The Joy of HAZMAT By: Danny's Girl How was I supposed to know? This is my first bike and I am unaccustomed to the rules surrounding the handling of vehicular fluids. I am well aware that the EPA, as well as neighborhood felines, frown upon the disposal of chemical waste in unapproved areas like dumpsters and alleys. However, I had no idea how difficult it would be to do otherwise... My boyfriend recently bought me a 1966 Zundapp KS100 Commemorative Edition as a graduation present. It’s adorable, simple, and has a great deal of character and history. For the most part, the bike is stock and in great condition. The day it arrived at the house, it needed new tires, a new headlight ring, rear shocks, a tail light lens, and a thorough cleaning. This being my first bike I thought I would start with the easy stuff. I washed and polished every piece I could access without removing any parts. Then I thought the next elementary step would be to clean out the gas tank.

This Zundapp is a two-stroke and the gas-oil mix that was in the tank smelled like turpentine. It had likely been fermenting (or whatever gas and oil do) in the tank for over five years. Several friends who came by to examine the new addition to our garage suggested that I empty the contents of the tank into a nearby dumpster. Being the fairly environmentally conscious individual that I am, I found this option rather distasteful. Besides, I had a feeling that this wasn’t entirely legal. I used to work for a private investigator who built his firm by locating gas station owners who had abandoned their businesses rather than pay the cleanup costs enforced by Superfund legislation.

After I vetoed the dumpster idea, I suggested that I find containers to fill with the foul smelling mixture and deposit them at a local service station in the morning. Everyone present agreed that this was a reasonable alternative. So, off I went collecting two liter Pepsi bottles, twelve ounce SoBe bottles, and empty liquid laundry detergent bottles. I drained the tank until I ran out of containers. Eventually I gave in and filled the tank with water to dilute the remaining fluids and we emptied it into the dumpster. I would guess that we drained two gallons into containers and a third of a gallon into the trash. Murphy’s hellish laws mandated that the dumpster would have a leak and I spent the next half an hour pouring kitty litter around the dumpster and hosing down the alley.

The following morning I phoned the nearest Grease Monkey to make sure that I could dispose of the two-stroke mix at their facility. A flat "No" was the reply. The mechanic suggested that I call a local auto parts store called Auto Zone. The man who answered the phone there also said that they do not accept "fluids like that". "Like what?", I asked. He explained that when gas and oil are mixed it is considered hazardous material. He had no suggestions. It is unlike me to surrender easily but I consider myself to be vehicularly-challenged, so I let my boyfriend take over. He called the shop that sold it to him and they also declined to accept the bottles. They suggested that we call a chemical processing plant called Safety Kleen.

At this point I am getting nervous. Why won’t anyone take this? What in the hell do I have sitting in the garage that everyone is so eager to reject? Calling Safety Kleen did not prove helpful in reducing my anxiety. The man I spoke with said that it would cost me a fortune to have a commercial plant process only two gallons. He was without suggestions for where I should take these chemicals but enthusiastically explained that the bottles would degrade quickly and that the chemicals had a very low flash point. Fabulous!
If a commercial plant wouldn’t except it, maybe a bike shop dealing specifically in two-strokes would. Yeah, right. This mechanic said they would accept two quarts but not two gallons. They claimed that they didn’t have room for it in the tank and that such a large amount would not be cost effective for them. They eventually had to pay the large commercial plants to "suck out" and process the chemicals and are apparently charged by the gallon.

Now I’m fuckin’ irritated. Are these people unfamiliar with the fact that these chemicals came from the ground to begin with? If this is all so dangerous, why would I be allowed to mix gas and oil in a tank and BURN it? Next step: Local HAZMAT unit. In an exceedingly friendly voice for a city employee, the operator told me that the surrounding counties had curbside residential HAZMAT pickup but the county I reside in does not. She informed me that I had two options: 1. Find a large, shallow metal pan. Fill it with kitty litter and allow the mixture to evaporate. Double bag dry litter and dispose of in any city dumpster. Or 2. Attempt to donate the containers to the local fire department for them to use as an accelerant in their training exercises. I was unable to reciprocate in the friendly voice area by this time and made it painfully clear to the operator that her department wasn’t making it very easy for people to legally and safely dispose of hazardous materials.

By this time, my loving and supportive boyfriend had called in late to the office and was sitting in the backyard with me while I vacillated between inappropriate fits of laughter and fire-breathing hostility. I was unwilling to waste an entire day filling and emptying a metal pan while inhaling noxious fumes, so I took a chance and called the local fire administration. I dialed slowly and held my breath.

"Fire and Rescue, may I help you?"
"I certainly hope so. I have two gallons of two-stoke mix that I have spent the better part of the morning trying unsuccessfully to dispose. I was wondering if you might know of a training academy that could use it."
"Sure. If you have it in an approved container you can take it there yourself. If not, I’ll just send John over to pick it up."

She’ll just send John over to pick it up?? Imagine my surprise and elation at the discovery of the only person in North America who would accept my increasingly treacherous materials. Knowing that Pepsi and SoBe do not make the sort of approved receptacle this angelic woman was referring to, I emphatically agreed to John’s visit. John turned out to be a good natured, uniformed lieutenant who stood in the garage quizzing me about each of our motorcycles for several minutes before graciously removing the deplorable fluids.

Despite this extremely annoying (but thankfully brief) saga, I have continued to work on my motorcycle every weekend and many weeknights. Of course, now that everything works and there is new fuel in the tank, I will have to learn to ride. This is apt to be filled with just as many false starts as the HAZMAT adventure.