I have decided to kill Bultakenstein. Finding the old mockup image that prompted my most recent post also prompted a lengthy discussion with my wife. She said, “you don’t seem to be having fun with it. If you don’t want to finish it, don’t feel as though you need to see it through out of obligation.” Wise woman.
The Bride of Frankenstein, that was 100% fun. It was a silly lark that came together fairly quickly, and I enjoyed every minute of it. In contrast, the The Bultaco has always been A Most Serious Thing. It was supposed to be my magnum opus, my moto-destiny. By definition, success could mean nothing less than a bike scintillating to ride, stunningly engineered, and as beautifully finished as a museum exhibit.
Screw that. The only reason to keep going was so that a long-gone, 29-year-old version of myself could say I own a badass Bultaco, and 62-year-old-me didn’t have to write off the project’s significant sunk cost. Those motivations are well past their use-by date. I no longer want a loud, raucous two-stroke. Once it’s built, I wouldn’t want the hassles of tuning and licensing. Due to my arthritic riding it.
At this stage of life, that 29-year-old no longer gets to dictate my choices.
I have a potential buyer for the beautiful engine Ralph built for me. I’ll figure out how to decommission/repurpose the rest of the chassis as I go.
In the meantime, I’m going to think about what sort of build I might actually enjoy. With my right wrist so jacked up, I’m probably going to stick with clutchless designs that permit a left-hand throttle, such as scooter engines, go-kart torque converters, or Honda Cub-style semi-autos.