I was never very mechanically inclined. I never owned a tool box. I never read car magazines. I never took shop class in high school. I never watched the speed channel. Hell, I never so much as watched my old man change the oil in the lawn mower.

I suppose it all changed a couple years ago when I purchased a motorcycle. More out of necessity than desire, though. Motorcycles require a great deal of preventative maintenance. More regular maintenance intervals if you race them on the track and wreck them. I was never intimidated by the simplicity of wrenching on a motorcycle. A good factory service manual, the right tools and a little bit of patience cures the most annoying repairs.

But vehicles of the four wheel variety made me uneasy for some unknown reason. I often hesitated to perform routine mundane maintenance on either truck or car. Yet again it was out of necessity, not desire, that I began to wrench on my own vehicles. I took time to change the oil, rotate the tires and even pressure wash the undercarriage when it certainly needed it. The more in-depth repairs were left to a trusted mechanic. When that trust was abused, I had determined it was time to do my own work.

Since then, the list never seems to end: Replacing the tail lights. Replacing the headlights. Cleaning the AC blower fan. Changing the spark plugs. Cleaning the throttle body and mass airflow sensor. Bleeding the brake system. Changing the gear oil in the differentials, transfer case and manual transmission case. Correcting electrical issues with my aftermarket driving lights. Replacing the fuel filter. Lubing the drive shaft. And that's only the last six months worth!

This afternoon, I laid underneath the transmission of my truck contemplating how much opium the Japanese Engineer smoked before he designed the location of the O2 sensor plug on top of the transmission. Certainly he understood this truck was destined to be sold in the Americas market. Everyone knows Americans are lazy. We pioneered fast food, twenty minute oil changes and drive-through package stores. A little more to the left, or right, would have gone a long way to restoring order and balance in the world. Never-the-less, a half-hour later I had conquered the sensor and reset the engine code.

The half hour I laid under my truck contemplating the old slogan, "I love what you do for me" provided ample time to contemplate the topic of this blog. The list of work "to be continued" never seems to end: Replacing the rotors and brake shoes. Replacing the shift seat bushing. Replacing the clutch bushing. Finally hard-wiring my GPS power cable and mounting it to the dash. Replace the power antenna mast. Remount the skid plate. Somehow, I've written my very own "honey-do" list. The perpetual list that never ends...

The motorcycle patiently waits in the corner of the garage. Limp from my lowside at Talladega GP two months ago. If patience is a virtue, I anxious anticipate being ordained a saint any day now.