DC's Zero Mile marker is a real zero

Is Ground Zero for U.S. highways really this stone in Washington, D.C.?

 Like most motorcyclists, historic highways interest me. If there's a hiking trail somewhere on an abandoned highway, I'm ready to walk. 

I'd love to ride Old Highway 66 someday, but it's a long way from my Royal Enfield. 

So, as a tourist recently in Washington, D.C., I was interested to come on a little block of stone in the middle of a sidewalk near the White House. 

It proudly proclaims itself the "Point for the measurement of distances from Washington on highways of the United States." 

Wow! That's cool, I thought. 

According to the National Park Service website:

"This four-foot-high shaft of pink granite stands on the north and south meridian of the District of Columbia. It is symbolically the official starting point for measurement of highway distances from Washington, DC.

"On July 7, 1919, the first transcontinental military motor convoy (to) San Francisco, California, started from this spot. On June 5, 1920, Congress authorized the erection of a permanent monument here."

That sounds pretty important.

But I wondered why I had never heard of the monument.

After all, it's right in front of the south view of the White House! You can't miss it, if you want to stand at the best place for a picture of yourself with the White House in the background.

It even turns out that the Second Transcontinental Motor Convoy also started from this point, on June 14, 1920. (The first is the more famous of the two convoys, because a young officer named Dwight Eisenhower joined that expedition.)

In fact, the little stone had been dedicated on June 4,, 1923 by the president, Warren G. Harding. According to Richard F. Weingroff, of the Federal Highway Administration, Harding spoke of its importance:

"It marks the approximate meeting place of the Lincoln Highway and the Lee Highway; of the northern and southern systems of national roads. From it we may view the memorial to Lincoln and the home of Lee.* It marks the meeting point of those sections which once grappled in conflict, but now are happily united for all time in the bonds of national fraternity, of a single patriotism, and of a common destiny."

High hopes, if a little too much to expect from a rock the size of a drinking fountain.

The hopes might persist; but the whole "Zero" thing didn't work out.

Despite its claims, the Zero Point is pretty much a complete zero. Which explains why few people who bump into it have heard of it before.

WAMU 88.5, American University Radio, tells what actually happened, quoting Doug Hecox, a self-proclaimed history nerd and spokesperson for the Federal Highway Administration.

Basically, it suddenly seemed like a good time for everybody to get into the act. Marking highway mileage in the United States is a state function, not the job of federal authorities.

About a month after the dedication, Tennessee decided to launch its own zero milestone. Then so did several other states. Virginia established a zero milestone in Capital Square in Richmond in 1929.

"So the entire premise between the Zero Milestone and its intention absolutely fizzled," Hecox said.

Weingroff, of the Federal Highway Administration, concludes:

"And so it stands. The Zero Milestone in Washington never became the American equivalent of Rome's Golden Milestone. Today, it remains in place, baffling tourists and serving mainly as a resting place for their belongings while they take photographs of each other standing in front of the White House. It is forgotten for the most part. Periodically, it is threatened with removal by the National Park Service as it considers options for revitalizing the Ellipse. But for historians, the Zero Milestone marks the place where 'a new era' began."

*At the time of the dedication, the former Custis-Lee mansion at Arlington Cemetery might have been visible over the treeline, at least to President Harding, who would have had an elevated view when he was inside the White House.

Royal Enfield and the Secret of Magura

Magura twist grip and its "perch" have a secret.

 The members of The Unofficial Royal Enfield Community Forum diagnosed my problem almost instantly. They were so on the mark that they even caught me in a small lie. 

I asked what could have made the motor of my 1999 Royal Enfield Bullet run away, its rpm surging as I sat innocently at a stop light. 

"Are you absolutely sure you didn't touch anything? You didn't blip the throttle? Your hands were definitely off the bike? If so, then suddenly deciding to rev its nuts off entirely of its own volition is beyond weird," wrote forum member Steve Thackery. 

"If you did touch something, that would be very useful information for the diagnosis." 

Right on the money. I wasn't innocent. Sitting at the light I had felt the Bullet was idling a bit fast. I experimentally gave a tug on the throttle cable on its run from the twist grip to the nacelle. The Bullet immediately begun roaring.

I hadn't wanted to admit this clumsy move.

Forum members correctly suggested I check the twist grip. I did and, to my horror, found the throttle outer cable out of its socket on the outside of the twist grip assembly and the inner cable unwound and curled outside its housing.

I posted a photo of this on the forum. Members suggested buying a new cable and new controls.

This could be a problem for my Bullet, built in early 1999.

The handlebar controls on Royal Enfield Bullets manufactured 1988 to mid-1999 were made by Magura, a German company; Royal Enfield switched to made-in-India Minda controls for the Bullet in June, 1999. The old Magura gear has now been unavailable for many years.

Luckily, Hitchcocks Motorcycles sells a kit to replace the Magura controls with Minda versions, which are old themselves but still available.

"Swapping over to the 'newer' Minda hardware lets you keep ready access to current control cables, better levers and better electrics. Well worth the time and trouble," forum member AzCal Retred advised, helpfully. That is the kind of information that is really useful.

But wait: what if I could just fix my Magura twist grip? I decided to try. I already had an unused spare Magura style throttle cable.

Well, first, there didn't appear to be any way to connect my new throttle cable without removing the twist grip from the bike. (There is, but I would discover it only later. It's THE MAGURA SECRET.)

Twisting, tugging, sweating, and swearing finally got the twist grip to come off, in my hands. It was obvious now how to attach my new cable. The barrel shaped end tucks into a tight nook in the rubber grip and is held there.

But no amount of violence or dirty words would then convince the twist grip to reconnect to its "perch." The perch is the plastic module that holds the twist grip, the throttle cable, kill switch, rear brake light switch, front brake cable and lever, and rearview mirror.

My hoped for repair seemed doomed.

I finally found the answer, on the Myrons Mopeds website. (Apparently Magura throttles, of related but not identical design, were used on a variety of mopeds.)

THE SECRET: The twist grip will neatly snap onto the perch ONLY if both are OFF the handlebar! It is the handlebar itself that holds the assembly together.

If you are still with me here, you realize that I had only pulled the twist grip off; to get the perch off I would now have to disconnect the kill switch, throttle cable, front brake cable, and rear brake light switch. I could do all that, in time, in my garage.

Imagine having to do all that, and then reconnecting it all on the side of the road, just to swap in a new throttle cable. Impossible! What was Magura thinking?

Well they were thinking. And there is a way. I wouldn't even have had to remove the twist grip.

Silver throttle cable barrel is just visible if you peel back the rubber flange of the Magura twist grip.

Here is the incredible REST OF THE SECRET, again from Myrons Mopeds:

"Peel the flange of the grip there back with your thumb, and hold it there. With the other hand, place the sideways barrel end of the throttle cable into the cavity. Lay the wire over the ridge, and wrap it around the curved guide. When pulled taut it should fall into it’s groove. The throttle should pull the wire and move free."

Would you have thought of it? Just peel back the rubber grip and pull the old cable barrel out, all with the grip still in place. Then pop in the barrel of the new cable and let the carburetor spring pull the cable taught.

It works! But you had better have a needle-nose pliers in your toolkit if you ever need to do this by the side of the road.

How not to be a menace to your motorcycle

He shouldn't have rushed to complete a repair. 
(Uncredited cartoon from Motorcycle Timeline)

 My recent blog item about damaging my Royal Enfield in the process of trying to fix it reminded reader Maynard Hershon about a piece he wrote for motorcycling magazines awhile ago. There are lessons in it for every motorcycle owner. Here is what he wrote: 

In July, when Tamar and I visited Bend, Oregon, we met Doug Meyer for a chat over coffee and lunch. Doug owned and operated Dublin Kawasaki (Dublin, California) before moving to Bend to work for Muzzy’s. 

At Muzzy’s, Doug developed products for their retail line and tuned Rickey Gadson’s AMA Prostar Shootout, 500hp turbo ZX-12 drag bike. Doug is a two-decades-plus veteran and record-holder at Bonneville. 

The last year or so he’s worked in the aircraft industry but he’s still riding, still eyeballs-deep in one sort of motorsport or other. He contributes to Bikeland.org; click on this to check out (for instance) Doug’s report about riding a 240-hp nitrous-kitted, Muzzy’s ZX-14. 

Doug told us he is rebuilding a ’66 Corvette. He found a clean, matching-numbers car and decided to do a frame-up, no-compromise restoration. A Corvette is a restorer’s dream, he says, because removing the fiberglass body is easy. Making that body pristine and beautiful may not be so easy. 

Expecting to have to search far and wide, he found a guy a few hours away in Gresham, Oregon, near Portland, who would prepare and paint the body. The guy, clearly a meticulous craftsman, told Doug how to deliver the body to Gresham for initial prep.

After the prep work, Doug would pick up the body, reinstall it on the chassis and deliver the rolling result to Gresham. Thus the body guy could ensure that the pieces fit precisely, perfectly.

So far, all of Doug’s work has gone smoothly. When he has reached for a wrench, it has been right where his memory said it was. Never a swearword, never a thrown tool.

In telling Tamar and me about that process, Doug left unsaid what we all know: It doesn’t always go that way.

We talked about jobs that don’t go that way. We agreed that when it doesn’t, you should place the tool you’re holding on your bench, turn and walk out of your garage or shop.

Working on our equipment when we are not 100% present and in the proper frame of mind is not fair to our mechanical consciences, to the machines or their future owners.

Doug said he did, in the course of his work, encounter one stripped fastener; it’s a 40-year old car after all. Doug knew then that the car had never fallen into the hands of an inept mechanic – or even a capable guy working on the car when he shouldn’t have.

Doug says that on the Corvette restoration websites, that guy, the nightmare previous owner, is known as Bubba. Nearly every contributor to the several forums has a Bubba story or many Bubba stories.

Careful, meticulous Corvette owners exist, no doubt. But they’re not legion. Bubba is legion... Bubba is everywhere.

Bubba, if he can’t manage to wiggle his (inappropriate) wrench into place to remove or install a universal joint, cuts access holes in the floor of the car, then glues crude patches in place to cover the holes.

Bubba Motorbiker can’t be bothered to find the proper tool. His Leatherman is so much handier. Sadly, he can locate a hex key. With it, he over-tightens small bolts that attach plastic parts to his bike, cracking gorgeous, brutally expensive pieces that were perfect, seconds before.

Bubba buys a breathtaking bike but never adjusts the chain, checks the tire pressures or pays a shop to check the valve clearances. He doesn’t adjust his shock and isn’t sure how.  

Bubba, it seems to me, is why (in this era of sophisticated, easily maintained bikes) used bikes cost so much less than new ones. Buy a new bike; it’s surely Bubba-free. A used one? Maybe it’s been owned by our friend Bubba.

As Doug told us stories about his wonderful, painstaking body man and his own relaxed, agony-free mechanical efforts, it occurred to me that Doug Meyer is the Anti-Bubba.

But Doug isn’t the ONLY Anti-Bubba. You and I can be Anti-Bubbas too. As Clint so memorably reminded us, we have to know our limits.

I didn’t always know mine. I’m confessing; I have been a Bubba. Mea Bubba. Decades ago I worked in a Honda shop in rural Indiana. Mostly I did tune-ups on Hondas, jobs that couldn’t get me into trouble.

Once my boss asked me to replace something inside the cases of a Harley-Davidson Sprint, a sweet 250 made for Harley in Italy. I got the covers off the lovely little horizontal single and replaced a shifter return spring, if memory serves.

Reassembling the engine, I got impatient and rapped on the stubborn covers with a mallet to guide them together, to "help" them fit. Maybe I warped the covers. Maybe, God Forbid, I ruined the cases.

Whatever the result, I wish I’d never gone near that bike, never had a chance to hurt it.

Had I had the Bubba chat with Doug Meyer long ago, I’d have done just what he and I agreed to do: I’d have put the mallet down. I’d have walked away from the engine, the bench and the room. My co-workers would have congratulated me for doing it.

Most of us will inevitably suffer from the labors of permanent or occasional Bubbas. Let us resolve not to cause any suffering from our own efforts.

Let us vow on our mechanical honor that we will never ever be Bubbas, cross our clumsy hearts.

NOTE: This article is not meant to reflect on individuals, motorcycle mechanics, or shops that use the name Bubba. Originally a nickname for a brother, it has come to mean "a good old boy," and can be meant affectionately or disparagingly, or, as here, both at the same time.