Everybody has their preferred riding schtick and for me it’s international motorcycle travel. Anyone can ride their cruiser to a local hangout for a beer or their GS to Starbuck’s for a $6 cup of coffee. My riding is all about crossing international borders and collecting cool photos in places most two-legged mammals only dream about. Just to make a point, I once rode a 150cc scooter (my CSC Mustang) to Cabo San Lucas and back. The day after we returned, I needed something at Costco and I rode the little CSC there. When I parked it, a beer-bellied dude in a gigondo 4×4 pickup told me, “that’s a little cute bike.” He didn’t intend it to be a compliment.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I ride a (brand name deleted to protect the guilty),” he announced, his chest swelling with Made in ‘Merica pride to the point it almost equalled his waistline. “We ride all over.” He emphasized the “all” to make sure I got the point.
“Cool,” I said. “Where do you go?”
“Last week,” he told me, “we rode to Cook’s Corner!”
Cook’s Corner is a southern California burger joint about 40 miles from where we were talking.
“Where do you all go on that little thang?” He actually said “you all” and “thang,” but he didn’t have the accent to match the colloquialisms. Okay, I had the guy dialed.
“Well, we rode to Cabo San Lucas and back last week.” I said.
Mr. 4×4’s jaw dropped. Literally. He looked at me, speechless, dumbfoundedly breathing through his open mouth. Without another word he climbed into his big truck and rode off. Our conversation was over. So much for the biker brotherhood, I guess.
The international motorcycle travel bug bit me when I was still in school. I had a ’71 Honda 750 Four back in the day (that’s me 50 years ago in the big photo up top). One of my Army ROTC buddies had the first-year Kawasaki 500cc triple. It was a hellaciously-fast two stroke with a white gas tank and blue competition stripes. We were in New Jersey and we wanted to do something different, so we dialed in Canada as our destination. They say it’s almost like going to another country.
And so we left. Our gear consisted of jeans, tennis shoes, windbreaker jackets, and in a nod toward safety, cheap helmets (ATGATT hadn’t been invented yet). We carried whatever else we needed in small gym bags bungied to our seats. Unfortunately, in those days “whatever else we needed” did not include cameras so I don’t have any photos from that trip. That’s okay, because all they would have shown was rain.
As two Army guys about to become Second Louies, we joked about being draft dodgers in reverse. We were looking forward to active duty (me in Artillery and Keith in Infantry). We were going to Canada not to duck the draft, but as a fling before wearing fatigues full time. We didn’t really know what we were doing, so we took freeways all the way up to the border. It rained nearly the entire time. All the way up and all the way back. We bought sleeping bags because they looked cool on the bikes (it was a Then Came Bronson thing), but we stayed in hotels. It was raining too hard to camp, and besides, the sleeping bags were soaked through and we didn’t think to bring a tent. We got as far as Montreal, which seemed far enough to give us Canada bragging rights. We spent that single Montreal night in a cheap dive and pointed the bikes south the next day.
These days, I know to check the weather, bring rain gear (even if none is forecast), and study a map to find the most interesting roads (rather than the fastest). But hey, we were young and dumb, it was an adventure ride, it crossed an internationational border, and riding four days in a steady cold rain was a lot of fun. I didn’t think so at the time, but that’s how I remember it today. In fact, I remember that ride like it was last month. And it got me hooked on international motorcycle adventures. Canada was to be the first of many.
Never miss an ExNotes blog. Sign up here for free, unless you have a .ru in your email address!
More epic international rides? Right here, folks!
That must have been one hell of an adventure. As you know I go to Montreal every June (pre-COVID) in the Vette and that is a long ride in a car, I can only imagine doin g it on a Honda CB750, in the rain. Then again, that is what memories are made of.
Agreed; I seem to remember the bad weather rides better than the good weather ones.
Spent an evening in the desert under a nylon pup tent as a blanket (idea of stringing it between the 750 four and RD 400 would have needed the forgotten string…) in ’76 trying to find fisherman’s. Good times….
Joe — I don’t doubt your enthusiasm for international riding. I, however, believe there isn’t another country in the world that’s as much fun to explore as the USA. Beautiful roads, exquisite scenery, friendly people. The East Coast is a treat, but the Western states are motorcycling nirvana. I admit that I don’t have your depth of exposure to riding in gnarly places. But thanks to you I’ve ridden in Baja and enjoyed it greatly. I’ve done some riding in Canada (Quebec is outstanding as is western Alberta and southern British Columbia). I’ve ridden in the Alps (I highly recommend it). That’s all folks. Joe, this is not criticism as I hope you keep on letting us know what you think is good out there.
My first international motorcycle ride was to Mexico. Does it count if I parked on the US side and walked into Mexico? This was around 1975-ish.
Yeah, I guess it does, but I wouldn’t be impressed unless I knew you rode to Cook’s Corner.
Well, my first international journey was to St. Louis, MO in 1965. When you lived in Cape Girardeau, Mo 63701 the Golden City of St. Louis was a far away as any of ever Dreamed. The crew of three high schoolers included one on a S90 Honda (Keith Kelly), an 80cc Yamaha (Paul Hubbard) and a 160 Honda (Me borrowed from Dan Miller)! All of us were Boy Scouts so all our sleeping bags and gear was tied down to the bikes, I do not think we knew of bungies or they were not invented yet. Sorry no pictures of this adventure, pictures were expensive, took a week to get delivered. Honestly, you had to send your film via mail to De Soto Mo. and then wait week and THEN you got to see what your Kodak Brownie delivered. We all motored up Highway 61 to St. Louis without much drama and made it by mid-day saw the arch in progress, it was almost finished then. We then motored west on old 66 for a while. We ended up around Rolla, MO and camped out in field off the highway a mile or so. We woke us with cows all around us, so it was a cow pasture. After rising we motored back to Cape Girardeau thru the Ozarks with winding roads great views and LONG hills if you are 90cc or 80cc bike a long hill can me EXCEPTIONALLY long and slow. We returned to Cape with great stories that we could not tell because we are spending the night at the other guy’s house. (Wink, wink, nuge, nuge) Hey, it worked, now years later now I can finally share my first international adventure! Thank for you sharing yours.
That sounds like a hell of an adventure! My first bike was a Honda S90 and my cousin Bob had the Yamaha 80. My Dad’s first bike was a CB160 Honda. Small world.