Alright, let me tell you about this 1970 Harley Davidson Shovelhead I got my hands on. It wasn’t pretty, not by a long shot. But there was something about it, you know? A bit of a story, a bit of soul, buried under layers of grime and questionable modifications.
The Beginning of the Madness
So, there I was, looking for a new project. Something to really sink my teeth into. I’d been fiddling with bikes for years, but I wanted a proper challenge, something iconic. Stumbled upon this ’70 Shovel. The price was… well, let’s just say it reflected its condition. The guy selling it practically threw the keys at me. Maybe he knew something I didn’t, or maybe he was just glad to see it go.
Got it back to my garage. First things first, I just stared at it for a good long while. Walked around it. Took pictures. Made a pot of coffee. Then another. You gotta get acquainted with these old machines before you start tearing them apart. It’s like a conversation, but with more oil and rust.
Stripping It Down
The teardown began. This is where the real fun, and sometimes the real horror, starts. Every bolt had a story. Some came off easy, like they were waiting. Others fought me tooth and nail. I swear, some of those fasteners were probably original from the factory, rusted solid.
Things I found:
- Lots of mismatched hardware. Always a classic.
- Wiring that looked like a rat’s nest had exploded.
- A surprising amount of Bondo on the rear fender.
- The engine, well, the engine was the big question mark.
I bagged and tagged everything. Learned that lesson the hard way on previous projects. You think you’ll remember where every little doohickey goes? You won’t. Trust me on this.
Tackling the Heart: The Shovelhead Motor
Pulled the motor. That lump of iron is heavy, man. Got it on the bench. This was the moment of truth. Popped the heads, pulled the cylinders. Pistons were scored. Not a total disaster, but not great either. The bottom end felt okay, surprisingly. Still, decided to go through it all. If you’re in this deep, might as well do it right.
Spent weeks, maybe months, just on the engine. Sourcing parts for a ’70 Shovel isn’t always a walk in the park. Some stuff you can get new, reproduction. Other bits, you’re hunting on swap meets or forums. It’s a whole sub-hobby in itself. Cleaned every single part. Replaced bearings, seals, gaskets. The works. Honed the cylinders, new rings, new pistons. The usual song and dance for an old motor resurrection.
There were days, I’m not gonna lie, I thought about just parting it out. Get so frustrated, you know? A bolt snaps, a part doesn’t fit right, you’re covered in grease and wondering why you started. But then you step away, come back the next day, and figure it out. That’s the process.
Frame, Tin, and Paint
While the engine parts were at the machine shop or waiting for delivery, I turned my attention to the frame. Stripped it bare. Checked for cracks, any weird bends. Luckily, it was pretty straight. Sent it off for powder coating. Black, of course. Classic.
The tins – tank and fenders – needed serious work. Stripped off that old paint and Bondo. Hammered out the dents. Skim coat of filler where needed, then hours of sanding. Primer, more sanding. Finally, paint. Went with a deep, dark blue. Nothing too flashy, but something that felt right for the bike’s age.
Putting Humpty Dumpty Back Together
This is the rewarding part. When all those cleaned, painted, or new parts start coming together. Engine back in the frame. That’s a milestone. Then the transmission, primary. Started running the new wiring harness. Took my time with that. Bad wiring is just asking for trouble down the road.
Wheels, brakes, new tires. The handlebars I picked out. Seat. Every piece you bolt on, it starts looking more and more like a motorcycle again. It’s a slow process, but incredibly satisfying.
You know, folks ask me why I bother with these old bikes. They leak, they vibrate, they’re temperamental. And yeah, they are. But it’s more than that. For me, this Shovelhead project, it was something I needed. I’d just come out of a really rough patch at my old job. Place got bought out, new management came in, and suddenly, guys like me who’d been there for ages were just numbers on a spreadsheet. Found myself with a lot of time, and a lot of thinking to do. This bike, this chunk of old iron, it gave me focus. Something to pour my energy into, something I could control and bring back to life.
The First Fire-Up
Finally, the day came. Fluids in. Battery connected. Gas in the tank. Took a deep breath. Turned the key, gave it a couple of primer kicks. Then, I gave it the real kick. And another. And another. Little cough. More kicks. Then… BAM! She roared to life. Shook the whole garage. That sound, man. Nothing like an old Shovelhead barking at you for the first time after a rebuild.
Let it warm up, listening for any bad noises. Sounded good. A few adjustments here and there. Took it for a short spin down the street. Yeah, it vibrates. Yeah, it’s loud. But it felt amazing. All that work, all that frustration, it all just melted away. This wasn’t just a bike anymore; it was a piece of my own story, a testament to sticking with something. Still got some fine-tuning to do, always do with these old girls, but she’s alive. And that’s what matters.
