2500 Mile Oil Change

Did my first oil change on the RKC this past weekend. I picked up the slotted, rachet-type filter remover. That made it easy, getting the filter off. I used some cardboard under the filter to try and divert the drips into the pan.

Why are the oil pan and tranny plugs right next to each other? I checked ahead of starting, so ended up knowing what to look for, but couldn't help wondering how many guys start out to change the oil and end up changing both, owing to pulling the wrong plug.

Also, put the filter back on and then read where they recommend putting four ounces of oil in the filter. So, back off and on again, freshly filled with oil. Overall, not to tough of a job. The most frustrating thing I've done so far is attempt to fill the rear tire with air. That stem is hard to get at buried in the spoked-rim and under the belt-drive. Had to swap out my compressor nozzle to the small nipple-type to get it in place.

This was the 2500 mile service, which I was performing at about 4000 miles. :)

Run Angel Run

Netflix sent us this one and I watched this past week. William Smith in all his glory and, surprisingly for a chopper opera, it's a love story.

Lots of great in-the-wind footage and a song from Tammy Wynette, dontcha know!

The Boys in the Grass

That's John and the left and Elton on the right; going for the grass in their feeder.

Digitus Impudicus

This is awesome.

And, yes, I do have a problem with authority. I exorcise that problem by working out, coaching kids sports, and having served honorably in the US Navy.

Latest Ranch Action

Working on the urban goat ranch today ...

Anybody publish anything in HOG magazine?

Or any other magazines, for that matter. I sent off a query and I'm hoping HOG magazine will pay me for an article. Here's a snippet:

As I roll up to the red light and come to a stop just before the crosswalk line, I look over and she's pulling alongside on her 2010 Fat Boy Lo. She looks directly at me and says, "I love this bike!" adding emphasis to what is obvious to anyone within eyesight of her smiling face. Ten months ago, when I jumped back into motorcycling, it was a different story.

She was standing, arms crossed, between a rack of leather jackets and a shelf of t-shirts, in our local Harley shop. I can’t claim for certain that she was tapping a toe, but it would have been right in character for the moment. She wouldn’t make eye contact with me for very long. When she did, her brown eyes burned; I knew I’d sparked a fire that day. I made the choice a couple of weeks earlier to buy a new Harley-Davidson Fat Bob and I’d done it without waiting to gain full approval of the chief financial officer of our home. That’s what set things to burning.

Elton the Pygmy Goat vs. She-she the Cat

Round 1


and Round 2