The Return of a Chief

By Dave Tharp, and re-printed for imb.com, with his permission

Although I had been involved with motorcycles for more than 15 years, I had never had much contact with classics or with their riders, especially of the made-in-America extraction. In fact, my mental image of these machines was of overweight, cobbled-together dinosaurs with engines more suited to shake paint than to propel motor vehicles. My introduction occurred when a fellow euro-bike enthusiast who also owned a pair of Indian Chiefs became a close associate.

The graceful lines of these massive skirted-fender machines defied my mental image and completely fascinated me. I began looking for one. It's not difficult to obtain a skirted-fender Chief (1945- 1953) if you have the money. Merely attend a classics auction, cough up about fifteen thousand, and ride it home. Most of us are not fortunate enough to have a wad this size, and loan companies generally smirk at the thought of financing such a purchase.

On the other hand, classic cycle buffs and collectors tend to jealously guard information about where machines can be had for a reasonable price in reasonable condition. It's understandable because they want them too. It's hard to even know where to look for one. And the likelihood of a "barn find" is extremely small.

So, I sent out what feelers I could, asking friends and acquaintances, and generally letting it be known that I was looking. In the meantime, I studied the problem. Lots of good references exist on the topic of Indians, including The Indian Motorcycle Buyer's Guide by Jerry Hatfield and Iron Redskin by Harry V. Sucher. I also sought out owners of the machines and pestered them with a lot of questions about what was good, bad, and indifferent about various models, parts, and conditions. My friend who owned the two Chiefs managed to find a third one during this period, much to my dismay. He picked up a pretty good '48 that he uncovered in a barn, no less. One evening while bench-racing and consuming large quantities of the local brew, I talked him into selling it to me. Had I gotten out my checkbook then and there, I would have owned it. But things look different in the sober light of day, and the opportunity was lost.

After about three years with very little luck, I happened to come into a small sum due to my employer's excellent business year. It seemed that the time was ripe. I compiled a list of Indian sources, including parts suppliers, clubs, and restoration specialists, and prepared a form letter asking where a Chief could be obtained. I asked for a running machine in fair-to-poor condition in the $5000 range, feeling that this would be realistic.

When I saw the bike for the first time, I was somewhat disappointed because it was in pieces. The frame had been completely stripped and sandblasted, the bodywork was in primer, and sundry chassis pieces were in an assortment of cardboard boxes. The engine, however, was in one piece and appeared to be in excellent external condition. After examining the boxes, it looked like the machine was a complete '48 Roadmaster model, except for the windshield and saddlebag accessories.

After talking to the gentleman who owned the bike, I realized that he would have loved to put it together, but he simply didn't have the time and wherewithal to do it. The presence of two immaculate Harleys in the shed attested to his love for motorcycles.

He had kept some papers from the previous owner, and apparently the machine had been disassembled in 1975, some new parts were bought, and the bodywork had been repaired and primered in preparation for paint.

The price was a bit higher than I really wanted to pay, at $6000, and it was going to take quite a bit more time and effort to get it on the road than I had anticipated. But the effort would be rewarded with a much better motorcycle, nice and clean, with new paint. I mulled it over the next day, thinking about how I had lost my previous chance. I then went over to the bank, got a cashier's check and headed over to buy an Indian.

The owner had been answering phone calls in response to his ad continuously that day, and several were offers to buy, sight unseen. I was the first to show up with a check. We loaded the pieces into my van, and had a little ceremony at the transfer of the title, toasting with brewskis. He asked what color it would be painted, and I thought that it should be Sea Foam Blue, the prettiest of Indian factory colors, although red is much more common. He got a slightly misty look in his eyes, and told me to make sure to let him know when I completed the project so that he could see it. This I will certainly do, because he liked the machine as much as I.

A small motorcycle shop, Motorcycle Parts Center West, is close to my house, and the owner and head mechanic are both good friends of mine and fellow road racers. It was the middle of December, and things were a bit slender in the service department. They agreed to take on the Indian as a wintertime project, and allowed me to assist as I could. This proved to be a great advantage, since they had much better facilities than I have in my garage, and J. T. Terry, the mechanic, has some important skills which I lack.

J. T. recommended a local auto body shop, R. Good's Auto Works in Westminster, Colorado, as the best place for paint. The shop specializes in custom work and restorations, and after seeing some examples of their work, I was sold. I took the sheet metal parts, the frame, and the girder forks over there for an estimate. They recommended that the frame and girder be powder- coated, and then started to look at the fenders. Here I ran into my first snag.

It seems that whoever had worked on the fenders had been quite fond of bondo filler, and the lovely skirts, though nice and smooth outside, had about 1/2 inch of it in places. This is common practice on automobiles where the sheet metal is supported all around, but it would never have lasted on the fender skirts, which vibrate in unison with the thumping of the 74 inch V-twin. It would require quite a bit of shop time to straighten them out. After checking the prices of replacement fenders, the price of the shop time did not seem bad at all, however.

An excellent modern polyurethane paint was selected, actually a Mercedes color, that was a perfect match for Indian Sea Foam Blue. The original was DuPont DuLux lacquer, which was really good in 1948, but modern stuff is light-years better. The same goes for powder-coat on the frame over any kind of paint. The powder-coat finish is smooth and shiny over irregular surfaces and bonds to the metal with incredible strength. When hit with a pointed object, powder-coat will dent, but will not chip.

The estimate totaled $1300, a lot of money, but I would be rewarded with a show-quality finish, actually better than the factory, and with original sheet metal with undetectable repairs.

While the body and frame were being restored, we decided to look inside the engine. As soon as the heads were off, it was obvious that things were not well in the propulsion department. The cylinders were badly scored, and the accumulation of carbon on the piston and in the valve chambers was spectacular, like visiting the Grand Canyon. On further disassembly, the piston skirt clearance was found to be in the vicinity of .030" (the service limit is .006"). No one around the shop had ever seen an engine this clapped-out.

As the cases and gearbox were taken apart, things looked more and more grim. The old varnish-like gasket cement had turned into a yellow powdery substance. Valves and guides were worn out, rod bearings were bad on both ends, and the cluster and slider gears both showed signs of impending tooth loss. There were many good things, though. The oil pump, timing gears and distributor were in excellent condition, and "Raybestos" was still readable on the clutch plates. The cylinder head fins, notoriously fragile on Indians, were especially good. When buying a disassembled bike, it's easy to loose sight of the fact that it was probably taken apart for a reason. The most likely reason is that the engine is in a sad state. The external appearance has very little to do with what might be happening inside.

A long list of parts was prepared, and were subsequently ordered with the aid of Jeff Schuller, owner of Motorcycle Parts Center. Pistons were ordered .050" oversized with pins, rings, and clips. New valves, valve guides, and springs were ordered, along with essentially all of the gearbox internals. Some of the parts are very reasonably priced. The piston kits were $85 for the pair and the gigantic 2" diameter valves were $20 each. The price of the transmission cluster gear (newly manufactured) was $175, the single most expensive part purchased during the project.

By now, it was apparent that the project had become a full- blown restoration to showroom condition, rather than the putting together of a good-looking runner. After all, the engine was going have to be completely overhauled anyway, and the paint, bodywork, and frame were all going to be as new. This was not my original intent, but I became resigned to the fact.

The Christmas holidays caused some delay in both the bodywork and parts-ordering efforts, and the powder-coating of the frame and girder was finished first. I brought them over to the shop, we set it on one of the lifts, and started looking through the boxes of chassis parts. It was a full restoration now, so I separated out the parts that needed to be re-chromed to match the level of finish on the rest of the bike.

Chrome platers have a unique method of calculating the charges. Somehow they know how much a new replacement part would cost, and they simply charge a little bit less than a new one. A wheel rim, for instance costs about $65 new, and the charge for re-plating an original one was $50. In addition to the wheel rims and spokes, I re-chromed the handlebars, crash bars, horn cover, rear grab bar, and various other small parts. The bill for chrome came to about $540. The finish on the Indian-head front running light was magnificent, and I kept it on my desk at work for about a week just so I could periodically look at it.

Meanwhile, J. T. had set about the task of cleaning and repainting chassis parts and setting up the electrics. The old Auto-Lite three-brush generator needed bearings and brushes, but the armature and field looked just fine. Brushes were ordered, and modern sealed replacement bearings were easily bought from the local auto parts store. The regulator was pretty good, and the relay contacts were burnished and adjusted. It turned out that the new parts that had been bought in 1975 included a new ignition switch and a new main wiring harness, simplifying the electrical task enormously. Looking in the catalog, I found that a new ignition switch cost $125. In 1975 it was $12.95, according to the receipts.

The first shipment of new parts was received toward the end of January, and J. T. immediately started honing out the cylinders and looking at the piston fit. He soon discovered that they were so worn that the .050" oversize would not eliminate the scoring. The .050" pistons were returned in the mail, and .060" pistons, the maximum oversize, were ordered. We had another long list of parts to order by then, anyway.

After spending quite a bit of time with the parts books, and reading about other restorer's misadventures, I began to appreciate the completeness of my do-it-yourself Indian kit. Seemingly minor parts are the most difficult and expensive to obtain, and can bring a restoration project right to its knees. Things like lights, instruments, switches, seat attachments, and electrics were all there, if a little worn. Had some of these items been missing, the time and cost of the project would have gotten out of hand.

By now, R. Good's had finished the paintwork, and it was terrific. Finish smoothness can be easily evaluated by examining the reflection of a florescent light tube, which I did, and I cannot imagine how they could have achieved a better one.

An interesting characteristic of Indian Chiefs is that no two rear fenders are alike. Frames were manufactured by oven- brazing, and the rear fender mounting points drifted around during the process. Mounting holes were drilled in the fenders to match the frame on the assembly line. Not knowing this, we did not check the fit of the rear fender before painting, but it turned out that it was indeed the original one, and fit very well. I transported the bodywork over to the shop, and it was so pretty that J. T. and I could not resist the urge to immediately start attaching it to the frame. Within a day or two, most of it was on, and for the first time, the machine began to look like a '48 Indian Chief Roadmaster instead of a grimy collection of motorcycle parts.

The second big shipment of parts arrived around the end of February, including the .060" oversize pistons. It was very disappointing to see that 3.25" standard bore pistons had been incorrectly shipped. Once again, pistons were ordered.

J. T. had assembled the transmission with only one major incident. When seating the new output shaft bearing, the seating area had broken off inside the case. A very clever welder friend of J. T.'s repaired the problem by welding a bead to the aluminum case, overlapping and supporting the outer bearing race, without welding in the bearing (we used the old bearing for this purpose, of course). It was pure magic to me. After re-installing the new bearing, the gearbox was fine, and the repair was invisible and stronger than the original.

Progress continued on the chassis. Lights, fender trim, and the girder were installed on the frame and the re-chromed parts became available. As J. T. laced the wheels, he found that one spoke was missing, although all 80 spoke nipples were present. I had counted the spokes twice before I left the plater's, and once when I delivered them to the shop. It had to be in the shop somewhere. All hands pitched in, and a search commenced which lasted about an hour. The spoke had somehow found its way into a 1/4" diameter hole drilled in the workbench. It had gone in threaded end first, and was dangling by its head under the bench. Spokes are sneaky. They have to be watched every second.

It was now March, and the real .060" pistons had arrived. I transported them and the cylinders to Ron Hough's machine shop in Broomfield, where the best motorcycle machine work in the area is done. The crankshaft, rods, and bearings were taken to Rocky Mountain Harley-Davidson, where a wizard-like gentleman called "Knucklehead Gary" trues crankshafts to within .001". This is another magical process, as the assembly weighs no less than forty pounds.

Unfortunately, a week later, Ron called in from Broomfield, and the .060" overbore had still not completely cleaned up the ring ridges around the tops of the cylinders. Cylinders in good condition simply cannot be obtained, so the only solution was to sleeve the originals, if sleeves could be had. Rummaging through the parts catalogs, it was discovered that several Indian parts dealers could supply them. They were immediately ordered. The only piece of luck in this endeavor occurred when we discovered that we had forgotten to return the standard sized pistons, and that they would fit the sleeved cylinders perfectly.

When we received the sleeves two weeks later, we found that they were stamped "L.A. Sleeve", a manufacturer of sleeves for more modern machines. Consulting the L. A. Sleeve / Wiseco Piston catalog, we discovered that we could have ordered the sleeves directly from the manufacturer by application for 74 inch Chiefs. The L.A. Sleeve parts are of top quality, and are of better material than the original cylinders.

The sleeves were furnished with the original 3 1/4" bore, and a wall thickness of 1/16". They are installed by boring the cylinders for a .002" interference fit, heating the cylinders in an oven to 750 degrees F, and sliding them in. A high precision bore job is extremely important, because the sleeves will move around when the engine is hot if the fit is too loose, and may crack if the fit is too tight. The insides of the sleeves are then bored to fit the pistons, and the tops are surfaced to be flush with the cylinder decks. The sleeve protrudes from the bottom of the cylinder and takes the place of the cast-in flange that locates the cylinder on the case. Cut-outs must be machined in this flange area for rod clearance.

March went out like a lamb, and the project languished through April waiting for the cylinders and the bottom end assembly. No matter how much time one thinks these things might take, they will probably take longer (and cost more). Worse yet (for the Indian project anyway), business began to pick up at Motorcycle Parts Center because of the lovely springtime weather, and the onset of racing season.

With the addition of a pair of 5.00 x 16 Coker Commander tires, the chassis was now fully assembled and rolling, waiting only for the completion of the engine work. The bike became a bit of an attraction at Motorcycle Parts Center. Almost everyone who spotted it in the service bay had to wander in an have a look. Word spread, and people began stopping by just to see it and check on its progress.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much progress. Springtime repair work clobbered Knucklehead Gary, and Ron at the machine shop had managed to break his foot, which did not stop him but slowed him down considerably.

The crankshaft assembly was delivered during the first week in May, and it was a beauty. I had taken a week's vacation at the time, and J. T. began assembling the bottom end of the engine. To set the correct crankshaft end play (.015 to .030 inches), he devised the clever method of putting the cases together with zero end play and a .020" spacer, disassembling them and removing the spacer, then reassembling.

Indians are notorious oil leakers, and part of the reason is that gaskets were not used in places where they probably should have been. J. T. had vowed that this Indian would not leak, so we manufactured gaskets for the gearbox cover and for the joints between the primary case, engine, and gearbox. The gasket furnished with the set for the late-model aluminum oil-pump housing fit very poorly, so a better one was fabricated. Top- quality Permatex silicone gasket sealer was used throughout.

Oil circulation was checked by connecting hoses and a funnel to the oil pump fittings, pouring oil in the funnel, and turning the engine over with a ratchet on the primary sprocket nut. After quite a bit of cranking, oil began merrily slopping around in the crankcase, and the scavenge pump dutifully picked it up and spit it out. This procedure was very messy, but I recommend it, just to make sure. It also gets some lubrication into the engine for the initial startup.

The second week in June, the bottom end of the engine was ready to go into the frame. No picture could be found of the engine mounts, but they were labeled with part numbers, and the parts book said "Engine Mount - Right" and "Engine Mount - Left". I installed them, and we set the bottom end into the frame. Unfortunately, the rear engine mount did not line up, and the engine seemed a bit cockeyed in the frame. It was then pointed out to me that when parts are labeled "Left" and "Right", it refers to the rider's viewpoint. Well, it wasn't too hard to straighten out.

J. T. examined all the clutch parts, and they were fine, except for the throw-out plate, which was cracked. He welded it up and installed the clutch, which is completely conventional. We were now able to install quite a few pieces, including the primary cover, the drive chain, the generator pulley, belt, and cover, and a new drive chain. It amazes me that a nice, new Japanese drive chain will fit perfectly on a 44-year-old American motorcycle.

Toward the end of June, the cylinders were fitted with new valves, springs, and guides. J. T.'s father unearthed a very nice antique valve-seat grinder that had the correct sizes of mandrels and grindstones. It's unusual to find anything around a motorcycle shop that can handle these huge valves.

Assembling the top end is a bit of a puzzle. In order to clear the frame, the pistons must first be inserted into the cylinders. The barrels are then held over the appropriate opening with the pistons halfway extended from the bottom while the wrist pins and retaining clips are installed. And don't forget that the "T" shaped oil slits in the pistons must go toward the front of the engine. While the second barrel is being installed, the intake manifold should be loosely attached to the intakes because it's very difficult to install otherwise. We managed to get the manifold in upside down and backwards the first time, pointing the carburetor out to the right like a Harley.

The heads are slid in from the right side, and some of the bolts and the top engine stay must be positioned on them beforehand. They won't clear the frame with the head in place. They can just barely be torqued with the tanks removed. The top engine stay attaches to two center head bolts that are shorter than the rest. To avoid stressing the frame lugs, it should be first attached to the engine and then shimmed up to the frame. It's not there to hold the engine up.

The machine was now just about ready, and a maximum effort was made to get it going before the end of June. On the evening of the 24th, the carburetor, distributor, ignition wiring, and oil lines were hooked up, and the first attempt made to start the engine. Perhaps we expected too much. The carburetor, a 1 1/4 inch Linkert, immediately leaked from the bottom of the float bowl, and after tightening the big nut, began to leak from the top air vent. We fooled around with the float level for a while, and then started jumping on the kickstarter. After kicking ourselves to exhaustion, we figured out that the sparkplug wires were reversed. If there are two ways to hook something up, rest assured that the wrong way will be initially selected. After resting for about an hour, we began leaping on the lever again, and were rewarded with a variety of bangs, pops and thumps. As we fiddled with the distributor, it fired once, twice, three times. I finally gave my mightiest kick, and the engine coughed and backfired to life!

Well, it wasn't great, but it ran. We went on to discover air leaks at the joints between the manifold and the intakes, and to discover an electrically leaky rotor by shocking ourselves on the distributor housing.

By Saturday, everything was ready for a shakedown cruise except for the charging system, as the little red indicator light steadfastly refused to go out. The day was spent with multimeter in hand, tracing the circuits. Everything checked good, so I finally removed the end plate from the generator to look at the new brushes. It has three of them, two on opposite sides of the commutator, and a movable one in between. After delving into my engineer's memories of rotating machines and electro-mechanics, I finally found the problem by reading the service manual. "The field coil wires are attached to the movable brush and to the terminal marked 'F' under the regulator." Sure enough, the output wire was attached to the movable brush, and the field was attached to the output brush. I reassembled the generator and hooked everything back up with the highest of hopes. The engine started fairly easily, but still no charge. Since the battery had a full charge, I resolved to take a test ride anyway. I backed the bike out into the parking lot, pushed in the clutch and jammed it into first with a resounding "GRRRIND" sound. I revved the engine, fooled with the advance, slowly let out the foot clutch, and lurched into motion. I took a few laps around the building, starting and stopping each time just to see if it could really be done, but I kept it in first gear with the advance set right in the middle. After gaining a little confidence, it was time to ride a few blocks around the neighborhood. I only stalled it twice, once starting out from a stop sign, and once by pressing the wrong end of the clutch pedal while attempting to engage first. Not bad for a first outing. And only 30 minutes spent in restarting to do 10 minutes of riding!

It was the end of the day, so I decided to ride the bike home, leaving my ordinary machine at the shop for the rest of the weekend. By the time I rode the 10 minutes to my house, I felt like a seasoned veteran, and had actually managed to shift gears a couple of times.

So, I charged up the battery for an hour, and prepared to ride it around a little that evening. I decided to ride the bike down to my favorite watering hole, where I had first received news of the machine, and show it off to a few fellow riders. On the way, I glanced down at the instrument cluster, and noted with alarm that the little red light was extinguished. If the charging system wasn't working, that would indicate that the battery was dead. But if the battery was dead, why was the bike still running?

It dawned on me that somehow the generator had started working. At the next stop sign, the engine idled down, and the light came on! As I throttled up, the light went out again! Evidently, it took a while before the brushes became seated on the commutator, and the dynamo took up its job of converting mechanical energy to electrical energy.

After showing the bike off and having a quick refreshment, it was time to return home. I jauntily flipped on the petcocks, clicked the switch and commenced to kick. Half an hour and countless kicks later, the engine burbled to life in a huge cloud of smoke that drifted through an open door and choked the other patrons. It momentarily cleared up, so I simply rode off into the sunset.

The next morning, I decided to take it out for a spin again, and headed for the garage. Normal procedure is to kick the engine through a couple of times with the choke on, before turning on the ignition switch. It kicked over very hard, made an abnormal "BLOOP-BLOOP" sound, and pooped out a blob of SAE 60 on the garage floor. The check valve in the oil pump had failed to close, and had allowed the oil tank to drain its entire contents into the crankcase, a condition known as "wet-sumping". The only short-term fix is to drain the crankcase and pour the oil back into the tank. This I did, and started up the bike. I headed out for an hour's ride to put a few break-in miles on the machine, and ran out of gasoline after about five minutes. I forgot to check. After about 30 seconds, a couple on a Harley stopped to admire the machine, and were more than happy to fetch some fuel for me. No sooner had they left than other riders began stopping to check on me, and they stayed until the gas arrived and I kicked the beast to life. A Chief is perhaps the greatest attention-getter of all motorcycles.

The rest of my little ride was quite uneventful, except for the excitement and pleasure of riding this beautiful relic. It's certainly not a match for anything modern, but it's perfectly rideable, even for long distances. And after tightening everything down a few times, parts don't seem to fall off any more.

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