Category: Adventure Motorcycle Books

Bugeyed in Beijing

By Joe Berk

That’s me that I’m talking about in the title of this blog and the story is a Riding China excerpt.  Joe Gresh and I rode with a group of Chinese riders on a 38-day motorcycle ride around China. This is a small part of it describing the ride into Beijing.

Gresh, King Kong, and yours truly in China. I’m the bugeyed old bastard on the right (after the swelling subsided).

Traffic was moving but it was heavy, and Chinese drivers in cars do not respect motorcycles.  If they want to occupy your spot on the road, they just move over.  It’s not that they don’t see you; they just don’t care.  You’re a motorcycle.  They’re a car.  They know who’s going to win.  At very low speeds in city traffic, you can scream at them or maneuver away or stop.  At freeway speeds if you don’t get out of the way, you’re a hood ornament or a big wet spot on the asphalt.  Our Chinese riders’ propensity to ride on the shoulder all the time suddenly made sense to me.

On a quiet road in China. China has delightful country roads and modern freeways. We weren’t supposed to take our motorcycles on the freeways, but we didn’t do too well with rules.  We literally rode thousands of miles, all of it illegal, on Chinese freeways.

It was dark well before we reached our hotel that night and we had to ride about 45 minutes or so after the sun set.  The Asian-configuration RX3 headlight is not very bright (our US bikes are much better), and to make a bad situation worse, as I have mentioned before I don’t see too well in the dark.  To see a little better that night, I lifted my visor.  Even though it was a clear visor it still has a slight tint to it and when I lift it at night I can see better.

In the motorcycle world, there’s another term that’s similar to ATGATT (you know, all the gear, all the time).  It’s “visor down.”   What it means is that you should keep your helmet visor down all the time.  The reason is obvious:  You don’t want to get whacked in the eye with whatever is floating in the air.  That night, I proved that “visor down” makes sense.  I caught a bug smack in my right eyeball.  It hurt immediately, but I could still see.  At that point, I put the visor down, but it was a classic case of closing the barn door after the horse got away.

We arrived at the hotel about 20 minutes later.  I was tired and cranky.  I went to my hotel room in a blue funk.  Gresh tried to calm me down, but he was fighting a losing battle.  “We have a couple of good rolls of toilet paper in this room,” he said.  That was a good point and it was definitely something to be happy about, but it didn’t help me feel any better.

I really didn’t want to eat dinner that night, but I decided that bagging dinner would be too rude.  So I went and I sat next to Sean.  After some small talk, he noticed my eye.  He was shocked.  I had not seen myself in the mirror and I guess it looked pretty bad.  My eye wasn’t white anymore; it was mostly red and swollen.  Okay, I’ve been whacked in the eye by bugs before.  I knew it would be red and it would bug me (pardon the pun) for a couple of days, and then it would be okay.

Yep, that Great Wall.

We rode through the countryside the next day to see the Great Wall at another location, but I still wasn’t over being upset and cranky from the night before.  When I lead rides in the US or in Mexico that last for more than a weekend, there’s usually one guy in the group that will get cranky at some point.  I had thought about that before this ride and I realized that on a ride lasting over five weeks someone would get to that point.  I just didn’t think that guy would be me.  But it was. I was tired, my eye was jacked up, and the stress of watching out for Chinese drivers was getting to me.

Dong drifting toward Beijing.

The next morning, I missed grabbing a good photo because of that.  We were riding to see the Great Wall at a different location.  On a lightly-traveled mountain road on a curve, we all stopped and Dong intentionally laid his RX1 on its side in the middle of the lane.  He got on the bike with his knee out and had one of the other guys photograph him from the front (to make it look like the bike was leaned way over in the corner and he was dragging his knee).  I think nearly everyone got their photo on the bike, but I declined.  I just wasn’t in the mood.  I think Dong knew I wanted that photo, though, and after I had returned to the US, he emailed a copy to me.  (It’s the photo you see above.)

When we got to the Great Wall that morning it involved a considerable hike up a steep hill to get close enough to touch it.  I’ve done that on prior visits, so I didn’t want to do it that day.  Four of us opted to wait while the rest of the guys made the hike.  It was relaxing.  Wong, Zuo, Furem, and I shared a bag of peanuts Sean had left in his car while we waited for the others to return.

As we were riding back to the hotel from that location, heading downhill through the mountains the same way we had ridden in, I started slowing down.  I didn’t realize it at first, but eventually I was the last guy in our formation.  Then I started riding even more slowly, until the rest of the guys were so far ahead of me I couldn’t see them.  My eye was still bothering me and by now I was having some problems seeing well.  To add fuel to that fire, my left shoulder was hurting (I have a pinched nerve somewhere in there and it bothers me on long motorcycle rides).

But there was more to what I was feeling than just what I described above.  Something was going on.  I suppose a shrink would call it an anxiety attack.  I was driving around every twist in the road expecting to see a truck stopped in my lane, an oncoming truck passing another vehicle in my lane, a person sweeping the street in the middle of the turn in my lane, a guy pulling out right in front of me, a bus making a U-turn in front of me, a car cornering too hard drifting into my lane, someone going the wrong way in my lane, someone pulling into my lane without looking, an old woman walking directly in front of me, people stopping to have a conversation in the middle of the street, or someone squatting down to take a dump (in my lane, of course).  On this trip, I had seen all of what I just described and more.  What was happening that morning was the enormity of the insanity that is riding a motorcycle in China caught up with me.  Yeah, it was an anxiety attack.  The nuttiness of it all, my vulnerability being on a motorcycle, and my inability to do anything about it was suddenly overwhelming.

The guys were waiting for me at the next intersection, and from there we went to a Sinopec gas station to refuel the bikes.  It was hotter than hell.  I guess it was fair to say I was miserable.  I was still feeling all of this accumulated anxiety when a guy in a black Mercedes starting blasting his horn at me in that gas station parking lot.  He didn’t want to drive around me; he wanted me to move even though there was plenty of room for him to go around.  It was more of the “I’m a car, you’re a motorcycle” bullshit that is pervasive in China.

I don’t know what came over me, but I think I just got supremely tired of being the vulnerable victim.  I looked directly at that Mercedes driver.  I made eye contact.  He looked at me, not realizing I was here with eight other guys on motorcycles.  I eased the clutch out until my bike was directly alongside his window (which was open).  I then leaned on my horn and let it rip for a good solid 20 seconds.  Then one of the other Chinese riders watching me did the same, and yet another yelled a really bad word at the Mercedes (which he probably learned from either Gresh or me).  It was pretty funny, especially hearing that kind of profanity with a Chinese accent.  The guy in the Mercedes had screwed with the wrong Marine on the wrong day.  Without realizing it, he took on the Wild Angels that hot afternoon just outside of Beijing.  He suddenly and fully realized what might happen as a result of his boorishness.  He rolled up his window, he averted his eyes, and he backed his big black Mercedes respectfully away from us.  That broke the spell.  I wasn’t helpless any more.  I felt amazingly better.

Okay, enough about me being a butthead:  On to Beijing proper.  We stopped at the Beijing Zongshen dealer that afternoon (where they were expecting us) and it was the Dajiu and Arjiu show all over again.

Gresh presenting a vest to a Zongshen rider. They thought we were celebrities.

There were the usual tons of photos with Gresh and me.  Hey, how often do Dajiu and Arjiu show up in your neighborhood?  Tracy told us the dealer had just sold five new RX1s.  He wanted to have a ceremony in which we gave the keys and Zongshen fluorescent vests to the five lucky guys who had purchased the bikes.  I was feeling my old self again.  I saw an opportunity and I took it.

“We’ll do it this time, Tracy,” I said, “but if you don’t start doing a better job getting these dealers prepped it will be the last time.”  Tracy doesn’t always know when I’m teasing him.  I could tell that this was going to be one of those times.  Gresh picked up on it, too.

“Yeah!” Gresh said.  Joe sometimes has a way with words.

“What is wrong, Dajiu?” Tracy asked, concern and maybe a little fear showing in his eyes.

“Where’s the watermelon?” I said.  “We’re supposed to have watermelon waiting for us at each dealer visit,” I said.

Joe Gresh on a Zongshen motorcycle and his contractually-mandated chilled watermelon.

“Yeah,” Gresh added, “and it’s supposed to be chilled, too.”

“It’s right there in Section 6, Paragraph 3.2 of the Dajiu and Arjiu contract,” I said, “and there’s no cold watermelon here, Tracy!”  (I don’t think I need to mention this for my readers, but I will just in case you were wondering, there is no such thing as a Dajiu and Arjiu contract, let alone any paragraphs about cold watermelon.)

“Ah, I am so sorry,” Tracy said.  “It is my bad, Dajiu.  I am so sorry.”  Then he turned to Gresh, and addressing him as Arjiu, he said the same thing.

“Tracy, relax,” I said.  “I’m just screwing with you.”  But it was too late.  Tracy heard me tell him I was joking, but it didn’t register.

We had a great ceremony and we had fun taking photos and giving those five proud new RX1 owners oversized Styrofoam keys and then their real keys.  It was one of the most fun things I did on this entire trip.  As we were doing so, I could see Tracy (who had left and returned) slicing several large (and delightfully cold) watermelons on a table in front of the showroom.  Hey, a contract’s a contract.

The Beijing dealer had an RZ3, Zongshen’s naked sportbike, parked in front.  Gresh was really impressed.  I took photos of it and put them on the CSC blog that night, but I couldn’t tell you then what you now know to be the case:  CSC is going to bring the RZ3 to North America.  I like the RZ3 a lot.  It’s essentially the RC3 with a normal seating position and upright bars without the RC3’s bodywork.  We’re going to sell a lot of RZ3s.  The RZ3 has the RX3 powertrain, and that’s both bulletproof and fast.  I already have ideas on how I’m going to customize mine.

When we got off the subway after visiting The Forbidden City, we waited on a street corner for our Uber ride back to the hotel.  I watched the scooters and small utility vehicles rolling by, and I realized that nearly every one of them was electric.   I must have seen 200 scooters during the 20 minutes we waited, and perhaps 2 had gasoline engines.   This wholesale adaption of electric scooters and small utility vehicles in China is nothing short of amazing.

An electric scooter in China.

Sean explained to me that the transition to electric vehicles started about 15 years ago, and the government has done a number of things to encourage people to convert to electricity.  For starters (once again, pardon my pun), many of the larger cities in China now prohibit motorcycles and scooters unless the vehicle is electric.  Electric scooters are allowed where gasoline-powered bikes are not.  That alone is an enormous incentive.  The next incentive is that you don’t need a driver’s license to take an electric vehicle on the street.  You just buy one and go.  And finally, as I’ve mentioned before, electricity is cheap in China.  There are windfarms, solar panel farms, coal plants, nuclear power plants, and hydroelectric power plants all over the country.  We saw scooters parked on the sidewalk and plugged into extension cords running into small stores everywhere.  People charge them like iPhones; they didn’t miss any opportunity to top off the batteries on these things.

That night was a great night.  The Zongshen dealer took us to a restaurant that specialized in Peking duck. The guys were excited about this development, but I was initially leery.  I thought I didn’t like Peking duck.  Boy, was I ever wrong!

I tried Peking duck 25 years ago when I visited Beijing with Sue.  We both thought the duck was awful.  That’s because we went to a restaurant that served tourists.  The food at that place didn’t have to be good.  They knew they would never see us again, and Yelp hadn’t been invented yet.

This night in Beijing with the Zongshen dealer and the RX3 owners club was different.  The Peking duck was incredible.  The chef sliced it paper thin right at our table.  They had thin tofu (almost like a crepe), and the guys taught me how to eat duck properly.  The deal is you put a few fresh vegetables on the tofu, you add a slice or two of duck, you add this amazing brown gravy, and then you roll the affair up like a burrito.  Wow, it was delicious!

Peking Duck, done the way it is supposed to be done, in a Beijing restaurant.  It was exquisite.  Photo by King Kong.

We had several rounds of toasts at dinner that night and the liquor flowed freely.  I got lucky.  Kong sat next to me and he schooled me in the proper way to make a Chinese toast.  To show respect, you clink your glass against the other guy’s glass, but you hold your glass at a lower level so that when the two glasses meet, the rim of yours is lower than the other person’s.  When the Zongshen dealer toasted me, I followed Kong’s advice, and the Chinese riders all nodded approvingly.  Ah, Dajiu knows.

It was funny.  Sergeant Zuo and I had made several toasts to each other, and when we touched glasses, we both tried frantically to get our glasses lower than the other, so much so that we usually crashed the bottoms of both on the table (to a hearty laugh and round of applause from everyone).  Zuo was being polite; I was being completely serious (I have enormous respect for him).

The next day we took the subway into Beijing.  We already were in Beijing when we got on the subway, but Beijing is a megacity and you can’t simply drive into the center of it.  We rode the subway for a good 45 minutes, and when we emerged, we visited the Forbidden City and Tien An Men Square.  It was all grand.  It was touristy, but it’s something that should be on any China visitor’s bucket list.

After seeing the Forbidden City, we walked around downtown Beijing for a while.  I told Tracy my eye was getting worse and I wanted to get antibiotic eye drops for it.  It was Sunday afternoon, but there was a large pharmacy right in front of us and it was open.  Tracy went in with me and he told one of the young pharmacists what I wanted.  She responded and it didn’t sound good.

“She cannot sell it to you without a prescription,” he told me.

“Well, shoot, Tracy, it’s Sunday afternoon,” I said.  “We’re not going to find a doctor.  I’ll be okay.  Let’s just go.”

“No, it is okay, Dajiu,” he said.  “We are China and we have a bureaucracy.  It is my bad.”

Good old Tracy, I thought.  The guy felt responsible for everything.  I was resigned to the fact that my eye was going to take a while to get better.  Tracy, in the meantime, had walked not more than 8 feet away to an elderly woman sitting at a wooden table.  He spoke to her in Chinese and pointed to me.  She never looked at me, nor did she look up.  She simply pulled out a white pad with a big “R” at the top.  Nah, this can’t be, I thought.  She wrote something in Chinese characters and handed the slip to Tracy.

“Our prescription,” Tracy said.  “Such a bureaucracy.”  He walked the three steps back to the pharmacist, Tracy handed her the prescription, and 30 seconds (and 24 yuan, or about $4) later, I had my antibiotic eye drops.  I put two drops in my eye.  When we rode out of Beijing the next morning, my eye was good as new.

Like the above story?  Want more?  Pick up your copy of Riding China!

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Merry Christmas…

By Joe Berk

…and Happy Hanukkah, too.  Man, it’s hard to believe the ExhaustNotes blog is 5½ years old.  We started in July 2018, and here we are, the day before Christmas, in 2023.  Where does the time go?

This is a short blog, and its purpose is simply to wish everyone a happy holiday season.  I hope 2023 was a good year for you and that you have a great holiday tomorrow.  Keep the comments coming, keep clicking on those popup ads, if you need moto clothes click on over to British Motorcycle Gear, and if you’re headed into Mexico next year, be sure to insure with BajaBound (Gresh and I are talking about another Baja trip in March, and you can be sure that’s who we’ll use).

There won’t be a blog on Christmas day…we’ll be too busy unwrapping presents.  From all of us (Joe, Mike, Bobbie, Rob, and yours truly):  Enjoy the day.

That photo above?  I shot it in La Playa de Belem, Colombia, on Christmas Eve, using my D3300 Nikon, the 18-55mm Nikon lens, and available light.  The Moto Colombia ride was one of the best ever.  You can get the whole story of our adventure in the Andes here:

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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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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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Getting Your Kicks: ExNotes Motorcycle Mods

By Joe Gresh

I bought the 2008 Husqvarna SMR510 in 2009. I forget the exact mileage on the bike but it was around 800-ish, I think. The Husky was essentially a new motorcycle and the bike sat very tall for a guy with stubby legs.  The seat height wasn’t my biggest problem though, the real issue was the diabolical kickstand the manufacturer cursed the Husky with.

The stand was both too short and angled wrong so that when deployed its contact point was only a few inches left of the centerline of the motorcycle. On the stand, the bike would lean way over, unloading the rear suspension to the point the rear wheel was nearly off the ground. This meant the bike fell over a lot. The slightest breeze would pivot the bike onto the stand and knock the Husky onto its left side.

That’s not all that was wrong with the Husky’s kickstand. The foot of the stand was only a millimeter or two wider than the 7/8-inch steel tube the stand was made from. Parking the Husqvarna on anything other than solid concrete was an iffy proposition. If the bike was on sand or dirt the stand would punch through the ground and the bike would fall over. I learned that in the dirt you had to lean the thing against a tree if you wanted to park.

One of the first things I did to the bike was add a gigantic chunk of steel to the bottom of the stand in order to spread the load a bit on soft terrain. I angled the new foot outboard, effectively moving the contact point an inch further from the centerline. The new foot also moved the contact point forward a bit to help even out the fore-aft balance. It kind of worked. The bike fell over less but it still fell over.

The SMR510’s high seat was a pain to climb onto so I decided to raise the rear shock bolt about ½-inch which lowered the back of the bike a full inch. Now I could reach both feet to the ground on tippy-toes or one foot flat. The lowering also improved the kickstand angle and stability although it caused trickle-down issues.

The Husky is blessed with an ultra plush rear suspension. The bike is a Cadillac on rough dirt trails. With the shortened ride height the bike leaned less on the stand in fact it was almost too vertical. Now when I got on the bike the rear would sag pushing against the stand causing the bike to lean hard right. To get the stand folded up I had to lean the bike much further to the right like a 45-degree angle so that the arc of the stand-swing would clear the ground. Even if I wasn’t sitting on the Husky to fold the stand up I had to hold the bike well over center. I dropped it a few more times.

Things stayed like this for many years. My method of mounting the SMR510 was to first fold the stand up then swing my leg over the back of the seat, scratching the rear fender with my boot and settle down into the saddle as the suspension sagged and my feet hit the ground. It was an ok system when I was younger and more flexible.

Unfortunately frailty creeps up on all of us over time. The last few years it became harder to swing my leg high up over the rear of the Husky. The pack I keep strapped to the rear fender made the situation worse. I had to change my methodology and begin a more right-angle frontal assault, high-kicking my leg over the seat like a hurdler or John Cleese at the Ministry of Funny Walks.

You can guess how well that worked: to get on the Husky I had to flip the stand up, hold the bars with one hand, step back far enough to give my leg clearance and kick as high as I could while stepping forward into the bike. Most of the time it worked but if you didn’t get your foot high enough it would smack into the seat and push the bike over. The Husky falls well and all, but still. Getting off the bike was no easy feat either. In fact, I dropped the Husky more dismounting the motorcycle than mounting, although it was a close run thing, percentage-wise.

It got to where I didn’t want to ride the Husqvarna because I dreaded getting on or off of the bike. It all came to a head a few weeks ago when the Mud Chuckers and I did a 140-mile pavement loop with a 40-mile dirt section in the middle. We pulled into the café at Mayhill for a lunch stop but the place looked closed. Neither of us actually checked the door because we didn’t want to go through the trouble of climbing off our bikes.

The parking lot at the Mayhill Café has a slight slope to it and I rolled the bike backwards to leave. The Husky wouldn’t start. Nothing. No clicking. The instrument panel and fuel pump energized so I figured something was wrong with the starter motor circuit. I made the fatal error of positioning the kickstand side downhill. I slid my butt off the seat and started to drag my tired leg over the top of the seat Normally not a big problem. The added distance created by the parking lot falling away meant my leg needed to go even higher to clear the seat and the bike began to topple over onto me. I was bunny hopping with the one leg on the ground and the other leg still not clear of the seat. Events rapidly overtook my hop-speed and the bike fell over. Luckily I was still wearing my helmet because when I fell backwards I smacked my new helmet on the asphalt pretty hard. I think I would have cracked my head open otherwise.

As I was lying on the ground with the Husky on my leg I cursed a torrent of bad words, some of them even I didn’t know the meaning of. It was like I was speaking in foul-tongues except the Holy Spirit was not the one doing the talking. We got the bike off of me and picked it up. I told Mike, “I’m not riding that @#@ing motorcycle again until I fix that #$@@-%ing kickstand.”  We push started the bike and I rode home. So I guess I did ride it again after all.

The starting problem turned out to be a loose connection at the start relay but to be sure I took all the bodywork off and disconnected all the multi-pin plugs on the wiring harness and gave them each a shot of silicone. I relocated the horn to gain a bit more wiring room behind the headlight and changed the old, crumbling air filter for a new one. The Husqvarna was running fine. Except for that diabolical kickstand.

The main problem with the kickstand is that when deployed it is too close to the centerline of the wheels. The reason for this is the kickstand-mounting lug on the frame is angled wrong. Instead of the stand swinging out it sort of swings down. All of the Husky’s kickstand issues stem from this one critical design flaw.

I don’t want to mess with the Husky’s frame so I decided to hacksaw a wedge out of the stand (below the return spring mount) and closed the wedge so that the stand would project about 4 inches further outboard.  I welded the join as best I could not being able to see the weld or the seam.

Moving the foot outboard made the bike lean over too far so I borrowed a few inches of tubing from an old Yamaha handlebar to extend the length of the stand.

I made a plug to insert into the tubing where the old stand and the handlebar piece join, a couple holes drilled into the tubing allowed me to butt-weld the insert and weld the thin tubing together without burning through.

I made a new, lighter foot and cut a new angle on the end of the stand to suit

And it is wonderful. Parking the bike is so easy when it doesn’t fall over from the slightest breeze. My new mounting technique (with the stand in the down position) is to put my left foot on the peg, grab the bars, stand on the foot peg, swing my leg easily over the rear pack, settle down into the seat and with my left foot, swing the stand up. Easy-Peasy. It sounds like I should have been able to do this all along but the geometry just didn’t work that way.

Putting up with the old kickstand for 14 years shows how a bad idea can keep loyal followers. It took that hard fall In Mayhill to jar me into action. There is no free lunch, however. The new stand angle awkwardly juts out from the side of the bike and will most likely break when I crash on that side. I’m hoping my shoddy welding will be like a fuse and it will break at the join before something important breaks.

The kickstand mod has made me fall in love with the Husqvarna again. It’s such a light, powerful bike you feel like there’s not much you can’t do with it. Now that I can easily get on and off the bike those feelings of dread are distant memories.

I’ll see you on the trails.

More motoliterature from Dos Joes?   You bet!

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Filoli, Xi, Biden, and Moto Diplomacy

By Joe Berk

You probably know about the meeting between Joe Biden and Xi Jinping last week.  What you might not know about is Woodside, California, and the Filoli estate where they met.  As always, we want our ExNotes readers to be knowledgeable and up to date, and that’s the focus of this article.  I’ve actually been to and photographed the Filoli estate and mansion, and I’ve written a bit about Woodside before.

The Filoli mansion was built in 1917 for William Bourn II, who by any measure was a wealthy guy.  He owned one of California’s richest gold mines and was president of the Spring Valley Water Company that served San Francisco and its surrounding areas.  If you are wondering about the name, it’s formed by the first two letters of each word from of Bourn’s motto: Fight for a just cause; Love your fellow man; Live a good life.

The Filoli mansion and its gardens occupy 16 acres; the entire estate covers 654 acres and extends to the Crystal Springs Reservoir (which still provides water to San Francisco).  If you drive south on the 280 freeway from San Francisco (it follows the San Cruz Mountain range), you can see the reservoir on the right.

Big mansions are expensive to maintain and hard to keep up.  That’s why a lot of the big ones have been donated by the families that owned them to the state or other organizations and opened to the public for tours.  It’s what the Hearst family did with Hearst Castle further south, and it is what happened to the Filoli mansion.  The Filoli mansion and surrounding grounds are now owned by the National Trust for Historic Preservation.  For a modest fee you can visit and walk through the same rooms and gardens as Xi and Biden.  It’s cool.  I did it in 2019 and here are a few Filoli photos from that visit.

A bit more about the town of Woodside:  Woodside is one of the wealthiest places in America.  A partial list of the big names who live or have lived in Woodside include Charles Schwab (yes, that Charles Schwab), Steve Jobs, Michelle Pfeiffer (the classiest actress ever), Joan Baez, Nolan Bushnell (the founder of Atari and the Chuck E. Cheese restaurant chain), Scott Cook (the founder of Intuit), Carl Djerassi (a novelist and the guy who developed the birth control pill), Larry Ellison (the CEO of Oracle Corporation), James Folger (as in need a cup of coffee?), Kazuo Hirai (the CEO of Sony), Mike Markkula (the second Apple CEO), Gordon E. Moore (Intel’s co-founder and originator of Moore’s Law), Prince Vasili Alexandrovich (the nephew of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia), Shirley Temple, John Thompson (Symantec’s CEO), and Nick Woodman (founder and CEO of GoPro).  Woodside is within commuting distance of Silicon Valley, so it’s understandable, I guess, why so many high-rolling Silicon Valley types call it home.

This is an interesting and beautiful area.   The Pacific Ocean is just on the other side of the San Cruz range, and a circumnavigation of these mountains makes for a hell of a motorcycle ride (see our earlier blog and the article I wrote for Motorcycle Classics magazine).

I don’t know if Xi and Biden accomplished much during their meeting.  If I had organized their visit, I would have left all the entourage folks behind and given Uncles Joe and Xi a map and a couple of RX3 motorcycles.  They would have had a better time and probably emerged with a better agreement.  A good motorcycle ride will do that for you.

You know, we don’t do politics on ExNotes, but I have to get in a comment here.  There ought to be a win-win solution to our current disagreements with China.  I think if I could be king of the U.S. for about six months (not President, but King) and good buddy Sergeant Zuo from our ride across China could be King of China for the same time period, we could go for another ride and figure it all out.  I’d bring Gresh along to keep it interesting and I’d get another book out of it, too.  That’s my idea, anyway.

If you’d like to read more about Joe Gresh’s and my ride across China with Sergeant Zuo, you should pick up a copy of Riding China.

And if you’d like to read about Gresh and me riding across America with the Chinese, you need a copy of 5000 Miles at 8000 RPM.

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Adventures on Borrowed Time

By Joe Berk

I guess a good way to start a blog is to grab the reader’s attention, and I can do that here:  How many people do you know who ride a Panther?

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog about Nick Adams, an interesting man, fellow motojournalist, and author.  Nick is about the same age as me and he enjoys exploring the world on his different motorcycles.  In other words, he is our kind of guy.

Nick Adams and his trusty Moto Guzzi.

In my prior blog about Mr. Adams, I mentioned that I planned to purchase one of his books.  I did, and a few days after ordering Adventures on Borrowed Time, it arrived.

Adventures on Borrowed Time is well written and well organized.  It’s 191 pages long and it has lots of pictures.  Nick’s writing style is conversational and easy to follow (it feels more like listening to a good friend’s stories than reading).   The first chapter is about Nick’s ’72 Guzzi Eldorado (the one you see in the photos above).  The following chapters take you through Canada, mostly on gravel roads, in good weather and bad.  There are instances in which Nick’s Guzzi didn’t feel like starting, and Nick takes us through the steps he took to coax the old V-twin back to life.  There are parts where Nick switches to his ’86 Suzuki Cavalcade (Suzuki’s attempt to cash in the Gold Wing craze), that monster of a bike’s surprisingly good handling, and the repairs Nick made to it.  Parts of Adventures on Borrowed Time describe exploring Canada on Nick’s 650cc Suzuki Burgman scooter.   And then, returning to my attention grabber at the start of this blog, Adventures on Borrowed Time describes Nick riding Canada on his 62-year-old Panther.

Never heard of the Panther?  Don’t feel bad.  The Panther is a 600cc single English bike made from 1900 to 1968, and most folks have never heard of it.  They are fairly primitive, I think.  I say “I think” because I’ve never even seen a Panther.  And here’s Nick, describing what it’s like to take major trips through Canada on one.  A long-distance moto adventure ride through the Canadian wilderness on a 62-year-old British motorcycle…what could go wrong?

The writing is superb, the photos are great, and the character development all make Adventures on Borrowed Time a book you need to read (the characters being Nick, his wife, the people he meets, and the bikes).   You can purchase your copy of Adventures on Borrowed Time here.  Trust me on this:  You’ll enjoy it.  You can thank me later.

A Clever Cup of Joe, Japanese Style

By Joe Berk

Here at ExNotes, we cover a lot of topics:  Motorcycles, motorcycle touring, product reviews, concrete, guns, reloading, and more.   And coffee.  The thought occurs to me we’ve written a lot about coffee, from the primo Batdorf and Bronson beans provided by good buddy Ren to just about everything else.   About now, you might be wondering:  Where is this blog going?

Well, I was recently in Tokyo.  I gave a class in Singapore and Sue and I thought as long as we had invested the 20+ hours to get there, we might as well stop in Japan on the way home (neither of us had ever visited Japan before). I’ll post a blog or two about the land of the rising sun in the coming days, but for now I wanted to talk about making coffee in our Tokyo hotel room.  On these Asian trips, I’m usually up by 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. (there’s a 16 hour time difference between Japan and LA, and my biological clock doesn’t handle it well).  They don’t serve coffee in the hotel lobbies over here, so you either make coffee in your hotel room or you don’t have coffee.  For me, not having coffee has never been an option.

If you’ve read Riding China, you know that Gresh and I became experts at making coffee at places in China so remote they had to pipe in water and air.  Our coffee was always prepared using instant Nescafe, which is almost a crime against nature for folks who enjoy a good cuppa Joe.  Nescafe reminds me of that old engineering saying:  Halitosis is better than no breath at all.  But when it comes to making coffee in a hotel room, the Japanese had a better idea.   It took me a while to dope it out and I finally had to read the instructions to do so.  When I did, I realized:  Clever people, these Japanese are.  Take a look.

The water heater for making coffee. I thought the coffee bag would to into the white gizmo below the lid. I was trying to find a way to open it up. When I spotted the Phillips head screws securing it to the lid and I thought I needed a screwdriver, I realized I was on the wrong track.  There are no English instructions anywhere on this pot.
The bag of coffee. How the hell does it fit into the coffee pot?
Ah, the flip side. No instructions in English, but there are pictures. I panicked initially when I couldn’t find the holding fixture the pictures show.
Could it be? A cardboard fixture built into the coffee bag?
Ah, these people are very, very clever. You heat the water in the pot, mount the coffee bag with its included cardboard mounting fixture in your cup, and pour the hot water over the coffee.
It’s genius. Pure genius.
And it was a damn fine cup of coffee, too!

Gresh and I sure could have used this when we rode across China.  Next time, I guess, if I can find a place to buy these coffee bags.  And you know what?  As soon as I wrote that last line, I remembered:  Amazon is your friend.  I did a search on drip bag coffee, and wow, here they are!

I couldn’t let a story about coffee get by without a commercial or two…the first one being for our book, A Cup O’ Joes.  Have you picked up a copy yet?

And the second commercial…how about Riding China, from which you can learn all about how two die-hard coffee drinkers struggled across the Gobi Desert, the Tibetan Plateau, and more in China, the land where people don’t drink coffee?

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part II

By Bobbie Surber

Welcome back to the next chapter of my solo motorcycle journey from my hometown of Sedona, Arizona, to the captivating landscapes of Canada. In Part One, I shared the exhilarating start of my adventure, from Sedona to the awe-inspiring beauty of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing Zion National Park. Now, as I continue northward on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi, join me in experiencing the next leg of this epic ride.

As I left the captivating beauty of Zion National Park behind, I couldn’t help but marvel at the magic of solo travel. The open road stretched out before me, promising new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in ways that only solo exploration allows. My heart swelled with anticipation as I headed north into Utah, a state known for its stunning natural landscapes.

A Return to Bryce Canyon

My next destination was my beloved Bryce Canyon National Park. The ride to Bryce Canyon was a scenic marvel in itself. Utah’s highway 89 to Route 12 made its way through crimson canyons, past towering rock formations, and into high-altitude forests. Every twist and turn of the road revealed a new panorama of breathtaking beauty.

Arriving at Bryce Canyon, I was greeted by a surreal landscape of hoodoos—towering, otherworldly rock spires that seemed to defy gravity. I hiked once again the trails that wound through the park, taking in the views from vantage points like Sunrise Point and Inspiration Point. Wall Street trail was closed for repairs, but trusty old favorites satisfied my need for a day of hiking. My camp spot at Sunset Campground gave me the chance at an early morning sunrise the next morning. A predawn wakeup found me walking to the rims edge to watch the sun slowly rise below the horizon, the hoodoos took on a fiery glow, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the amphitheater-like terrain. Bryce Canyon’s mystical allure left an indelible mark on my soul, reminding me why I embarked on this journey in the first place. After a second night at Bryce, I was ready to tackle another epic day of riding Route 12 through Escalante to the sweetest underrated Capital Reef National Park.

Exploring Route 12 and Capitol Reef

Continuing my adventure, the following morning, I eagerly resumed my route on Highway 12, heading towards my favorite section of the road, high above the captivating Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. This expansive and remote region boasts rugged canyons, vibrant cliffs, and extraordinary geological formations. The landscape, with its impossible rock formations, treated me to endless twisties, creating a sense of otherworldliness. My Tiger 900 was as happy as I was as I relaxed into the ride and allowed her to remind me again what her three cylinders can do. Both of us were in sync as we leaned into curve after curve as we blasted down to the bottom of the canyon.

As I reluctantly approached the tiny town of Boulder, Utah, I realized I had made short order through the endless twisties of this section of Route 12. However, I was unexpectedly greeted by an old-school cattle round-up, complete with cowgirls and boys herding a large herd down Highway 12! After a brief turnaround, I found solace in my favorite restaurant, the Burr Trail Grill. Their farm-fresh ingredients delighted my taste buds, whether it was their fresh arugula salad topped with local goat cheese or their beastly-sized burgers that proved a challenge to conquer.

Resuming my journey on Highway 12, I found myself in an unexpected predicament. The cattle herd’s progress was slow, and I crawled along, clutching endlessly as I felt my left hand about to begin a serious complaint! Amidst the frustration, two memorable moments emerged. Firstly, a passerby exclaimed, “Dude, you have the sweetest bike and setup!” We shared a laugh as he realized I was indeed “dudeless.” Secondly, after navigating my way to the front of the line, I convinced the lead cowboy to move the herd slightly to the right, allowing me to pass. Maneuvering my bike through the cows became a comical adventure, with prayers that the sound of my motor wouldn’t startle them. Experiencing this traditional cattle drive in 2023 felt like a slice of Americana and added yet another reason to love Utah.

Leaving the cattle behind, I ascended Boulder Mountain, where endless views revealed the backside of Capitol Reef on the right and scenic meadows with clusters of aspen, fir, and spruce trees on the left. Surprisingly, the mountain still boasted more snow than expected for June. Camping, fishing, and wildlife viewing opportunities abound in this mountainous region, with numerous campgrounds and dispersed campsites available. I’ve personally spent nights here, savoring the breathtaking vista overlooking Capitol Reef and the sprawling valley floor. Soon enough I was descending Boulder Mountain and into the small town of Torrey, UT, and just a short few miles away from Capitol Reef National Park for two more nights of camping. A quick setup of my camp, and I was off to town for a much-needed shower and a cold beer! Later that day, a lovely couple I met in Zion joined me at my campsite and I was treated to a homecooked Korean chicken dinner, which was a far cry from the instant ramen I was planning for dinner. A lovely couple who reminded me that the gift of travel is the unexpected friends we make along the way.

The next morning found me out on the trail a hump up to the top of the mesa for a panoramic view of the park. The air was crisp with hints of the heat to follow. The trail descends into a slot canyon then an arroyo wash to the other side of the park and beyond. Reluctantly heading back, I got on Tippi and explored the nearby petroglyphs. All in all, my short stay was a rewarding two nights and now headed to the not-so-famous outside of crazy riders who seek out remote roads Highway 50, billed as the loneliest highway in America!

Highway 50: The Loneliest Highway with a Detour to Great Basin National Park

I made a short order of breaking camp, and in no time Tippi and I were on highway 24 with the goal of making it to my 5th National Park, Great Basin. Following Route 24 goes through a rural farming section of the state with many small Mormon communities and opportunity for a breaks, food, and gas. I was eager to blow through this well-familiar route to get to Highway 50 and cut my teeth on a section of road I had been warned NOT to ride.

As I picked up Highway 50 off Interstate 15, I soon hit the famous first road sign and stopped to document my ride on her with a pic. With once again threatening storms, I glanced at the mountain ahead and thought how bad could it be? It was bad, I was wrong once again guessing the threat of a storm. A short very wet ride later, I left behind Highway 50 for a few days to visit the park. As a first timer to Great Basin NP, I was truly blown away! You enter the tiny town of Baker on the desert floor then 20 minutes later you are in the mountains with thick forest and views overlooking the high desert plains that seem to go on forever. Not to be missed is a guided tour of Lehman Caves. Truly the highlight of my stay. I selected one of the higher small campgrounds and was rewarded with a huge site surrounded by trees and brush with the river roaring behind me.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to Baker, I rejoined Highway 50, heading towards my next destination, South Lake Tahoe. Contrary to the dire warnings of scarce gas stations, I discovered that this notion was unfounded. Approximately 70 miles down the road, I arrived at Ely, another small mining town with plenty of services. After a quick refuel, I resumed my journey, realizing that the otherwise flat stretches of road were intermittently punctuated by mountain passes exceeding 7000 feet in elevation. These segments offered breathtaking vistas and enough twists and turns to satisfy both Tippi and me.

My first mountain pass, before descending into Ely, Nevada, presented an exhilarating ordeal with rain, lightning, and a brief ten-minute ride through hail. Eighty miles further, I found myself in the town of Eureka, where the threatening skies curtailed my exploration time. Nevertheless, I managed to visit a few must-see attractions, including the Opera House, built in 1879, the still-functional Courthouse of the same vintage, and a brief excursion to the town’s cemetery, where a variety of burial sites represented different social organizations, religious groups, and ethnicities. This walk-through history provided a fascinating glimpse into the town’s past.

Continuing on Highway 50, with the ominous skies in my rearview mirrors, I was reminded of the urgency to press on towards my next stop—Austin, Nevada. This old mining camp retains its rustic charm and has evolved into a haven for camping, hiking, and mountain biking, thanks to its proximity to the towering Toiyabe Mountains. During a pit stop, I encountered a large group of riders following the Pony Express Trail, who praised my adventure, while I vowed to return in the near future to explore that historic route.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to this enchanting mountain town, I embarked on another 112-mile stretch to Fallon, Nevada. This promised a well-deserved lunch break and refueling opportunity before the final leg of my journey to Lake Tahoe. As hunger pangs intensified, I hurriedly pulled into the first gas station I encountered. Curiously, the ground appeared slanted, making it impossible to safely park my bike with its kickstand without an extreme lean. Oddly, as my kickstand tends to be a bit high, I often worry about Tippi toppling over. Trying another station, I realized that my kickstand was not misaligned but broken—a sudden and unfortunate realization. With every ounce of strength, I fought to prevent Tippi’s full weight from pinning me between the gas pump curb and the engine crash bar. As I cried out for help, a kind soul named Caleb rushed to my aid, assisting me in righting Tippi. Examining the kickstand, I conceded that my lunch break was a lost cause. I refueled while seated on my bike and came to terms with the fact that I would have to ride the rest of the way without lunch and with a dangling kickstand, just inches off the ground.

Continuing Towards Lake Tahoe

Arriving in Lake Tahoe was like reaching an oasis after a day filled with challenges and stunning scenery. The sight of the crystal-clear waters surrounded by towering pine trees was simply breathtaking. I met up with Mike Huber, a fellow adventure rider, as we eagerly exchanged stories of our respective journeys over drinks and pizza. Mike is a seasoned rider with an incredible collection of travel stories and insights, and this blog, which is a treasure trove of motorcycle adventures.

We decided to make the most of our time in Lake Tahoe by exploring the area together and spending time with our dear friend Yvette who had left Sedona for the mountains and lakes surrounding Tahoe. Two up on Tippi, our first stop was a visit to Emerald Bay State Park, a gem nestled on the lake’s southwest shore. A short hike up a roadside trail took us to a stunning vista overlooking Emerald Bay below. The clear blue waters and Fannette Island in the middle of the bay made for a postcard-perfect scene. At sunset we were even rewarded with a surprise pop up of a brown bear who a few feet away provided us with a pose straight up worthy of National Geographic!

Lake Tahoe, with its stunning shoreline, pristine waters, and surrounding mountains, offers many outdoor activities. We decided to spend the next afternoon cruising around the lake, taking in the panoramic views and stopping at scenic overlooks. Riding around Lake Tahoe was a highlight of my journey, and I couldn’t have asked for better company.

Conclusions

As I reflect on the second part of my solo motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada, I’m filled with deep gratitude for the experiences and sights that have unfolded before me. From the awe-inspiring beauty of Bryce Canyon to the challenging twisties of Route 12, from the serene landscapes of Great Basin, this adventure has been a testament to the power of the open road and the indomitable spirit of solo travel.

Every mile has been a lesson in self-discovery, a reminder of the world’s beauty, and a celebration of the freedom that comes with embracing the unknown. The road has been my companion, and the landscapes have been my muse. And as I continue to ride north into Canada, I know the journey is far from over. There are more roads to explore, adventures to embrace, and stories to tell.

Stay tuned for the next chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road beckons, and I’m eager to see where it will lead me on this journey of a lifetime.

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ExNotes Book Review: Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto

By Joe Gresh

If you’re looking for the rare children’s book that features a motorcycle as the prime mover, Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto is the book for you. Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto is made of sturdy paper and the covers are thick cardboard so the thing should hold up well to repeated reading by destructive little hands.

Warning:  Spoilers ahead!

Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto is written by Isabel Quintero in Spanish so your target child will learn a few Spanish words along the way, unless they already speak Spanish. Who knows, maybe reading Mi Papi will generate a life-long interest of languages in your spawn. With my very basic Spanish skills I was able to figure out most of the text and any words I didn’t know I looked up on the Internet. Even if you don’t understand a single syllable of Spanish the beautiful illustrations by Zeke Pena tell the story in an exciting and colorful way.

The book begins with a young girl’s father coming home from his job as a carpenter and the two go for an afternoon motorcycle ride. During the ride the have various little adventures. They visit folks picking lemons; they are chased by dogs; Papi stops and chats with some fellow workers.  There’s even a fantasy sequence involving old style racecars on a circuit through town (maybe it wasn’t fantasy, my Spanish comprehension is not so good).

These micro adventures really remind me of why I like to ride a motorcycle. Simple acts seem more vital: making a turn, waving to a bored kid staring out a car window or just feeling the breeze. Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto’s motorcycle trip ends like all of them should: at the snow cone vendor for a sweet treat.

If you’re an ATGATT Nazi you probably shouldn’t get Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto.  They wear helmets but the hot weather finds them in shorts and light clothing. Spare me the clichés: “Dress for the slide not the ride.” “Gear is cheaper than skin grafts.” You make your choices and the riders in Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto made theirs.

I’ve only shown a few of Zeke Pena’s fabulous artworks in the book and just looking at the stuff made me want to go for a ride. It’s that exciting. Amazon has the book in hard cover for $17 and that’s the only way you should buy the thing. You need to feel the solid way the cover opens and the smooth, cool pages. Kids get enough content with their phones, give them a real world, tactile experience that will create a lifetime memory. I think there is an English version but reading Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto in the original Spanish makes it seem more like a secret world that only your kid can access. At least I felt special decoding the thing page by page.

Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto reminds us that we don’t need to do heroic, epic rides every time we swing a leg over our motorcycles. We don’t need the latest electronic buffoonery to enjoy the simple act of riding and interacting with our environs. I highly recommend Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto for both kids and adults who are not yet dead inside.

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