I don’t know if it’s true (and in today’s environment I don’t even care if it’s true) but I read somewhere that ATVs are outselling motorcycles. This makes sense as ATVs or Quads or whatever you want to call the things are low-skill devices that anyone can ride off road.
Back in the early 1970’s the big boom in motorcycling was started in the dirt. Kids like you and me bought mini bikes and enduros by the zillions. An entire industry sprang to life and that industry supported all levels of riding. Collectively, we learned the difficult art of steering a wiggling motorcycle across sand and mud and rocks. It wasn’t easy. It took a lot of talent to keep from crashing and we lost a lot of good people to concentration lapses or simple bad luck.
The first ATVs were 3-wheeled contraptions that took even more skill than motorcycles to ride in the dirt. It didn’t take long for manufacturers to figure out 4 wheels were a lot more stable than 3 and that was the beginning of the end for motorcycles in America.
Since children cannot operate motorcycles on the street, dirt bikes were like a Pop Warner league feeding well-trained riders into the Bigs: The Pavement. Harried on all sides by nearly unconscious automobile drivers our generation’s ability to ride a motorcycle in that buoyant area beyond the limits of traction became a right handy survival skill. And so a huge bubble of capable motorcycle riders surged through the land buying motorcycles at a clip never before seen.
Meanwhile, the Quads kept getting bigger and safer while dirt bikes were safety-limited by their very design: They fell over. Anyone can steer a quad. It takes no skill whatsoever to trundle along following the huge ruts made by thousands of other quads. Trails were ruined by the excessive width and sheer quantity of idiots driving their miniature cars. Dirt bikes were hard to ride and safety concerns overtook the nation’s parents. As ATV’s filled the forests the available pool of motorcycle riders dwindled. The farm system began to dry up.
Now, Quads cost $25,000 and are the size of Jeeps. Four people fit comfortably strapped into a steel cage, safe from the environment they go about destroying. ATVs can go almost anywhere their bubblegum tires will support the vehicle’s weight and the weight of their passengers. Automatic transmissions erased the last vestige of talent needed to explore off road. On the trails I ride kids on motorcycles are the exception not the rule. Sometimes I can go all day and see nothing but quads. How many kids raised in a cocoon of steel bars would be crazy enough to start riding a motorcycle on the street? We know the answer: Very few.
It’s not the cost of new motorcycles; there are plenty of cheap bikes available. It’s not Gen X, Y, or Z being too chicken or into their cell phones. It’s not branding. It’s not lack of riding areas. None of these things killed motorcycles.
A safer, easier to operate dirt machine was built and human nature did the rest. ATV’s are capturing the kids at their most impressionable age. Motorcycles are not. Nothing we can do will reverse that trend.
I’d always wanted a CBX, ever since they were introduced by Honda in 1979. I bought a new Honda 750 Four when that bike first came out, and the CBX seemed a logical extension of the kind of engineering pioneered by the Honda 750. It was engineering excess raised to an exponent, the CBX was, I was a guy in my 20s, and in those days, dealers would let you take a bike out for a test ride. I’m the kind of guy that caused them to stop doing that. I lived in Fort Worth, the Honda dealer there gave me the keys to a new silver CBX with less than 20 miles on the odometer, and I tried to bury the needle on Loop 820 back in ’79. As I recall, I touched something north of 140 miles per hour, and when I returned to the dealer and put the bike on its sidestand, the cam covers were ejaculating oil. The bike’s honey-colored lifeblood was squirting out in an almost arterial fashion.
“What do you think?” the sales guy asked, hoping for a quick sale.
“It’s not for me,” I answered. “I mean, look at the thing…it leaks oil worse than my Harley.”
Still, I wanted a CBX. Always did, and in ’92, I finally scratched that itch.
The mighty Six. My old 1982 Honda CBX. Those film cameras that I had 30 years ago did a nice job, and this photo brings back memories of one my more memorable motorcycles.
I bought the CBX you see above in 1992 (when it was already 10 years old), but the bike only had 4500 miles on it and it was in pristine condition. The price was $4500, perfectly matching the odometer mileage. Everything was stock, and everything was in perfect shape (other than the tires, which were cracking with age).
I must have gone back to Bert’s dealership in Azusa four times drooling over that bike, and when I finally made up my mind to buy it and went back for a fifth time, it was gone. I’d lost my opportunity. Ah, well, I could bounce around for a while longer on my Harley. It was a different Harley than the one I mentioned above. That earlier one was a ’79 Electra-Glide and I called it my optical illusion because it looked like a motorcycle. The Harley I owned when I bought the ’82 CBX was a ’92 Softail, but that one was a real motorcycle. You could ride it without things breaking.
Bert’s was a magnet to me, and lots of times after work I’d stop there just to look at the motorcycles. The place was like an art gallery. I just enjoyed being there and taking it all in. Motorcycles can be art, you know. That bit of art that I had fallen in love with, the pearlescent white ’82 CBX, was gone. I had let it escape.
So, you can imagine my surprise a month or two later when I stopped in again and the CBX was back on the floor. The bike had been sold to a Japanese collector, I was told, and the deal fell through. Opportunity didn’t need to knock twice. I bought the CBX on the spot.
The CBX was an amazing motorcycle. 1050cc. Six cylinders. Six carbs. 24 valves. Double overhead cams. Actually, it was quadruple overhead cams. The cylinder head was so long each cam was split in two, and the two halves were joined in the middle of their vast reach across those six cylinders by what engineers call Oldham couplers. I didn’t know exactly what an Oldham coupler was or how it worked, but it sounded cool. I owned a motorcycle with Oldham couplers. How many people can say that?
The CBX didn’t have much bottom end, but once the engine got going, the thing was amazing. And the sound! Wow! It sounded like a Formula 1 race car. I read somewhere that the Japanese engineers actually spent time on a US aircraft carrier listening to fighter jets take off, and their objective was to make the CBX sound like that. When conditions were right, I convinced myself I could hear the F-14 in my CBX. Top Gun. Maverick. That was me.
The CBX was fun, and it drew looks wherever I rode it. Honda only made the CBX for 4 years (1979 through 1982). They were expensive to manufacture (it seemed like every fastener on the thing was a custom design) and they didn’t sell all that well. But it was an awesome display of technology. I’m a mechanical engineer, and the design spoke to me.
I never had any regrets with that old CBX. I rode it hard for the next 10 years, and other than dropping it a couple of times in 0-mph mishaps, it served me well. I rode it all over the Southwest and it never missed a beat. When I first bought it, I could walk into any Honda dealer and buy new parts (even though it was 10 years old). Ten years later (when the bike was 20 years old) that was no longer the case, and that scared me. The CBX was years ahead of its time and it was complicated. If something broke and I couldn’t find parts, I’d have a $4500 paperweight.
In those days, I was on a CBX Internet mailing list. I put a note on the list advising folks that I wanted to sell the bike and it sold that day. I got a fair price for it, and the mighty Six was gone. I have no regrets, folks…I had lots of fun and it was time to move on. But I miss that bike. It was fun, it was fast, it was different, and it was everything a motorcycle should be.
The call we put out earlier about sending a photo and describing your first bike was answered almost immediately by our good buddy and YooHoo aficionado Fred. Check this out, boys and girls:
JOE!
There was a Tecumseh-powered Mini-Bike before this one, but I consider my Yamaha Mini-Enduro to be my first REAL motorcycle (picture attached). I put 100’s a miles a day on it in the woods around Woodstock Connecticut and Sturbridge Massachusetts….especially in the woods around Bigelow Hollow State Park – got lost in there more times than I care to remember!
Note how skinny I used to be…..Mom wasn’t stocking up on the Yoo-Hoo for me…..
Fred
We wrote to Fred and asked what he’s riding today, and here’s his answer:
Only the finest motorcycle known to man (or woman) – my trusty 2007 Caspian Blue Triumph Tiger 1050 – pic attached.
Over 76,000 trouble-free miles and smiles from North (Nova Scotia) to South (Florida) and West (Arkansas) and back East (Connecticut).
And it’s got PLENTY of storage for the Yoo-Hoo.
Fred
Fred, we admire your choice in your first motorcycle, your current motorcycle, and of course, beverages. I used to ride a Caspian Blue Tiger as well; mine was a 2006 and I loved it. Thanks for writing and ride safe.
So how about the rest of our riders and readers? Does anyone else care to share their first ride with us? Write to us at info@exhaustnotes.us!
A road that dates back to before the Revolutionary Way, and one used by our Continental Army to defeat the Brits.
Last August I was back in New Jersey for my 50th high school reunion. I visited and wrote a short blog about the Princeton Battlefield State Park, and that turned into a Destinations piece for Motorcycle Classics magazine. It’s in print and online, and you can read it here. Better yet, buy a copy of the January/February 2020 issue. You’ll like it.
You know, New Jersey is not a state that springs to mind when considering great motorcycle rides, but they are there. I grew up in that part of the world, and it has resulted in three pieces in Motorcycle Classics about rides in and through different parts of New Jersey. Even in the highly-developed central Jersey region, there are more than a few rural roads and great riding if you know where to look for it. I used to love riding those roads when I lived back there. The New Jersey seafood and the pizza are beyond comparison, too. It’s the best in the world.
I guess that brings me to my first motorcycle, which was a modified Honda Super 90. I wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but that didn’t slow me down. I rode that thing all over no matter what the weather.
A 1965 Honda Super 90, and yours truly at age 14. Nothing slowed us down in those days.
How about you? What was your first bike, and where did you ride it? Got a photo? Send it in and tell us about it, and we’ll publish it here on ExNotes. Email it to us at info@ExhaustNotes.us!
You guys will remember good buddy Chris C., an RX3 and RX4 rider and a loyal blog reader. I was shocked when I received this email from him a day or two ago:
Hi Joe.
Just wanted to drop you a quick note about my recent time in the hospital.
Doctors found a benign tumor in my head and I underwent successful surgery to have it removed.
Exactly 1 week after surgery I was riding a bicycle, and 2 weeks after surgery I was riding my RX4. Don’t tell my doctor. The first thing I did after surgery was catch up on reading ExhaustNotes blog.
You know, after brain surgery I seem to have found deeper meaning in Gresh’s blog posts.
Feel free to use any of this and the attached photo in the ExhaustNotes blog.
Chris
Wow, Chris, I am so glad you got through this okay. You have our best wishes for a continuing successful and speedy recovery, and thanks so much for writing to us.
I mentioned my Bulova Lunar Pilot watch (one we’ve done a blog on before) to one of my gun buddies, and he told me that he had the Omega version of that watch.
The Omega Speedmaster on the left, and my Bulova Lunar Pilot on the right. The Omega is a tiny bit smaller, which I prefer.A closer shot of the Omega. It has a curved crystal, which made photographing it without glare a bit of a challenge.The back of the Omega. It’s a classy watch.
Actually, it would be more appropriate to call mine the Bulova version of the Omega watch, as the Omega was the first in space and the Bulova came later almost accidentally. You can read that story here. Also, my Bulova is a reissued, modified design of the Accutron watch astronaut Dave Scott wore on his Apollo flight. My buddy’s Omega is a faithful duplicate of the original Speedmaster worn on the Moon. The Omega is a much more expensive mechanical watch, and it is a very classy item. The Omega Speedmaster sells for thousands of dollars; I paid $275 for my Bulova.
Ah, we’ve got a lot of good stuff coming up on the blog. Most significantly, Uncle Joe is thinking about getting back on the Zed resurrection. Send us your comments; we need to keep the pressure on Arjiu to make that happen.
More good blog stuff is in the works, too. Good buddy Don wrote and asked about the .257 Weatherby No. 1. I have that rifle back from Ruger. The boys in New Hampshire put a nice piece of Circassian walnut on it to replace the cracked stock, and it shoots great with a load good buddy Mississippi Dave recommended. Watch for that story soon. I’ve got more fun in front of me sorting the Garand’s habit of throwing the first shot of each clip low left, and I’ll write about it here. And a story requested by good buddy James on the XP100 Remington (I actually owned one of those in the 1970s chambered for the 30×223 cartridge). And here’s another gun-related topic: We’re thinking of a postal match…you know, a match where you shoot your target and mail it to us. If you’re interested in participating in something like that, let us know.
We’ve got a movie review coming about The Great Raid (spoiler alert…that movie was great), and a book review about A.J. Baime’s The Arsenal of Democracy (it’s the best book I’ve read this year). There’s the always moving to the right YooHoo review (hang in there, Fred; it’s coming). There’s more watch stuff coming, too. I love my Gear’d Hardware watch, and I’m becoming a real fan of the Casio G-Shock watches.
There’s more motorcycle stuff in the works, too. I’ve been dreaming about getting back to Baja again, either on one of my CSC bikes or perhaps something different. I want to look at the Triumphs again; I’ve always loved their motorcycles. I think I can talk CSC into letting me take a WIZ (whoa, that doesn’t sound right) for a ride. I won’t take a WIZ to Baja (it’s an electric scooter), but it looks like it would be a hoot to ride locally. The challenge is finding one; CSC sells them as soon as they get them in stock. It seems everyone wants to take a WIZ.
We keep talking about making a political comment or two, but hell, no matter what we say we’d upset half our readership. We had one guy actually bitch about one of the pop-up ads that appear on our site mentioning President Trump, and he had his shorts in a knot about that (off to your safe space, Snowflake, and that ain’t here). For the record, we don’t control the pop-up ads (the ads appear based on the site’s content, your location, your prior website visits, and other secret stuff that goes into a supersecret algorithm that only God and Google know about). It’s interesting but unknowable for us mere mortals, but in any event, if an ad appears talking about something that pisses you off, don’t blame us. And if you really get upset, hell, click on the ad. Then they have to pay. And do you know who they pay? It ain’t Trump!
Well, maybe all this is too controversial. I’ll go to a safe topic and not ruffle any feathers. Maybe something about Indian motorcycles and their lineage. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
Click the comments section of any post regarding the Indian Motorcycle Company and someone will be bitching that Polaris Indians are not real Indians. Within the first three or four replies you’ll see an outraged commenter laying out the perjury case on Indian. “It’s a lie!” they stammer. “Indian went out of business in 1953!” Along with constitutional scholars and threats of civil war Polaris Haters infest the Internet. Their selective-amnesia purity code and compulsion to complain loudly every time Indian tries to sell a motorcycle borders on fanatical. You couldn’t pay enough to get people so determined.
Clymer’s Enfield Indian from the 1960’s. One of the best-looking Indians ever.
Since it is presently impossible to go back in time to right all wrongs the Indian Haters would rather see Indian go out of business. Again. If the Haters are in a generous mood they may offer renaming the company as a way back into their good graces. Mind you, they still wouldn’t buy anything from parent company Polaris because they hate them too. I don’t see why Indian should give a rat’s ass about what these goofy product-junkies think. Indian is busy building motorcycles, not engaging in petty, low-effort Internet attempts to tear down other people’s hard work.
The thing that really riles the troops is when Indian puts 100-year badges on their bikes. The loonies go apoplectic. To them, an unbroken corporate line from 1903 to the present is the only acceptable scenario for Indian to exist. With the old brands like Norton, Triumph, Ossa and Benelli being bought up the Haters will have plenty of companies to be angry with for a long, long time.
Mid-1970’s Italian made Indian dirt bike.
The Haters aren’t solely responsible for the black hole at the center of their hearts. Vast quantities of intellectual capital have been expended on brand building in this country and in some cases it worked too well. We have created a monstrous humanity more concerned with defending brand-authenticity at the expense of reality. Haters have been sold to for so long that they actually care about the logo on a gas tank. It’s misplaced consumer loyalty created by Ned in the advertising department and it’s sad to see in action.
A Velocette-engined Indian that should drive the purists crazy.
Who cares what happened to Indian 70 years ago? Who cares how many times the company has passed through shifty hands? Who cares if clone engines were used or Italians made Harleys or if Clymer used Royal Enfields? Who cares about any of it? It’s a friggin’ motorcycle company, not a pledge of allegiance. When the history of the world is finally written the trinkets we bought to amuse ourselves will not even warrant a footnote. All you need to concern yourself with is that the Indian brand started in 1903 and here it is nearly 2020 and you can still buy a damn good American-made motorcycle with Indian written on the side of the gas tank. There’s your continuity, Bub.
I went to the range yesterday with two rifles, a Mosin-Nagant 91/30 and an M1 Garand. The Mosin was the Soviet Infantry’s standard rifle during World War II (it’s been around in various forms since 1891), and it’s one I’ve always enjoyed shooting. The Garand is a US weapon developed in the 1930s and first used by our troops in World War II. It is a semi-automatic rifle, which gave us a tremendous advantage over the enemy forces we fought (their rifles were bolt action).
My Mosin-Nagant 91/30. I refinished the stock, glass bedded the action, and developed a load shown in the photo below. This rifle is superbly accurate.
I enjoy getting out to the range, and yesterday was a beautiful day. Sunny, cold, and not too windy. I shot on the 100-yard range, first with the Mosin and my standard load for that rifle.
There are only four holes, but the one just below the “10” is actually two shots. This rifle is so accurate it is almost boring.
After five shots, I put the Mosin away. It’s almost too easy with that rifle. I had a good target, I thought I would get a photo for the blog, and I was eager to try the Garand.
My Garand is kluge rifle assembled with parts from a series of mismatched manufacturers. The receiver is a CAI (considered to be of inferior quality to the ones made by the standard US suppliers Winchester, Harrington and Richardson, and Springfield Arsenal), the trigger group is from Beretta, and the barrel is a 1955 RSC (presumed to be Italian). I’ll state up front I don’t know a lot about Garands, and the reasons I bought this one (my first and only Garand) is I liked the finish, the price seemed right, and the money was burning a hole in my pocket that day.
My mutt Garand. I enjoy shooting this rifle. There’s a lot going on with each shot, and it’s powerful.
Shooting the Garand well has been a challenge for me. I like shooting with iron sights, but I’m a post-and-slot guy. I haven’t had a ton of experience with aperture sights, and that’s taking some getting used to. Then there’s the issue of a decent load. I’ve been playing with different loads for the Garand, and I found three loads that work well. On my last outing, I had a few shots that were low left on the target outside the bullseye, and one of our readers asked if those shots were either the first or last shots from each clip. I didn’t know at the time because I shot each en bloc clip of 8 rounds without looking at the target after each shot.
My objective yesterday was to answer the above question, and sure enough, I did. My shots grouped well except for the first shot from each clip. I shot three clips (for a total of 24 rounds), and in each clip, the first shot hit low left.
My Garand’s performance at 100 yards. There are 24 shots on this target. The rifle groups well with this load, but the first shot from each en bloc clip of 8 rounds goes low and to the left.
The challenge now is to determine the reason why that first shot from each clip is going low. I posted the target you see above in a Garand group asking for input on why the first round from each clip went low, and as you might guess, the answers were all over the map. Most responses served only to illustrate that people don’t read very well, but a few were informative. A couple said their rifles behaved the same way and it was predictable enough (as is the case with mine) to allow for simply aiming high right for the first shot from each clip to put all 8 rounds in the black. One response suggested that the bolt may not be closing fully, as the first round is chambered by manually releasing the op rod, while all subsequent rounds are chambered when the action is cycled by the gun gases. I think that guy is on to something, and that will be where my future focus is going to be. If you have any ideas, I’d sure like to hear them. Leave a comment if you have the answer, and thanks in advance for any inputs.
This is the next installment of our series on Death Valley, and it’s about the Hell’s Loop Rally organized by Alan Spears and the Motor Scooter International Land Speed Federation. We rode it in November of 2011, and while it was sunny that day, it was plenty cold. It was a scooter endurance run of 400 miles in a single day. You might be thinking that’s not too many miles. Try it on a 150cc scooter and tell me if you still feel the same way.
I was working with CSC Motorcycles at the time and the thought was we could ride the event with our 150cc Mustang replicas. The team included good buddies TK, Arlene, and yours truly. It was grand fun and CSC garnered good exposure from that event. I had a blast, and for me, it nailed three birds with one stone: A great motorcycle ride, another chance for a ride through Death Valley, and a chance to get more cool stuff to write about (and photograph) for the CSC blog.
With that as a backdrop, here’s the story.
A Cold Day In Hell
Arlene B (of Go Go Gear fame, and a California Scooter rider) and TK. TK and I both worked at CSC Motorcycles. That’s my red CSC 150 motorcycle.
Hell’s Loop, that is…the Motor Scooter International Land Speed Federation (MSILSF) and Alan Spears’ latest event. You’d think an event named after a place known for warmer temperatures would offer toasty riding, but it sure was cold!
The Death Valley Loop
This event was all about endurance riding, and Alan and the MSILSF team sure outdid themselves on this one. The route took a big round trip from Barstow, California, east on the 15, north on the 127 along the eastern edge of Death Valley (think Ronald Reagan, the old Death Valley Days television show, and 20-mule teams hauling borax), west on 190 through Death Valley, a long loop down through Death Valley’s center to a delightful little town called Trona (just kidding about that one, folks), back to the 395 south, and then Highway 58 back to Barstow.
The Hell’s Loop event was billed as an endurance rally, but in actuality it was a race. You and I both know you’re not supposed to race on public highways, but on scooters and small motorcycles, “racing” is not what it would be on bigger bikes. We ran this event with our throttles wide open a good 95% of the time. No kidding. The twist grips were pegged. That doesn’t mean we were speeding, though. Sometimes a wide open throttle meant 65 miles per hour when we were on the flats with no headwinds, and sometimes it meant 35 mph when we were climbing a long grade. Another aside at this point…the bikes performed flawlessly. This was another event in which we beat the, uh, Hell’s Loop out of our California Scooters, and they ran great.
The guy who won the event, Tom Wheeler, won it on a 49cc Kymco motor scooter. Yep, you read that right. 49 cubic centimeters! We’re sure not in the business of publicizing other brands, but hey, we’re more than happy to give credit where credit is due. Tom drove out from Arkansas for this event and he finished first on his 49cc Kymco, beating machines with nearly 10 times the engine displacement.
The Ride
The weekend started with TK and I rolling into Barstow Friday afternoon for a great lunch at Del Taco. Those of you who know Del Taco might be tempted to laugh (it’s a fast food Mexican chain not usually known for their fine food), but the Del Taco restaurants in Barstow are different. Ed Hackbarth is the entrepreneur who started Del Taco, and he did so in Barstow. Ed sold the Del Taco chain to a conglomerate after building it up into a huge business, but he kept the original three Barstow restaurants. Here in southern California, we know that if you want good Mexican food, Barstow’s Del Tacos are unlike any others. Everything is fresh, everything is bigger, and it’s not unusual to see Ed himself working in the kitchen preparing your lunch. Trust me on this one, folks….if you’re ever passing through Barstow, you need to stop for a meal at Del Taco.
Our Motel 6 room…where old Tom Bodette left the light on for us…$35 a night, and it might have been the most expensive hotel in Barstow! It was raining and we didn’t want to leave the bikes out in the cold, wet weather. A lot of the Hell’s Loop riders slept with their bikes Friday night.
On Friday we had a bitter cold rain, but the forecast was for sunny warm weather on Saturday. Well, they got half of it right. I once heard one of those radio political talking heads say that the reason economists exist is to make weather forecasters look good. I think that guy might have had it backwards. It was sunny, but wow, was it cold when we woke up on Saturday morning. I wasn’t too worried…I had my California Scooter motorcycle jacket, a pair of warm motorcycle pants, and my Haix Goretex boots (they’re made in Austria and they’re great), but it was still cold. Really cold.
After a great 6:00 a.m. breakfast at IHOP Saturday morning, we rolled out onto Interstate 15 on our California Scooters and headed north. Wow, was it ever cold!On California 127, headed into Death Valley. We rode under beautiful blue skies along Highway 127…it was a glorious day to be out on a motorcycle!
It sure was cold Saturday morning. As in maybe 40 degrees. Teeth chattering cold. I know all of our friends on the east coast would view this as something of a heat wave, but I gotta tell you, when you do 400 miles in one day through this kind of weather, it’s cold.
Before I get too much further, let me give you a warning about the photos. They’re not my best ever. We didn’t stop to smell the roses on this one, boys and girls, and most of these shots were from the saddle of my CSC motorcycle at high speed. That’s why a lot of the angles are off, and it’s why they might be a bit fuzzy. This ride was all about getting back to Barstow first. We stopped for fuel and restroom breaks, and that was it. We didn’t even eat. 400 miles on a motorcycle, in 40-degree weather, with no messing around. Riding…that’s what this run was all about. And in the cold weather, our CSC motorcycles were running strong. We thought we were gonna set the world on fire, until we heard about Tom Wheeler on that 49cc scooter. But I’ll come back to that. So after rolling along on Interstate 15 for about 60 miles, we took a left at Baker and headed toward Death Valley. The skies were clear, the riding was glorious, and we froze our tootsies off.
A 60-mph shot from the saddle…riding through the Mojave Desert!
We weren’t too sure about where we’d be able to buy gas, so we each carried a spare gallon or two. Turns out we didn’t need the extra gas, but we stopped nearly every place we saw a gas station just to make sure.
When we rolled into Shoshone, I was blown away by the gas prices. Believe it or not, these were not the highest gas prices we saw on this trip! I was sure glad I was riding a 100mpg California Scooter when I saw those prices. Ah, the glory of price gouging.
Every time I see something like what the photo above shows, I want to confront the owner and ask him if his mother knows what he does for a living, but I know it would be a futile gesture. And another 100 miles up the road, we paid prices that made what the photo above shows seem cheap.
Barney Fife
While we were topping off in Shoshone, I saw a National Park Service HumVee that I thought was pretty cool. I had never seen one of these in use by a law enforcement agency, so I snapped a quick photo of it while I was on my California Scooter. I guess the NPS ranger who was in it didn’t like that. As I kid, I always had a mental image of park rangers as pretty cool guys who took care of the bears and stuff like that. This guy was decidedly unfriendly…there’s no nice way to say it. Maybe it was a slow day for him and he wanted to harass some rough-looking bikers like me, Arlene, and TK. He wanted to know about Alan, who rolled through Shoshone earlier on his two-stroke Kymco burning “exotic fuels.” A park ranger. I chalked it up to another instance of our tax dollars at work. Go figure.
A National Park Service Hummer.
Continuing the Ride
After the fuel stop in Shoshone, we were on the road again. Here are a few more shots from the saddle.
On the floor of Death Valley, about 100 feet below sea level.After we climbed out of Death Valley’s floor, it was a fast downill run west…you can see the flare from shooting into the sunHeading west to Panamint on the western edge of Death Valley. The bikes were running just great in the cold weather. Here’s a quick shot of my speedometer as we rolled through Death Valley. Smoking right along on the Baja Blaster!Arlene’s California Scooter ticked over the 9,000-mile mark on this ride, and we stopped for a quick photo.
9000 miles, including great California Scooter rides up and down the California Coast, the Sierra Nevadas, the entire length of Baja, and Death Valley! Arlene may well be our highest mileage California Scooter rider.
Our next stop was Panamint. There’s a gas station and a convenience store out there (but not much else). This place set a new record: $5.79 per gallon! It’s the most I’ve ever paid for gasoline in my life!
$5.79 a gallon….but what a cool photo op!
Wildrose Canyon Road and Trona
While we were stopped, I pulled out an extra T-shirt and added it to the several layers of clothing I already had on under my California Scooter motorcycle jacket. To my surprise, that one extra layer did the trick. I stayed relatively warm for the next 130 miles back to Barstow. After our Panamint gas gouging, we turned the bikes east for a quick three miles back down the road to Wildrose Canyon. That was our route out of Death Valley, and here’s a shot looking east across the valley floor.
Death Valley’s floor, as seen from the saddle, looking east from Panamint
We negotiated Wildrose Canyon Road, fought the wind downhill, and then we rolled into Trona. Trona is a mining town (they mine potash or some other such chemical), and there isn’t too much else out there. And I gotta tell ya, when they built “no place” they must have centered it around Trona (because that town sure is in the middle of no place). It’s an interesting place, though…a collection of white chemicals, brown hills in the distance, blue skies, and industrial processing equipment.
A late-in-the-day, shot-from-the-saddle photo of Trona. Some day, I’d like to ride out to Trona just to take photos.
Returning to Barstow
After Trona, we cranked the bikes wide open for the run home. It was a burst out to the 395, a speed run down to Highway 58, and then a left turn for the last 32 miles back to Barstow. We pulled in to the Motel 6 parking lot just after dark. And it was even colder. Did I mention earlier that it was cold?
Alan Spears, his friend Kathleen, and Dennis did a great job organizing this event.
When we returned to the Motel 6 rally headquarters, the good folks from MSILSF had good food and drinks waiting, and that was a good thing. We hadn’t eaten all day, and I was hungry. And cold. It sure was nice to return to a warm welcome. And it sure was interesting to learn about the winning bike and rider…that would be Tom Wheeler from Arkansas.
Tom Wheeler, a Kymco dealer from Arkansas, accepting one of his trophies for the Hell’s Loop Endurance Rally.
The Winner: A 49cc Kymco!
As I mentioned earlier, Tom won the event on a 49cc Kymco. Good Lord! A 49cc Kymco! My first thought was that the bike had to have had a couple of superchargers and maybe it was running on nitro, but no, that wasn’t it at all. Tom is obviously an experienced endurance rider, and he had the problem sorted. When I asked Tom about the top speed on his 49cc sizzler, he told me that it might see 45 mph on a flat road under ideal conditions. We sure didn’t have ideal conditions, and what that meant to me is that Tom ran a lot of the day’s 400 miles at something between 30 and 40 mph. The trick is to not have to stop. Tom had an auxiliary gas tank on his Kymco, and he only had to make one stop for gas.
Alan and crew sure did an outstanding job pulling this event together, which didn’t surprise me at all. MSILSF is the same outfit that organized the November 2009 Land Speed Record trials and last year’s Salton Sea Endurance Rally, and both of those events were wonderful.
I am more than a little intrigued by all of this, and by MSILSF. You might be, too, folks. Think about it. Motor competition. Real competition. Speed trials. Endurance rallies. All with scooters. You can get into it, real motor competition, for peanuts. And a California Scooter is a great way to do so.
Here’s a shot of Tom Wheeler’s winning 49cc scooter. 400 miles in one day on a 49cc motor scooter! Can you imagine!
So that was it, folks. 400 miles in one day, we won the 150cc class, and we had a great time.
We just returned from a trek through Death Valley a few days ago, which prompted our series of blogs about prior Death Valley trips. You can read the first two Death Valley blog installments here.
And, oddly enough, the Los Angeles Times ran a story in 2017 about a trip that almost exactly described the ride you see in this blog. You can read that one here.
I’m not a huge fan of Georgia O’Keeffe artwork. Her realistic paintings are well done but the fluffy subjects and flower erotica don’t appeal to my mechanical mind. The bright colors and simple shapes of her later work seem too easy, like anyone could do it. Except anyone didn’t. I suspect art is more complex than a watery brushstroke or an eye for color. It takes a lived life to steer that brush and experience to make the strokes tell meaningful stories. Art matters if people believe it matters and O’Keeffe’s stuff mattered to a lot of people.
Tradesmen like me are work-blind to creation. Wiping a solder joint to leave a clean copper pipe, or combing a bundle of wire so that each conductor peels off in the correct order is as close to art as we get. It’s a tunnel vision that divides hours into effort, a relentless pursuit of money and the next job and then the next. Until you either break down or die.
You can train a tradesman, repetition is the secret to success, but an artist must be born. O’Keeffe was an artist and the way she lived her life was a sort of performance art. She moved to New Mexico in 1949 at the then ripe old age of 62 and spent the next 36 years doing just what she wanted to do. Abiquiu, her home west of Santa Fe was a crumbling wreck when she bought it. The places she stayed became famous simply because she stayed there. She bequeathed to New Mexico a bounty of tourism and spawned museums and visitor centers all around the Santa Fe area.
Her place in Abiquiu is a traditional New Mexico adobe house. It has no interior hallways. To get from one room to the next you have to go through another room. Or maybe 4 other rooms depending on how far you are going. It’s not unusual to go through a bedroom, a kitchen and a pantry to get to a main salon. Every room has a door that exits to the outside: You never get trapped in an adobe. A central courtyard open to the sky lies in the middle of the house and the roof slopes towards this courtyard.
The houses were built this way in stages. Maybe one or two rooms to start off with then tacking on extra rooms as money and demand became available. The oldest section of O’Keeffe’s place is from the mid-1800s and the newest probably the 1970s. That’s over 100 years of creeping progress. The flooring transitions from from original smooth dirt soaked with egg yolks to bind the granules all the way to concrete with rug.
In the recent past people started restoring adobe houses with wire mesh and a Portland cement based plaster. It turns out this is the worse thing to do to adobe. The concrete pulls away from the adobe taking the wall with it. Then moisture and mineral salts wick up into the wall because the concrete doesn’t breathe like mud or lime. It turns into a crumbling mess. If you don’t want the expense of lime plaster, the only way to restore adobe is with more adobe. You slather fresh mud onto the exterior walls on a regular schedule to replace the mud that was ablated during wind or rainstorms. It’s a never ending process but if you stay on top of it your adobe house can last thousands of years. O’Keeffe’s place was concreted at some point. I fear the walls will turn to mush and salts will bleed through the interior walls.
Nothing lasts forever and one day Abiquiu will melt back into the same earth it came from but I hope the artwork created there leaves behind traces, a slight disturbance, a vibration that makes some future traveler pause and wonder what grand endeavors took place way out here in the New Mexico desert.
Click the comments section of any post regarding the Indian Motorcycle Company and someone will be bitching that Polaris Indians are not real Indians. Within the first three or four replies you’ll see an outraged commenter laying out the perjury case on Indian. “It’s a lie!” they stammer. “Indian went out of business in 1953!” Along with constitutional scholars and threats of civil war Polaris Haters infest the Internet. Their selective-amnesia purity code and compulsion to complain loudly every time Indian tries to sell a motorcycle borders on fanatical. You couldn’t pay enough to get people so determined.
This is the next installment of our series on Death Valley, and it’s about the Hell’s Loop Rally organized by Alan Spears and the Motor Scooter International Land Speed Federation. We rode it in November of 2011, and while it was sunny that day, it was plenty cold. It was a scooter endurance run of 400 miles in a single day. You might be thinking that’s not too many miles. Try it on a 150cc scooter and tell me if you still feel the same way.
