A Very Bad Egg

It was 3 p.m. on a Friday and I was fully, gloriously, unapologetically checked out from work after an otherwise incredibly productive week. I’d already done my “bored at work routine: eat, brush teeth a couple times, organize my desk. So the next thing on my productivity list was some Facebook Marketplace doomscrolling. Weird Al Yankovic promo CD single (Its All About the Pentiums). Crystal candle holders. Free wood. Jumping spider enclosures.

And then I saw it: an unassuming little scooter from 1985. Didn’t run. Peeling paint. Description said, “It’s seen better days but it’s 40 years old.” The previous owner had removed the oil tank, ditched the vacuum petcock, and committed various mechanical crimes. A couple hundred bucks. Every red flag possible.
I’ll take it.

Two hours later I was wheeling my new mistake through the living room, then the kitchen, then down the stairs to the back porch. I stripped the panels and started sanding, but it had clearly been laid down a few times and wore road rash like battle scars. Primer, paint, the works — one layer at a time, applying makeup to a pig.

Then the inner bits.
Does it run? No.
Does it start? No.
Does it even turn over? Also no.

The kick-start had been removed, so we were down to the electric start. The battery was cooked, putting out a heroic 6V instead of the expected 12.5V. After charging, still nothing. So I hotwired the starter relay and heard the starter motor grinding on the bendix pinion like TPain had just come on in the PiKapp basement. Pulled everything out, wire-wheeled the starter, bendix, and flywheel, slapped it back in. Hotwired it again. We had movement.

Now, the fuel-oil situation. The description said it was converted to premix — so why was there a full oil tank and an oil pump still hooked up? Fine, I’ll deal with it. Drained the tank, removed it, fed the carb some premix.
Nothing.

Spark plug? Looked like Mary Poppins’ chimney sweep, but after a blowtorch spa day it showed signs of life.

Air filter? No air filter at all, just about ten layers of duct tape flapping over the inlet.

Pulled the carb. Pulled the exhaust. Tested compression. Tried again. Still nothing — except every turnover sprayed a fine mist out of the exhaust port and soaked the spark plug in mystery sludge. So I pulled everything again, hooked the crank to my impact driver, and blasted out whatever fluid was living in the cylinder.

Reassembled everything.

Hit the starter.

BRRRAPBAPAPBAPABPBAPABPbappbapp…pp…p…p…

And just like that, Bad Egg took its first breath.

QC