At last! No more twisting two T25 screws until the wrist aches and their heads are stripped, no more jiggling to get them seated right before tightening them up again, either; and a lot less risk of scratching the paint when removing the seat.
At $25 plus S&H they are overpriced, but so are the OEM screws of which I already had to replace one due to stripped threads. These puppies turn what used to be a three-minute job into mere seconds.
After shopping around, the only place I could find them, that I trust to place an online order with was Sierra BMW. I couldn’t find them cheaper anywhere else either.
The install is simple. Just put some blue thread lock on the pins and screw them in. I used mechanics gloves and just tightened them up with my fingers. Some have suggested to cut a slot into the tip with a rotary tool to make installing and removal easier.
So far, I am happy with the purchase. The pins haven’t worked loose; and the seat doesn’t feel any different to me. The ability to get under there with just a quick “push ‘n’ yank” is well worth the cash I dropped on these.
Let’s see how they hold up on the track next weekend.
Miss Busa Tested & Approved: 4/5
I’m giving this product one heart less for its price point. Also, Evoluzione should update their pins to a slotted design, to make removal easier without risk of damage to the product and make those of us happy who like to torque stuff to proper values.
I will have to amend my review after crash-testing the quick-release pins during racing. They performed up to expectation during a low-speed lowside at about 50 mph; however, when I tucked the front end at about 120+ mph, the seat came off during the bike’s slide into the gravel trap and the battery was ejected. The battery was found hanging off its heavy-gauge ground wire, which kept it from becoming a projectile missile. All other connections had been severed. Fortunately, no damage was done to any electrical and electronic components, and I was able to bend the battery terminals back into serviceable shape. However, it did damage the seat, which is still serviceable though.
I would only recommend these for racing if you have your battery properly secured or are running one of those 2-ounce high-performance cells. I will not change my four-hearts rating, since this failure may have been due to the battery forcing the seat off the pins rather than the seat coming loose and enabling the battery to dislodge. I will, however, properly secure the electrolyte cannon ball before the next race. Securing the battery is a tech requirement for ECTA, but not for WERA. I should have had this done already, regardless. I have the hardware for the project lying around at home. So much for just doing the bare minimum.
Mr. Slow apparently has tired of the abundant Pavement Ends signs peppered around this area or maybe he has finally succumbed to all my whining about being bored with the uninspiring layout of our roads; or just maybe he wants to go off on some adventure? Dirt. Plenty of it around here and I’m plenty scared of it, but this girl conquers her fears (eventually). Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut about the only hope he ever has of getting me off the asphalt is a little unadulterated fun sliding sideways around a flat track. And by sideways I mean horizontally on metal, after vertically on rubber.
We were waiting on Ron of BMW of Atlanta to finish putting my bike and her handler into their customer database and write up the work order for us to sign, so the Pirate could get her now 2400-mile overdue 12K service and three minor recalls done; one of which was an updated owner’s manual, which told me among other things that it is now unlawful to operate the Pirate with her red coding pill inserted on public roads; one was a new sticker that goes somewhere under the fairing which is tremendously important; last but not least she was treated to an updated drop sensor and a new breather hose for the crank case. As I was browsing the gear selection, Mr. Slow told me he wanted to check something out and made a beeline to the adventure bikes.He’s really got it for the R1200GS Adventure in Shine Yellow Metallic. The same crappy yellow with a hint of puke green in the paint pail as this year’s new S1000RR color. Yuck. But he’s a weirdo, and his fashion sense is nowhere appropriate but on the golf course. I hope it was just the fluorescents casting the evil green shadow on what I thought was a sunflower kind of yellow from what I saw of this year’s RR online. I sat on the F650GS, which I take to be the smaller sister of the aforementioned monster; definitely more my size. After sitting on the R1200GS, just for giggles, I knew there was no way I could do anything but stay on the pavement with that giant of an Enduro, which is just his size.
We’re well on our way of becoming a couple of Warsteiner guzzling, Beemer riding, motorcycle racing, grownup kids who refuse to act their age; toilet humor is considered an art form around here and is graded on a 10-point scale.
Now, it’s just a matter of paying off both of our bikes to enable Mr. Slow to set his evil plan in motion. The plan to kill off Miss Busa and make it look like an honest goat trail tragedy, so he can collect the price on her overly-insured, adrenaline-fueled head (racing voids the warranty, after all) and live the sweet life of the rich (but not so much famous).
A message to the Dearest: Just remember, I will send you messages from beyond the grave by rearranging the alphabet magnets on the fridge. Please leave three sets of letters and numbers and a full collection of refrigerator poetry words, or crap is going to fly Poltergeist style. Just sayin’.
What in the devil is wrong this morning? Traffic is pretty heavy, but moving along at almost the pace of a Georgia Super Speeder, which is highly unusual for a Wednesday on both counts. It’s raining, has been pretty much all night from the looks of things. I’m running late, so I’m pretty much in a hurry. Business as usual on I-20. I’m passing most everybody, a few get to pass me. Yeah, you’ve read right. It’s a privilege, one which can be revoked at any second. 😉
Once I merge onto I-520E it’s a different story, as is evident at the merge point of the two opposing I-20 ramps feeding into I-520E. It takes some seriously creative riding to get in between all the slowasses, the hesitant mergers, the leadfoots, the space holders, the distractedly engaged, and the mobile jabber junkies. Yes, I have categorized the crowd by their default behaviors when driving becomes more complicated and the brain starts running the risk of overloading. Inconveniences such as intersections, on/off ramps, cloverleaf ramps, and merge points are all prime spots to observe the Common Cager (incola communis rotae cavea) in their natural habitat.
I make my way towards another day filled with opportunity of earning Pirate Coin (read: I’m going to work to make the bike payment) through the succession of merge points that is Augusta’s own scaled-down version of Atlanta’s infamous Spaghetti Junction or Columbia’s suicidal Malfunction Junction. After slicing and dicing and duking it out with a cager crowd that is denser, faster, and more aggressive than usual, which makes the situation also more unpredictable than is the norm; I finally find myself some empty-enough asphalt I can settle into and go with the flow of traffic.
My bliss, however, doesn’t last long, and as the wild bunch behind me catches up, I find myself surrounded again. Damn! I hate this. I can’t stand being around this much metal. That goes against my rule of riding as if invisible. I don’t like being caged in (pun intended), it gives me few to no outs and not enough time to react to set an escape in motion if it became necessary. I like to control the situation. And I do that with the throttle.
I have planned my escape and am working my way towards the freedom that is a much airier stretch of asphalt not too far ahead. As I see an opening to escape the imminent clutches of a semi-truck spraying me with grimy rainwater its tires sling off the road surface and a tailgater in an SUV, and risking getting stuck there, I take it and quickly change lanes, squeeze in between two cars, ride the left side of the white line, then gas it a little too enthusiastically to take advantage of the next opening. I slide the rear wheel, it starts stepping out to the right. I don’t even have to think about it; nor is it an event that registers even the slightest twinges of panic in me, nor does it upset the Pirate, as is evident by the DTC light remaining dark. A simple acknowledgement, followed by trained action.
I pin the throttle, then dive left with a quick nudge on the left grip, aiming for the left wheel track of the left lane; as I do, the rear wheel hooks back up. I straighten myself out, pass the semi truck, and after one more set of rolling road blocks (two cars pacing each other slightly offset, taking up both lanes and backing up impatient caffeine-deprived, half-asleep morning commuters for miles) I am finally free. I feel like putting on blue face paint and showing my arse while yelling “Freedom!”.
I was kind of proud of myself. I smiled. It wasn’t too long ago where I would have had to pull over and dig out the emergency pair of replacement panties. And here I was complaining not too long ago that I can’t improve my skills on public roads anymore. That street riding has become mostly mundane, boring and uninspiring. I guess I underestimated the power of constant and conscious repetition of isolated skill practice. I definitely have increased my crap weather riding skills and my confidence must be solidified.
I noticed another thing, I have reached a milestone of sorts in my riding: I haven’t been singing in the rain. That means I am not nervous or anxious anymore and the need for intense concentration has passed. I still sing on occasion when I drag knee though, I’m pretty sure of it. 😉
As a side note: I’m rolling Dunlop Sportmax Q2s, the rear in Hayabusa size (a leftover from some long-ago tire sale): 190/50 as opposed to 190/55. I can reach the ground better in my race boots, but I think I lost 6 mph off the top end… *giggles* and my speedo reads about 5-7 miles slow now. Oh well… it won’t be on there forever. I really do love those tires. I think I might even like them better than the Metzeler Racetec Interact K3 (K3s are medium-hard) that came on the bike; and they are cheaper, too.