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The 11mm Brembo master cylinder fitted to the rear braking system on many Aprilia, BMW, and KTM motorcycles is a weak point, to put it mildly. Regardless, it is fixable. See below for how and why.

0. Tools required
Inside circlip pliers
10mm socket
5mm hex drive
2mm long drift (10cm) or 2mm Allen wrench
Tack hammer
Long-nose pliers
Flat-head screwdriver
Dental picks
Dremel with small round cutting bit
One full rebuild kit from Brembo, part number 110.4362.41

1. Remove the master cylinder from the bike. To do this, remove the bolt holding the brake fluid reservoir and washer with a 10mm socket. Return the bolt and washer to the hole to insure they are not lost. Drain the reservoir and replace the lid and gasket. Release the brake line fitting from the top of the master cylinder and back it out entirely. Remove the two bolts securing the MC to the bike using a 5mm hex drive. Lift the MC away from the bike, clearing the brake line at the top. The push rod will slide out of the rubber boot at the bottom with a slight tug. Return the two hex screws to the bike for safekeeping.

2. Retire to somewhere warm (or cool…), you might be there for a while. Bring the MC with you. Spread some paper towels or other protection out, and drain the master cylinder fully. Set aside the rebuild kit for later.

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3. Carefully examine the MC. Remove the rubber boot by tugging at it gently. To help it, insert a flat screwdriver into the groove at the base of the MC and gently prise the boot away. Looking down the bore of the MC, you will see the piston at the center, a white spacer surrounding the piston, and a circlip holding it all together. The circlip may be rusty, if it is, you have some work on your hands. See below for a good (bad) example of a rusty circlip.

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4. Remove the circlip using inside ring removing pliers. If the piston is stuck, use a long 2mm drift or a 2mm Allen wrench to drive it out from the top side. Tap the drift or the Allen key gently with a tack hammer, checking the other end for progress occasionally. When approximately 4mm of piston are exposed, gently grab the piston with long nose pliers and slide it out. This will all require some effort. The spring and spring seat will also come out at this time, or can be shaken out gently. Examine the piston for corrosion and clean it.

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5. Now for the fun. The white sleeve may not slide out willingly. If it did, you would not likely be attempting this repair. A rather easy way to remove the sleeve is to grind or cut a groove in it. I used a 2mm ball-shaped cutting bit on my Dremel and ground out two channels, one the full length of the sleeve. Using the circlip pliers, twist the sleeve in the MC body and slowly work it out. Another way to remove the sleeve is to turn the bits of a 90° circlip tool to the outside and use it as a puller. In either case, take care not to damage the surface of the bore. It is not a sealing surface, but smooth is very important to the cylinder staying functional for any length of time. After removing the white sleeve, remove the o-ring that is still in the bore.

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6. Once the white sleeve is removed, you will have to clean the inside of the outer bore where the sleeve was sitting. If the circlip was rusty, you will likely also find rust inside of the bore. Using Scotchbrite, steel wool, or very fine sandpaper, remove the red rust from the bore. Clean the bore to remove the residue from this round of cleaning.

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7. This step is critical to determining whether the MC is going to be repairable for any length of time. After the red rust is removed, use a pick to investigate the condition of the outer bore. If you have tiny fingers, they will work, too. Now, you are looking for corrosion of the aluminium cylinder body. This is the corrosion that is causing the piston to stick, not the red rust. Using a pick, gently flake away any aluminium oxide that has built up in the bore. Under the oxide will be pits. There is no getting around this. Fortunately, these pits do not interfere with the operation of the cylinder if they are properly treated prior to reassembly. This process is slow and time-consuming, but will pay off in the end. When you have removed the fluffy stuff, carefully clean the entire MC and the reservoir and feed line. Blow them out well with clean water and air, and dry thoroughly.

8. When you have removed the aluminium oxide from the bore, it is time to open up the rebuild kit and start putting things back together. Remove the white sleeve from the kit and test fit it to the bore. It should float smoothly in the bore with only very slight resistance to turning or sliding. This indicates that the bore is free of oxide. Remove the white sleeve, and coat the inside of the bore with Loctite Silver or Heavy Duty (black) antiseize. Do not use copper-based antiseize! This coating should be very very light. Coat the new o-ring with brake assembly grease (HMW polyoxyethylene, supplied in the kit) and insert it into the bore. Insert the white sleeve and twist it gently in the bore. Assemble the spring to its spring seat, and slide the spring into the bore. Coat the piston and seal with brake assembly grease and insert them into the bore. The piston will stick out a bit.

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9. To finish the assembly, fit the new circlip to the inside circlip pliers.  Secure the master cylinder body and hold the circlip over the piston. Using a suitable drift, inserted through the center of the circlip, depress the piston into the MC, and secure the circlip. Treat the circlip with a drop of wicking grade low-strength threadlocker and, using a pick, draw the threadlocker around the circlip to coat it evenly.

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10. Bench bleed the MC and install it to the motorbike, in reverse order of removal. Fully bleed the braking system, including at least one ABS activation in the middle of the process.

Conclusion: The boot on the MC is poorly designed and encourages water to enter the space within the boot. Basically, the boot should be inserted into the MC, not sitting on the outside. This moisture leads to corrosion of the circlip. However, corrosion of the circlip is not the reason the whole thing fails, it is just part of a chain reaction of fail. Once the iron starts to go, it triggers a galvanic reaction in the aluminium and the aluminium begins to corrode. The problem is that aluminium oxide is fluffy. Very fluffy. And very incompressibly crystalline. This increase in volume puts pressure on the white sleeve and eventually causes the piston to bind.

My fix: Forget grease. It won’t hold up. Use a heavy duty anti-seize product like Loctite Silver or Heavy Duty (black) to fill the void between the sleeve and bore, and then coat the circlip with low-strength (green) wicking threadlocker, which is commonly used as an anti-corrosive coating on automotive fasteners. If you are in Aviation and have access to Alodine 1424 or the like, a coating of this on the inside of the sleeve bore (along with overnight drying) will also go a long way to preventing repeat performances.

It doesn’t sound too hard, does it, to buy a pair of coveralls that fit? Well, I am female….

Years ago, I purchased a pair of navy blue size 38 regular Dickies coveralls for use around the house and garage. They got about 10 minutes of use before they were ditched for old jeans and a ratty tshirt. Why? Remember what I said about coveralls that fit?

Admittedly, there aren’t quite as many women wearing coveralls as there are guys out there, so it’s no surprise that a decently-fitting pair is hard to come by. Add in that a fair number of the women out there who do wear coveralls aren’t built like Lauren Bacall, and you have a market that isn’t all that attractive to coveralls makers. Because it consists of about four total women.

The difference between coveralls for men and coveralls for women is easy to spot. Women’s coveralls have room for boobs and butts. They also have shorter back-waists – the distance from the collar to the waistline. Mine went into the bin-of-things-we-don’t-know-what-to-do-with because minus the boob and butt room and being too long on the top, I was spending more time adjusting them than a Major League Baseball player spends adjusting his you-know-whats.

Last summer, I was going through that bin and pulled out the coveralls. Hmm, project? Sure! I’d already re-sized and significantly altered a two-layer Nomex suit for racing cars, how hard could a pair of coveralls be? The good designers at Dickies were a lot more serious about these things staying together than peeps over at Speed Sport Racing! The coveralls took me over eight hours simply to dismantle to the point that alteration could begin. Adding to the mess was the most complex elastic waist I’ve ever seen, one that requires a special machine to properly install. I got the bulk of the fitting done over the next few weeks, but the elastic waist and its complexity beat me, and I put the project on hold for a while.

Until today.

Alterations are typically bread and butter work for a seamstress. Relatively simply even when complex, and rarely requiring more than a few pins here or there to set up seams. Occasionally, you get something over the top, and you have to resort to machine basting. At the very tip-top of annoying and difficult seams come the ones you have to hand baste – sew by hand before you sew them properly with a machine. I had set aside the annoying elastic waist when exuberant pinning did not solve the problem. Sometime in the winter, I took a stab at it with machine basting. Today, I sucked in a lot of air and got out the pin cushion and thread: I would hand baste this thing and finish it off. Four hours later, three spent out in my garden in the sunshine, and I was rewarded for my effort with a pair of very stock-looking, properly fitting coveralls.

They look completely off-the-shelf. I like that. I just wish they had been off-the-shelf to begin with!

What? you don’t take apart your motorcycle on your birthday? Well, I do. Pics are for the rest of the brave F650-riding community. You can see the placement of the three switch diodes, and the BMS diode in the wiring tray and harness. Next up is the actual diodes, which are ultrasonically bonded to the tabs. This is a decent method of fixturing, but as with all mechanical fixturing, it’s prone to fracture. The result? A No Run or No Start condition that is one heck of a pain to diagnose.

There are a lot of firsts in motorcycling – the first big lean, the first successful evasive maneuver, the first time to split lanes. This is a picture of the right side footpeg on my F650GSa, freshly ground. The pegs on the F are spring-loaded and retract under contact, so the grind is less of an event than it is on most bikes running fixed pegs.

Grinding is a weird sensation. If your foot is positioned properly (toe tucked in), you only feel the vibration through the bike.  You can hear the metal grinding away, and it’s a bit surprising. It was one of those “oh, that’s what that is like” moments.

I think I want to do it again on the other side.

That is all, really. Turned over 3500kms on the not a big Ford truck this week. It’s surprisingly liberating to ride. I had no idea that the biggest benefit would be being far more calm in traffic. You would think I would be nervous with all of the cages around me, but instead, I feel safer. I can get away from them. I can avoid the worst traffic. I can filter. I’m still not ready to split, but I’m sure that will come, probably with a Ninjette or something else a little smaller. This truly has been a game-changer for me, and the game is now on.

After being told that my packages were undeliverable, I did what scientists due: I researched it. I called the USPS station that delivers to my house in Michigan and asked them if the address was good. It took me a while to get there, at least three phone calls, but Jeremy answered the phone and asked me right off the bat, was I getting any mail there. Yeah, I get baskets of junk mail. Then, dude, the address is good. We deliver if the address is good. Your address is fine, ma’am. You have a good carrier and that route is a nice one. Thank you for confirming, Jeremy.

I called Aetna back. This time, I asked for a supervisor, who swore up and down she would call back in 40 minutes. After about two hours, I called again, and as usual, the third time was the charm. I somehow to get connected to the actual pharmacy service (instead of “customer” service), and spoke to a guy who not only could see the entire file, but started from scratch with the data, checking and double-checking the address information. We got as far as the ZIP code when he asked me if my town was near Akron, MI.

Any modern piece of software that ends up printing a shipping label has a neat feature called ZIP code cross-check. This automatically populates the city field based on the ZIP code entered. Pharmacy guy found the error with minimal effort – the city that was typed into the manual entry field was different than the city from the ZIP code, because the ZIP code had not been transcribed properly. One digit was off.

I’ve reconfirmed that address with at least five Aetna reps over the last two months. Not one of them noticed the ZIP code error. This kind of issue is what software is supposed to fix for us – to reduce the impact of human error. In this case, the software worked fine. But apparently it required its user to understand the importance of what it was doing. This is just more proof that there is still no cure for stupid.

I live in Germany (duh). My generous employer contracts with Aetna International to manage my health care benefits.  This has produced some rather funny phone calls that have left me with a serious case of indigestion. Most focus around the pharmacy benefit – Aetna’s international plan strongly recommends that participants use the Aetna mail-order pharmacy to save costs. Sounds good, right? Until you discover that they don’ t ship out of the country.

My first go-around with these people centered around two reps at the pharmacy call center who were sure that Aetna shiped to Germany “all the time”. I repeatedly told both of them that NO, I DO NOT LIVE ON AN AIRBASE. I HAVE A GERMAN POST CODE. Both swore up and down that this was no problem. Four weeks later, I was sitting in the office of a German doctor, begging in broken German for a maintenance medication that is so rarely prescribed over here that she had to call a pharmacy to see if it was even available! It turned out to cost four times what the US generic price is due to being unusual.

Once I had some meds, I returned to the phone. Since not only does the US Government prohibit US pharmacies from shipping out of the country (APOs and FPOs are technically US addresses, so don’t count), Aetna refuses to allow its reps to make international calls, severely limiting the contact options for those customers living overseas. Once I determined (I had about 6 hours into phone calls at this point) that I was on my own, I figured out that I could get the meds shipped to my job and the kind staff in shipping would forward them to me.

This worked fine, until the USPS decided that I no longer lived at my house.

I rode out to Kalkar Mill on Saturday afternoon to check out the stones. Kalkarermühle is an operating windmill in Kalkar, NRW, Germany, and home to a diverse bunch of people who have decided to keep the windmilling trade alive as volunteer millers. One of the millers is a friend and fellow rider, and introduced me to this neat old technology last fall.

The key to the mill is the stone set. The lower stone, shown here, is fixed and does not move. The upper stone is supported on a pintle that is driven by the familiar sails that catch the wind and power the operation. The entire rig runs at around 120rpm, which is quite speedy, considering that the stones are about 1.6m in diameter. That comes to an edge speed of 24m/s! When the season for milling is low (winter), the millers open the stones for cleaning, resurfacing, and rhynd repairs. On this stone, the darker areas are the wear surfaces, and the grooves are the feeders that feed the grain in.

Fixed stone from Kalkarermühle

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Sun on the bunny hill

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nordic skiing has a lot more to do with Alpine skiing than skateboarding does with snowboarding.

I traveled to Willingen, a town in the Sauerland area of Germany, to further my skiing abilities, and for the first time, skied fully in parallel, executing pretty stem turns and schussing down a moderately steep piste. Four hours of lessons produced a recognizable and functional technique that could get me safely down the slope with good control. By the end of the weekend, I could ski comfortably, avoiding oncoming traffic and the hundreds of Dutch children covering the bunny hill. I even ventured up the Seilbahn (gondola lift) to take on the big hill. I fell once, sliding due to a bit of fear (my survival reaction is to lean backwards, a quick way to lose control), but no harm done. I seemed to have learned how to properly fall in the process, too.

The instructors both made a good point: I was not a beginner skier. Unlike instructors in the US, who pooh-poohed my hundreds (if not at least a thousand) kilometers of Nordic experience, the Germans were quick to describe each Alpine technique in Nordic terms. This was a confidence boost and made it easier to adopt the new technique of pushing the tails wide (stemming).

I expect I’ll be skiing through the summer, over at the Skihalle in nearby Neuss. Yes, it’s a bunny hill, but I see no reason not to own it, too.