Got stuck in my head to find a Kawasaki H2 750 Triple – yeah, the “Widowmaker” one. People warned me it’s wild, but the brain itch won’t stop. Started hunting late nights like a madman.
Stage One: The Hopeless Search
Jumped on every marketplace app I knew. Typed “Kawasaki H2 Triple”, “750 Triple”, “H2 widowmaker” – anything close. Found junk mostly. Dead ends. Sellers ghosting. Saw one listing miles away saying “mint condition!” Called the guy. Heard loud banging sounds in the background. Asked for a video. Thing started up sounding like marbles in a blender. Rattled its brains out. Told him thanks, hung up. Nope.
Stage Two: The Money Grind
Checked my savings. Reality kicked my teeth in. Prices for even rust buckets hurt. Decided my top dollar. Gotta hold firm or get bled dry. Found two more bikes – drove hours for both. First one? Absolute piece of garbage. Frame looked like Swiss cheese hidden under black paint. Seller swore it was “just dirt.” Left without starting the bike. Second bike ran sweet… then smoked like a train chimney after three minutes. Blue oil smoke everywhere. Guy shrugged: “Just needs rings maybe?” Walked away again. Depressing.
Stage Three: The Old Man Connection
Almost quit. Told my barber (who knows everyone) about the hunt two weeks ago. Last Tuesday, he shouts while cutting my hair: “Dude! Larry, he parks his bike next door sometimes? His uncle’s got one gathering dust!” Got Larry’s number. Called him. Old guy voice answers. Took ten minutes explaining I wasn’t selling insurance. Went out to see it Saturday morning.
There it was. Parked under a tarp behind Larry’s uncle’s toolshed. Gary, his name was. Gary dug out the keys. Bike looked crusty but complete. Not shiny, not trash. Gary said: “Kicked it over two summers back. Ran rough, then quit.” Paid cash right there. Less than half my budget! Gary looked tired and cranky; think he just wanted it gone. Loaded it on my trailer feeling like I robbed someone.
Home & First Steps
Unloaded it. Didn’t even try starting it yet. Smart move learned from mistakes. Here’s what I did first:
- Drained the tank: Smelled like sour old paint thinner. Brown goop came out. Nasty.
- Pulled spark plugs: Fouled black as charcoal. Bad sign, but expected.
- Carb attack time: Took them off – scared but slow. Soaked everything overnight in cleaner. Little jets clogged solid. Poked every hole with a wire thinner than hair. Cleaned twice to be sure.
Fresh gas. New plugs. Held my breath. Kicked it hard. Choked it like crazy. Fired! Sounded like hell but ran! Smoked a bit, then cleared mostly. It lives! Still got a hundred things to fix, but found it. Key was grinding it out and talking to everyone. Oh, and clean those carbs twice. Always.
