Valve job from hell

Sometimes, I truly believe that my brains are only enough to help me breathe, walk and earn a living (barely).
But tasked with anything beyond that and the noodle in my skull utterly fails me.
Such was the case when I embarked on my first motorcycle valve adjustment. Doesn't that phrase alone send you into a soft slumber? I know. I don't mean to become a motorcycle geek, but somehow, it's happening to me nonetheless.
There are as many bikers as there are bikes. I wish I were of the tatooed, long-haired, cable-muscled variety. But, sadly, I am not. I've never had a tatoo beyond the temporary variety from a Cracker Jack box. My long hair is long gone. My muscles, well, lets say those Soloflex ads are wrong - 20 minutes a day three times a week will NOT give you the physique of a male underwear model.
To the point - I attempted the valve job. It took me two days, I momentarily locked up my engine, I'm not sure I have the valve settings exactly right and I got into a huge fight with my wife in the middle of the entire project. Can you imagine anything more challenging?
Well, we survived. I mean, my bike and me. I think we're closer for the experience.
Here's my bike with its guts all exposed. It gives new meaning to the term, "naked bike."
You know, I go on these websites, forums, really, filled with other owners of classic Japanese motorycles and so many of them sound like expert mechanics and I'm just totally jealous.
I'm not a mechanic and I know that. But I just really love jamming my hands into the guts of this bike.