Messages

As the title states.. I have a 98' Banshee that has a carb issue. I have to kick and kick to get it to start. Recently I haven't been able to start it. I would like someone who has experience to get the quad dialed in with the jetting or whatever may be the issue. I live in Ocala and would like someone fairly close.

Hey, I have been searching for help on a quad I was asked to look at by my neighbor. The quad is a little Raptor 80 that the guy has for his grand son. He said the kid rode it through a deep mud puddle then shut it off when he got to the other side. Now the quad wont start. I have changed out the fluids and the spark plug but it didn't help. Is there anything you guys can think of that might be wrong? Low compression was caused after this incident maybe? Any help would be appreciated. Thanks

Hey everyone, I would just like to compliment Wayne with KNK Motorsports who helped me out with a wiring issue on a YFZ 450 of mine. I got the quad with a wiring harness that looked like a bunch of wires just chilling out in the open all apart. Wayne was quick to pm me regarding the issue and we set a time to meet up. I dropped the quad off at his shop on Saturday after he gave me an amazing price quote. He called me on Sunday night with the quad running and said I could come pick it up. He was even willing to bring my quad to his house so I could come get it that night instead of having to wait until sometime throughout the week. This guy will truely go out of his way to help with anything you have and has fair pricing to boot. I doubt you could get a better deal for quality work elsewhere. He's on this board as knkmotorsports so if you have any ATV issues he's definitely your go to guy. 

Well, to start of, I recently picked up an 06' YFZ 450 that seems to be a bit of a project. The previous owner hacked up the wiring harness in an attempt to do weight reduction and add a kick start. The quad has no key switch, no head lights, no battery, etc. Basically whatever could be gutted was. I need some help getting this thing wired the way it should be so it will run. The quad is not currently running due to the harness issue. This will most likely need to be looked at in person as pics don't really help. Anyone near Ocala that could check out the yfz and wire it the way it should be? Im not good with wiring like this. This harness looks like a bunch of wires just hanging out in the open by the regulator/rectifier. Thanks in advance.

I work an odd schedule and often get bored at home while normal people are sleeping. I realize I am new so I figured what a better way to make an introduction... Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth.

Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little kids. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you - in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first I thought it was only gas, which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good ****. But in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my girlfriend telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire-cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a ****.

I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my @$$ was reaching Biblical portions. I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones @#! toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of **** at the exact same second that one's @#! is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about halfway into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little kids attending kids night. It was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events is a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus.

Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over **** no matter what is about to come slamming out of your @#!. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since ****ting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my @#! exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of **** the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my @#!.

But remember, I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment. The **** wave was of such force, and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat, that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall - at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already halfway to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the **** wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls - unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of **** remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit...

While all the ****ting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweatpants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended. Yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in **** that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid ****. All while thick **** was spread all over my @#! in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no ****ing toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my girlfriend to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my girlfriend came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels.

Just as I was finishing, my girlfriend got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my girlfriend. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed, in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my girlfriend was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

Well, maybe you guys can let me in on another deal on a more suitable bike? I am getting this bike as an 02' with low hours. The guy just wants it gone since it's taking up his garage space and he never rides it. So he told me to come get it for $1500 which would pretty much be my budget. I was looking around and found a 95' Banshee with a stroker motor in it that seems to be pretty built and the bike has a good price on it as well. I am just kind of lerry about getting a modified bike like that since I did that with the Eclipse and im on my forth engine haha.

gearhead: yeah I know what you mean man. The dsm habit is like a legal crank habit though. I have had the Talon AWD since I was 16. It was my first car and I have had the same one all along. I am 22 now and I have a discusting amount of money plus all the blood sweat and tears I have put into the car. Now im to the point where if I get pissed I just let it sit for a few weeks until I cool down and want to work on the car again. With the dsm though I refuse to leave the house without an AAA card and a cell phone. But of course those are all the bad things. When you come up next to supercharged Cobra and walk on him badly it makes it all worth it. Well that and the fact that i'd lose I disagree if I ever thought about selling it since i'd most likely get pennies on the dollar for what I have into the car. I have recently became interested in a Galant VR4 shell that I may end up swapping all my parts into. Although the purchase of the ATV will set me back a bit in doing that.

Hello all my name is Mike and im from Lake County (Mt. Dora). I joined this group because I am looking to purchase a Yamaha Warrior next weekend. I am on a budget and am getting this bike at a very good price which is why i'm buying this bike specifically. I have many other hobbies as well. Some may recognize my screen name as being a DSMer which basically means I have an expensive car hobby(Eclipse). So my concern is will the Warrior be a good bike to me? I'm actually using the money I have saved to put a turbo kit on my Mustang to buy this bike so i'm hoping i'm not going to be disappointed. I also have an obsession with modifying everything I own therefore I will most likely be modifing this bike quite a bit. I realize that most people buy a raptor 660, 700, or a YFZ 450 to use as a racing bike although, I enjoy being the under dog and surprising people. So what i'm looking to do is get this bike and modify it over time until I can stick with the race bikes. I would like to know how well these bikes respond to modifications as far as reliability goes. Well, thanks for your input in advance.