Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig.

The WR-250FY, AKA Fire Breather, sitting in the front yard after being unloaded from my trusty ol' clam of a Ford Ranger.



The title of this post is from an old Mother Goose nursery rhyme, by the way, one that my grandmother, who was born in 1917, would sing to us when we were kids.
Interesting bit of trivia, huh? :)



Just unloaded the bike and my gear after another good Sunday afternoon-into-evening ride on the WR-250FY.
No crashes and no close calls, the bike performed flawlessly, and I did a good job of putting the bike where I wanted it.
To me, that's what riding is all about:
Doing what you feel is a very good job of riding the bike.

You know, sitting on the tailgate of my truck drinking some water after it get back from the ride is a great feeling, reflecting on what had just taken place.
Gives me the same feeling I had when I first started doing this stuff, back in the days when I wanted to ride so badly, I could taste it.
It's very good to know I still have that inside of me.

Time to watch some World Superbike racing I taped while out in the Pachaug forest.
Did anybody see any of the USGP of the FIM World MX1 championship from Glen Helen this weekend, by the way?
I saw the first moto, and it was some good action. :)

-John

More Wrench Twirling

Here's the original front tire from my WR-250R with 5,000 miles on it.
See how the knobs of the tread rubber are all slanted toward the back?
That's normal wear from heavy front brake use on pavement.
It's worn to the point that it needs to be replaced, so let's get the show on the road, shall we?





First thing is to get the bike up on my stand and then unbolt the front brake caliper.
Doesn't that 270mm Brembo brake rotor look all purdy? :)





Yes, people.
This is what a Kayaba (aka KYB) front fork looks like with the wheel removed.
To get the wheel off, it required removing the brake caliper, loosening the axle pinch bolts at the very bottom of the fork, removing the axle nut on the brake rotor side, pulling out the axle, and rolling the wheel away.
Simple design.
That's just how I'd a' done it.





Time to play with the tire irons and my spray bottle of Fantastik.
Changing a tire ain't my favorite thing to do, but since it has to be done from time-to-time, I had to learn how to do it for myself.
I haven't pinched a tube (put a hole in the tube with the tire irons) in years, either.
*knocks wood* :)





Do you know what this is?
This be the thing most people call the wheel spacer.
The Yamaha parts catalogue calls it a collar, so that's what I'll call it.
Hey, I read those catalogues all day, so why not, eh?
Notice how the side that goes into the wheel hub seal looks all greasy.
That's important stuff, and the reason being is that the seals for the wheel bearings require grease on them in order to function properly.
You see, the grease helps them seal and lubricates them so they don't wear out in a blink of an eye.
And you know what happens when the seals get worn out, don'cha'?
Ever have a buddy who always seems to be replacing his wheel bearings?
I'll bet you a Red Bull that he doesn't know about this and puts his wheel collars back into the seals dry and without grease on them (nor on the wheel axle, itself).
Maybe he even lets the collars roll around on the ground getting all dirty and just puts them back in the seals with a ton of dirt on them.
Yeah, that sounds like a really cool thing to do, Lenny.
Now, you can straighten him out on this subject and keep all the credit for yourself.
That's OK with me - I know the real score, Buckwheat. :)





Here are the axle pinch bolts at the bottom of the fork leg.
These get a cleaning and a bit of grease on the threads, too.
No, they won't loosen because of the grease.
The grease keeps them from getting what's called galled.
Galling is when harsh metal-to-metal contact wears and deforms the metal, and the big ape twisting the wrench forces it to turn anyway and then damages the threads.
This is what happens when your lazy buddy's chain adjuster bolts seize in the swingarm and he can't turn them anymore.
You know what happens if the threads in that fork leg get wrecked to the point that the bolt won't go in there?
Yeah, Bucky, you'll be faced with either trying to repair it, or buying a new fork leg.
I bet that ain't cheap.
I betcha' that money would buy a lot of Doritos.
Nacho cheese flavor, please.





Behold the front wheel axle.
This very important part gets a cleaning, and then the majority of it's length get a thin smearing of that good ol' grease.
Because of the grease, it won't corrode in place or be difficult to remove next time as well as prevent any water and dirt from getting into the wheel.
This is what wears those bearing out before they should:
Dirt and water getting in there.
The dirt and water belongs on the outside of your wheel hub, people. :)
Ever see your buddy having to pound the shit out of his axle in order to get it to come out?
Well, guess what he ain't doing.
The larger-diameter part I'm holding it by doesn't get the grease because this is where the right-hand side fork leg pinches around it, and we want a clean, metal-to-metal clamping action at that spot when we tighten those axle pinch bolts.





Yeeeaaahhhh.
Another dab of grease for the axle threads.
Some guys think this is a strange thing to do - lubricating your wheel axle threads.
Those are the guys with the galled axle threads and under-torqued axle nuts because some of the torque put into tightening their nuts (that sounds funny, doesn't it? :) ) is actually spent in overcoming the friction from their axle threads that are getting all messed-up.
Yeah, that's right, Sunshine.
Now you know.





All buttoned-up and ready to romp.
And I did take it for a good romp yesterday evening from about 6:00pm-8:20pm, riding past sunset into dusk.
It felt great, too, and the new front tire felt wonderful.
Any questions?


-John

Environ-Mentalism

I've lived in this little town (the artsy-looking sign at the town boarder calls it a hamlet - wasn't that a guy who wore tights and wrote boring plays back in 1501?) all my life.
Even though the population has grown and the number of houses has probably nearly doubled since I was in the 1st grade, it's still a tiny, little place where everybody knows everybody.
Or, has at least heard of you.
That's pretty small, people.
Try finding that throughout New York City.

This means that when you're a kid growing up and not yet old enough to drive out of town to find things to do, you find things to do in your own town.
One of those things was going down to the river I live next to and do some fishing (boring, actually), engage in some frog population control with my Daisy Powerline 880 air rifle (much more interesting), and, when I was old enough to get a job and buy things, ride my dirt bikes along the river and around a small pond next to it.

That was the best of all as far as having fun goes.
Why?
Surely you must know why.
Because dirt bikes are cool!
They have engines that go braap-braaap-braaaaaaaaaaaapp! when you twist the throttle, which means that instead of pedaling a bicycle to get from point A to point B, you move your right wrist.
Damn, that's fun!
Twisting the grip and looking back to see a rooster tail (aka roost) of dirt coming off the back tire is a sight to behold, and I still like it.
After a bit of practice, you start spicing things up a bit by doing all kinds of fun maneuvers while riding the bike, and when I got my first motorcycle, this was all I wanted to do.
I loved making an impromptu motocross track and riding lots of laps around it.

One winter day, after riding some laps around that little pond just down the street, there was a knock at the door.
It was my neighbor from across the street, the guy who actually owned the land where this little pond was.
At this time, even though he'd been the owner of the land for 10 years, I'd still have it in my mind that the area around the river and pond was still a free-for-all, like it was before he bought the land and built his big house with the 1,000 foot driveway.
My neighbor, Frank, didn't look happy.
In fact, he looked like somebody stole his candybar.
Right away, I had a feeling why he looked that way, and what it was that he wanted to tell me, but I wasn't completely correct with my gut feeling.

As expected, he told me that he didn't appreciate me having been riding around the pond and leaving my tell-tale tracks in the snow.
What I didn't expect was his reason why.
What I'd grown up expecting to hear was something along the lines of, "Hey! Just who do you think you are riding your dirt bike around my pond on my land without asking for my permission? Huh?"
No, sirree.
What he said was that he was basically devastated by seeing my tire and roost track in the once-pristine snow, and how dirt bikes were a menace to the Earth's fragile environment.
While he was telling me this, he looked like he was about to cry.
He looked like he wanted to cry because I'd shown him how, in his mind, a young guy on his dirt bike can wreck what Mother Nature had done, and once wrecked, it could never, ever, ever be made right again.
Worse than that, he made it sound like what I'd done was so bad for the planet that it would probably stop rotating on it's axis and was probably even visible from a satellite photo.

This was a bit of a surprise to me because he wasn't telling me what I expected a lawyer in the Connecticut legal system (that's what Frank did for a living - he had dough) to be telling me - me, the young guy who'd just been riding around on his land.
I expected to be yelled at for riding on his land without first asking for permission, and what
I got was a grown man on the verge of tears because I'd spoiled the once-pristine snow around the pond.
He wasn't angry because I'd violated a law amoungst men about respecting another guy's property line.
He was sad because the Earth had been raped.

Frank went on for a minute about how dirt bikes should be make illegal because they're only good for wrecking other wilderness across the world, and once he made his point, he turned to leave.
I told him I was wrong and that I was sorry for not asking him, first, and after he left, I sat and thought about what had just happened.
At the time, I thought it was pretty strange that somebody would be so down about seeing tire tracks in the middle of the woods, and I didn't see how it was hurting anything as far as planet Earth went.
I thought it was not what my own relatives or other people in town that I knew would be concerned with.
I should have been told to keep off his land because it was his and not mine.
Instead, I got my introduction to fanatical environmentalism, and it made me think.
Frank was just the right age for this, probably being close to baby-boomer age who was at just the right age when the original Woodstock peace-and-love festival took place in August of 1969.
What he told me seemed very much like what a hippy from those times would say.
A hippy who'd been brainwashed into this environmental movement.

From this incident and others later on, I decided that this environmental thing was just that:
Brainwashing.
Being made to think that you, me, and all of the people we know are destroying Earth just by surviving and going about our daily business.
It would take a lot of words to get it all out of my mind for you to read, but basically, environmentalism to me, stated in one sentence, boils down to this:
Someone with power and money - someone who doesn't want to lose that power and money and who believes they're a lot better than you are - is perpetuating a big lie in order to have control over you.

There.
I feel better. :)

-John

Miracle Whip

Which Miracle Whip do you like better?
Do you like this Miracle Whip...





...or do you like this one?
Hmmmmm?
Inquiring minds want to know. :)
And, I'll bet a million dollars that nobody knows who this rider is, too.





Manual shift all the way, baby.
No automatics for me.
I've never owned a car or truck with an automatic, actually.





This is where I throw my old tires.
What do you think?



I cleaned my uncle's Virago 250 carburetor this afternoon after work.
It had a fair bit of crud in the bowl from sitting around more than being ridden, but it's all bettah, now.
Nice little bike for him to putter around on and terrorize the neighborhood.
If he gets arrested, I guess that makes me an accomplice.
Maybe I should make out my will right now while I have the chance before they come to lock me up. :)

It rained this afternoon and stopped about 6:30pm, and since it is humid, the streets won't dry before tomorrow morning.
That means no WR-250R ride into dusk like I always like to do on Saturday evening.
Bummer.
At least I get to ride the WR-250F tomorrow evening, and I get to write this for you nice bloggers out there in Blogland.
That's always fun.

-John

Word, Homie

I saw this about 6 years ago and thought it was pretty funny.
I hope none of you rough-'n-tough homies out there want to bust a cap in my ass for putting it up here.
Can'cha take a joke? :)




Here's the 2007 SV-650K7 I used to have.
It was a fun bike to ride because it had a fun power delivery (low and midrange) and a light feel to it, and with the Leo Vince slip-on, it sounded great, too.
Since it's sold as a budget bike, things like the suspension and brakes sucked compared to the GSX-Rs and YZF-R1s, but those things were improved dramatically with a wad of money. :)
When I was done with the mods, it was a fantastic sport bike.





Yamaha TT-R125L.
One of the four that I once owned.
I think this was the 2006 model just after I brought it home from the shop.
I'm still looking for one of these to buy...again. :)
Know anybody who's got one for sale?





Another pic of the SV-650K7 after all of the mods were done.
What did it have done to it?
I'll see if I can remember all of them:

*Michelin Pilot Power tires
*Stiffer fork springs
*Race Tech Cartridge Emulators in the fork
*2003 GSX-R750K3 front brake calipers
*Goodridge braided steel front brake lines
*2007 GSX-R600K7 front brake master cylinder
*BMC air filter
*Airbox inlet snorkel cut shorter
*Ivan's Performance Products TRE (Timing Retard Eliminator)
*Dynojet Power Commander lll USB
*2003 Yamaha FZ-1 handlebar
*Leo Vince titanium hi-mount slip-on muffler
*Factory Pro midrange velocity stacks
*Ohlins rear shock
*Metal footpegs (no rubber covers) from a 2005 GSX-R600K5
*Suzuki Accessories rear fender eliminator
*Suzuki Accessories rear seat cowl
*PAIR (Suzuki's acronym for their exhaust air injection setup) removed

Here's a random pic of the 2003 Yamaha FZ-1 I once rode.

Powerful bike with strong brakes.

Off to jerk,

-John

Good Daze, Less Good Daze

Three cheers for the red, white, and blue.
I still need to find a home for those Ruckus Life stickers, too.
I noticed that rhymes, did you?
Yes, my immense talents make you cry boo-hoo-hooooooo. :)



I got that itty-bitty American flag pennant from a guy soliciting (look it up, people) for money for war veterans outside the local Better-Val-U supermarket in good ol' Plainfield last Saturday afternoon.
Since I still had three one dollar bills still in my hand, I handed them over to the guy and got this pennant in exchange.
Cute little thing, ain't it?
Just like me.





This pose was all Noel's idea, people.
Think what you may of it...



Yesterday (Thursday) was the last day of internship for our little friend with the still-developing mind.
Yes, people, Noel has left the building.
He was working (working?) at our shop as part of some kind of intern program run by the school he goes to, or some kind of gig like that.
I'll miss the little fella', although he promises (or is that threatens?) to come in from time to time and visit.
Take care, little buddy, Mr. Young Money.



I'm actually feeling a bit down this morning.
I often wish that I had a more outgoing personality like a lot of peolpe that I know and even work with, but, I don't.
That's just not who I am.
Who I am is a guy who can and will be so quiet and reserved at times that it will actually start to annoy other people who are around me.
Why?
That's a very good question.
I didn't ask to be shy, you know.
It just happened.
All by itself.
I think it's just a case of it being how my brain and body chemistry developed, and I do believe you can inherit certain personality traits - my own mother was very much like this.
Also, I have to admit, if I'm going to be completely honest with you people out there in Blogland (and I always will be, along with a teeny, tiny bit of humor :) ), my father didn't help matters when I was going through my formative years as a young teen.
He wasn't the warm and loving kind of dad to me.
Uh-uh.
Very much the opposite, really, and I could only look and watch at other, more normal father/son relationships I saw.
Not loving or supportive or interested in what I was interested in.
Our relationship was more of a well-you-got-a-roof-and-food-and-clothes...what-more-do-you-expect-from-me? kind of thing.
It was at it's worst when I was feeling down about something, and, instead of coming up to me to ask what the trouble was, he's insult me for looking depressed and tell me I was stupid for being that way, basically.
He'd kick me while I was down in that way.
I believe that years of this put a dent in my self-confidence, and here I am.
I mean, can't you tell from the pic below that I'm all messed-up?


Somebody get me a doctor...quick.
Yes, YOU. :)



I don't mind writing this personal stuff for you guys and girls out there in Blogland.
It's true, and it's common knowledge to people that I know, anyway.
I'm just confirming your suspicions, you sneaky little devils, you. :)
And, on the bright side (lest I start sounding too depressed), today is a brand new day, and it's up to me to go and see what it might bring me.
Hopefully something good. :)

Off to jerk.
-John

Refuel at Your Own Risk

Listen up!
If you try stealing some of our gasoline...




...you'll end-up like this.



This was taken at the Shell/Gandhimart out in front of our shop.
I always got the impression that was a pretty rought place with all of those old, grizzled truck drivers always going in and out of there.
I didn't realize it was this rough, though.
As I was gassing-up my WR-250R and saw this signage, I started shaking in my boots at the thought of being mistaken for a drive-off hoodlum and ending-up in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.
I almost went back inside to buy myself a Red Bull to help calm my nerves...a big one. :)

It rained overnight, but it looks like the roads will be mostly dry for the ride into ol' work this morning, with the only wet spots probably in the shady areas.
That's great because a sporty ride into work always does it for me.
You know what I mean, jelly bean?

Off to jerk,
-John

Don't be a Ding Dong - Just Eat 'Um.

Nothing like a yummy, delicious Ding Dong to get you invigorated to tackle the same ol' job you've been doing for 627 years.





Can you spot the real Ding Dong in this pic?
This is noel, 10 seconds before Brooks told him to either get to work, or go back downstairs to the Service Dept. :)


I like teasing Noel, but it's only because I like him.
Do you really think I'd bother or put out the effort to write this stuff if I didn't?
That's classic human nature, people - if somebody is busting my ass, I know that deep down inside, they like me.
Also, I just want you to know that I never post a pic of anybody without their permission and first telling them that I'm gonna' be busting their ass in my blog.
Fair warning, I say. :)

Noel (pronounced like mole) has just given me permission to show you bloggers out there his latest creation:
His very own blog.
Please, leave the guy a comment or three.
Click the link below and prepare to be spellbound with his spelling, punctuation, and grammar:


http://youngmoneybeavskin.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2010-01-01T00%3A00%3A00-08%3A00&updated-max=2011-01-01T00%3A00%3A00-08%3A00&max-results=2




New tire for me!
My WR-250R badly needs a new front.
It's gonna' get it.


It's off to jerk I go...

-John

Ruckus Life

Yes, you too can live a ruckus life.
Step-by-step instructional video included.



Yesterday at work, we received a product (product!) from a company that specializes in parts and accessories for a 50cc Honda scooter called the Ruckus.
This sticker was included with the item in the box.
Two of them, actually, and now they're mine.
Since I've not actually used anything from this place, I don't think they deserve to go up on my wall directly in front of me.
What should I do with them?




Low...ride...err is a real goer.
More words to a song.



This vehicle belongs to Justin, the guy who works downstairs in the Sales Dept.
When I saw this, I thought that there was no way in hell that he could actually drive this thing like that.
Sure enough, he told me that the air suspension is fully lowered when parked for that mean look.
What you all think of this, huh?
Looks like it would be a no-ramp-required job of loading up the ol' dirt bike, eh?





This little gem belongs to Joe.
It's a 2011 early release model.
Just getting broken in, actually.
He parks it far away from all the other vehicles in the parking lot so nobody will scratch it.





Time to say hi to another coworker.
This is George.
George is the official custodian, what I call a janitor.
He supposed to be the guy emptying the trash cans, sweeping the floor, cleaning the bathrooms, and, yes, moving the grass.
Supposed?
What am I insinuating?





It I'm-a-nice-guy time once again.
I'm always buying yummy and delicious Red Bull drinks for the guys I work with in the Parts. Dept.
Why?
It's just because I'm too nice.
I practically have niceness oozing out of me.
This pic was taken at the Shell/Gandhi mart in front of our shop, and the owner/boss man Shawn (or Sean?) was once again the guy behind the counter.
I asked if I could take his picture, but he declined.
That is his hand on the counter, though.
I think he's camera shy.
Maybe next time, he'll allow a pic up to his elbow.
These things have to be done in stages, you know.






Here's what I like to drink if I need a quick boost:
Good ol' fizzy soda with caffeine in it.
I'd much rather have had a root beer or even an iced tea from the soda machine, but there was none left.
Lazy soda machine guy!
Actually, orange was the color I picked as my favorite when I was a little kid.
You know how it is when you're a little kid - somebody's gonna' ask you what your favorite color is, and you'll have to come up with an answer.
Orange is what I went with, and I never wavered from it.
I'm a loyal guy, you know.
Once I decide I like something, I stick with it.





A refresher course in parts receiving:
In order to get the job done right the first time and in a timely manner, you MUST be able to follow instructions.
Study it, people.

Off to jerk.

-John

Monday Morning Memories

Just sitting here in front of the ol' computer reflecting on the decent ride I had yesterday out in the Pachaug forest.
I felt good and felt that I rode well.
I didn't crash and didn't make any boneheaded decisions that got me into trouble.

The bike worked and felt phenomenal, as usual - I am sooooooo glad I finally got off my ass last weekend and put a Bridgestone M22 tire back on the rear like I always run.
The bike feels so much better because of it.

The only real drag with riding in the Pachaug forest is that the place is littered with rocks.
All kinds and all sizes, and they're all over the place.
When you're on a trail section that's actually free of them, it's like a treat that doesn't last too long, unfortunately.
I've read about the trails in Massachusetts on their state land, and want to go check these out sometime this year.
I'm not fond of driving the distance, but from what I've read, they're supposed to be quite good.
I'll find out.

One big thing that riding at Pachaug does have going for it is that it's so close to me.
I'll truck my WR-250FY the 13 miles up to the place I work, unload on the loading dock out back, park my truck in the back lot, gear-up, have a swig of water, and hit the trails, which start only about a mile and a half from where I'm parked.
This, people, is very convenient.
Ever notice how convenience is very convenient? :)
I'll even bring my week's supply of fruit with me, unlock the door on the side of the building facing the highway, turn off the alarm, and put my big pile of pears and bananas on my desk.
This beats the crap out of having to lug them while riding in on Monday morning in my backpack.

I rode from 6:30pm until 8:00 pm, which is when dusk is setting in.
A good time.
I can't say enough about the stability of the WR-250FY and it's good overall feel.
If I've got the nerve to keep the throttle open and don't chicken-out, this bike will seemingly climb anything.
This is very good over the rocks, especially the areas where there are so many on the ground, you can't see any actual dirt, and you may as well be riding over golf ball-sizes ball bearings.
I like my WR. :)
Because of these good feelings, I have no trouble washing the bike up squeaky clean as soon as I get home, even though going inside for some din-dins seems very appealing at the moment.
Hey, if you wanna' play, you gotta' pay, and there's only one guy in this big, bad world who's gonna' look after the WR for me:
Me.
Because, you see, while washing your bike, not only are you removing the dirt you just accumulated, but you're also looking at and touching the bike.
If you want to examine the condition of your bike, you have to see it up close and personal.

A funny moment happened at the Shell gas station/Ghandi mart out in front of our shop.
There is usually a couple of nice blonde girls working there at different parts of the week, and I ain't seen them in a couple of weeks, now.
The person who was there was the head Ghandi, the guy who runs (and might own) the place, a guy named Shawn (or is it spelled Sean?)
I mentioned how I'd seen him manning the counter a lot lately and that I'd been missing the blonde that should have been there (because she looks a whole lot better to me than he does - sorry, Shawn or Sean :) ).
He then went into a minor tyrade, letting out his frustrations about how his employees are sometime a big pain in his ass with all of the no-shows because of break-ups with boyfriends, not getting a babysitter, feeling depressed, etc, etc.
I wouldn't be surprised if not having any more white fingernail polish topped the list of excuses.
I found this quite amusing, but he was so worked-up over it, I was secretly hoping he wasn't carrying a gun.
Who knows what might have happened. :)

Off to jerk.

-John

Breathing on the Fire Breather

My WR-250FY.
The skid plate is removed because we're gonna' do some pre-ride wrenchin'. :)



I've got two Yamaha motorcycles that go by the designation WR-250.
For a lot of people, this is going deep enough as far as just what these two bikes are all about.
The truth is, they're as different as apples and oranges, basically.
The one I ride on the street is the WR-250R, a dual-purpose bike.
The one in this post is the WR-250F, also called by me as the Fire Breather.
What's that supposed to mean?
I've got a pretty far out and mischievous sense of humor, and that's just my way of explaining to somebody exactly what WR-250 I'm talking about.
The WR-250F is 40 lbs. lighter, makes 15% more power, and is a more high-performance motorcycle than the WR-250R in every way.
It should be, because it's based on the YZ-250F, the motocross bike.
No, this WR-250F ain't a clam, I'm happy to say.

Later today, I'm loading the bike up for another ride out in the Pachaug state forest, and like anybody else out there in Motoland, if you give half a shit about the bike you'll be riding, you'll be giving it a pre-ride inspection and some good ol' TLC.
TLC?
That an acronym (look it up):
T = Tender
L = Love
(and)
C = Care
Now you know. :)




Do you know what your carburetor drain screw is doing right now?



First of all, you should really, really have a Service Manual for your bike.
Yes, you should.
I've got one for mine, but since I have it memorized, I usually don't need it at arm's reach while working on my bike.
That's what eating right and getting plenty of sleep does for your brain.

I want to change the engine oil and oil filter this weekend, so I'll start that process by starting the engine and running it for a few minutes in order to warm the oil up as well as stir it up a bit.
If my bike has been sitting for more than one day, I'll drain the fuel out of the carburetor via this little, itty-bitty drain screw at the bottom of it.
Yes, Buckwheat, that's what it's there for.
Gasoline that you buy at the pump these days doesn't stay fresh all that long, and since the carburetor bowl where the gas is kept inside the carburetor is vented to the atmosphere by that gaggle of hoses attached to it, I'll drain away that week-old gasoline.
When that's done, opening the fuel petcock and allowing some fresher gas in from the fuel tank lets me start this bike with one kick.
Really.

Lefty-loosey.

I once knew a Lucy, and she was a lefty.

After the engine has been run for about 5 minutes, it's shut off and the real fun begins.

On the WR-250FY, the majority of the engine's oil is kept in this neat little aluminum tank just in front of the engine.

As you probably know from playing with your drinking straws while sitting at McDonalds and Burger King, your Coke won't flow out of the straw if you hold your finger over the top of it.

Same principle here, Lenny.

Removing this bolt and sealing washer lets the air in as the oil comes out the bottom.

Two drains for twice the pain.

No, I don't complain because my bike has two spots where the engine oil has to be drained from, but some guys out there in Motorcycle Forumland make it seem like some kind of giant pain in the ass.

Get the frig over it, would you?

They're only a few inches apart, for cripe's sake.

You make it sound like you've got to jump in your car and drive 50 miles to go reach the other one.

Jeeeeez.

Why two?

One for the oil tank, and one for the engine, itself.

Even though most of the oil is in the tank, some will be inside the engine, too.

Both of these drain bolts and sealing washers are removed so that old crude can be drained into my drain pan.

The writing's on the wall.

Down in this 45 year-old garage, where an army of kids grew up, there's a whole lot of scribbling on the walls from when their young minds were still developing and because they needed a place to hone their penmanship.

It was never painted over, so, maybe one day in a future post I'll showcase and explain these 35 year-old writings.
That'll bring back memories. :)

The WR-250FY holds one single quart of oil, so it doesn't take too long to drain off.

This means I don't have a lot of time to admire the greenery outside.

I like this time of year. :)

Yes, Virginia, there really is an oil filter.

Neat little critter, huh?

I've heard of guys putting these in backwards, but since doing that requires practically hammering the cover back on, that's a mind-blower to me.

This shows how it goes back in on a WR-250FY.

Oil.

Not just for breakfast, anymore.

With the drain bolts and oil filter secure, some yummy, delicious Yamalube is poured into the engine.

How convenient that one quart of oil is the amount I'll need to do the job, eh?

Cuts down on the number of half-quarts cluttering up the place.

Shut your hole.

I will, just as soon as I pour that quart of oil through it.

OK?

Everyone likes stickers.

Do YOU know what these letters stand for?

Prove it. :)

It's hairy.

Hairy arms, that is.

Next on the agenda is servicing another filter.

Fact:

I'm amazed to this very day how many long-time riders I've known that don't seem to pay much attention to what's behind this side panel.

Do you know what it is?

Hey.

It's that blue butt, again.

Yes, people, it's the air filter.

Very, very important stuff, this is.

Want to make your bike stop running and then have to spend big bucks making it right, again?

Neglect this little devil.

I remember reading in the Service Manual for my very first motorcycle about frequent air filter servicing.

I read how it should be done after each ride when riding off road.

At the time, I felt that whoever wrote that was smoking some heavy reefer, but now I know that it is very true.

It's high time (ha, ha - reefer. High. Geddit? :) ) that you all realize that, too.

If you already know this, bake yourself a cookie - a real big one with lots of big chocolate chips.

You deserve it for knowing what a lot of guys refuse to know.

Mmmmmmmm.
Chocolate chips.

The dust stops here.

Much better here than inside your engine.

Look at that purdy Maxima FFT doing it's job.

It's enough to bring a tear to my eye.

Anyone got a hanky?

*blows nose*

Here's your hanky back. :)

Individually wrapped for freshness.

What I'm using is a Maxima pre-oiled Pro filter.

For 99.9% of my motorcycling life, I've cleaned and re-oiled my air filters.

In fact, I still have the stock filter and a Twin Air filter on a shelf down here in the garage for this bike.

Lately, though, I've been using these filters from Maxima.

Why not?, I thought, since they're well-made, inexpensive (costs me about $6.50 each), and come perfectly oiled with my pick in filter oils.

You know what that is.
Don'cha'?

Sticker for me!

Sticker for me!

Hmmmmmm.

Now, where should I stick it?
Don't answer that. :)

Another control.

I need control.

We all need control.

The second and third lines are to a song that you should be delighted to look up.

Another important thing of mine is to lube the clutch cable and clutch cable adjuster, as well as the pivot of the clutch lever, itself.

It was none other than Bob Hannah, himself, who said in an interview with either Motocross Action or Dirt Bike magazine that he was constantly amazed with how many guys keep their controls in poor working order.

Things like torn grips, bent handlebars, and dry and squeaky and creaky clutch cables.

I don't go for any of that silly shit.

Uh-uh.

So, removing that cable from it's usual spot is in order.

See this cable?

It's saying, "Feed me."

Some guys (lots, actually) will insist that you shouldn't lube your cables because it attracts dirt.

I never agreed with that thinking.

My translation of that was always, "I just too lazy to do it."

Don't you try to fool me with your tomfoolery, Tom.
You got that?

There's no way in hell you'll convince me that a freshly-lubed cable doesn't work better than your 6-month-old dry one.

Save it for some other guy.

The right tool for the job.

Are you a tool?

Then buy one of these.

Now.

This little device gets clamped over the end of the cable, making a nice and tight seal when you tighten down that thumb screw.

There's a little hole in it which is made to accept the straw from your can of cable lube (I always use Bel-Ray 6-in-1).

After jamming the straw in the hole, you squirt away, and the pressure from the can forces the lube down the cable.

Pretty neat, huh?

You bet your ass it is.
I just said ass.

So what?

You have, too.

Yes, you have. :)

Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.

Those are words to yet another song.

It's up to you to find out which song.

An important part of this job is putting grease on the cable end.

Why?

Because of physics.

When you pull on your clutch lever, that end of the cable actually rotates inside of the clutch lever.

When your buddy breaks a clutch cable because he's far too much of a lazy slob to do this stuff to his bike, it almost always breaks up near the top end of the cable.

That's because his silly ass let things deteriorate to the point where the cable end froze in the clutch lever, and every time he pulled the lever, the cable wire, itself, was being forced to bend sharply.

Over and over and over again, until one day, the cable said, "Enough of this bullshit!"

Keeping this well-lubed prevents this from happening.

Now you know.

Can't stand the pressure?

Let it out.

All of it.

Last on the list today is relieving the forks of any air pressure that has built up inside of them.
There once was a time, waaaaaay back in the Stone Age, where forks actually used air pressure to help hold the bike up.

Not any more.

In fact, with modern dirt bikes, anyway, today's logic says that you want zero air pressure inside of them.

Since just a change in air temperature can pressurize them, letting any air pressure out before the ride is a groovy thing to do.

Yeeeeaaaaahh.

Ready to romp.

That didn't take too long and it didn't kill me.

-John