October 2019 – Page 3 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Endurofest Five

A fresh, new Enduro rider joined Endurofest 2019 today, Husky Dave on his 1975 DT400. We celebrated by scrambling around the trails behind Flagstaff’s miniature airport.

Only a few miles out of town the single-track through the trees was a new experience for me. The track itself was narrow, like 12 inches wide, and deep enough that if your tire got scrubbing along the wall you’d have to dab a foot to keep the front from washing out. The trees were both close and low. It was a place you had to pay attention or a branch would slap you upside the head.

We did ok there, or at least we thought we were doing ok until a kid on a modern T-2 Husky ripped past us. The guy was just flying through those woods, sticking in the rut and dodging trees like a humming bird.

The tight stuff was mentally exhausting so I was glad when we headed back up into the mountains north of town. The trails are wide up there and a guy can do a bit of sight seeing. Until he hits a damn rock the size of a basketball, which I did. We were slowly climbing a mild grade, the trail was very dusty and the dust lingered. Big tree roots cut across the trail making a stair-step type of surface. I rode into the dust hopping over the roots and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. Godzilla kept popping away like nothing happened. I switched off the motor and looked back to see what the heck I had ridden over. I couldn’t believe the size of the rock. It was huge. How could I not see the bastard?

I restarted Godzilla and continued the climb. The motor was bogging down. Turns out the brake lever was bent and the bend applied the rear brake. Meis stopped by and we had to loosen the brake adjuster to allow the rear wheel free movement.

After sorting out my crash we went through a few gates and found some interesting snowshoe trails, then we circled back to Hunter’s crash site. At the exact spot Hunter’s ribs augered into the ground Greg built up a wood and stone memorial and we held a mock ceremony to honor Hunter’s busted ribs.

Hunter is feeling much better now. We visited him in the hospital and when he saw the monument and photos of us standing around with our heads bowed he called us assholes. So things are returning to normal.

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Hey, want to catch up on the Yamaha Endurofest and Gresh’s ruminations on the whing-ding-ding-ding-dingers? Well, here you go!

Endurofest One
Endurofest Two
Endurofest Three
Endurofest Four

Endurofest Four

What with Hunter going on injured reserve yesterday I didn’t get a chance to work on the now dead Godzilla, my 360 RT-B Yamaha Enduro. There was a Flagstaff-morning nip in the air when I checked for spark at Godzilla’s sparkplug and found none. I then moved on to the spark plug cap, the coil wire itself and found no spark. I checked the coil windings, it had resistance so was probably ok. Then I cleaned the points, but nothing worked: Still no spark.

One thing about riding old motorcycles at Endurofest, you’ll be with a bunch of guys that know more about Yamaha two-strokes than anyone else save for Yamaha.

Meis brought over his flywheel puller and we removed the flywheel to gain access to the points. We couldn’t get the points to break. It was like they were grounded all the time. We started unplugging harness wires trying to find the problem but no joy.

Don, our resident Enduro Guru took a look at our ohmmeter readings and said, “Something is incorrect.” Don got down on his knees and pointed at a tiny silver piece of wire, like something from a wire brush, that was shorting against the point connection nut and a part of the aluminum boss that the stator screws into. “That’s it, take that wire out and it will run.” I grabbed the needle nose pliers and removed the tiny wire bit. It was probably 1/16-inch long.

Godzilla had spark! After reassembling the bike I still couldn’t get it to start. I figured that one out by myself; it was out of gas. I switched to reserve and Godzilla roared into life. The wire must have shorted the points out at exactly the same time as the bike went on reserve. What are the odds?

While the rest of the crew ran down to Sedona for lunch and trail riding I went to the Flagstaff airport to retrieve Hunter’s wife Lori.
We were riding in Brumby. I was sure she wasn’t going to like the old rattletrap but she’s made of sterner stuff than I thought. I could have gone riding and let Lori take a cab to the hospital but I felt I needed to make some brownie points with Lori. I’m not sure she’s all that into the Brumby-Godzilla schtick. Hunter and me are always playing around in the dirt on old motorcycles and here I broke her husband again.

At the hospital, Hunter looked much better. He wanted out now. I left those two to plot their escape.

Back at the motel I briefly considered trying to find the main group but with Godzilla acting up a bit I decided a nap was the better option. That’s how Endurofest goes, you’re free to ride or nap or do nothing. It’s a relaxed get together of like-minded dirt riders.

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Endurofest Three

I try not to be “That Guy” but sometimes being “That Guy” finds a way. Seven old Yamaha Enduros showed up for the first trail ride of Endurofest 2019 in Flagstaff and the sound of all those cackling dirt bikes was magical. I could listen to that carbon-based music all day long.

Our first stop was a gas station top up. One of the guys knew a short cut through town and we were going to follow him. In all the gassing up and bikes moving around I kind of lost the plot. I took off down the road following a guy on a motorcycle that I thought was one of our group. That bike turned out to be a VStrom Suzuki so I pulled off the road and waited. And waited. Several motorcycles passed by but no smoking old two strokes. I turned around thinking, “Where the hell is everyone?”

I went all the way back to the gas station without seeing the group. I figured I’d make another slow run to see if I could find them and if I couldn’t I would just go for a ride. I caught a glimpse of a bike down one of the side streets and it turned out to be one of our group. He led me back to the gang and they were not exactly glad to see me.

“Rule one: If you don’t know where you’re going, don’t go!” they told me. I felt pretty bad holding up progress and all. I tried explaining how I followed another motorcycle but it was pretty quiet.

My wing man, Hunter had gone off looking for me. We waited and waited. The thing turned into a cluster and we had not even make the first turn. Once Hunter returned we headed up into the mountains north of Flagstaff. The trails were fairly smooth but you had to stay alert because often a big rock would be in the middle of the trail. Also it was hunting season so a big, lifted pickup truck might be coming the other direction and you don’t want to end up a hood ornament.

With all seven strokers ripping through the woods I’m sure more than one hunter drew a bead on us after we spooked their game.

Don’s 1973, hot rodded 175 Enduro broke its kickstarter stop and the lever was bouncing against the frame making a hell of a racket. He sorted it with a bungee cord.

In areas with trees the shadows on the trail made it hard to see rocks. It all looked like rocks! Hunter nailed one and it knocked the front end sideways. The bike went down and Hunter landed hard.

I was the 4th rider to get there, Hunter was on his knees hunched over cussing so I figured he was ok. We kind of stood around, asking Hunter if he was ok. He mostly just cussed.

“Help me up.” We got Hunter vertical. I knew he was hurt bad because he said we better call an ambulance. I’ve seen Hunter ride one-handed with broken bones through some rough trails. We got the ambulance on the way.

Hunter asked me, “Can you go get my Jeep and take my bike back to the motel?” Another rider, Larry, and I headed back to town. It was a rough couple miles to get to pavement and I was wondering how that ride in an ambulance would feel.

Four-tenths of a mile from our motel Godzilla died. No sputtering, no hint anything was wrong. It was like someone turned off the key. I kicked the bike until I could kick no more. Then Larry have it a few hundred kicks. It was dead. I could see the Motel 6 but to get there I had to push down Prospect Street over to Butler Street. It was a round about way because of all the fences blocking a direct route. I was fairly gassed so Larry pushed me the last few hundred yards.

We got Hunter’s Jeep and drove back out to the crash site. The boys were still there waiting. Hunter uses one of those bumper mounts to tote his motorcycle and with the rough trail we were worried about breaking the thing. Larry decided to ride Hunter’s bike back to the motel as it seemed undamaged.

Everyone made it back safe and sound but Larry said Hunter’s 1975 DT400 handled like crap. It wasn’t until we were loading the bike onto the bumper carrier when we noticed the entire rear section of the frame was broken. Did it happen before the crash, after the crash or on the ride home? We didn’t know but we blamed Larry and said he was riding too fast.

Hunter is in the Flagstaff hospital with 6 broken ribs on one side. I’m not sure how many ribs there are per side but that seems like most of them. We are working on logistics, sorting out how to deal with Hunter’s stuff. Hunter’s wife is flying out to take charge of the situation.

Hopefully the rest of Endurofest will be less exciting.

The 2020 Corvette

I received an email last night from Chevy advising me I could configure my own new 2020 Corvette online with their website. Hmmmm, that sounded interesting. The new Corvettes are mid-engined, like a Ferrari and some of world’s other exotic sports cars. After doing as Chevy suggested, I’m mighty tempted. The new Corvette is stunning.

I guess I first got the Corvette bug back in the early 1960s, watching a couple of TV shows. One was Route 66, a story about a young Marty Milner and George Maharis (Todd and Buzz) bopping around the US in a Corvette solving the world’s problems. The other was Bonanza, the great western sponsored by Chevy. We watched it as much for the Corvette ads as we did for the show. Ben, Hoss, Adam, and Little Joe. They’re all dead now, I think, but I remember them well, and Adam (Pernell Roberts) even appeared in one of the Corvette ads.

I’d wanted a Corvette ever since I was a kid, and in 2004, as Chevy was transitioning from the C-whatever body style to the C+1 body style, they allowed the dealers to sell the ’04 models to GM employees at the GM employee discount. It’s a long story how I qualified for it, but the bottom line is the discount exceeded $17K on a Z06 (a car most folks pay over MSRP for), and I was in.

To make a long story a little less long, I kept the Z06 for 14 years, and when I sold it, the car had a whopping 40,000 miles on the clock. That’s about 2850 miles annually, and when you consider insurance and registration, that worked out to something slightly south of a dollar a mile just for insurance and registration. Throw in our California fuel costs (currently well over $4 a gallon), depreciation, and maintenance (surprisingly little on a car like the Z06), firing up that silver streak was expensive. I should have driven it more to get my money’s worth, but the Corvette was more of a toy for me than real transportation. I loved the thing, but it wasn’t a good daily driver. I didn’t regret seeing the Corvette go, but every once in awhile I think about another one. Like when I received the email from Chevy last night that led to me playing around with their online configurator. That pastel blue one you see above sure grabbed my attention. There’s no denying it: The new Corvette is an incredibly-beautiful car. And I still qualify for the employee discount. But nah, I don’t think I’ll be pulling the trigger on this one.

Endurofest Two

After Payson, Arizona and just a little past Pine, Arizona there’s a steep grade that climbs up into the mountains. Hell, it’s all mountains out here in northern Arizona. Ahead of me was a older Chevy truck, one of those faded metallic burgundy ones that is only burgundy underneath. The topsides were more of a peeled silver with just a hint of grape jam. The truck was struggling on the grade; it sounded like three or more injectors had lost their tips and raw fuel was pouring into the cylinders. Thick, black smoke flowed out of the tail pipe and I could hear the engine stuttering from 150 feet back.

Brumby, my 2.5, 4-banger Jeep smelled blood. This had to be the first and best opportunity to pass a car on the entire 500-mile trip to Endurofest. A series of tight corners opened into a short straight. I shoved Brumby into 3rd gear and gunned the little 2.5, neatly slotting Brumby alongside the old Chevy. I could see the driver of the Chevy now. He was long-haired, thin, with no shirt. He resembled one of those backwoods reality TV stars and when he saw Brumby’s hood hove into sight his expression changed from complacent anger to rage. He gunned the Chevy and a noxious cloud of almost pure dinosaur squeezings engulfed the road behind us. Damn it! That Chevy was picking up speed! I dropped Brumby into second gear and mashed the throttle to the floor. My efforts were rewarded as the Chevy dropped back, still missing and smoking. All this was happening at about 15 miles an hour. It was slow motion road rage for sure but Brumby passed the test.

Me and Hunter arrived late to the party and as we pulled into Endurofest headquarters several cackling two-strokes were already on their way out to explore our new digs. Next door to the Flagstaff Motel 6 was a combination Subway sandwich franchise and massage parlor. I thought that was pretty cool. I considered going into the massage parlor after eating a foot-long veggie delight but I had pretty good cell reception so I just looked at them on the phone.

Tomorrow I’ll get Godzilla started and join the fun.

Endurofest One

Things have been hopping and getting ready for the 2019 edition of Endurofest has only increased the load on our fragile infrastructure. The Toyota started shaking in that now-familiar way that indicates a bad driveshaft U-joint. And it was. The front joint was a mess and the others looked ok so I went to the auto store and picked up a joint.

While I was at it I figured I’d change the center bearing just because it had a zillion miles on it so add another hundred. The job went as well as any U-joint replacement, kind of a brutal war and a finesse combined to accomplish what needed to be done. Except that the middle u-joint had to come out to split the front drive shaft (to replace the center bearing) and It didn’t look so hot. Another trip to the auto store and I managed to button up the Toyota without further drama.

I turned my attention to Brumby, tackling a loose exhaust system that was an easy fix: One of the rubber hangers had deteriorated letting the pipe swing around playing a tune under Brumby. Another trip to the auto store and a slick-jiffy had the pipe suspended like a proper off road weapon.

The soft top on my tow rig, Brumby, had been damaged by a hailstorm earlier in the year. The ice balls went right through the windows and generally made a mess of things. Amazon sent along a nice Sierra soft top and all I had to do was send them a cool $250. The top went on without issue except for the rear door latch became stuck in the locked position.

The linkages for automobile locks are small bits of bent wire rod and they are held in place by tiny pieces of plastic that snap into the rod. The problem with this system is that after 20-30 years the plastic becomes brittle and breaks. When they break the link rod falls off whatever mechanical device they were supposed to operate.

The fix would be to dismantle the door and replace the plastic bits, assuming you can find them. I don’t have time for this hokey-pokey so I drilled two small holes in the link rod. Using a couple small washers and cotter pins I reattached the link rod and I could open the rear door and finish the soft top installation.

But that’s not all! The Harbor Freight trailer had been sitting in the sun for about a year and the wiring to the lights was rotted off in several places. Luckily there was enough wire to cut out the bad section and splice in new. I really have to replace the entire lighting system on that trailer but it will have to wait for another day.

The trailer was looking a bit like a shantytown and I had some house paint solidifying in their cans so I dumped the stuff onto the trailer in an attempt to make it look a little less distressed.

With the tow rig out of the way I could get Godzilla, the 360cc Yamaha ready. It needed a new tire in the rear but of course I’m not spending the kind of money they are asking for new tires nowadays. I managed to borrow a slightly used M21 from my buddy Hunter when he momentarily turned his back on me. The tire was relatively easy to install. Which really threw off my plans for the day.

I also fitted a new tail bag and assembled a new concrete mixer, the mixer having nothing to do with Endurofest.

Finally all was ready and loaded. Only one small problem remained: somewhere in all this messing about I lost track of the days and I am actually a day ahead of schedule. Ah well, it’s too late to change things now, this train is leaving the station. Next stop Flagstaff, Arizona.

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Best BBQ Brisket Ever!

The best barbeque in the world. Trust me on this. It’s in Spavinaw, Oklahoma.

There’s barbeque, there’s good barbeque, there’s Oklahoma barbeque, and then there’s barbequed brisket from the Bradford’s Barbeque in Spavinaw, Oklahoma. Simply put, it’s the best barbequed beef I’ve ever had, and I’ve been all over. Like that Johnny Cash song goes, I’ve been everywhere, man. You might want to argue the point about the best BBQ, but I’m not your guy. You won’t change my mind. I know. It’s Bradford’s.

So, to back up a bit, Sue and I spent a glorious week in Oklahoma, and part of the mission was to find exciting new places to visit and roads to ride. And boy oh boy, did we ever! On the advice of a good friend, we headed east out of Tulsa on Highway 412 and intentionally got lost in eastern Oklahoma’s lake country. It was north on the 82, and we let the meandering begin.

Tulsa is about 50 miles to the left on this map. The fun starts as soon as you turn north off Highway 412.

As we rode north along the eastern shore of Lake Hudson (formed by a dam on the Neosho River), we saw little towns with names like Locust Grove, Pump Back, and Hoot Owl (hey, I can’t make this up). The road was grand and the scenery and greenery were even better. It was a Friday, and there were literally hundreds of motorcycles on the road. I told Sue there had to be a motorcycle event somewhere to draw out crowds like this, but nope, it was the riding that draws the crowds. It’s like this all the time out there.

Then we hit a stretch of roller-coaster twisties in the hills, and a great road got even better. Think Glendora Ridge Road with extreme vertical undulations, except much greener and much more exciting. Take a peek at a satellite photo:

Yep, it was grand. The twisties and curves look gradual. They weren’t. It was fun.

The road was impressive, and it’s one I’ll visit again. We were enjoying it immensely when suddenly we found ourselves at a huge dam backed up by an even bigger lake. “Dayum!” I thought. We had to stop for a few photos.

Susie at the Spavinaw Dam. I know: I married way above my station in life.

We took a few photos, we walked around a bit, and then we were back on the road for the few hundred yards it took to get to Spavinaw. Spavinaw is a small town, and as we entered it we saw that sign at the top of this blog for Bradford’s Barbeque. It was noon, and I suddenly realized I was hungry. I looked at Sue and she nodded. Bradford’s Barbeque it was, and it was fantastic.

Actually, it’s pronounced “Jeet jet?” The answer when I shot this photo was no, but we would soon change that.

Buck Bradford, Proprietor and BBQ chef extraordinaire, and Amber, a lovely young lady who is also a photographer. I asked Amber if there was a motorcycle event nearby because of all the bikes we saw. “No, it’s always like this around here,” she said. I can see why.

Bradford’s beef brisket. Buck smokes the meet himself, and it was fantastic. That’s mustard cole slaw (delicious) and the best baked beans I ever had. It was a wonderful lunch, the stuff of legend.

I could have spent the entire day chatting with Buck and Amber, and it was like we had known them for years. Oklahoma is like that. It’s a fun place to visit, but as much as we were enjoying the conversation, it was time to get back on the road again. Amber suggested we stop at the Disney Dam, so that’s what we did.

A stitched-together, 180-degree view of the Grand Lake O’ the Cherokees, upstream of the Disney Dam.

The road across the top of the Disney Dam.

An abandoned motel in Langley, just south of the Disney Dam. There are lots of photo ops in Oklahoma.

We continued east on Highway 28 in Disney. Well, generally east…actually we continued east, north, south, east again…you get the idea. Eastern Oklahoma’s twisties were magnificent. Then it was Highway 20, then 59, and then we were back on the 412, and it was twisties and scenery the entire way. It was a perfect day with perfect weather, and it was a perfect road for a motorcycle ride. We were in a rental car. But there’s always tomorrow. And tomorrow for me means a return to Tulsa, on a motorcycle, to experience this part of the world the way it was meant to be experienced.

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