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'Can't say'z I can Whip.
But there's jus' too much good that comes oud'a gettin' down on'a groun' n' checkin' your pressures with one'a them ol' style tire gauges. Gives you a chance for an up-close-n'-personal that will be missed with TPSs.
Samey-same creepin' aroun' n' changin' your oil the ol' fashioned way, as opposed to say, that silliness involvin' the long hummin' bird beak through the dipstick tube into the oil pan.
There's been jus' way too many times when gettin' down in it has your eyes fallin' on somethin' that's amiss n' possibly avoidin' further damage r' an accident.
Save the cash that you'd'a spent on the sensors n' treat yourself to somethin' really indulgent like a good leather bike jacket so you can keep the top down when it drops below 50. (Aaay! Our friends n' neighbors already think we're nuts. Whudduya got to lose?)
Be well.
Java
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In life-long pursuit of that most mythic of beasts: the ever-elusive perfect corner. Well . . . that, r' at least a whole lodda clear spin-out room.
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