When I left off with the last post about our 2009 KLR Baja trip, I had a dog hanging onto my leg on a dirt road just north of San Jacinto. It was terrifying, and what I was mostly scared of was that the thing might have managed to sink its teeth into me. If that had happened, there was no question but that I would have to undergo the rabies shots. In order to avoid doing that, I’d either have to know that it hadn’t penetrated my leg or I’d have to kill the dog and get its head to a lab to be tested for rabies (gruesome, I know, and don’t ask me how I know about such things). That second option wasn’t going to happen, and in any event, I had no idea where I could go in Baja to get the head tested. Nope, all my bets had to be on no penetration, or I’d have to go for the abdominal rabies shots.
When the dog finally released its grip, John and I slid to a stop a half mile further down the road and I frantically stopped to check my leg. I didn’t know if the thing had actually bitten me or if it had just got a mouth full of denim and boot leather. I didn’t feel the dog’s teeth penetrate me, but I was too adrenalized to feel anything.
It’s a good thing we were out in the boonies, and it’s a good thing no one was there to see what happened next. And what that was, well, let’s just say it was picturesque. It was me frantically undoing my motorcycle pants, and then my blue jeans, and dropping both, with John kneeling in front of me to look for bite marks. Anyone seeing this might get the wrong idea. I know, we’re close, but not that close.
I checked my leg and I didn’t see any bite marks. John examined me and it was official: I was unharmed. Had I not been wearing boots and my motorcycle pants, that probably would not have been the case. All the gear, all the time. It’s an adage that holds true. Dodged a bullet, I did.
So, toothmark-and-rabies-free, we rolled past another little cluster of dwellings, made a sweeping right turn as the dirt road followed the coast, and there it was…
The Isla Del Carmen, off the Pacific Coast near San Jacinto, after confirming I was not going to become a rabid motorcyclist.
We hung out by the Isla Del Carmen for a while and I took a bunch of photographs. The Isla Del Carmen sank right off the San Jacinto coast during a storm in 1984. I’d seen the wreck in another photograph, and now I was seeing it in person. It was awesome being there.
I like these photos, partly because of what we had gone through to get them (the rough roads and the canine assault), but mostly because it was a shot I had framed in my mind before we arrived and the actual photos turned out better than I had imagined. Indulge me. I’ll show you a few.
The KLRs in front of the Isla Del Carmen. That’s the Pacific in the background.John’s is green. Mine was red. Loved those bikes. Simple, fast enough, and fun.Baja John, at ease along the Pacific coast.Leave something in salt water long enough…Coastal stuff.
After spending a while taking photos, we took the direct route out of San Jacinto heading east. It was another sandy dirt road, but it was hard packed and it ran relatively straight to the Transpeninsular Highway north of Camalu.
We stopped in Camalu for lunch. John and I opted for the chicken fajitas at the Las Brisas, a small restaurant, and our mid-day meal was amazing. Octavio, the owner and chef extraordinaire, took good care of us. We had a two-hour lunch, and we spent a lot of that time chatting with Octavio. It was fun.
The Las Brisas, the hot spot in Camalu.John enjoying Octavio’s chicken fajitas.This is Octavio, the propriet0r and Camalu’s philosopher-in-chief. He patiently explained to us that Camalu is the best place in the world. Who knew?America and Palmyra, two young ladies in Camalu.
We got as far as El Rosario that second night, and we stayed in the El Sinahi hotel. It was an inexpensive, no-frills kind of place (exactly what I like in Baja).
The El Sinahi. Check the spelling.The KLR, docked for the evening.
We ate at a restaurant adjacent to the El Sinahi, and it was great. I don’t think it had a name, other than “Restaurant.” It didn’t need one. It was wonderful. You know, folks tell me I spend a lot of time talking about the cuisine in Baja. Guilty as charged. I love that aspect of exploring the peninsula. I guess there are bad restaurants in Baja. In 30 years of exploring the place, though, I haven’t found them.
Good food, good meat, good God, let’s eat!John had fish tacos, the quintessential Baja dish. They look great, don’t they?Maria, our waitress in El Rosario.
I didn’t know it yet, but the rear window to my El Sinahi hotel room faced a neighbor’s yard. A neighbor with roosters. Lots of roosters. The kind that start cock-a-doodle-doodling at 4:30 a.m. Right into my window.
I had visions of making rooster fajitas, but I decided not to. Truth is, those things sounded so strong I didn’t know if I could take them in a fight.
There’s another abandoned mission west of El Rosario about three miles down a dirt road that winds through more small villages. We tried to find it that next morning, but we couldn’t. While rolling down that road, we encountered more Mexican dogs, and sure enough, the dogs came after us again. We outran them that time. We could have poked around longer trying to find the mission, but the dogs unnerved me. I reckoned that we had gone far enough to pass where the mission should have been, we never saw it, and I turned around. On our return through the area where the dogs chased us, we blitzed by at 60 mph. No dogs, no bites, and no problems.
Ah, but the day was just starting. A little further down the Transpeninsular Highway, in Baja’s Valle de los Cirios, we would be chased yet again. But this time, it would be by a titanic tarantula. But that’s a story for the next installment of our Baja KLR Khronicles.
This is a story about a 2009 Baja KLR ride. In Part I, we covered the ride from southern California to Rosarito Beach.
The breakfast at Velero’s in Ensenada was impressive (it always is), and it was a glorious morning as we rolled south.
Two KLRs headed south in Baja. John forgot his toothbrush, and I wasn’t going to let him use mine, so we stopped at a farmacia so he could buy a new one.
We had several offroad explorations in mind as we rode deeper into Baja that morning, but our first stop was at a farmacia. I like Mexican pharmacies. Here in the US in 2009, all the stories in the news media were about the drug wars in Mexico. Right church, wrong pew, as they say: The US news media had the wrong story. The real drug story in Mexico was (and still is) how cheap prescriptions are down there. You don’t need a prescription in Mexico for many of the drugs that require prescriptions in the US (like penicillin, and prednisone, and Lord knows what else), and meds are trivially inexpensive. The drugs are the same as what we get in the US (literally, the same, from the same US manufacturers in many cases). I wish our so-called “investigative journalists” would write an expose on that topic, but they were too focused in 2009 on killing the tourism industry in Mexico with distorted news about the drug wars. Go figure.
We continued south on the Transpeninsular Highway. There’s about a dozen miles of traffic leaving Ensenada, and then Baja switches suddenly from squalor to splendor as the road climbs into the mountains and descends into Baja’s wine country. It really is spectacular. If you’ve never made this ride, or if you’re idea of going into Mexico is TJ or Ensenada, you need to venture further south to start to get a feel for the real Baja. Trust me on this.
John and his KLR on the Transpeninsular Highway in Baja’s wine country. This is where the beauty of Baja begins to emerge.
Ah, Baja. It was beautiful. It always is.
Our first excursion in the dirt would be to the abandoned mission in San Vincente, well into the desert and well south of mountains. We saw a sign for the mission and took a dirt road heading west from the Transpeninsular Highway. As it turned out, there was a lot more out there than just an abandoned mission.
The sign pointing to the Camino Real mission ruins.
We first saw a building we initially mistook for the mission. It was a private home (one of several). We were stunned. The homes were magnificent, tucked away in the hills down a rough, soft sand road. I’d been by San Vincente on many prior Baja rides, but I had no idea the hills held such secrets.
Wow. Who knew this was back here?
We saw a young lady and asked her for directions to the mission. She pointed and told us to go over a hill. We did, and the first thing we found was a well-maintained rural cemetery.
I’m in no hurry to be buried, but when it’s time, this might be nice. If there’s such a thing as elegance in a graveyard, this place had it.
There was something about the cemetery that was simultaneously captivating and tranquil. It seemed to come from another era, and after reading the headstones we saw that it did. It was meticulously maintained. It’s always nice to see that.
Impressive. A family plot. The wife lived to be 100. Imagine that.Magnificent. I shot all the photos in this series with my old Nikon D200 and the first-generation 24-120 lens. It was state-of-the-art in 2009. I took a lot of pictures with that camera.
After the cemetery, we found the San Vincente Mission. The local folks are restoring it. I’d seen signs for the mission on the Transpeninsular Highway, but this is the first time I’d ventured off the asphalt to see it. John and I were the only folks out there that day.
The San Vincente Mission was built about 300 years ago. It’s one of several that run the length of the Baja peninsula. I’ve been to several, and a few are still working churches. What’s left of the San Vincente Mission is not.
What’s left of the San Vincente Mission. The restoration was a labor of love. The mission’s adobe walls were being resurfaced. I need to get back there to see how it looks today.The mission walls underneath the restoration.
We rode through the soft sand back toward the Transpeninsular Highway to the town of San Vincente’s contemporary church (which is visible from the highway). It offered great photo opportunities and we took a bunch. We wanted to enter the church, but it was locked.
San Vincente’s church in 2009.John relaxing in front of the San Vincente church.John yanked on the cord, and that bell was loud. We stopped. We didn’t want the San Vincente residents to think they were being summoned.
It was fun being out in these remote areas on the KLRs. The experience was a lot different than seeing Baja from pavement only, and John and I were enjoying it. I’m normally not a guy who likes riding dirt, but John had talked me into getting off the highway and I’m glad he did.
Shortly after leaving San Vincente, it was time to check off another item on our wish list, and that was seeing the Isla Del Carmen shipwreck. I wanted to see it, but I didn’t know exactly where the wreck was other than that it was somewhere off the coast near San Jacinto, so we took another dirt road due west for about 8 miles and hit the Pacific coast. Our plan was to intersect the coast several miles north of San Jacinto, follow it south, and find what was left of the Isla Del Carmen.
The dirt road along the coast was rough, and I’m being charitable when I call it a road. It was mostly soft sand. At one point the sand was so deep it was nearly impossible to control the KLR, so I wrestled the Kawasaki up into the weeds. It was a marginal improvement. I couldn’t see where the wheel was going, but at least the sand wasn’t calling the shots anymore. And before you tell me the trick is to get up to speed and float on top of the soft stuff, all I can say is hey, I was there. You weren’t.
Then we encountered something we hadn’t expected: Dogs. A pack of dogs, actually. And they were pissed. At us.
Well, that’s not quite accurate. Their anger was focused on me. Specifically, me. At least that’s how I felt.
In California, you almost never see a dog off a leash. In rural Mexico, you almost never see a dog on a leash. Those things are aggressive, too. We were chased by more dogs on this trip than I have been chased by in my entire life. They weren’t just interested in scaring us or getting a good laugh. Those things wanted us for dinner. Or rather, they wanted me for dinner. I’ll tell you more about the angry dogs of Baja as this story progresses, but one dog story at a time for now. And this one was enough.
I don’t like dogs. I was mauled pretty badly by one when I was kid, and I still have the scars to prove it. I know that those of you who have taken the Motorcycle Safety Foundation course or who have read about such things are thinking that being chased by a dog is no big deal. I know about slowing down, letting the dog calibrate his intercept based on your reduced speed, and then accelerating to confuse the cantankerous canine. That works on pavement if there is one dog. Try doing it in soft sand when there’s pack of four or five that are fanned out along your flank. In that situation, you are not just a motorcyclist. You are a potential meal. And that was the situation I found myself in that fine Baja afternoon.
A tranquil scene, don’t you think? It was right after I shot this photo that the dogs descended on us.
We were approaching a rinky-dink little fishing village, eyeballing the coast for the shipwreck, when the pack of dogs came after me. I think it might have been my green fluorescent riding jacket. Maybe they had an unhappy childhood. Maybe someone unfriended them on Facebook. Who knows. Whatever the reason, they were snarling and spitting and literally smacking their jaws as I tried to fool them with the slow-down-speed-up maneuver. In soft sand. Trying to keep the motorcycle vertical. Wondering what the hell I was doing down there.
Then it happened. One of the dogs got me.
I felt him crash into my right leg, and when I looked down, the thing had clamped down on my motorcycle pants just above my ankle. The dog was literally being dragged along for what seemed like an eternity. It locked eyes with me, and if there’s such a thing as telepathic communication, or maybe interspecies body language, the dog’s eyes said it all. It was not a pleasant message in either direction. The dog might have thought I was a sonofabitch; I had no doubts about him being one. I’ve known some SOBs in my life, but this bastard was the real deal. I didn’t feel any pain, but that’s normal in a traumatic situation. I didn’t know if the dog’s teeth broke the skin around my ankle, but I knew what it would portend if it had.
“Not good,” I thought.
I could see it all the while that miserable sonofabitch was clamped down on my leg, as he was being pulled along at 30 mph. What I saw was me making a beeline for the border to get medical treatment. Rabies shots, and who knows what else.
To be continued…
Hey, check out our other Epic Motorcycle Rides, and watch the ExNotes blog for the next installment of the Baja KLR Khronicles!
Like what you’re reading? Sign up for our automatic email updates, and you’ll be eligible for our quarterly drawing to win one of our adventure motorcycle books. Want to read about our other Baja motorcycle adventures? Order your own copy of Moto Baja here!
This has been a busy week, and lots of good things are happening. We’re having rain all over, and even thunder, lightning, and hail, but things are happening!
For starters, our good buddies at Janus Motorcycles made the New York Times in yesterday’s edition. You can read the story here. Folks, from a public relations perspective, it just doesn’t get any better than getting a story in the New York Times. It’s a tremendous accomplishment, especially when considered in light of the fact that the story spoke so very well of Janus and their team. I enjoyed the Baja ride with Devin and Jordan tremendously, and it’s good to see these guys doing well. Wow. The New York Times. I am impressed!
Devin Biek and Richard Worsham, the Janus founders. I rode Baja with Devin. Richard rode a Janus across the United States.
Next up: The CSC guys are in the middle of their Moab get-together, and following the photos on Facebook, it looks like they are having a hell of a good time. Good for them! CSC does more rides with their customers than any motorcycle company I know, and that’s a good thing. They’re out there offering test rides on the new San Gabriel and the RX4, too. Cool stuff.
And a few more developments…we’ve now got a page indexing our more memorable adventure rides, and it’s appropriately titled Epic Motorcycle Rides. Click on the link to take a look. We’ve covered past rides on the ExNotes blog, and this new page provides a convenient index to all our rides in one easy spot. The Janus run, the Enfield run, the Three Flags Classic, the 150cc Mustang run down to Cabo, motorcycle racing in Baja, videos from the different rides, and more. It’s all on Epic Motorcycle Rides!
We’ve got a lot of new stuff coming your way, folks. I’ve been playing with some cast bullet loads in the 1903 Springfield and we’ll have a piece on it soon. We’ve got more motorcycle stories queued up, including one about running the KLRs through Baja. We’ve got two new Facebook groups launched…one is the Crappy Old Motorcycle Association (or COMA, for short), and the other is Guns and Ammo, each with a focus on just what their names imply. And of course, we have our Facebook ExhaustNotes page. We’d like you to sign up on all three…hey, we all could use more Facebook in our lives!
One more thing…please consider signing up for the blog’s email updates. You might win a copy of Destinations at the end of this quarter if you do!
Two cool videos are making waves this week. One is a recent release by my good buddy Buffalo Bonker about his recent ride across Iowa on his RX3…
I met Buffalo on one of the CSC Baja rides, and the guy is a hoot. He bought the RX3 to go on the Baja ride (he had never ridden a motorcycle before), and since then he’s completed a number of great adventures, including a ride through Vietnam. Most impressive, and thanks for allowing us to share your video here on the ExNotes blog, Buffalo!
The other video of note is good buddy Joe Gresh’s review of the Royal Enfield Interceptor, which continues to rack up the views…
Joe Gresh has a number of outstanding videos, and it you’d like to see more, just drift on over to our YouTubby page! We’ve just updated our video page, with more videos and better organization to make things easier to find. We have shooting videos, riding videos, motorcycle reviews, and more. Enjoy!
Hey, you know what? We think you should sign up for our email updates, and you can do so by adding your email address to the widget on this page. We’ll never give your email address to anyone else, and you’ll automatically be entered to win a copy of Destinations, our latest moto adventure book!
So there we were in Calgary. Wow. And we’d ridden there on our motorcycles through all three countries (Mexico, the United States, and Canada). It had been a grand ride, but it was only half the trip. Now, it was time after a fun two days in Calgary for the ride home.
Before diving into our ride home, though, you might want to catch up on the ride to Calgary. Here are the first seven installments of our story on the 2005 Three Flags Classic…
The plan after the events in Calgary was to select our own route home and ride it at our own pace. The official portion of the 2005 Three Flags Classic was over. It had been a blast. On the run home we would decide where to go, how to get there, and how long to take doing it. Our plan was to head west across Canada from Calgary toward British Columbia, turn left somewhere above Washington, meander over to the coast somewhere after Portland, and follow the Pacific coast home. It was to be another grand adventure, and wow, we were having fun!
On the first morning out of Calgary, we stopped in Banff and had a great breakfast. Smoked salmon and eggs, as I recall. It was delicious.
The road through Banff. It was a crisp morning and the riding was great.We walked around in Banff a bit after breakfast. This bear skull was for sale in a store window.Good buddy Marty posing with the 1200 Daytona in Banff.
The ride that morning was beyond glorious. Crisp, clean air, cool temperatures, and all was well with the world. The big 1200 Daytona was running superbly well and the scenery was magnificent. Every scene was a picture postcard, and I caught a lot of them. Incidentally, all of the photos you see in this story were shot with film. I had my Nikon N70 with me and just two lenses (the 24-120 Nikon, and a 17-35 Sigma). Great scenery, great photo gear, a great motorcycle, and great photo ops. Life was good. It still is.
After that great breakfast in Banff and a bit of walking around, were back on the road headed west across Canada. Our next stop was Lake Louise.
The Lake Louise Hotel.The Lake Louise Hotel lobby, courtesy of the 17-35 Sigma lens. This place looked very expensive. In our dead-bug-encrusted road gear, we looked out of place.A statue near Lake Louise, erected by the Canadian Pacific Railway, honoring the Swiss Mountain guides. When building the railroad through the Rockies, the Canadian Pacific Railroad needed guys who knew how to find their way around in this kind of terrain. They bought mountain guides in from Switzerland.Lake Louise. It gets its greenish hue from glacial silt.The road crew in front of Lake Louise.There were signs around Lake Louise advising us to be on the lookout for grizzlies. Wow!
We continued heading west and then south through Canada, and we spent the night in Penticton, about an hour north of the border. Penticton is an interesting resort town, complete with a large lake and a casino. I had a smoked salmon pizza for dinner. Love that smoked salmon.
We crossed the border early and re-entered the U.S. into Washington. We were honking along pretty good, not 30 minutes into the U.S., when a Washington State Patrol officer pulled us over for speeding. It was early, maybe 6:30 in the morning, and the officer was heading north when we were heading south. He lit us up as he passed by, I saw him do a “Smokey and the Bandit” u turn in my rear view mirror, and we pulled over immediately. The officer pulled up behind us. When we took our helmets off, he looked at us and said, “Ah, old guys,” while shaking his head. He told us to slow down. The trooper was an old guy, too. I think he felt a connection. No citation. We chatted a bit. We were lucky. Yeah, I’m an old guy, but riding that Triumph always made me feel like I was 18 years old. “I don’t know why you boys aren’t getting tickets today,” the trooper said and then he told us to ride safely. His strategy worked. We rode across Washington at a sedate 60 mph for the rest of the day. It took forever.
Somewhere north of Yakima, Washington.
We stopped in Goldendale, Washington, for a cup of coffee in a local bar, chatted with the locals for a while, and then we had one of the most scenic rides I’ve ever taken. It was to be one of the best parts of the ride, and it was through the Columbia River Gorge. The roads and the scenery were incredible. It was the first time I’d ever seen it, and I’ve been back there several times since. It was an area I knew I had to include when we hosted the Chinese for the ride through the American West, and I wrote a piece about the region for Motorcycle Classics magazine. The Colombia River Gorge is one of my favorite places in the world.
Marty, headed into the Columbia River Gorge.
We rode along the north side of the Columbia River for about half the length of Washington, and then we crossed into Oregon on the Bridge of the Gods. It was probably 300 feet above the river, and it was one of those iron mesh bridges that you can look down and see all the way to the river. It looked and felt like I was flying, and it was unnerving. I looked down once and that was enough for me. We then found our way into Portland, and checked into a hotel I knew from a previous business trip.
Portland, looking out over the Willamette River.
Portland is a very cool town. Marty and I had fun exploring it, and in particular, stopping for lunch at the Olympian. I later did a story on the Olympian, too, for Motorcycle Classics. The Olympian has a fantastic vintage motorcycle collection.
Kelly’s Olympian Bar. This is a cool place to have a drink.Inside the Olympian. It’s a “must see” spot on any ride through Portland.
We left Portland before sunrise early the next morning and headed southeast toward the coast. Oregon is a wet state. We had a lot of mist in the morning riding through the rain forest, and it was eerie. I half expected to see Sasquatch jump out and grab me every time I wiped my face shield. Then, we arrived at the Oregon Coast Highway, and yep, that ultimately became a story gracing the pages of Motorcycle Classics, too.
Sasquatch is down there somewhere.Hippy Bob, who we met on Oregon’s Pacific Coast Highway.
The people you meet are the best part of any motorcycle ride, and on the Oregon Coast Highway, we met a guy who introduced himself as Hippy Bob. Hippy Bob had hit the Oregon lottery for $5,000 and he immediately bought a Harley basket case for $4,500. Bob was taking his time working his way down the coast from Portland on that motorcycle (Bob had been on the road for two days when we met him, and he had only traveled about 200 miles south of Portland in that time). I was really interested in Hippy Bob’s motorcycle, as I hadn’t seen a Shovelhead Harley on the road in years. His was a 1981 model. I used to own a 1979 Electra-Glide (with the Shovelhead motor), and I called it an optical illusion because it only looked like a motorcycle. Things were constantly breaking on my Harley. I asked Bob if he had any problems with his Shovelhead, and that opened the floodgates. Bob just went on and on about the nonstop challenges he had faced keeping his Harley running. He was still talking about it when we left.
We rode the Coast Highway all the way south to Highway 138, and someone told us to watch for the elk further east. We did, and wow, were we ever impressed.
Wow.Wow again!A bambino.
We spent the next night in Roseburg. The hotel was literally next door to the Roseburg Harley-Davidson dealer. We looked at the new 2006 Harleys (it was the first time I had seen them, and they looked good). I bought a Roseburg Harley T-shirt. There’s that old joke…you know, for a T-shirt company, they make a pretty good motorcycle…
Our destination the next morning was Crater Lake. Was it ever cold that morning! We rode through more beautiful scenery, but the temperatures were damn near debilitating. I need to tell you that we had been seeing signs warning of elk crossings for much of our time through Washington in Oregon, but the only elk was had seen so far were the ones off Highway 138. I had mentally dismissed the elk warning signs until what happened that morning. We saw another elk warning sign, I was trying to stay warm with my electric vest cranked up all the way, and then all of a sudden about 300 yards further up the road, the largest elk I ever saw stepped in front of us. I stopped, Marty stopped, and the elk stood broadside, just staring at us. He was daring us to proceed. That bull owned the road. He knew it, and he wanted to make sure we knew it, too.
Now, you have to picture this scene. We were the only ones out there, having a staring contest with this elk that was the size of a house, on a bright sunny freezing morning. Steam was coming out of the elk’s nostrils, and mine, too. I flipped my visor up because it was fogging over. The elk stared at me. I stared at it, wondering if I could get the bike turned around if the elk charged. I could see the headlines: Motorcyclist Gored to Death By Enraged Elk.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the elk looked away from us, crossed the highway, and disappeared into the forest on the other side. I started to let my clutch out, and then a female bounded out of the forest on the right and followed the bull into the forest on the left. I stopped and waited a second, and then started to roll forward. Then another female elk appeared. We stopped again. They just kept coming. Big ones, little ones, more big ones, more little ones, and well, you get the idea. I realized: Those elk crossing signs are for real.
Then it was on up to Crater Lake. It was beautiful, and it would become yet another Motorcycle Classics article.
My Daytona parked along the road circling Crater Lake.Yep, that’s snow. It was cold up there!
The area around Crater Lake was downright scary. There are steep drops on the side of the road, no shoulder to speak of, and no guard rails. There are lots of signs warning that you could get seriously hurt or killed up here. On the way down, we encountered ice on the road. I love riding; I hate riding on ice. I was concentrating intensely when out of the corner of my eye I saw a yellow motorcycle closing in on my right rear and I remember wondering who else would be nutty enough to be up here riding on the ice, and who in the world would try passing under these conditions? Then I realized: It wasn’t another motorcycle. It was my motorcycle, and the ass end was sliding around. The back end of my Triumph wasn’t going in the same direction as the front end. That was a close one.
After Crater Lake, we buzzed down to the California border, almost got stopped for speeding again (the CHP cruiser going the other way hit us with the lights but didn’t come after us), and we made it to Davis, California. We had dinner with Marty’s son, and then headed home the next day.
A trip like this is one of life’s grand events. It’s hard to say what part of it I liked best: The camaraderie, the people we met along the way, the scenery, the riding, the wildlife, the memories, the photo opportunities, the sense of adventure, or just the sheer pleasure of being alive and out in the world.
Here’s a summary of the miles that Marty assembled:
• 9/1/05 Upland, CA to Tijuana, BC: 139
• 9/2/05 Tijuana, BC to Gallup, NM: 657
• 9/3/05 Gallup, NM to Grand Junction, CO: 419
• 9/4/05 Grand Junction, CO to Driggs, ID: 569
• 9/5/05 Driggs, ID to Whitefish, MT: 526
• 9/6/05 Whitefish, MT to Calgary, AB: 366
• Total for Three Flags: 2,676
• Miles ridden within Calgary, AB: 6
• 9/8/05 Calgary, AB to Penticton, BC: 430
• 9/9/05 Penticton, BC to Portland, OR: 468
• 9/10/05 Portland, OR to Roseburg, OR: 288
• 9/11/05 Roseburg, OR to Davis, CA: 469
• 9/12/05 Davis, CA to Upland, CA: 427
• Total for return trip: 2,082
• Total for round trip: 4,764
The Three Flags Classic Rally is one of the world’s great motorcycle rides, and if you’ve never experienced it, you might consider signing up for one of these rides. You can get more information on the Three Flags Classic on the Southern California Motorcycle Association website. I’ve done some great rides in my life; the Three Flags Classic was one of the best.
When I’m on a road trip, I sometimes know the history of the area I’m riding through, and I sometimes do not. I’m always wondering about it, though. I recently finished reading Empire of the Summer Moon, and it was so good it makes me want to plan another road trip through Texas. The cover tells what the book is about; what it doesn’t do is tell just how good this book is…
Several things amazed me as I read Empire of the Summer Moon, the first being how it could have not known of it previously. The only reason I learned of it is that I saw Empire in an airport bookstore a couple of trips ago.
They say you can’t tell a book by its cover, but the cover on Empire appealed to me greatly. The book was even better. Much of the action described in it occurred in Texas (and in areas where I used to live in Texas); now I want to return, ride those roads again, and pay more attention this time. And I will. Just how good was this book? Hey, when I finished it, I turned back to the beginning and started reading it again. That’s good.
A couple of years ago I gave a presentation on our ride across China to one of the Horizons Unlimited gatherings. It was a 56-slide PowerPoint deal and I thought I might share it with you here. It’s big bandwidth, so bear with me as the images load, and enjoy…
The riding was great, the friendship was even better, and the photo ops were off the charts. Both Joe Gresh and I published stories on that adventure, too. And don’t forget the book, Riding China. You can buy it here!
Here’s another stunning motorcycle in the Motor Museum of Western Australia. It’s kind of wild that I am finding this exotic American iron on the other side of the planet (see our earlier blog on the 1920 Excelsior-Henderson), but hey, beauty knows no bounds!
The bike is beautiful, and the colors just flat work for me. I guess they worked for Harley-Davidson, too…in the mid-1980s they offered a Heritage model Shovelhead with the identical “pea green” color theme. I wish I had purchased one of those back in the day. Lord only knows what they are going for now.
Check out the exposed pushrods, rocker arms, valve stems, and fuel tank cutouts in the photo above. And then take a look at the leather work on the saddlebags below…
I’ll let the Motor Museum’s words do the talking here, folks…check out the distances covered on this bike, too!
Like what you see above? Check out our other Dream Bikes, and don’t forget to sign up for our automatic email blog updates. You’ll automatically be entered in our quarterly advbook giveway!
You know, there’s more to the American Pickers television show than just watching a couple of cool dudes and their delightful inked-up assistant traveling all over the world buying cool stuff. It’s really an education on how business works. Buy low, buy quality, rarity counts, treat everybody well, and sell at a profit. I love it, and I never miss an episode. And I’ve watched a lot of the reruns.
The other topic American Pickers handles well is negotiation. These guys view negotiation not as an adversarial endeavor, but rather, a situation in which the buyer and seller are working together to find common ground. Backing off when things aren’t moving forward, bundling things to reach agreement, gentle suggestions…it’s all there. The show could be titled Negotiation 101 (it wouldn’t be as catchy a title, but it sure would be accurate).
I love negotiating. It’s a grand game and I love playing it. Just the other day I took advantage of a negotiating opportunity. You know I’m a firearms enthusiast. I enjoy shooting and I enjoy reloading. I’m always on the lookout, too, for a few guns I still have on my wish list. One such firearm on the “someday” list has been a 300 Weatherby Magnum. I’ve been watching the Internet auction boards for 5 or 6 years now looking for one that was priced right, realizing I’d still have to pay the transfer fees, etc., to bring it in from wherever to California.
Why a Weatherby? Well, as you already know, I once met Roy Weatherby. He was a hell of man and a personal hero. He designed his own rifles and cartridges. The 300 Weatherby Magnum is his signature cartridge. It’s why I wanted one.
So one day a few years ago Susie and I had lunch in Pasadena with a fellow from India. That meeting may someday lead to another secret mission (this time to the subcontinent, which might be interesting as I’ve never been there).
But all that’s beside the point. On the way home, the traffic was terrible (it was the Friday before the Labor Day holiday). We diverted to surface streets on the way back and, what do you know, I spotted a little gun store (The Gunrunner in Duarte). We stopped in and they had a consignment rifle…and it was the one I’d been seeking for several years. A 300 Weatherby Magnum with a scope, a sling, and a case. It looked new to me, but it was used. Used, but in “as new” condition.
“How much?” I asked.
“$500,” the sales guy replied.
Hmmmmm. That was actually a great price. It was an especially great price considering I wouldn’t have to bring it in from out of state, there would be no freight or transfer fees, its condition was stellar, and it was what I had wanted for a long time. I didn’t answer, but I kept looking at the rifle. Susie just stared daggers at me. That’s another negotiating trick. Bring your significant other with you and have her pretend to be opposed to whatever it is you want to purchase. In this case, though, I’m not so sure she was pretending…
I was just about to say okay when the sales guy spoke up again.
“How about $500 and I’ll pick up the DROS fees,” he said (the DROS fees are the fees associated with the background checks, etc., so the State of California can be certain I won’t run out and hold up a gas station with the my rifle).
“Make it $475 and we’ve got a deal,” I said.
And that’s how you get ‘r done, folks, as another one of my heroes would say.
The test target provided with every new Weatherby…this one grouped 3 shots into an inch at 100 yards
So you can see that test target above. All new Weatherby rifles used to come with a test target like that (maybe they still do; it’s been awhile since I bought a new one). You might wonder if these targets are really representative of what the rifle can do, and I’m here to tell you they are indeed. Take a look…this is what I shot with one of the loads I developed for my .300 Weatherby Vanguard the week after I bought it…
An awesome rifle in every regard…awesome power, awesome accuracy, and awesome recoil. The load is the 165 gr Hornady jacketed boat tail softpoint, a CCI 250 primer, and 80 grains of IMR 7828 propellant. That’s a 3-shot, half-inch group at a 100 yards!
If you enjoyed this blog, make sure you check out our other Tales of the Gun stories!
Several things amazed me as I read Empire of the Summer Moon, the first being how it could have not known of it previously. The only reason I learned of it is that I saw Empire in an airport bookstore a couple of trips ago.
Yep, I grabbed a bunch of photos today. Beezers, Harleys, Indians, Triumphs, Nortons, Velocettes, and more (much more, actually) to follow.