Month: December 2023

Mount Rainier

By Mike Huber

Mount Rainier, just a two-hour drive south of Seattle, was something I became obsessed with while living in the Pacific Northwest.  I loved looking at that volcano.  Mount Rainier often wasn’t visible during the winter months due to the cloud cover, but when it was visible it was a sight to be seen, especially at sunset.  The entire volcano would glow orange, almost as if it was a 14,000-foot candle. It was magical.

To summit this peak, one has to be extremely skilled as a mountaineer or have a guide due to the multiple avalanches. This was something I had to experience up close, but I didn’t have the climbing talent.  I would have to find another way to experience this.

The following August I began training by spending two months climbing numerous peaks in Washington until my body felt solid enough for an attempt to climb to Mount Rainier’s base camp, Camp Muir.  I drove to the base of Mount Rainier in Paradise, Washington, and slept in the back of my car that night.  That gave me a better chance of snagging a camp permit for Camp Muir in the morning.  This mountain base camp was mostly for those who dared to summit this volcano, and it was nothing more than a hostel at 10,000 feet.  It was a small wooden shed with two levels of plywood that held 12 hikers.

The hike up to the camp was a smoker.  I left at 7:00 a.m. and didn’t reach Camp Muir until 14:00.  It was like climbing up a black diamond ski slope.  I didn’t have crampons and my pack was quite heavy as I had loaded it with a lot of water (a rookie mistake).   Once arriving at the camp and securing a spot in the shed, I spent the rest of the day talking with those that would be summiting in the early hours the following morning.  They summit at night to avoid warmer periods of the day when avalanches were more prevalent.

The hikers all woke around 2:00 a.m. to begin the summit.  Even though the temperatures were low I decided to get up and see them all leave. This provided the opportunity to view all the stars as well as the entire Milky Way spread across an otherwise dark night sky. As the hikers made their way I could hear the loud cracking of avalanches in the distance.  Camp Muir was angled so it was well protected, but that loud thunderous sound sure got the hairs on the back of my neck up.

In the morning as the sun came up I could see 270 degrees around me, and volcanoes were visible in every direction.  It was a site to behold as I finished my breakfast (the remainder of a crushed Subway sandwich).  It was time to begin my descent. The coolest part of this hike was going back down.  I brought a large black garbage bag with me on this hike.  The reason being is as you descend there are luges carved throughout the path down the mountain.  This allowed the opportunity to glissade, sometimes picking up an unreal amount of speed to the point where I would use my legs as brakes to ensure I didn’t get too out of control.

Once returning to a much lower elevation the snow began to disappear and it was time to pack the garbage bag up and hike the remaining 2 miles down.  Not having slept much the night prior due to the higher elevation I was looking forward to hitting a breakfast place in Paradise to refuel as the crushed Subway sandwich gave way to hunger.  I could tell I was close to the base as the people I ran across were less and less in shape or prepared and once I saw a family wearing crocs I knew my breakfast had to be within a ¼ mile or less.

As I entered the café, I got a coffee and a breakfast sandwich.  I felt fulfilled because I was able to experience the hike even without summiting.  The hike to Camp Muir was still challenging and I knew it would leave me sore for the next few days.  It would also provide memories that have lasted.  Every time I see Mount Rainier in the Pacific Northwest, I am able to relive my experience and appreciate that magnificent mountain in a more personal way.

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Digital Nomad: Returning to the USA

By Mike Huber

I had been living and working on the beautiful rain forest island town of Victoria, British Columbia, but I had noticed the past couple of times returning from my work trips to Seattle that the Canadian Immigration people started to take notice of me and were more than aware that the stories I was feeding them weren’t true (they could see my entry/exit dates and they did NOT track with what I was telling them).   During one of the last times I crossed the border I was pulled aside.  They ran my Massachusetts driver’s license and the agent quickly stated “You’re a long way from home, son.”  To which I provided my normal reply by pointing at my backpack:  No, sir. My home is right there.  He didn’t find it funny (they never do).  He returned my IDs and had me move through Customs without further issue.

It was definitely time to return to the United States.  It didn’t take too long over the next week to pack up, deflate the leaky air mattress I had been sleeping on for 8 months, and place the Good Will furniture on the corner (the furniture and I shared the same situation; we were both looking for our next home). Loading everything into the car was the final step before getting on the Tsawwassen Ferry, which would bring me to Vancouver.  It was a short and uneventful 3-hour drive to my new residence in Seattle, Washington.

Victoria was one of the very few places that made me cry when I left.  I had a beautiful eight months living there and felt so fortunate that I was not only able to experience this island and the great people who live there, but that I was able to stay for so long.  It is one of the few places I have lived that I proudly called my home.

I was back in the United States after a year and a half.  It was time to get an actual apartment and furniture that wasn’t from Good Will.  Belltown in Seattle seemed to be a no brainer as far as a location.  There were tons of bars and restaurants, it was next to the Olympic Sculpture Park, and the Victoria Clipper was right there (if I felt the urge to jump back to Victoria on the high-speed catamaran).  Maybe the coolest part of Belltown was that my apartment was in the shadow of the Space Needle, which is one of my favorite buildings.

The one big lesson I learned in my vagabond, digital nomad travels is it is much easier to get back on the wheel than it is to exit it. Getting an apartment and having my furniture sent from Boston was easy.  Leaving the wheel required a ton of planning and preparation.  It took months to downsize, find a storage for my vehicles, rent my condo, etc.  The tasks seemed to never end when I prepared to leave the wheel, and as I completed each task I found myself constantly questioning my decision as I counted down to Day 0.

I was now a Seattle resident.  Over the past 18 months I left from the start of I-90 near Fenway Park to the end of the same road at Safeco Field.  It would have only been a three-thousand-mile trip on I-90, but I took the longest route possible by meandering through five countries.  I was anxious to meet new friends and see how being back on the wheel would treat me, and more importantly, how I would adjust to this old lifestyle I had left 18 months ago.

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ExNotes Moto-mods:  Kawasaki ZRX1100 Petcock

By Joe Gresh 

I should have listened to the guys who knew.  They told me the vacuum operated fuel petcock on the ZRX1100 was a source of problems and that I should convert it to a standard on-off-reserve manually operated type. In my defense the new vacuum petcock lasted six months or so before the ZRX became hard to start after sitting idle for longish periods of time.

The vacuum petcock stopped sealing and the ZRX’s last line of defense was the float needle in the carburetors. In an ideal world these needles should stop the flow of gas and you wouldn’t even need a fuel shut off valve. We don’t live in an ideal world, however.

I tested my bad-petcock theory by removing the fuel line. A steady stream of fuel poured out of the hose. There is no “Off” position on the standard Kawasaki petcock so I drained the gas tank and set about converting the petcock to manual.

In practical terms the bike was starting hard because it was flooded. Constant velocity carbs, like the ones fitted to the ZRX, are a little harder to clear a flooded condition. Normally you’d hold the throttle wide open to get a lot of air flowing through the cylinder, thus blowing out the excess fuel. With CV type carbs opening the throttle only opens a set of butterfly valves. The actual throttle slides are independent of the twist grip and require engine vacuum to operate. Add low-vacuum cranking speed that struggles to raise the throttle slides and a flooded engine that doesn’t want to start and you’ve got a sticky wicket.

I bought this generic fuel petcock on Amazon for around $10 and figured if it didn’t work I wasn’t out much money. The hole centers lined up and the valve bolted into the Kawasaki tank without issue.

The new petcock came with these tiny plastic fuel filters fitted to the main tank standpipe and the reserve opening at the bottom of the tank. I got rid of these as they looked sort of restrictive and I planned on installing an inline filter on the bike to simplify the hose connections.

The original style vacuum petcock had a 3/8” hose barb that mated to a 5/16” barb on the carburetors. This mismatch required the factory to specify an unusual molded hose that was 3/8” on one end and 5/16” on the other. The new, manual petcock had a ¼” hose barb. These universal inline filters have both ¼” and 5/16” barbs to fit a wider range of machines. I trimmed off the 1/4″ barb on one side of the filter and had a nifty filter that fit both the petcock size and the carburetor size.

I know what you’re thinking, which is that the new petcock at ¼” won’t pass enough fuel. Maybe you’d be right if I drag raced or rode extended periods at high speed. At 50 miles per gallon the thrifty ZRX1100 gets plenty of fuel through the smaller line. I did a few full-throttle passes at an undisclosed test location and the bike did not want for fuel.

The new petcock hose barb exited 90 degrees rearward compared to the stock petcock, which exited down. This orientation required the fuel hose to run straight back and over the carburetor before turning down and routing under the bank of four carbs. The extra length made for kind of a loose hose so I used a couple rubber-covered clamps to secure the hose and tuck it in out of the way.

The new petcock makes starting easier but the Kawasaki ZRX is still reluctant to cold start. Which is odd because the bike always started on the first push. Maybe it’s just the fact that winter is here at the ranch and I’m starting the ex-Florida bike colder than usual. This is the first New Mexico winter for the ZRX and it takes three or four pushes on the button to get the bike to light off, a great improvement over the 25 or so with the old, leaky petcock. I never got around to adjusting the ZRX carbs; I just cleaned them and stuck them back on the bike as I had a long trip planned and wanted to get some shakedown miles on the bike. Maybe a carb sync is in order.

I’ll try adjusting my starting ritual to see if I can come up with a protocol that will save some wear and tear on the Kawasaki starter motor. Keep your eyes glued to ExhaustNotes.us for important updates as they become available.

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Four National Parks, One Inspiring Ride, and Fuel for the Open Road

By Bobbie Surber

Embarking on a spontaneous journey this past October to explore multiple national parks, my dependable Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro (Tippi), and I escaped from an approaching winter. The objective? An inspiring tour encompassing White Sands, Carlsbad Caverns, Guadalupe, and the Petrified Forest National Parks. With an insatiable love for national parks, these scenic wonders often become a focal point during my motorcycle travels. Spending around 60-70 percent of my time on the road, I am drawn to these incredible natural havens.

Starting from Sedona on a crisp fall afternoon, I cruised through Oak Creek Canyon, reveling in the solitary road and the vibrant autumn leaves adorning the red rock landscape. Petrified Forest National Park is a familiar stop with ancient petrified logs and captivating vistas.

I continued through the desolate upper desert plains, making my way to Springerville, Arizona, before the next leg of my adventure.

The next morning’s journey steered me toward Faywood Hot Springs in New Mexico, but boy, was it a wild ride! Wrestling with savage winds that rivaled a cyclone, I stumbled upon a rider down on the road.  As we righted his bike, we ascertained the downed rider was scraped and bruised but fine. My nerves shot, I sought respite from the tempestuous gusts and made a beeline for Alpine, where winds had gone rogue, hitting outrageous gusts of 80 miles per hour. Amid what seemed to be tornado-like chaos, I found solace in the embrace of snug and hospitable Alpine, Arizona.

Rolling into Faywood Hot Springs in New Mexico a day late due to the windstorms, I was greeted by humble cabins and campsites stretching across the desert with views of distant foothills. As Tippi’s tires crunched on the gravel, I found myself in a moment straight out of a motorcycle comedy flick. Decked out head to toe in my riding gear, I sfound myself in a nudist colony!  Out of nowhere two mostly naked gents emerged, strutting towards me to help park my bike. Picture this: two bare souls, one bike, and a dangerous scenario brewing. They helped with the genuine enthusiasm of a nudist biker pit crew, and I could not help but nervously accept. However, my mind raced faster than Tippi’s engine, worrying about potential mishaps—my bike toppling over one of them or an accidental heat encounter with certain sensitive areas. The stakes were high, at least for them, and my concern was off the charts!

With Tippi safely parked (and the naked pit crew miraculously unscathed), I swiftly ditched my gear and clothing for the remainder of the day, joining the affable and entertaining guests at the bathing suit optional pools. Trust me, regaling the encounter turned into a comedic highlight of my adventure, spinning a tale of the night’s shenanigans that truly supported my aforementioned moto flick!

Eager to witness the sunrise and embark on my ride, I packed Tippi.  I anticipated a solar eclipse, but not before a detour to the City of Rocks State Park (a hidden gem a few miles away). Although time allowed only a brief hike and a few photographs, the park’s charm put it on my must-return list.

Continuing my journey, a stop at Hatch, New Mexico, promised a feast of authentic Mexican cuisine renowned for its chili.  It lived up to its reputation as I dove into a plate of green chili smothered enchiladas. But before my feast the anticipation of the eclipse lingered as I parked by the roadside with Tippi and a few fellow travelers, hoping for an unobstructed view. Unfortunately, a thin veil of clouds dampened our expectations, casting a shadow over the anticipated celestial spectacle, although the shifting light added its own atmospheric drama.

The adventure continued as I resumed my ride, following I-25 to I-70 for a two-hour journey leading me to White Sands National Park. Here, nature unveiled a captivating spectacle as I ventured deeper into the park. The landscape transformed into a mesmerizing sand festival, each mile revealing taller and more majestic sand dunes that stretched endlessly to the horizon. The park’s beauty and ethereal ambiance made my farewell bittersweet.

Leaving enchanting White Sands behind, I ventured onward, headed for Cloudcroft, New Mexico, where a charming hostel awaited.  This oasis in the mountains promised a restful evening, a sanctuary after a day filled with unexpected turns and nature’s breathtaking displays. I am a huge fan of hostels while traveling solo, not only for the inexpensive lodging but also for the opportunity to meet with fellow adventurers. Cloudcroft Hostel did not disappoint!  It is labor of love by a transplant named Stephanie, a fellow rider from Germany. The night’s stay even included a house concert with a traveling performer. I drifted off to sleep that night with the thought of returning to this delightful place.

Bright and early the following morning, I embarked on a dual adventure to Carlsbad Caverns and Guadalupe National Park. My first stop was in Carlsbad, where I had a planned visit with a fellow rider.  Parker and I arranged to meet at a historic restaurant.  Meeting this captivating rider in person matched the fascination I felt from afar. Our interaction was brief as I had to rush to make my 1:00 p.m. to the caverns. Negotiating the winding roads with enthusiasm, I navigated to the visitor center while maneuvering through the curves, passing slower vehicles, and arriving on time. The caverns exceeded expectations, and I leisurely explored the most picturesque chambers.

Daylight was fleeing, and I knew I had to rush to Guadalupe National Park before sunset. To my delight, a pleasant surprise awaited me as Parker joined me. Guadalupe, an unassuming jewel of a desert park boasting Texas’s highest peak, instantly captured my heart with its desert sunset over the rugged peaks. The night flew by quickly as I prodded Parker for more tales of his exhilarating riding adventures.  It made this stop an unforgettable highlight.

The following morning greeted me with thoughts swirling about the completion of my four-park tour and the route home. In a moment of whimsy, I yearned to revisit Cloudcroft for another night.  Such impulses are the joys of traveling by bike…logic takes a backseat to wanderlust! Retracing the previous day’s path, I arrived in the afternoon, affording me a chance to explore the historic downtown area.

In a move that defied logic (as is the norm in my travels), I reasoned that it made perfect sense to detour back home through Mesa, Arizona, for my bike’s much-needed service. The return ride, riddled with its own set of challenges, became a tale, featuring unexpected twists and yet another memorable encounter at a unique hot spring.  It’s a story for another time!

As I reflect on my incredible journey filled with unexpected encounters, stunning landscapes, and fellow riders’ camaraderie, the allure of the open road and unpredictability of travel are the true treasures of my motorcycle expeditions. Each detour, unplanned stop, and quirky encounter combined to create a tapestry of unforgettable experiences.  It is what fuels my passion for exploration and two wheel travel. Until the next adventure beckons, I will carry these memories as fuel for the road ahead.

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Season of Change: Part 4

By Mike Huber

I awoke in my tent still buzzing from the previous night’s ceremony. A frequent side effect from ayahuasca is not being able to sleep that well, but even with little sleep I was ready and excited to face the day with a renewed feeling of positive energy.  I had not only made it through the ceremony but came out the other side feeling a confidence and happiness that I hadn’t felt in years.

Even though I had this elated feeling I was still cautious not to be too upbeat.  I had a final ceremony that evening to go through and I was certain there were still a few things I had yet to process.  Hopefully, this evening would be where I would find the purpose that I originally sought, a star to steer by to light a path, even if it was just a few nearly dead chem lights to point the direction.  Just something.

I passed the day by talking with the others and listening to their experiences and getting to know everyone a little better.  As the day wore on, I began to feel uneasy again as to what that night’s experience would be.  With the ceremony starting at 19:30, the two hours leading up to it I spent in solace and went fishing to pass the time (I had two solid bites but didn’t set the hook so off they went).

Upon entering the yurt I sat on my mat and awaited to be called.  Since this was the third ceremony and I felt as though I had resolved a lot of what I had come here for I chose a smaller dose.  I wanted to be semi-coherent this night so that I could work with the plant, build a relationship, and have her assist me in bringing my purpose into the light.

As I returned to the mat with my cup of medicine, I sat looking deep into the cup for several minutes asking for guidance before I drank the bitter tasting plant medicine.  It didn’t take too long before the muscular black panther appeared and strutted up the mat to be face-to-face with me again.  As I sat eye-to-eye with this magnificent beast, I noticed behind it was the entire universe filled with an infinite amount of lavender colored geometric fractal patterns. I felt so uplifted and began to repeat “what is my purpose?” It was at this time the panther left and the universe melted into a dark scary funhouse as I began to violently purge into my trusty bucket that was kept at my side.  All the while the facilitators were singing and their icaros were resonating through my entire body.  It was beyond overwhelming.  Every sense in my body was heightened as I was blasted with emotion from every direction.

One of my proudest accomplishments is being a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division, but on prior occasions taking ayahuasca my prior Army service never entered my hallucinations.  As the madness of the funhouse carried on, I looked up through the ceiling and could see an enormous 82nd Airborne insignia light up the entire universe.  I once again was in a dark place and began asking why was I seeing this insignia.  Did the plant have a problem with soldiers?  Paratroopers?  Every time I asked my surroundings just became darker and darker.  Every so often it would uplift me for a moment and I would ask about the insignia.  Each time I was thrust back into the funhouse of Hell.  Obviously, I was asking the wrong questions (I learned this after the third or fourth time purging and visiting these dark places).

I am a slow learner. I managed to refocus for a moment and it hit me.  It was almost as if the plant was screaming at me and punishing me for not coming to the obvious conclusion of these signs.  I had asked for purpose during that ceremony and that was it.  The medicine was showing me what my purpose was.  It is to help my fellow veterans in some capacity (this was the conclusion I reached). This was what I had asked for, but I had been too overwhelmed by the hallucinations to focus and obtain that answer.

It’s been three months since I attended the ayahuasca ceremonies. While I am still very mindful of what lessons the plant medicine has taught me, life (as it tends to do) has had me distracted and I find myself backsliding into old habits and losing focus on my new purpose.  I am now alert enough to realize this and I have the discipline to push myself back on track.  As I continue my path forward I am thankful for having the resolve to attend and learn from this beautiful plant medicine.  It is not a magic bullet, but if you follow through on the lessons this plant teaches you there is no doubt you will be a better person.

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Bangkok Part 6: Bangkok bikes

By Joe Berk

So what’s today’s blog all about?   I promised I would tell you a bit about the different kinds of motorcycles and motor scooters in Bangkok, and this is that story.

Scooters, Cubs, motorcycles…they are everywhere. Every traffic light is the start of a drag race to the next light by all the bikes.

Bikes dominate Bangkok’s urban landscape.  I know that sounds like a catchy thing to say (snappy writing, perhaps), but it wasn’t intended to be literary lavishness.  It’s just the way it is.  Two-wheeled transportation is everywhere.  In traffic, the bikes filter by on the left and on the right.  In front of any business or in any parking area, there are hundreds of bikes.  And at every stop light, dozens of bikes filter to the head of the line.  The excitement builds as the countdown stop light nears green (they tell you how many seconds until the light changes over here), and in the last few seconds before the red goes away, a zillion motorcycle engines start revving.  The word “glorious” seems appropriate.

Filter to the front of the line, start revving as the lights nears turning green. The pink autos are taxis (taxis are either pink or metallic green in Bangkok).

There are few big bikes in Bangkok.  Oh, you’ll see one now and then, but they are a rarity.  Over here anything over 200cc or 250cc is just wasted displacement.   I’ve been to Bangkok several times and of the tens of thousands of motorcycles I’ve seen (and those are not exaggerated figures), there were exactly two big bikes.  One was a Harley Sportster and the other was a Triumph Bonneville.  There’s just no need for more displacement.

A lone Triumph Bonneville, tucked away in a Bangkok parking spot.
A Ninja.   Honda, Kawasaki, and Yamaha are popular over here.  Surprisingly, I didn’t see too many Suzuki motorcycles.  We did see more than a few Suzuki automobiles, though.

One moto thing that’s noticeable right away are the orange vests.   When you see a rider with an orange vest, that means they are using their bike as a taxi.  They give short rides (the folks here tell me typically under 2 kilometers).  The riders have to wear the government-sanctioned orange vests and a helmet; passengers don’t wear any safety gear.   A lot of the female passengers wear skirts and ride side-saddle (I’ll show more of that in the next blog).  I’d say roughly 10 percent of all the bikes are being used as taxis.  Most of the drivers are men, but you do see women riders occasionally.

Thai taxi men, and one woman.
A mototaxi, a rider, and a food delivery bike.

Surprisingly, it’s rare to see more than two people on a bike.   You do see it, but not like I have seen in China or Colombia (I once grabbed a photo in Colombia of a motorcycle carrying six people).

A Thai Freightliner.

Bikes are working vehicles over here.   I mentioned the taxi thing; it’s also very common to see bikes weighed down with all kinds of freight.

There are scooters (you know, the things that are styled like Vespas), step-through motorcycles (like the old Honda Cub), small sport bikes (small displacement CBR or Ninja type bikes), plain old motorcycles, and (surprisingly) a lot of Grom-styled bikes.

Another rare sighting…a Vespa in Bangkok. Most of the scooters are of Chinese origin. But this Vespa?  If you’re thinking it’s from Italy, you’d probably be wrong.  Zongshen (in China) produces these for Vespa.
Here’s a guy on one that looks a little like a Ducati.   I’m pretty sure these are made in China, as Gresh and I also saw them for sale on our ride across China.  If you were wondering, the clutches don’t rattle on these.

When I was last in Bangkok 6 or 7 years ago, I saw a few Kawasaki motorcycles that looked a little like the Honda Grom.   Today, the Grom style is very popular in Thailand, with motorcycles of this style from several manufacturers.

I’ll close this blog with a three photos of a bike I spotted yesterday that I thought was pretty cool.  It’s a CG-clone-based motorcycle, and its owner has a sense of humor.

A little Beemer. Well, a Beemer wannabe. Unlike modern Beemers, this one has a rational seat height.
I wonder if the Cafe Racer decals are factory original, or if the owner added them.
It looks good. I like it.

We are enjoying our last full day in Bangkok.   We’re up early tomorrow for the flight back to California.  It’s been grand.  We’re staying in the top floor of a 5-star hotel in downtown Bangkok (the Pullman Grand Sukhumvit) and we’re living in the lap of luxury.  The room is awesome, there’s a pool and a gym, there’s a free tuk tuk ride wherever we want to go, there’s free booze and breakfasts and dinners, and it’s costing less than what a Holiday Inn might cost in the United States.   We’re going for a dinner cruise up the Chao Phraya River tonight with our good friends Kevin and Nan, and we’re going to hit another one of the temples later today.   We took a grand long boat ride on the Chao Phraya yesterday and it was awesome.

There’s one more in this series of Bangkok blogs, and it will feature a set of photos showing Thai women passengers on moto taxis.  Stay tuned.  I think you’ll like it.

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Break-Up Bikes (my journey to a Yamaha TW 200)

By Bobbie Surber

Can we talk about an important matter that has been on my mind?

Do women who ride motorcycles handle breakups differently compared to women who don’t rider?

It’s a thought that tickles the imagination of everyone at some point, right? Well, maybe not everyone, but hey, this is my little tale, so here we go. Picture this: it was summer, I had just experienced a breakup that left my heart in pieces, and an opportunity for a soul-searching solo ride presented itself. In that moment of contemplation, I assessed my true desires in life, and you know what came to mind? Dirt and sand riding. Yeah, I’m talking about that exhilarating feeling of kicking up dust and cruising through sandy terrain. Don’t get me wrong, my beloved Triumph Tiger 900 (affectionately named Tippi) will always hold the top spot in my heart. But hey, a girl needs a little something on the side, a petite and playful companion for short rides. You catch my drift, right? I know some of you guys can relate! Ha!

Fast forward through the summer months and as August approached a dear friend (who also happens to be an extraordinary adventure rider) reached out to me. By then, I had been on my solo riding journey for over two months, feeling both physically drained and financially pinched. And then, like a shining beacon, my friend, let’s call her Destini, introduced me to the elusive TW 200—the side cheating bike of my dreams. This unicorn of a motorcycle was up for sale in Southern California, and armed with a few snapshots and a contact number, I was ready to make my move.

Now, you won’t believe the audacity I had, claiming to be financially constrained but wasting no time in contacting Eric, the seller. He was enjoying a leisurely dinner with friends on a perfect summer evening when I burst into his life with overwhelming excitement. I must have been yapping like a caffeinated squirrel, leaving him wondering if I was either on some mind-altering substance or going through a manic phase. But can you blame me? I had set my heart on that bike! It wasn’t just a want—it was a dire post-breakup remedy! A 2015 Yamaha TW 200 with a mere 800 miles on it listed for only $4000. Surprise, surprise, Eric turned out to be a gem of a person and agreed to a small Venmo deposit to secure the deal.

Now, here’s where the plot thickens. I was miles away in the Olympic peninsula of Washington while the prized possession awaited me in sunny southern California. One could say I needed a trusty sidekick, and luckily, a kind friend volunteered to inspect and purchase the bike on my behalf.

Before I knew it I was the proud owner of a TW 200. Come September, picture me cruising through the neighborhood on a splendid Sunday afternoon, giggling like a mischievous child. That little bike felt so lightweight and petite.  Its chunky rear tire was the only contrasting feature. And would you believe it? My shattered heart seemed to magically mend, thanks to a mere $4000 and the promise of thrilling rides in Baja and my enchanting town of Sedona, conquering as much dirt as possible! Love was in the air once again, and my mind was filled with visions of the adventures that lay ahead.

And thus, my riding comrades, this is the tale of how I acquired my very own break-up bike!

The Yamaha TW 200 is a unique dual-sport motorcycle known for its distinctive features and versatility. Here are some key details about the Yamaha TW 200:

    • Engine. It’s powered by a 196cc, single-cylinder, air-cooled four-stroke engine, designed for reliability and easy maintenance.
    • Fat Tires. One of its most recognizable features is its oversized tires—both front and rear are unusually wide for a motorcycle of its size. The fat tires, with dimensions of 130/80-18 rear and 130/80-18 front, contribute to its off-road capabilities and stability on various terrains.
    • Low Seat Height. The TW 200 boasts a low seat height, making it accessible and comfortable for riders of varying heights and skill levels. This characteristic also aids in maneuverability, especially off-road.
    • Suspension. It’s equipped with long-travel telescopic front forks and a rear mono-shock suspension, providing decent travel for off-road adventures while maintaining comfort on the road.
    • Utility and Design. Its design combines elements of a traditional dirt bike and a street motorcycle. It features a high-mounted exhaust, a large, round headlight, a rear rack for cargo, and a simple, utilitarian appearance.
    • Availability. While production and availability may vary by region and year, the TW 200 has gained popularity for its unique design and capabilities, which contributes to its demand in the used market.

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A .223 Browning Micro Medallion A-Bolt

By Joe Berk

I recently posted a blog about a couple of accuracy loads for the 6.5 Creedmoor Browning X-Bolt.  This blog focuses on a different Browning:  A .223 Browning Micro Medallion A-Bolt.  It’s the rifle you see here.

I bought the A-Bolt new from a local gun shop in southern California about 35 years ago.  I paid $339 for it.  It doesn’t have fancy walnut but when I saw it on the rack I asked to see it.  I soon as I held it I wanted it. It just felt right. I fancied it as a walking around varmint rifle suitable for rabbits and coyotes, although I’ve never taken this rifle anywhere but the West End Gun Club 100-yard rifle range.  I still make gun purchase decisions based on the kind of hunting and shooting I did 50 years ago in Texas.  Someday I may get out and chase jack rabbits and coyotes with this rifle again.  I can dream.

The right side of the Micro Medallion.

Browning offered their A-Bolt Medallion series, which were full-sized rifles, and their A-Bolt Micro Medallions, which have a shorter barrel and a shorter stock.    The Browning Medallions and Micro Medallions were discontinued a few years ago when Browning shifted to the X-Bolt rifle, but you can still find the Micro Medallion A-Bolt rifle on the used gun racks and on the gun auction boards.  A recent check showed that they go for around $650.

The rifle you see here is Browning’s Micro Medallion.   I like the smaller size.  It’s a lighter rifle and the shorter stock fits me well.  I don’t like the gloss finish, but at the time it was all Browning offered (they later offered a satin finished rifle).  What’s nice about the gloss finish, though, is that it has held up well.  It and the deep bluing make this firearm look brand new.  I like the rifle’s cut checkering and the darker fore end pistol grip tips, too.  Browning made a big deal about their rifle’s short bolt angle in their advertising back in the 1980s and 1990s (bolt angle is the angle the bolt turns through to allow extraction, ejection, and loading).  I like it, but if the rifle had a c0nventional bolt throw it wouldn’t have bothered me.  It’s something different, but it’s not necessary.  It is cool.

Fairly plain, gloss finished walnut. The Browning’s bolt throw is a short 60 degrees, much less than a conventional bolt action rifle’s 90 degrees.  The rifle’s bluing is amazing.
A nice rifle. I use the notepad to keep track of which load I fire at which target.
Cut checkering on the Browning. These rifles were manufactured in Japan. They did a nice job.
The fore end tip and the pistol grip have rosewood caps. They look good.

Shortly after I bought the rifle, I mounted an inexpensive 4X Tasco scope on it.  That worked okay for a couple of years and then the scope called it quits, so I bought another inexpensive 4X scope (a Nikko this time).  The Nikko has held up well.

You might wonder:  Why a nonvariable 4X scope?  Why not the more popular 3-9X you see on most rifles?  In my opinion, the 4X is a lot more useable in the field.  I don’t get dramatically better groups with higher magnification scopes, and I like the lightness and the much larger field of view a 4X offers.  Unfortunately, not too many companies offer fixed power 4X scopes these days.  The scope companies’ marketing has convinced everyone they need variable scopes with high magnification.

The Nikko 4X scope was inexpensive. It has parallax and focus adjustments. Not the roll engraving on the receiver.

In my recent blog about the Browning maple Medallion 6.5 Creedmoor X-Bolt, I described a couple of accuracy loads I developed for that rifle.   This time, my objectives were different.  I wasn’t shooting the .223 Micro Medallion for accuracy.  I was harvesting brass.

Bulk Remington .223 ammunition. It comes in a big plastic bag. I counted out 100 rounds for this range session.
A macro shot of the bulk Remington .223 ammo. Note the crimp applied to each round. I generally find that uncrimped ammo is more accurate with this cartridge. I think the crimping induces a bit of tilt in the bullet.

Several years ago I scoured the Internet looking for Remington brass.  I’ve always had good luck with Remington brass (it lasts longer and it provides better accuracy, in my opinion).   At that time and to my surprise, loaded Remington bulk ammo was cheaper than unprimed brass.  For me it was a no brainer:  I ordered a thousand rounds of loaded .223 Remington bulk ammo.  When I need .223 brass, I’ll shoot up a bunch of the bulk ammo to get the brass.

The bulk Remington ammo was notoriously inaccurate in my Ruger Mini 14, which is the only rifle I had previously used with this ammunition.  I wanted to see how the ammo would shoot in the Browning.   I knew the Browning was accurate based on previous range testing at 100 yards (some of my reloads would shoot into a quarter of an inch in the Browning; I’ll give you those loads at the end of this blog).

The Remington ammo did well enough in the Browning.  It held loads right around a minute and a half of angle at 100 yards, and it printed about where the scope was zeroed.  Take a look:

Cheap ammo, but results that weren’t too shabby. I could hunt with this load.

This accuracy is good enough for minute of jackrabbit or coyote.   The Browning Micro Medallion rifle is fun to shoot, too.  It has negligible recoil, the shorter Micro Medallion barrel helps to keep the weight down, and it connects well at 100 yards.

About the accuracy loads I mentioned above:  In a previous load development effort I tested .223 loads in several rifles, including two Remington 700 varmint guns with bull barrels and big scopes.  To my surprise, the Micro Medallion and its 4X scope had no problem running with the big guns and their much heavier barrels and much higher magnifications.  Here’s how the Micro Medallion and three other .223 rifles grouped a few years ago at 100 yards:

The Browning Micro Medallion shot half-inch groups with ARComp propellant (and it was basically a minute-of-angle rifle with nearly all other loads).  I’ll reload the brass harvested from this range session with the Hornady V-Max bullet and ARComp propellant.  This is great performance, especially considering the lightweight barrel and the 4X scope.  It’s a great rifle.

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Season of Change: Part 3

By Mike Huber

I returned to my mat/astral spaceship with a full dose of ayahuasca in a cup that I was about to drink.  This would be my 12th time consuming this magical potion from the jungles of South America.  As I sat staring into the cup that would soon bring me into another world I was as scared as I had ever been in my life, especially having just had one of the most frightening journeys of my life the night prior. Looking into the cup of dark molasses-colored and textured fluid I set my intentions and fearfully drank what was a little over an ounce, but it would prove to be more than enough to benefit me.

Similar to the prior evening I sat back to let the medicine absorb into my body.  There was nothing for me to do but let the medicine perform its work now.  Once the singing of the icaros began I could feel another entity coming towards me, but it wasn’t the panther from the previous night.  It was a War of the Worlds type of jellyfish with tentacles.  I was relaxed since in previous ceremonies this was the hallucination I was used to.  One of the tentacles came down and at the end of it was the pattern of the inside of the ayahuasca vine but I could tell it was an eye scoping me out.  Yet again I was eye to eye with a new entity introducing itself to me.  What was constantly on my mind was if this entity would disappear and return me to the Hell I was in the previous night.

Pretty much as soon as the hopes of not returning to that Hell faded, yup, you guessed it I returned to the exact same Hell as the previous night.  Damn it!  It was for a shorter period of time though (or so I thought as time is relative in the spirit world).  There were no voices or guidance this time, though, so I wasn’t quite sure of the lesson I was being taught (but I did vomit ferociously for quite some time). Once that began to wind down my name was called and I moved to the facilitator that would sing to me face to face.  I was instantly uplifted and felt just pure happiness.  A happiness and peace with myself that I hadn’t felt for years. I was comfortable within my own skin and felt as though I had been reborn and given a new chance to experience life through this new lens that I hadn’t had previously.

That evening I went back into the room to have tea with others and was no longer huddled in the corner.  I participated in the conversations while also checking in on others to ensure none of them felt as I did the previous night. It was one of the best experiences I had to date with this medicine, but I still had one more night to go through, so I was cautious not to become overly comfortable. It was time to rest, eat, hydrate and get my head together for tomorrow night’s final ceremony.

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A Baja Endurance Run!

AMORAK (a Mexican motorcycle group) is having a Baja endurance run next month.  It’s a ride from Tijuana to Cabo San Lucas…a cool 1,632 kilometers (or 1,014 miles) that entrants must complete in less than 24 hours.  The run commences on 12 January (you have to be in Tijuana on 11 January for inspections, registration, etc.).  If you’re interested in taking this one on, here’s the link to get started.

I’ve done that exact same trip on two different motorcycles at the extremes of the motorcycle spectrum.  One was a Harley big twin (my old Heritage Classic) with 1340 cubic centimeters; the other was a CSC-150 Mustang replica that had a 150cc engine.

On both of my TJ-to-Cabo rides, we took several days.  Doing 1,000 miles in 24 hours anywhere is a challenge (as Rob Morel wrote about here on the ExNotes blog); doing a run like this from TJ to Cabo is an extreme challenge.  The roads are a combination of twisties, desert, coastal roads, mountain roads, and rides through the centers of many towns.  It’s not freeway riding, and you never know when a burro or a vaca might wander onto the road directly in front of you.  Add in the facts that gasolina may not be available in the middle of the night, you would have to eat somewhere along the way, and the police down there (both local and the Federales) are more rigorous about enforcing the speed limits these days…man, I don’t know.   It’s more than I’d care to take on, but your mileage may vary.  Our job is to help spread the word, and now you know.

If you would like more info on riding in Baja, check out our Baja page.  Better yet, pick up a copy of Moto Baja.

Make sure you get BajaBound Mexican insurance before you venture into Baja, and if you want to get the right gear (and world class moto gear), be sure to check out British Motorcycle Gear.

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