Wrench'n Ride'n

Today Jan and I rode to Faulconbridge in the Blue Mountains. We rode down the boring F3. We detoured to MCAS so I could buy and Open Face Helmet. Bought a RJays Tomcat. Then we rode up the boring M4. We where on our way to meet friends of Jan's. Linda and John. Linda was showing her art at The Olde Block Factory Gallery in Faulconbridge. Could not take photos inside of the exhibit. Thats naughty. We had tea.  We fought lions. Then went to Lawson Pub for lunch.  Then back to Linda and Johns place at Bulburra.  John owns this. It has 15k kms on it. He did have a pristine Honda 900 Bol D'or before this one.  Then we rode home.

Bought some 3M cable routers today and fixed up the chain oiler line. It now puts oil a whole lot closer to the front of the sprocket.

I never have liked chain drives. Of the 14 bikes I have owned 4 had shaft drives. I like shaft drives. No messy chains to adjust. No regular oiling to do. Almost maintenance free is a shaft drive. I have only in the last few weeks put a new chain and sprockets on the Bandit. The original ones lasted around 47k kms. I think this is because the original owner had fitted a ScotOiler to the bike. It was not on the bike when I bought it. There is evidence that it was one of those vacuum operated ones. I could not afford a ScotOiler so bought a Tutoro Chain Oiler . I bought the Auto one. Seems to work off the motion of the bike which makes a plunger go up and down allowing the oil to flow. So when the bike is not moving the oil don't flow. See  Auto Oiler...  for more info. Fitting it to the Bandit was not easy. This is no reflection on the Tutoro. Its the fact that the frame on the Bandit does not allow you anywhere to fit this oiler. So I mounted it off the left rear footpeg hang

This superb piece is written by Boris Mihailovic. It is taken from his "Twisty Bits" column in AMCN September 11, 2012. I, MOTORCYCLIST I, Motorcyclist, am better than you, Driver. In every way, and by any measure you’d care to make, I am better than you. That is what accounts for my smug, self-satisfied grin as I carve past you in traffic wit h unsurpassed grace and incomparable élan. Of course, you cannot see my smile, because you are sealed inside your stinking, crawling cage being spoon-fed your idiot opinions via the radio and being a little bit outraged at the disdain I display for the apparent might of your car…and secretly wishing you were a tenth as cool as me. Perhaps you even tell yourself that one day…one day, when the kids leave home and the wife gives you permission, you’ll consider, in the vaguest possible way, entertaining a notion that would see you make a vague commitment that might eventually lead to you actually owning a motorcycle. One day. Or may