Abode of Clarus

After flushing my coolant for about an hour, my hands were left bloodied and sore, it was certainly nothing that a nice oil change wouldn't be able to fix.

So I set out to drain my oil, a simple turning of a bolt; except, me being the dumbass that I am, got the wrong socket. I was off my a meer mm, but it was enough that under the force of my mighty hand, the nut was torn to a shiny smooth stump. I was left bitter and angry at my own stupidity. Not only would I have to go out and purchase a new bolt to replace the one I had destroyed, but also a pair of vise grips to help remove the stubborn metal.

$12.97 later I was on my way home with a new pair of heavy duty vise grips. I placed a call to my local honda dealer which proudly states on their web page that they are open until 11:00 pm. After waiting through the usual phone messaging and teleprompt system, I arrived at the ear of a wiry gentleman who proudly told me that they had the bolt I required in stock. When I told him I was on my way to pick it up, however, he said simply, "but the sales counter is closed, so you'll have to come tomorrow."

"If the sales counter is closed, where are you working?"

"In the mail order room"

"Well then, let me "mail" my payment to you by sliding it under your door, and you can hand me my bolt"

"We're not allowed to do that sir"

I hate people, and I hate Honda dealers, and I really hate that kid.

I decided that, although I was bested by a sprout little punk with a phone, I would certainly not be bested by a worthless oil drain bolt; not with my new massive vise grips of destruction.

I clamped those fuckers on there with such great might, I could see the bolt squirm under the grips awesome power, and I turned.

nothing

I gripped them harder, requiring two hands to lock the clamps into place. I braced my body against the bike, and used the underside of my foot to bring the might of my body against this little bolt, and I felt the unsatisfying slip as the pliers shorn more and more metal from the head of the bolt.

I sprouted a few choice words and promptly threw my new toy vise grips across the garage floor. Desparity set in. I started running the costs of replacing an oil pan, or drilling out the bolt. The mess of shorn metal bolt bits that would be thrown into my oil system.

I decided to take the advice of the engineer in my head and relax, and look at things from a different viewpoint. I lay a blanket under my bike and stared at the bolt head on, my nemisis. What could force him to cause me so much trouble.
Had the washer become lodged against itself?
Had another piece of metal come into direct contact with the bolt?
Could there be something wedged in the treads?

It was from this angle, staring at the underbelly of my bike, head on with the bolt that I realized the following:

I had been turning the bolt the wrong way...

the whole time