Zen And the Art of the Oil Change

Zen and the Art of the Oil Change

LEANINGS

PETER EGAN

THESE DAYS, A LOT OF YOUNGER, LESS experienced riders come up to me and say, “Mr. Egan, you have an almost legendary reputation for being able to change the oil and filter on your motorcycles without spilling more than about 30 percent of the oil onto the garage floor or your own clothing. How the heck do you do it?”

I tell them, “Well, kids, part of it is experience. 1 worked for almost a decade as a foreign-car mechanic, and I’ve also owned and maintained a lot of motorcycles in my life. But basically, it’s a Zen thing; you have to work thoughtfully and carefully, planning every move and wasting no motion. You have to be at one with your motorcycle and the molecular flow of lubricants in the universe.”

I’ve been asked this question so often, I thought it might be beneficial to our readers if 1 walked them through the stages of one of my typical oil changes. Let’s take the case of my Buell Ulysses, whose oil I changed just last weekend.

Naturally, I didn’t have an oil filter on hand, so I rode 60 miles to Mischler’s Harley-Davidson/BMW in Beaver Dam to get one.

There are Harley dealers closer than this, of course, but they don’t have BMWs to look at, as well as Harleys. And it’s important to remember that at least 60 percent of the reason we ride is to go look at other motorcycles. I’m told some people do it just for the scenery and fresh air, which I suppose is possible, but it seems rather shallow.

So I arrived at Mischler’s and—after confirming that they didn’t have a good, used black BMW RUOOS for sale— went straight to the parts counters and asked my friendly parts-man Aaron if he had an oil filter for a 2009 Buell Ulysses. Harley is long since out of the Buell business, as we know, but I was told when I bought my bike that parts and service would be available for the next nine years. This sounded fine to me.

When you’re in your mid-60s, nine years sounds like Eternity, which it very well may be, depending upon the results of your last EKG. And if, for some reason, you happen to live longer than that, there are always parts on eBay. No worries here.

Anyway, Aaron looked up the filter and said, “Do you want just one?”

He asked it in a tone that implied that most wise shoppers buy at least two filters at a time or maybe a six-pack. “Better give me two,” I said grandly, privately mourning the lost opportunity to take another long, pointless ride to a motorcycle dealership.

So I took my filters and headed home. I could have bought some genuine HarleyDavidson oil, too, but I use 20W50 Valvoline racing oil (with mystical ZDDP) in a racing car and have a couple cases of the stuff stacked in my workshop. Should be okay for the Buell, I figured.

Back home, I followed the oil-change instructions in the owner’s manual and began my sublime work. Here’s where the specific instruction kicks in. Pay careful attention.

Step 1 : Place a “suitable container” under the sump or oil reservoir—which, in the Buell’s case, is in the hollow swingarm above the end of the muffler—and remove the plug. A stream of scalding hot oil will run down over the rear of the muffler and cascade into the pan, like Niagara Falls in a nightmare. Some will run down to the far end of the muffler and onto the floor. Or trickle warmly down your forearm and into your sleeve.

Step 2: While oil is dripping from the drain hole and muffler, remove the small chin fairing and place another pan under the oil filter. Remove the filter with a web-type tool and stand back as oil from the engine and filter run over the front of the muffler and into the pan. Much of the oil will follow the bottom of the muffler and run onto the floor. Expect some to drip off the filter wrench onto your blue jeans. Accidentally drop the slippery, hot filter into the pan for a nice splash effect.

Step 3: Carefully fill the new filter with oil, spilling hardly any at all, then screw it into the engine and put the drain plug back in. Here’s where you give the drain pan an accidental kick so that a small tidal wave of oil flops onto the floor. Then refill the reservoir using a funnel with too small an opening so that it overflows immediately and burps oil onto the swingarm. Before putting the chin spoiler back on, use massive amounts of contact cleaner/degreaser to clean up the muffler and floor, along with ecologically friendly piles of oilsoaked paper towels.

Step 4: Carry the main oil drain pan across the workshop and dump it down a large funnel into a disgustingly filthy, oil-streaked, red-plastic five-gallon gas can with the words “DRAIN OIL” scrawled across it so people don’t accidentally drink from it.

Step 5: Check to make sure this can isn’t already almost full. Otherwise, about two quarts of dirty drain oil will well up around the sides of the funnel and run onto the floor, as mine did. Expect some oil to run down the back side of the pouring spout on the drain pan and drip onto your running shoes.

Step 6: Mop up the oil spill with more paper towels and wring them out over your drain pan. Clean the whole area with half a spray can of contact cleaner, but don’t breathe any of the fumes. When everything is cleaned up, start the bike and check it for oil leaks. Mine was fine; not a sign of a drip.

Step 7 : Wipe your tools carefully, put them away and then go into the house. Throw all your clothes—including the running shoes—into the washer and then take a shower. Put on clean clothes and return to the workshop to have a beer and ponder the evening’s work. Now, you’re done.

The sharp reader will note that some oil was actually spilled during this process, but that the majority of it ended up in either the bike or some kind of container.

Is there a truly perfect, Zen-like way to change your oil, working calmly and logically, without spilling a drop?

I suppose somebody somewhere can do it, but not me. There’s a remote possibility that I’m too impatient and impulsive or just too unskilled.

In any case, I’ve found the best substitute for skill is to work alone. That way, no one knows you’re not at one with the serene, clock-like machinery of the universe. Or how much you swear.