Nolan removed the carburetor, examined the jets, cleaned the passages, checked the seals, and carefully reassembled the parts. The fuel system was an obvious suspect: the bowl had been flooding, and the plugs were wet from repeated attempts to start the engine. Nolan tested the float where it sat, but he did not reproduce the angle at which a tiny fragment of old gasket material was trapping its arm. He cleaned what he saw and overlooked what moved only under a particular load.
He tried to start Black Fury six times. By the last attempt the air smelled of gasoline and hot frustration. Nolan wiped his hands and pronounced the engine worn out. He did not mean he had proven that it was beyond repair. He meant he had reached the end of the methods that usually worked for him, and his pride refused to let him describe the difference.
"She's done," Nolan told Garrett. "I've seen this before. Sometimes these old machines reach the end of the road."
Garrett caught him by the shirt and pulled him close. "You're supposed to be the best in Michigan."
"I'm the best at what I do," Nolan replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "That doesn't mean I can reverse forty years of wear in an afternoon."
Garrett shoved him away. Nolan stumbled against his toolbox, and one of his assistants stepped forward before another rider blocked the path with an arm. Nobody was hurt seriously, but the message was plain. Nolan left angry and humiliated, carrying the additional humiliation of knowing he had offered an opinion more definite than the evidence justified.
A retired machine-shop owner examined the engine that evening and suggested valve damage without checking the valve train. A younger mechanic recommended a new fuel pump, forgetting the fuel system relied on gravity. Two hobbyists disagreed loudly over the ignition while standing several feet from the motorcycle. Garrett ordered each person to either fix it or get out of his way, and their reasoning grew less careful as their fear of failing in public grew.
Curtis Wade arrived Friday morning. Once an aerospace engineer, Curtis had built a consulting career on the promise that every mechanical problem could be understood through measurements if a person collected enough of them. He brought a laptop, an instrument case, charts, and an expression of cheerful certainty. He was polite to Garrett, largely ignored the others, and began collecting readings from the places where a modern technician expected the useful information to live.