easy, with a new battery...) and set off; immediately I notice that it seems to have more torque, though of course this is just the effect of the different ratio, allowing me to make better use of what was there all along. It invites harder acceleration but is still perfectly suited to cruising along, nice and easy.

The warm evening sun burns bright and yellow, and throws my shadow on a tall concrete wall that runs all along the road. I see myself as a two-dimensional rider, very laid back, black on beige. I smile a little as I wind on the throttle and the feisty parallel twin roars louder, no doubt because the sound bounces off that containment wall; the bike leans to the right and picks up speed. Back at the shed I check the undercarriage for any signs of damage to the oil lines, but it's all right where it's supposed to be and I don't see any of it getting into trouble unless I start off-roading through the bushes, which I don't plan on doing, at least not intentionally.

An idea had been taking a firmer hold in my mind ever since we breathed new life into the Rising Star, and that was attempting a Majella Tour on the chopper. Could it be done? Would the bike hold up to the rigors of that circuit? Would I, on that tiny rigid frame?

Just picturing the Rising Star in the most glorious of settings, along the grasslands of the south-west, or the northern forest is enough to bring it all into a determined focus: I'm gonna do this.

So far there have been two ways of touring the Majella park, either getting there, doing the loop, staying the night and then returning to Rome the following day (which is very demanding and requires an easy bike such as a 247 BMW or an Evolution Sportster), or taking a whole day to reach the park, spending the night, touring on the second day, spending the night again in the same place, and finally returning home on day 3. For this tour, I wanted the experience to be as unique as possible and started trying to decode the route that would allow me to finally recapture that view, that most breathtaking view that still haunts my psyche to this very day. I had attempted this last year but it didn't quite work, so instead I figured I needed to reach the peak as close to sunset as possible, and ride down towards Roccamorice as though plunging into an orange glow, the very air tinted with impossible colors and a warmth that defies the cold mountain air. It would also mean spending the night at a new campsite, which had its pros and cons.

But let me start from the beginning: 

Day 1 sees me braving the wastelands of ciociaria, nice enough places at times but full of angry, barely-human goons, hicks and yokels. Seeking cooler air, I find the old Prenestina and follow it all the way to Fiuggi, where I avoid being pulled over by some angry cops by sheer luck. I continue along the way taking a quick look at the small lake at Canterno, then up again towards Collepardo and it's only then that I stop somewhere in the woods near the magnificent Trisulti monastery.

Since I have plenty of time to reach the campsite, I take my time to appreciate the fresh air and birdsong among the trees. I also remove the luggage and this marks the beginning of a three-day struggle to figure out the best way to strap it down securely. This is something I still haven't fully mastered, though I look forward to the eureka moment that will inevitably come one day. I gotta rethink the way I mount my luggage to the sissy bar, and possibly whittle it down even more than I already have. It's already pretty minimal but if I can't carry that stuff easily, then I'll have to leave some of it at home. 

This is also a good time to drink plenty of water: I had put a bottle in the freezer the night before and enjoyed perfectly cold water all day long.

The SP224 is a gradual descent towards Sora, but before I even get there I see it shrouded in suffocating heat and humidity: it's visible from miles away and by the time I stop for fuel my head is spinning and I find myself drenched in sweat. I gulp down some electrolyte and make a small effort to get going again, knowing that I'll soon be out of that cauldron. The bike is coping (only thanks to the new cooler and filter), the luggage is problematic, I'm sweating buckets but replenishing with ice water at every stop.

I'm now climbing towards Forca d'Acero and this is where I must face that climbs are slow and tough: this is not a beast of an engine, there's only so much it can do and you just have to slow down and take whatever time it takes to get there.

Once nearing Opi things change and the trip becomes much more enjoyable, but people just ruin it in general. So often I hear people who travel say "oh the best thing about traveling is meeting people"; never have I ever felt that way. 

The campsite is nice but understandably crowded, so it's good to be self-sufficient with food and coffee. The night is lovely and cool, I'm comfortable and get a very good night's sleep.

I decide to add a considerable detour at the start of day two, the extra miles are to see one beautiful stretch of road as well as to delay my arrival at the top of the Majella, chasing that sunset.

As I pack up, my main concern is getting the damn luggage to stay put. I'm using actual ratchet straps for maximum reliability and they're not the ones causing problems. Still, I'll have to stop and readjust a couple of times during the day, not a big deal though it is something I would rather solve once and for all on my next chopper outing.

So many times during this trip the Rising Star just seemed to find the nicest spots under the shade of a tree on a panoramic spot, or a little dirt lane into the woods, just always enough to get out of sight and let me stretch my legs, relax and really be one with the experience. Far out...

The climb after Pacentro is particularly slow going, but again the bike is coping and I'm soon on the loop, somewhat in disbelief that I finally got here on the Rising Star. Now the real trip begins and immediately I feel it, that unmistakable aura of uniqueness that only this place exudes. I feel the familiar challenge of wanting to bask in the beauty of the landscape but needing to concentrate on the road... especially on a hardtail. Speaking of familiarity, what a strange feeling it is to know these places quite well, and yet still be in awe of them. Normally after a while a place loses its shine... not this place. Not this grandiose park. Not this ancient mountain with its divinity still overseeing the land that surrounds it and the road that loops around it.

I'm now cruising downhill towards the southern tip, it's easy and the engine is definitely enjoying the fresh air. This is the base of the Majella, right here:

The next twenty kilometers are exhilarating and I can't help but ride a little faster and harder on this magnificent stretch of road, which I have all to myself (though this is not unusual, there's hardly ever anyone around here). The BSA responds well and gets all the power it can to the rear wheel, the frame has no trouble keeping me out of trouble and the ride is fantastic, as is the accompanying soundtrack.

The Rising Star guides me to another spot at lake S. Angelo, that I'm sure I've ridden past at least half a dozen times before, yet never found.

So I stop and look around, then find a narrow passage down to the shore, so I go take a dip: that color is too inviting and the heat means I don't even think twice.

It's getting late in the afternoon and the toughest part of the course is still ahead of me, a long tortuous ascent towards the northern point, where I stop and take a photo:

I'm still a long way away from the top and the climb is slow. I notice it by comparing this to the Fastback or the Sportster but rather than feel like something is lacking, I respect the machine and marvel at what was once a pile of parts and is now a beautiful, classy chopper with lots of tasteful details and an overall righteousness that I couldn't find on a stock motorcycle: custom is better.

One final struggle to reach the top and I'm at the Bruno Pomilio chalet at over 6.200ft up. There's a big party going on and I'm by far riding the oldest and strangest machine up here (save perhaps for the red snow cat, but that one lives up here and is in its element to be fair):

All that noise and all those people are the exact opposite of what I'm looking for, so I stay for just one beer and then make my way down to that magical spot and decide to wait out that most elusive sunset.

It takes a while and it's getting cold, but I've waited too long for this and I'm not giving up. As I'm walking around enjoying the views (this is by no means just killing time, it's wonderful to be up here), I move slightly back and my eyes catch the reflection of the sun running up the sissy bar, until it gleams as a brilliant miniature starburst right at the top. Then, suddenly, there it is:

It's time to start riding down, both the sun and I getting lower, the light diffused and warm, an otherworldly atmosphere that leaves me speechless once again after all these years.

The new campsite is not easy to find and I get there in the dark; luckily the headlight works just fine and throws a proper beam so I can still read the road and avoid cracks and potholes. It's a fancy glamping place and I'm greeted with a slightly snobbish, bemused look. Still, the food is nice, the beer is cold and my camping spot is perfectly fine.

I set up the tent with the sickly sweet scent of incense burning somewhere nearby, it's quiet and night takes over the woods bringing with it a well deserved rest. I still don't fully comprehend what I've just done and seen, but this is a good sign as it means I was truly present in that moment.

It was a long day on that tiny saddle, and the loop still isn't closed; that's a final treat for the next day.

I wake up early the following day and get some coffee going, I have time to enjoy these last moments of peace and quiet before packing up.

I decided to take the autostrada all the way back to save some time, but this was not an easy thing to do. I don't know what the bike's top speed is, probably no more than 55/60mph and I assure you it is not a pleasant experience: between the noise and the marked discomfort, riding a chopper at "speed" and over a longish distance is no fun. It's also the first time during this trip that I'm making full use of top gear, and it's here that I start noticing something alarming in the form of a clanging metal-on-metal sound that really shouldn't be there. I must have a chain clearance issue after fitting the larger sprocket, though not anywhere near the crankcase, but rather at the rear fender and on the underside of the oil tank. This had never happened before and I'm still trying to figure out why it's now doing this and how to correct it. I quickly figure out how to ride around it and the remainder of the trip is trouble-free, even despite some rain.

Exposed on all sides up on the Pietrasecca bridge, a sudden gust of wind pushes me across the lane, which paints a smug look on my face as I think to myself "such a light motorcycle". Look at this thing though, it's gnarly:

70 meters high and nearly two kilometers long, it's always a hair-raising experience and one I'm not that keen to repeat anytime soon.

I then wonder how it's even possible that I'm rolling forward and sideways at the same time, and I feel the "road hug" compound of the K70 Gold Seal tires work hard to keep me tracking true. Absolutely fantastic tires that I would even consider for our Interstate Commando.

The tiny bright red taillight pierces the darkness of a tunnel up ahead and for just an instant the eye is fooled into seeing a blood-red streak hanging in midair. At least that's what I imagine those behind me must see.

I'm back home after around 650Km over three days and on a very tough course without breaking down or anything falling off the bike: the Rising Star should have earned anyone's respect after this trip. 

The Majella is two things at once: a metaphysical experience that goes beyond the senses, and a technical proving ground that awards only the best machines the confidence to know they can go anywhere.

Time to start planning the next one...

Oil filter & cooler.

During the trip to the Old Irons rally last year, I had a problem with oil overheating, and losing pressure in the circuit. I have since figured out exactly how much oil I can have in the tank without overfilling it but I must also concede that I have to fit an oil filter and a cooler, much as I have on the Fastback (and on the Fastback it has proven to be a perfect setup that allows the bike to run all day with no problems whatsoever). I didn't want to do this as I always tried to keep the Rising Star as minimalist as possible, but I'm no longer as attached to that idea, and this is objectively a necessary improvement I must make. This is a simple job where the most complicated thing is figuring out how to mount the cartridge filter (either by fabricating a bracket, or finding a suitable mounting point as I did in this case). You do have to route oil lines carefully, with no kinks or weird bends, trying to make it aesthetically pleasing in the process (this last part is very important). All new components should be secured to prevent damage from vibration. I made several attempts, each one bringing me closer to the final solution that resulted in some nice flowing lines to and from the cooler, as well as relatively gentle bends underneath the oil filter (but safely tucked away). Although you could place all of the following elements in whatever order you want, only one sequence will actually work: Oil tank to Engine to Cooler to Filter and finally back to Oil tank. So say we all.

The oil filter is an external kit that uses a mounting block for the spin-on filter cartridge and can be mounted almost anywhere, in this case there was room just behind the battery box with room for a remover tool to fit.

The oil cooler is made by Jagg (who also supply some nice mounting clamps) in an old brick building in a small village in Ohio and I think it's important that we can still buy something that's made in the USA. These are all quality items that are very well built, I'm very impressed with this:

This is exactly the same cooler and clamps I have on the Sportster, only on the 1200S it all came from the factory and the routing of the oil lines is impeccable there. Not much of a choice here, it has to go on the frame's downtube.

I got the oil hoses and jubilee clips from a wonderful specialist shop on the outskirts of Rome. This place had all kinds of things I'd been looking for but never found easily, well, no more: now I know where to go. It's also very important that these places somehow manage to stay in business, as certain consumables should always be readily available. Chains, spark plugs, throttle cables, outer cables, fuses and wiring, ferrules, clips, fuel and oil lines, batteries... I want to be able to ride over to a shop and pick up what I need instead of ordering online and waiting for a parcel.

I'm hoping that, much as it does on the Fastback, the combination of cooler and filter will mean that oil temperature will be lower and stable, which should help the engine a good deal compared to how it was before. Time will tell.

Same revs, more speed.

After Same revs, less noise, now it's time for same revs, more speed, and so today's interesting task is swapping out the gearbox sprocket. I encountered a proliferation of moderate annoyances that amounted to a considerable pain in the ass at absolutely every single step of the process, for something that should have been simple and straightforward. Good grief.

This is something I would have liked to get done well before the Old Irons rally last year, but as usual there just wasn't time and/or something else always got in the way. The gearbox has an 18 tooth item at the moment, we're moving up to 19 to reach what should be (on paper at least) the optimal ratio for all around use. A stock A50 Royal Star uses an 18 tooth at the gearbox and a 47 tooth sprocket at the rear wheel. As far as I know, the twin-carb "Wasp/Cyclone" that was sold on the US West Coast had a 17 tooth gearbox sprocket, which must have made that thing wheelie and shoot up hills like a modern-day 2 stroke. But back to the Rising Star: when this bike was first built I had initially fitted a 50 tooth sprocket and later switched to a standard 47, which made a noticeable difference. Reaching the ideal ratio is something I've had in my mind as one of the few essential tasks to get done in order to get more out of this bike. Not just more speed, you have to understand this is about expanding the range where this machine can be both useful and enjoyable. My only concern going into this is about whether or not the bike will be able to "pull" the larger sprocket when tackling the climbs we often face when touring in the mountains. I can live with downshifting, going slower and even taking a break if needed; I feel it would be worth it to gain a more usable cruising speed in fourth gear.

Replacing the sprocket requires removing the primary cover first of all. It is secured with 12 Phillips-head screws (but before I get to those I also have to remove the footrest and drop the rear brake pedal out of the way). 

I noticed the heads were all pretty badly chewed up, which surprised me. Then I remembered that years ago we had meant to replace them but none were available in time for the riding season and so we just put them back thinking "at some point we'll have to take care of that"; well, those chickens definitely came home to roost as two screws in particular (obviously the hardest ones to get at) were so stripped out I couldn't get the screwdriver to engage. I was eventually able to free one by using some duct tape over the impact driver bit and it gave it just enough purchase to crack it loose. No such luck for the other one, so I had to resort to a damaged screw remover, courtesy of Andrea (whom I met through Lele at the Old Irons rally last year).

This thing takes some finessing and some careful hands but it works a treat. I was very relieved when I felt it bite and begin to turn the screw out.

I could have used the drain screw to let most of the oil out, but decided not to disturb this and just catch any oil that might still have been in there when I removed the cover. Under no circumstances should you pry it apart with a screwdriver or anything like that.

Surprisingly, there was oil in the primary, and it was in good condition as well as the correct quantity, more or less.

I made a cardboard holder for the screws as there are different lengths, which I can use as a reference for the new set of replacement screws that I got in the meantime. 

Look at this thing, the level of detail and craftsmanship is exquisite.

The new screws have an Allen head, not original spec but very nice.

One thing I did was to clean out each corresponding hole in the crankcase to make sure there was no Loctite or sealant residue in there. For those who don't think this is needed, take a look at the next photo to see just how much gunk I got out of there:

This all gets packed into the blind holes in the crankcase and if there is enough of it, when you tighten the primary cover screws it can compress to the point where it will crack the crankcase. You have been warned...

The primary cover itself came off easily enough after a few gentle taps with a nylon mallet to break the seal, and I can now get at the alternator, clutch and primary drive. 

Wonderfully compact, the BSA unit motor had plenty going for itself; too bad it didn't last into the 80s or early 90s, it could have evolved into something very special.

Before touching anything else, I checked the triplex chain for tension and found it in perfect condition; this thing is very strong indeed and definitely overengineered for the sort of horsepower and torque it has to handle here. At this point I can slacken the primary chain tensioner all the way. The threaded bolt that protrudes underneath the primary cover is protected by a sleeve nut, which you will rarely find on a BSA A50/A65 these days. Replacements are available but a lot of people seem to be unaware that this part even exists.

We're now looking at the clutch, which is the next component that has to be disassembled. The three spring nuts come off and you can then pull out the springs and their cups, then lift the pressure plate off. I'm not disturbing the clutch pushrod adjuster at this stage, we'll get to that later.

Now it's time to remove all the clutch plates, and once we have emptied the basket we can install a clutch locking tool: 

If you have some discarded clutch plates lying around you could also very easily make your version of this tool by drilling through a couple of plates (steel and friction) and bolting them together:

For the love of God do not forget this inside your clutch when you put it all back together or you will have a bad surprise when you start the engine and your day/garage is going to be ruined. To help avoid that costly fuck-up, it might be a good idea to paint this red so it's easier to see.

Moving on to the front of the engine, the stator is held on with three self-locking nuts; once undone, the stator can be pulled off and gently rested hanging from its wiring. Then, once the tensioning slipper is backed all the way off and removed, we can proceed with undoing the retaining nuts at the end of the crankshaft (a 9/16 goddamn Withworth)

and gearbox mainshaft (a 1/2 goddamn Withworth) (the latter holds the clutch center or hub in place on the mainshaft spline). Both have a normal right-hand thread. I'm using the same nylon block that I used on the Sportster to lock the primary as I then use a long cheater bar for the clutch center nut, and a regular well-fitting wrench to break the rotor nut free; no need for the impact wrench here. Have an extravaganza of pullers at the ready, if you're lucky you won't need them all, but luck favors the prepared...

You'll need one to remove the rotor from the crankshaft, one to remove the clutch hub from the mainshaft and finally one to remove the sprocket from the crankshaft. As there isn't a specified service tool for the crankshaft sprocket, it is up to you to find a couple of very long bolts with the right thread and make your own puller: good luck out there.

This is a beefy, sturdy tool, you shouldn't skimp on this type of thing: just because you can find a €5 piece of chinese crap online, doesn't mean you should get it.

I found this amusing bit of advice that came with the hub puller: "when using this tool, please have some mechanical sympathy, and take up the load on the puller, then give the hub a sharp whack to release it from the shaft. Simply winding up the tool and hoping for the best will likely strip the threads on some that have been fitted for years. Apply common sense liberally..." Alright fella, don't fret.

The clutch hub is held to the clutch chainwheel by means of a "clutch sleeve" which is really just a dummy spline that presses into the spider of the clutch hub's shock absorber. See 34 & 37:

In my case, seeing as I only needed to get at the sprocket, it can be removed as an assembly and set aside. The only thing I'll do later on will be to give the inside of the basket a good clean. Taking all of this apart would have been hazardous without a press, and time-consuming to put back together: there are 20 rollers that the clutch basket rides on (which you can see in the tiny drawing below around the aforementioned clutch sleeve), these are just loose rollers and can be a bit fiddly to replace; you can use a little bit of grease to help keep them in place but don't overdo it (the last thing you want is grease fouling up your clutch).

Then there are three bolts with special hammer heads that must be correctly located when refitting the clutch hub, or else the whole assembly just won't work. You do this by fitting them one at a time to the clutch center (which also has the rubber shock absorber inside) and then fitting the spring and nut from the other side: this keeps the bolts in place while you refit the clutch center onto the clutch sleeve, and the hammer heads will be positioned correctly then.

As I mentioned before, I had to MacGyver a puller for the crankshaft sprocket but luckily I was able to free it with relative ease. I am not going to disturb the Woodruff keys at this time, but it's always something to pay attention to.

It should go without saying that you're removing the crankshaft sprocket, the clutch basket and the triplex chain together. As you do this, be mindful of those rollers I mentioned earlier, as there is a remote possibility they could fall off.

With the entire primary drive removed I can now take off the backplate, which gives access to the gearbox sprocket. Six screws with the shallowest slot took a real effort in care and concentration to remove without damaging them. 

The backplate itself will typically be rather stuck on, and you must resist temptation to pry against it to get it to budge. Once again, a few gentle taps with a plastic hammer are usually all it takes to break the seal. Speaking of seals, check the oil seal at the center of the backplate as this is a crucial item that should be replaced if perished. In my case it still looks in perfect shape and there are no leaks at the back, so I'm leaving it well-enough alone. 

We now have access to the sprocket itself. I left the final drive chain on in order to undo the nut, which has a normal right-hand thread, using what I can only describe as chopper acrobatics: the front wheel locked in the lift vice and with a chock, my left foot bearing down hard on the brake pedal, my right hand pressing firmly on the huge box wrench and my left hand heaving down on a long tommy bar to get that sucker to budge.

I then removed the chain just before lifting the sprocket out (guess what, this is also a good opportunity to clean and re-lube your chain, do it!).

 A quick visual inspection of the gearbox outer case and the mainshaft oil seal reveals that all is in good order and nothing needs replacing. The new sprocket went on easily. There is a safety tab washer for the retaining nut that really ought to be replaced anytime you're in here (same goes for the retaining tab on the crankshaft nut as we'll see later on), you can surely see why:

Here's the new sprocket and new safety washer installed:

As soon as the sprocket is on, the final drive chain goes back on as well, I was just able to reuse the one I had by moving the wheel axle all the way forward in the hardtail's adjusting slots; then the new safety washer and the nut. There is no torque setting specified in the original workshop manual for this particular nut, and because of the protruding mainshaft as well as the size of the nut and location, it is really difficult to use a torque wrench here (you'd have to weld an adapter to a long pipe wrench, etc.). I estimate a reasonable torque setting could be around 60lbs/ft. In my case, I used a properly fitting box wrench to undo and re-tighten.

I also spent a little extra time making sure the chain and sprockets all line up properly, and it all looks true and straight. I'll keep an eye on the chain but hopefully it won't give any trouble at all.

After that, it's a reverse of what we dismantled (paying particular attention to the hammerhead bolts and the clutch rollers if you do take them apart) until the primary cover is ready to go back on. One thing that you cannot skip at this stage is inspecting and cleaning the clutch basket, the clutch center and each plate individually. Each slot is checked for burrs, and cleaned. Each steel plate is checked for warp (thankfully all of mine were fine) and any signs of unusual wear. Each friction plate is cleaned and checked for nicks or breaks in the friction material itself. The workshop manual doesn't specify that they should be soaked in oil before assembly, but this has never been a noisy clutch, so I'm leaving it well-enough alone.

Incidentally, I found that we had previously adjusted the spring nuts to where the ends of the bolts were well below the nut opening, which I found strange; the clutch does have a rather heavy feel at the lever though (even the new, improved item) so this could be at least part of the reason for that. I'm going to try a more standard setting as per the workshop manual and then take it from there. That means adjusting the nuts so that the end of the bolt comes flush with the nut opening. Of course you still then need to adjust each one individually to make sure the domed pressure plate lifts off square from the clutch stack, but that should be a good starting point, and I can replace the springs if needed.

I had grand plans to splash out on a big upgrade for the clutch by fitting some special parts that SRM make, but figured this really wasn't needed and would have been an unwise expenditure on a bike I use so seldom (not to mention I already spent plenty on all the other spares and jobs). That said, I do have a simpler upgrade that I bought over a decade ago, when I gathered all the parts needed to build the Rising Star, but never fitted. At the time, the guy who rebuilt my engine thought, as did I to be fair, that it was better to rebuild everything to stock specification, "see how it runs" and think about messing around if needed, also depending on actual use.

Specifically, this is a modified pushrod, supposedly made of harder steel than the standard item, and segmented to include a ball bearing:

The idea behind this is that the ball bearing allows the clutch adjuster at the center of the pressure plate  to rotate independently of the pushrod, which should eliminate mushrooming of the pushrod, drag, flexing, sticking and all manner of undesirable symptoms. Because it uses a special adjuster bolt that goes into the mainshaft (as opposed to the standard item, which meets the pushrod outside of the mainshaft), this modification should provide for a more "square" lift of the pressure plate. Please hold your skepticism until I've actually tried it.

The "Performance clutch rod!"... Ah, I'm not taking this too seriously to be honest, but it does tickle me so.

These seem to have disappeared from the market, it was one guy making these in his garage and it looks like that's no longer the case, meaning this is now an ultra-rare, new old stock custom item to make certain friends lose their minds. Also in terms of upgrade this is more in line with the Rising Star: yes it's an upgrade but it's not high-tech, it's a custom-made, simple but (hopefully) effective detail that will make the bike better to ride.

It makes sense to do it now that the primary cover is off: I can be as precise as possible with regard to the adjustment, and lock it in place with ease. You could install this through the small inspection hole in the primary cover as well, but room is far more limited in that case. There is also another small but important detail to consider: the clutch rod rides inside the gearbox mainshaft (much as it does on the Norton) but whereas on the Norton the mainshaft is just a hollow shaft, on the BSA there is a bush that's pressed into the starboard end of the mainshaft to support and guide the clutch rod:

This bush is not visible or accessible without dismantling the entire timing side of the engine, so if it becomes dislodged or damaged you are in trouble.
All it took was a bit of "fiddling around" to get it to fit and work properly; and maddening as it is, "fiddling around" is what it takes to work on British machines. 

One quick shot of the rotor retaining nut at the end of the crankshaft, and the safety tab washer:

That notch in the tab washer is supposed to locate in the Woodruff keyway in the rotor (below) but it comes nowhere near it and is more of a suggestion.

I have to say there appears to be no quality control whatsoever in these parts, the new one was even worse than the one I found. I punched it out a little more but it's be no means ideal.

It also makes sense to check the triplex primary chain tension while the cover is off. As for the Sportster, best to check tension in a few spots. Just like the Sportster, this BSA has an endless chain but you may find that earlier models were fitted with a regular chain with a master link, in which case pay attention to the direction of the retaining clip when refitting this to the bike.

Rather than using the typical silicone sealant I normally go for, I've started using this gasket cement called Ermetico Vittoria. It takes itself so very seriously that it proclaims to be "a triumphant affirmation of Italian industry". Jeez...

I gotta say... this thing really works a treat.

Everything else that needed to go back on the bike found its way back and there were no bits left over, which is ever so reassuring.

Now, please remain on the edge of your seat until I can test ride this new ratio and see if it's an improvement over the 18-tooth sprocket. In practical terms that will happen if and when I can go ride to the mountains, either to the Old Irons rally or some other destination, but basically it's only then that I'll know how this really affects the bike.