Author: Joe Gresh

Assault on Batteries

Unlike motorcycles, I’m not fixated on doing things the old way for electrical energy storage. I run a lithium-polymer battery in the Husqvarna that has exceeded all my expectations. The thing never goes dead (no trickle charger needed) it has tons of cranking amps (no need to use the compression release to start the bike) and it weighs nothing. You can install the thing in any position and nothing will leak out. The only drawback to the lithium-polymer battery is cost.

Battery technology is advancing rapidly with so many new combinations of lithium with something else, molten salt or rare elements only found in war torn areas. It’s hard to know which technology will win out in the end but for now, in my solar-powered shed system, lead-acid still offers the best electron storage option.

Lead-acid batteries are messy, inefficient and half their capacity comes at a voltage too low to run your equipment correctly. They are heavy as hell and the cable connections are always corroding from the acid fog and hydrogen fumes escaping from the fill caps. You’re lucky to get 5 years service out of a lead-acid battery. The things are problematic in most every way.

But not in all ways: lead-acid is a completely mature technology. We’ve been building them since 1860 and there is a cradle-to-grave recycling system in place right now. Any auto store or Wal-Mart has the ability to take your old lead-acid batteries and deal with them responsibly. Unlike the new battery elements there are no ecological surprises with lead-acid: We know all.

Lead-acid batteries are available everywhere. Go to any town in the world with at least one gas station and you can buy a lead-acid battery. You don’t have to deal with Tesla or any of the high-tech battery startups that don’t actually have product. Your battery isn’t tracked online, the software will never need to be updated and your battery bank will never be monitored by anyone but you. Unlike most e-car and e-bike batteries, lead-acid batteries come in standard sizes (24, 27, 31, 4-D, 8-D) and for the most part are interchangeable unless you have a restrictive battery box or short cables.

Lead-acid batteries are tough. It’s hard to damage a clean lead-acid battery with tight connections. They put out gobs of amps on demand and as long as there is electrolyte in the cells they stand up to overcharging well. They’re even somewhat repairable: Go on YouTube and look up battery repair for ways to flush out debris from old lead-acid batteries to gain new life.

Lead-acid batteries are easily scalable and nearly any voltage or amperage desired can be achieved with large, simple jumper cables. I’m running 4, group 31, 12-volt batteries in my 24-volt system. My future plans are for 16 batteries total but there’s no rush. I can take as long as I want to get there or 8 batteries might prove to be enough for my usage level.

Most important for me: They are cheap! The four deep cycle marine batteries in my off-grid system @100 amp/hour each give me a total of 2400 watts of storage (@ 50% capacity) for 400 dollars. If I ever get to 16 batteries I’ll have 9600 watts of storage for around 1600 dollars. Compare that to 7000 dollars for 7000 watts of storage from Tesla’s Powerwall.

The newer Powerwall is AC-in, AC-out and comes with a built-in AC inverter which is a savings if you’re charging from the grid but you’ll need a solar AC inverter to charge the Powerwall from the sun so it’s kind of a wash for my set up. The lifespan/charge cycle of lead-acid batteries is supposed to be less, judging from the two-year lifespan of the lithium ion batteries used in my cordless tools, maybe not.

I’m not a Luddite when it comes to battery technology on motorcycles or power tools but for me the new designs and materials haven’t yet made sense for large, stationary storage banks at low cost. I’ll revisit the topic if Tesla reduces the price of their Powerwall by half or some new manufacturer comes up with a wiz bang combination of chemicals that outdoes ancient lead acid technology.

To Serve Road Racing

Motorcycle road racing has taken quite a beating in America. The biggest stars are overseas and the entire series (whoever runs it) has become sort of a Triple A, minor league pastime. There are some really great riders in our pavement series but none of it seems to translate to The Bigs.

What if we combined road racing with a homegrown series featuring riders that are already the best in the world? Flat track racing has factory involvement, the best riders, a full-figured schedule and reliable fan participation. What if we went back to the past and named an overall Number 1 rider using the total points scored from each series? Road racing and flat track points were scored this way back in the 1970’s before the AMA debased the value of the #1 plate by splitting the championship into two. American road race wins need to become more valuable, more meaningful and with a tight overall championship on the line the top flat trackers would no longer be able to ignore asphalt. With so many more dirt events the best road racers would have to dabble in the dirt.

Would we see Mees on a factory Indian road race bike scoring a few pavement points to keep his dominant championship streak going? Would JD Beach win the #1 plate several times in a row, as he seems the most multi-talented? Would a dark horse, semi-privateer like Carver show a natural talent on the asphalt and go on to win at Moto GP? What if Shayna Texter turned out to be a beast on the twisting streets of COTA and showed a wheel to Marquez? This mixing of talent and styles gave the US years of GP dominance in the past and it will do it again.

I know the existing sanctioning bodies would never come together on this series. It requires compromise and a desire to put the common good above fractured fiefdoms battling for fans. That’s why we need a third, Rotisserie League type Series that sponsors the new championship without actually being involved in sanctioning races.

This piggy backed, Lamprey League would tabulate the scores from both road racing and flat track events and award prize money accordingly. (Like the old Camel Pro championships) Freed from having any association with either of the race promoters or even needing their blessing, anyone with deep enough pockets could be a sponsor. Red Bull, Booze sellers, and cigarette makers even the web site Vice could jump on board. An entire Virtual Championship Series with its own advertising, racer interviews and social media platforms would run parallel and concurrent with the physical races.

With True #1 championship money on the line racers would switch back and forth between the two racing disciplines, all the while improving their ability on both surfaces and scoring virtual points. It’s a win for everybody involved and it’s a big win for whoever gets that unified #1 plate.

Zed’s Not Dead: Part 15

Zed’s forward progress has come to a temporary halt. Not due to any complications on the Kawasaki’s part, although the project has exceeded my initial estimate by double and I’m not done yet. No, Pitiful Man has to strike a balance between work and play. He must strive to appease the gods and their fickle ways while angering none. It’s a fine line we walk and sometimes we have to dance atop a vibrating string.

A quick trip to Florida was in order as the Love Shack, our singlewide trailer in the Ocala Forest, was showing signs of neglect. CT and I freshened the grey floor paint and installed new back porch pavers, eliminating the sad little stoop that had served us poorly for 14 years. While we were at it some new window shades, new screen doors and a lick of paint on the Lido Deck were in the cards. Another project I started 14 years ago, installing sliding closet doors, was finally brought to a conclusion. When we were finished the place looked like a hundred bucks.

Back at Tinfiny Ranch in New Mexico another, larger project had to be tackled: a twenty-foot by thirty-foot concrete floor in the tin shed. I’ve decided to tackle the shed floor in stages, like the International Six Days Trial. Stage one will be Bay Number 1 (a little confusing because an additional bay, Bay Zero, was added to the shed after the other three bays had been named). This stage consists of 16 individually poured slabs of which I have 9 complete as of this writing. After the slabs are in place a shear wall will be built to add strength to the flimsy metal shed and also divide the space into a Bay 2 and 3 dirt floor, rat-accessible side, and a Bay 1 concrete, non-rat accessible side.

Those faithful Zed’s Not Dead readers that have not deserted me will recall Part One where I describe Zed’s crooked path back and home. After we bought Tinfiny Ranch I discovered a trove of paperwork from Zed’s previous owner. Several motorcycle magazines from the era featuring Zed were in a box along with a possible explanation for the Zed’s wiring issues described elsewhere in this series.

This letter dated August 3rd 1994 from Ken Rogers representing Dyna III ignitions (I’m guessing not the singer) explains to the previous owner how they have thoroughly tested the electronic ignition he sent back and have proclaimed it fit as a fiddle. Zed’s burned-up wiring harness may have been due to a faulty Dyna ignition installation. This would also account for the wiring to the coils being cut as those short bits were spliced into the Dyna module. I never found any of the Dyna stuff in my initial clean up but I haven’t gone through all the old guy’s junk.

Along with the Dyna stuff there was a lot of Yoshimura brochures and price lists. After seeing the damage to the wiring harness on Zed I’m torn between hoping my bike has some nice performance parts installed and fearing that my bike has some nice performance parts installed. I should be able to measure the cams to see if they have additional lift but I’m not sure how to check displacement without winning an AMA national road race. I suspect the Yoshi stuff was bench dreaming because the bike runs too well to be hot rodded.

Finally here’s a nice photo from Dale-Starr of David Aldana winning the Daytona superbike race with a half-lap lead over the guy in second place. Apparently this caused protests that required Aldana’s bike to be disassembled twice! The bike was found legal and Aldana’s win stood. I met Aldana at Barberville one year. I was so excited to meet him I started doing the “We’re not worthy!” Wayne’s World bowing thing and Aldena told me to knock it off.

While no real work has been done to Zed in Part 15 I’ve enjoyed digging through Zed’s past. Reading the old magazine reviews reinforces just how spectacular the Kawasaki Z1 900 was when it came out in 1973.  And how spectacular a motorcycle it still is.

Want to catch the rest of the Zed story?   Hey, just click right here!

The Rimfire Series: First Person Shooter

The odds are infinitesimally small that I will ever be called upon to overthrow a tyrant. I’m much more likely to be part of the brainwashed mob chasing down the righteous and the truth-tellers. I haven’t bought any guns lately because I don’t want to fit out my broken moral compass with the tools to get the job done. I get the public’s fascination with guns, though, the solid, no rattle feel, the precision machine work, and the black menace that radiates from a well-oiled rod. With a slight nudge to the right I could have become one of those guys that owns 43 guns. Who needs so many guns you say? I would have.

I bought my first gun when I was 20 years old. It was a Ruger bull-barrel .22 caliber target pistol. The thing was a load of fun out on San Diego’s Kitchen Creek road where a self-policed gun range glistened with glass shards in the late 1970s. You could buy milk cartons full of ammunition for the Ruger at department stores or sporting goods retailers. Nine dollars equaled 500 rounds and it made for a cheap, fun day blowing up bottles and cans.

The Ruger would rust if you didn’t keep it clean and the bottles weren’t shattering enough to suit me so the next gun I bought was a stainless steel Smith and Wesson .357 revolver with a 4-inch barrel. When you pulled the trigger you could see the drum turn, the hammer draw back and flames shoot out the sides of the weapon. It was like a miniature cannon. You got dirty shooting the thing. The whole process of firing the S&W revolver satisfied me on so many levels that at this point I was perilously close to becoming a gun nut.

For some reason, maybe it was God’s Hand, I didn’t become a gun nut. The trips out to Kitchen Creek became fewer. The ammunition got more expensive and the two pistols were packed away. It was only a few years ago that I dug the guns out. The Ruger was a mess. Rust had scarred its smooth gun-black finish and the mechanism was stuck. It took hours to get the thing cleaned up and the rest of the day to figure out how the various parts fit back into the handgrip. Being stainless, The Smith was fine, only needing a bit of oil to loosen things up.

My wife, CT, and I took the guns out to our local range to relearn how they operated. It was kind of fun and it really helped CT to see the difference between an automatic and a revolver. Like me, she prefers the revolver because the works are out in the open. Just by looking you can see the status of a revolver. With an automatic it’s anyone’s guess if the thing is ready to go off or it’s empty.

This Christmas CT gave me one of those heavy steel spinner targets, the kind with a large round target on the bottom and a smaller one on the top. When you manage to hit the thing the target spins around like a kinetic lawn ornament. I guess CT enjoyed our day at the range more than I did. Now she wants a Mosberg pump shotgun and one of those scary looking assault style rifles. You know, for home protection. It seems like we might end up with a gun nut in the family after all.

Like our gun stuff?   Check out Tales of the Gun, our gun page.

Is Digital Photography Art?

I log into several online groups as a way of avoiding doing something constructive. One of the groups features photos of New Mexico. Some of the photos are spectacular, some are way over-processed. One guy started labeling his photos as “No Filter New Mexico.” This means the photo has not been doctored beyond the camera’s initial setting. A long-winded argument ensued pitting photographers (the guys who watermark their embarrassing, Willie-Wonka-colored Martin-landscape shots in an attempt to retain rights) and snap-shooters.

If I shoot a scene and then push the photo edit sliders to their limits did I create art or am I just working within an algorithm provided by the software manufacturer? Is the coder who designed the software the real artist? If I successfully dial a number on my cell phone is that art? No way! Now say I invite 500 people to a theater and I go on stage and successfully dial a phone number on that exact same phone. Is that art?

Maybe art is made when its creator declares it as art. Even bad art like those over-processed photos are art if Slider-Man says so. The watermark guys proclaim their saturated images as art, who am I to deny them their petition?

My biased opinion is that everything we do in life is art. Of course there are differing degrees of artiness. Photo shop doctoring is art on the level of a child playing with the classic stick-on toy Colorform. With Colorform you apply provided objects and characters onto a smooth vinyl background scene. The sticky bits are reusable so you can change the image to suit your taste. Colorform is a lot like Photoshop in that rearranging premade objects becomes an act of art.

In the days of film, and before that when oil painting was the best way to record a scene, a modest-to-hard level of difficulty was involved. Cameras have become so good that nearly anyone can take a technically decent photo. Selecting the best angle and framing the photo are artistic things but they pale in comparison to carving a block of marble or tossing feces onto a canvas.

Each artwork has its own built-in level of difficulty and because art is defined by one man’s opinion the whole world blasts open to artistic endeavors. Eating lunch, mindful of our ways, becomes art. Driving to work with an emphasis on the driving is much harder than pushing a shutter release so it too becomes art. My Facebook buddy Ren has turned coffee making into art because he cares so much about the process and the resulting drink.

So click that shutter my fellow Da Vinci’s, slide that saturation bar to the max and marvel at the purple skies you have created. Use the render bar to mimic that hyper-realistic, Steam-punk thing used in tough-guy motorcycle advertisements. We are artists with a lower case “a!”

Dream Bike: Ducati 860GT

There are only a couple Ducatis that make my Dream Bike fantasy garage and the numero uno, top dog, ultimate Ducati is the springer 860. Unlike most Ducatis, this square-case, 90-degree, V-twin motorcycle eliminates the positive-closing desmodromic valve actuation system and in its place uses a conventional spring-return valve train. To some posers this change negates the whole reason for owning a Ducati. Not in my view: The ability to set valve lash with only a potato peeler on a motorcycle axle deep in cow manure plus the fact that I rarely run any motorcycle at valve floating RPMs means Desmo Ducks hold no advantage for me.

Is it wrong to love a motorcycle solely for its looks?  Giorgetto Giugiaro’s Jetson-cartoon styling speaks of optimism and a bold stepping-forth into the future. It looks fabulous and slabby and never ages in my eyes. This is one of those motorcycles you can stare at for hours. Why stop there? I’ve never ridden an 860GT so I’m just extrapolating from Ducati’s past performance but I’m sure the thing will handle street riding without issue.

The bikes were available with electric start for the kicking-impaired and after 1975 Ducati exchanged the perfect angular styling for the more traditional, rounded Desmo GT look. It was an error that I may never forgive them for. The springer 860 stayed in production a few more years but Ducati decided to go all in with desmodromic to give their advertising department some thing to boast about.

These 860GT Ducati’s are for riders. The seating position is humane, the gas tank big enough and I’ve read of some pretty astronomical miles racked up on the springer engine. A few years ago at an auction in Daytona I missed out on a beautiful red 860GT. The thing looked like new and sold for $5000. Damn cheap for such a rare (built only 2 years) and cool motorcycle.

Sausage Making

The China tour story I wrote took a long, winding road to publication. I like to pre-sell any feature-ish story and since we had recently done another big CSC story at That Other Magazine I pitched the China ride to Editor in Chief, Marc Cook. He liked the idea and suggested making the story less about the CSC motorcycle and more about the ride.

All went swimmingly on the tour but while I was in China That Other Magazine was going through upheaval on every level. I returned to a smoking, charred magazine landscape of fewer, thinner issues and a frequently changing vision for That Other Magazine. I ran the China story past each new editor (in quick succession) they all liked it but the reformatted book had many must-print stories and little space for a long feature on China.

That Other Magazine went through another major restyle opting for a spare, photo-heavy layout, a cut back to 6 issues a year and hired a platoon of fresh, new writers. I re-re-re-pitched the thing, refusing to believe it was over but like any failed love affair the day came when I realized my blue passion for That Other Magazine had faded to grey.

Whenever I do a free-riding junket for a motorcycle manufacturer there are no preconditions. I may love or hate their motorcycle but I will write honestly about it. The only thing I can offer in return for their hard-earned money is publicity. My job was to write a story and get it published: I had failed myself, CSC, Joe Berk, my fellow China Riders and Zongshen.

At this point I pretty much gave up on the China tour and shoved the thing into a dark, dusty corner of my hard drive. I couldn’t stand looking at the story, so much effort that came to naught. Newer challenges awaited writing and I wasn’t going to let the China story drag me down. I moved on.

Enter this blog and its demanding publishing schedule. While I’m no fountain of content I’ve never written as many words a month as I have since we started ExhaustNotes. The hectic pace and all-consuming need for content has changed my opinion of writing from an art form into a trade. I make stories like I pour concrete. Instead of a failure, the China tour became just another slab. I pitched the thing to Motorcycle.com and thankfully they bit. I rewrote the story to reflect the new realities regarding That Other Magazine and the result can be found here: Kung Fu Riding.  Sorry it took so long.

Free Bobber? That Beats The Heck Out of a Duffle Bag!

The paper magazine business has taken a beating in the last few years. One magazine that seems to have their stuff together is American Iron, a book that focuses on American-made motorcycles. Somehow these guys get away with charging subscribers what it costs to produce 13 issues a year. For those of you counting that is three more issues a year than Cycle World and Motorcyclist combined!

Nestled among the beauty, health, gun and celebrity gossip periodicals, American Iron is the only motorcycle magazine still sold in supermarkets and drug stores. Start looking around; you’ll see AIM everywhere. I don’t fully understand what happened to the other guys but they made a half-hearted grab at the Internet while letting go of the fun and exclusive part: the monthly magazine.

I subscribe to a legacy magazine and I open my mailbox expecting to see nothing and at ever-diminishing intervals I get it. No matter how good they may be, four or six issues a year cannot keep the pot on boil. I don’t even know if I have time left on my subscription. I’ve gone from anticipating a new issue to being surprised by a new issue.

American Iron’s content is not exactly in my wheelhouse: when no one is looking I’m a dirt rider. But if you throw in a free Indian Bobber I could see myself getting into asphalt. Heck, promise me a one-cent decal and I’ll bite the head off of a pigeon. Offer me a T-shirt and I’ll rob a bank for you, just do something, anything, for readers other than shrink the product to reflect the subsidized pricing subscribers have been trained to expect.

So here’s the deal: Subscribe to American Iron and ride that Indian Scout Bobber home. It’s more costly than the lose-money-on-subs-make-it-up-in-advertising books but those guys aren’t giving away a Bobber and we need paper magazines to survive in America. When you subscribe do me a favor, tell them Joe sent you, I need a place to flog content!

The Fix Is In

In an oddly satisfying way, climate change activists and good old fashioned mechanics have found an issue they can both agree on. The BBC News recently published a story on the Right to Repair.

Manufacturers, in an effort to comply with government rules and plain old greed, have been locking out consumers’ ability to repair the trinkets of modern life. Using proprietary software, draconian warranty rules that prohibit anyone else from opening their widgets, and glue, builders have stifled our repair and reuse ethos. Throwing the damn thing out has become easier than fixing the damn thing.

I’ve been gravitating to older motorcycles mostly because they are so fixable. There’s nothing sealed or secret on a 1975 Kawasaki. Performance wise, if you ride anywhere near the legal limits any old Japanese bike from the 1970s and 1980s will exceed your riding skills. Not many modern cars can run with a 1000cc 4-cylinder bike and you’ll never have to go to the dealer again because they don’t work on your bike or stock parts to fit it.

YouTube has been on the forefront of cracking open the cradle-to-grave marketing machine. The video giant’s users have filled its files with how-to instructional vids on locked-out products. Recently, I replaced the battery in my iPhone for $6 and then replaced the front-facing camera I broke replacing the battery for $7. With new phones running $600 I’ll be nursing this old iPhone for as long as I can. It’s rare I do anything without checking YouTube for a how-to video. Even If I know how to do a job I like to see other people’s ideas.  They may have a better way.

Here’s hoping the environmentalists and the wrench-spinners can convince the powers-that-be we need the Right to Repair. Yeah, it could be looked at as more Nanny-State intervention in business but once you buy a product why does the builder have any say in what happens to their widget? Who gets to say what you can do with it?   You, or the manufacturer?

Dream Garage

If I had all the money, I’d be one of those crazy collector types, like Jay Leno or Anthony Hopkins, the Silence Of The Lambs guy. You know, the kind that has 177 motorcycles, their Great Paw-Paw’s washing machine motor and 42 washed-up old cars stored in three aircraft hangers. All of my bikes would be in neat rows, I’d have every color of every year of each model and they would all sit in my gigantic storage shed and slowly seize up. And when I die there’d be an auction where the stuff would sell for pennies on the dollar to a bunch of soulless flippers intent on making old motorcycles as expensive and annoying as the collector car scene is today.

Maybe I’d organize both cars and bikes by engine type. There would be a Kawasaki 750 triple, a Saab 93 triple, a Suzuki 750 triple next to a crisp, modern Honda NS400. Flathead Row would have a Melroe Bobcat with the air-cooled Wisconsin V-4, and all three Harley flatties: The 45- incher, the Sportster KH and that big block they made (74-inch?). You’d have to have an 80-inch Indian and the Scout along with most of the mini bikes built in the 1970s.

I love a disc-valve two stroke but I’ve never owned one. First bikes in that section will be a bunch of Kawasaki twins (350cc and 250cc). I’d have a CanAm because with their carb tucked behind the cylinder instead of jutting out the side they don’t look like disc bikes should. A Bridgestone 350 twin without an air filter element would be parked next to a ferocious Suzuki 125cc square-four road racer, year to be determined.

Besides the two-stroke Saab I’d have a two-stroke Suzuki LJ 360cc 4X4 with the generator that turns into the starter motor like an old Yamaha AT1-125. I’d need a metalflake orange Myers Manx dune buggy. It would be that real thick kind of metalflake that looks like some kind of novelty candy served only on Easter or found in table centerpieces at wedding receptions. A few Chevy trucks from the 1960’s would make it into the collection also. A mid-60’s Chevy van, the swoopy one, would be a must-have to go with one of those giant steam tractors, the ones with the steel wheels and the chain wrapped around the steering shaft and then to the center pivot front axle to make the beast turn hard.

To complement the Bobcat I’d have a gas-engined backhoe, something from the 1950’s with all new hoses and tires. I’ll paint it yellow with a roller and then hand paint “The Jewel” in red on both sides of the hood with the tiny artist’s brush from a child’s watercolor set. The backhoe would be a smooth running liquid-cooled flathead with an updraft carburetor and it would reek of unburnt fuel whenever you lifted a heavy load in the front bucket.

No one would be as into my junk as me, so I’d have to hire a guy to feign interest in the stuff. I think $10 an hour should get me a sidekick who would always be amazed at what I had found. We’d both marvel at how little work or parts the item would need to get it running and then we’d push it into an empty space. After a cold beer from a refrigerator plastered with Klotz decals he’d run his card through the time clock with a resounding clunk, leaving me and the shop cat sitting in my beat-up brown vinyl recliner to stare at my collection and wonder if I really had all the money.