200+ pages of single-spaced, profusely-illustrated motorcycle content from the two Joes who started ExNotes. The collected works, so to speak. With selections including magazine articles, road tests, opinion pieces, travel stories, ExNotes blog posts, and even a few listicles. American bikes, European bikes, Japanese bikes, Indian bikes, Chinese bikes, vintage bikes, modern bikes, dream bikes, wild conjectures, and more. A Foreword by none other than Jack Lewis, perhaps the brightest and most literate star in the motojourno constellation. It’s about to land. The book is already written. All we need is the title. That’s where you can help. That, and of course, buying the book.
We’ve got a few titles we’re considering:
Dos Joes Dos Moto Joes Two Good Joes The Two Moto Joes Moto Stories from Joe and Joe The Collected Works of Joe and Joe The Collected Works of Two Moto Guys Motorcycle Stuff Motorcycle Musings Please Click on the Popup Ads
We’re not limiting our title selection to the above. If you’ve got a better idea, let’s hear it. Whoever makes the winning suggestion gets a free, signed copy of whatever we decide to call it. After we’re dead, it will be worth a lot of money, and we’re not spring chickens.
Send us your thoughts in the comments section. Let us know what you think. Operators are standing by.
I’ve traveled extensively in Baja and I want to get down there again as soon as possible. It’s the best riding on the planet, the food is amazing, the scenery is incredible, and the people are great. The whale watching is a religious experience. I know Baja is almost indescribably awesome and you do, too, if you’ve been there. When I talk about Baja with folks who haven’t been there, though, the question always emerges: Is it safe?
The short answer is yes. But one time, we came pretty close to it not being safe. On one trip out of many over the last 30+ years in Baja, Susie and I had a bad experience. I almost didn’t write this blog because I didn’t want to scare anyone away from Baja. I’ve been to Baja many times since, and I plan to keep visiting Baja.
The best bike for Baja…my CSC RX3 on the malecon in Loreto, BCS.
So, with that as an introduction, let me add a bit more. I was setting up the first CSC Baja expedition, with the idea being that we would offer free tours to Baja with the purchase of a CSC motorcycle. That idea worked fabulously well and we successfully ran the CSC tours for years, treating people to the ride of their life, selling a lot of motorcycles, and generally having an inordinate amount of fun. It convinced me that the RX3 motorcycle was possibly the best bike ever for exploring Baja, and I still feel that way. You may disagree, but hey, it’s okay to be wrong.
But I digress. To get back on topic, I hadn’t been to Baja in a while and I was taking a big group down, so Susie and I rolled south in my Subie on a pre-ride scouting expedition. With the intro stuff done, here’s the blog I wrote for CSC on that trip.
Susie and I are down in Baja scouting the locations for the Inaugural Baja run, and it sure has been an interesting two days. I didn’t have any Internet access in Catavina yesterday, but I have a spotty connection in Santa Rosalia tonight, right on the Sea of Cortez, and we’ll see how much of this gets through.
First, a few quick photos of our first couple of stops…
Rolling across the US border into Mexico…Jesus, a giant statue on the way to Ensenada.Breakfast in Velero’s in Ensenada…worth the trip into Mexico all by itself!The Blue Pearl, on the beach…
After we rolled through Ensenada, it was on through the mountains south and Baja’s agricultural district. Boy oh boy, did we have an adventure. All that stuff I’ve been telling you about how safe it is down here? Well, I still believe it, but my confidence (and Susie’s) was sorely tested yesterday. See that guy in the photo below? FYI, you’re not supposed to take photos at these roadblocks, and I want you to keep that in mind on our CSC Baja trip…but I never have done too well following rules. I’m talking about the infantryman talking to the car in front of us at our first military roadblock (one of many Puesto Militars) on the way down. He’s the dude standing to the left of the white car.
Mr. “Okay, go ahead…”
Well, things got very interesting after that. That photo was about 175 miles south of the border, just north of San Quintin, where we got caught in a mini-labor riot. Turns out the migrant workers down here are not happy with their wages on the farms. A lot of them come from mainland Mexico with their families, including their kids, whom they evidently put to work picking whatever crops they pick in the fields north of San Quintin. The Mexican government is clamping down on child labor, so that affects these people and they are plenty angry about it. Real angry, apparently.
One of the military checkpoint guys told us the road was closed (that dude in the photo above) about 80 km ahead but he didn’t speak English and he didn’t tell us why. I thought it was because they were working on the road, which happens frequently in Baja, and when that happens the road is closed for about 20 minutes. Then you can proceed. Happens all the time. Amazingly (based on what we found out a few miles down the road) that young soldier let the car in front of us proceed, and then he let us proceed.
About 30 miles later, we started seeing what we thought were small piles of asphalt on the road with lots of wires (you know, like for fixing potholes, which they have a lot of in Baja, but I couldn’t figure out what the wires were). We saw this for about the next 15 miles. We saw hundreds of people milling around, too; far more than I’ve ever seen in these little farming towns.
It turns out that we what thought were piles of asphalt were actually the remains of burning tires. As in “let’s light a fire and shut the main highway down burning tires.” The ag workers have been having demonstrations (actually, labor riots) in the San Quintin area, and we found out (the hard way) that this had been going on for 2 days.
We went a few more miles and encountered a roadblock (more burning tire remnants and boulders blocking the road) with about 50 men milling about who immediately surrounded us. They wouldn’t let us go forward or turn around. One of them threatened us and the Subaru with a 2×4. They were all over the car. Susie had the presence of mind to lock the doors. These guys were mad at the world, and we were the world at that instant. I didn’t know what to do, so I fell back on what always seemed to work elsewhere in the world: I asked the guy who seemed to be in charge if I could pay the toll to get through. He seemed genuinely surprised at that, he thought about it for maybe 5 seconds (duly observed by his subordinate seditionists), and then he realized this might be a viable alternative income stream (Sue designs and manages automated toll roads in the US; it seems to work for us). Our Mexican revolutionary said, “hokay,” I gave him a ten dollar bill, and he told the insurrectionists “let them pass.” Crisis averted. Whew!
The tire remnants continued for another 5 miles, but there were no more roadblocks. While we were stopped at the impromptu toll plaza, one of the seditionists keyed my car door on Susie’s side with initials, presumably the initials of their labor movement (LPS or something like that). I’ll guess I’ll get my body shop guy to repaint it when I get home. That little Subie is going to end up having more bodywork than Joan Rivers. A couple of months ago I dropped one of the RX3s into it. This week it was the Nuevo Mexican Revolution. I’m keeping the body shop business alive in California. Or maybe not. I might leave those initials there as a war wound. At the very minimum, I am re-christening the Subie. She’s no longer the Starship Subaru (sorry, Carl, that was a good moniker, but its time has come and gone). My car is now known as the War Wagon.
We found out from a busload of people in El Rosario (next town down the before getting into the mountains) that they expect the demonstrations to continue for a couple more days and then it should be over. One guy had his windows shattered, probably by the same guy we saw with the 2×4.
Folks, all the tourists down here (and there are lots of us) were talking about this. No one had ever experienced anything like it before, and most of us have been coming down here for decades. It’s a blip, and I’m guessing it is already over. It sure was exciting, though.
We continued south after that… and that meant it was time for a few more photos.
Mama Espinosa’s in El Rosario…great burritos!Cardon cactus in the Vizcaino Desert
At one point on our way to Guerrero Negro, I spotted several vultures fighting over a dead rabbit. Time to put the 70-300 on the Nikon and see how close I could get.
The Baja Department of Sanitation hard at work.
When you roll into Guerrero Negro, there’s a giant Mexican flag flying in front of a giant metal structure (an artist’s interpretation of the Mexican Eagle). You’re not supposed to take pictures here (it’s a military installation), but I still had the 300mm lens on the camera and I got sneaky.
The largest flag I’ve ever seen.
That point is right on the 28th Parallel, which marks the border between Baja and Baja Sur (the two Mexican states in Baja).
You know, being anywhere near the 28th Parallel and not stopping for a fish taco or two at Tony’s would be a crime. I’ve been stopping at his truck for the last 21 years…every time I come down here. What’s cool about it is Tony always recognizes me, even though sometimes it’s a year or more since I’ve seen him!
The best fish tacos in the world!
My good buddy Tony Lopez, who is a fish taco chef extraordinaire!
Tony told me he’s been in business for 22 years. I bought my first fish taco from him 21 years ago.
We stopped in San Ignacio next and I grabbed a couple of photos of (and in) the mission there.
The San Ignacio Mission, built by the Jesuits in the 1700s…it’s still in use as a working churchFlowers inside the MissionOne of the figures inside the San Ignacio Mission
That’s it for tonight, my friends. Time to sign off and get some shuteye. We’re headed south again tomorrow. Watch for more photos!
So there you have it. With more than three decades of exploring Mexico under my belt, this was my one negative Baja experience. I communicated the above to all the followers we had on the CSC blog and asked if they wanted to change the trip to someplace else here in the US, and everyone answered with a resounding No! We did the Baja trip with 15 or so riders, and we did several more CSC Baja rides after that. Every one of those trips was a blast. Here’s a video I prepared from the first CSC ride:
You can read more about Baja and our adventures down there in Moto Baja.
I made a lot of good friends on those Baja rides, many of whom still ride their CSC motorcycles and many of whom regularly follow the ExNotes blog. You’ve seen their comments here over the last four or five years.
To me, Baja is the best riding there is. If you’re headed into Baja, make sure you get insurance. It’s not likely you’ll need it, but the Mexican government requires that you be insured and your regular insurance won’t cover you in Mexico. The insurance provider we always go with is BajaBound.
Do you ever have those moments when you wake up unsure of where you are? I awoke to the sound of birds, more specifically, parrots, and the smell of fresh tortillas and knew instantly that this was not home; I was in Baja in Mulege and wholly smitten with my room with her stone walls, comfy bed, and protective mosquito netting. I didn’t want to get out of bed until I remembered that I had made plans to go horseback riding to the bay.
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Throwing on my clothes and double-timing it to the restaurant, I had just enough time for a cup of coffee and water before my guide arrived to take me to the ranch, which was less of a ranch and more of a lean-to along the highway with both our horses tied and already saddled. I met my girl for the day, Lupita. She had enough spunk to whinny at our arrival and appreciate the carrots I brought to help form this new friendship. Our saddlebag were loaded with swimwear and lunch, and we set off for a leisurely ride to the bay.
Horseback riding in the Sea of Cortez.
Muscle memory took over from riding horses in my youth, and I gave in to the morning’s joy and the view of Conception Bay. Riding down the beach at a slow gallop letting our horses have their lead and finding a bit of shade, we stopped for an early lunch of fresh fruit, good tequila, and some freshly made empanadas. After lunch, I asked if I could take off the saddle and ride bareback, something I had not done since childhood. It seemed a perfect idea for this glorious morning. Surprisingly my guide said yes and permitted me to ride Lupita bareback into the bay to enjoy a good swim. I had forgotten the thrill of entering a body of water on horseback; Lupita seemed to enjoy the experience as she left the security of the ocean bottom and took us further out into the bay. The morning flew by and soon it was time to return to the beach and make our way back to the corral.
Sunrise on the Rio Mulege.A river runs through it…the Rio Mulege in Mulege.
Returning to Historica Casita in the heat of the early afternoon, I did what any sensible local would do. I retreated to the coolness of my room for a proper afternoon siesta. After a cold shower and fresh clothes, I headed out to explore. With the help of a newfound local friend and a Google search, I learned that the Mulege indigenous population has a long and rich history that dates back centuries. It is believed that the region’s first inhabitants were hunter-gatherers who lived in small bands, but the arrival of the Mission changed their lives forever. Spanish missionaries established the mission in 1730, teaching the local population how to farm and build adobe structures and simple homes. I was also happy to learn there has been an effort to preserve their history by preserving ancient artifacts and teaching younger generations about their heritage.
The Mission in Mulege.
While the Mission was closed, I could still walk the grounds and view the river from the vantage point of the Mission, as it is built on one of the highest points in Mulege. Wandering back down the hill, I walked the river’s edge, exploring the town and the small community of locals and ex-pats. As I made my way back to the hotel, I realized how hungry I was and looked forward to an evening in the hotel courtyard, a good dinner, and a freshly squeezed margarita. The evening did not disappoint as I sat visiting with locals and a young family visiting from the mainland. Soon I was off to bed with the promise of an early rise and the chance to explore the many beaches along Conception Bay.
Sunrise on the Sea of Cortez.A fine Mulege breakfast.
The following day I was back on my bike and headed towards my next stop, Playa Santispac, a short 25 kilometers south on Highway 1. I knew I only had a few hours before the oppressive heat and humidity would force me back to the room, and I was determined to make the most of the day. Cresting the ridge, I was overlooking the bay with her teal-colored water inviting a closer look. Santispac beach has a restaurant and several palapas stationed along the beach; as I rode my bike down the beach, I decided a swim was in order, followed by a hearty breakfast at the modest beachside restaurant.
An overlanding rig.My BMW on a beach in Mexico.
Swim and breakfast completed, I headed further south, stopping at each beach I passed and settling on what has become one of my favorite beaches, Playa el Requeson. The white sand and sand spit at low tide, taking you to a small island, was more than I could resist. Setting up my camp chair, I soon made friends with an overlander couple from England. Borrowing their snorkeling gear I enjoyed a quick swim out to the island, enjoying the starfish and rockfish along the shore. I reluctantly returned for one last night in Mulege with a new plan for the following day, to ride to Loreto for lunch and then return to Playa el Requeson to camp for two nights.
Loreto’s Malecon.Loreto has a rich history.
Loreto has a rich history that dates back to the 16th century when Spanish missionaries established the first mission in the area. Indigenous people then populated the area, and over time, it became an important fishing port for the region. Today Loreto is a popular tourist destination complete with a Malecon along her waterfront. Loreto has an historic town square with a well-preserved mission and museum. With a population of around 25,000, finding lodging at every price point is easy, as are the town’s many services.
The Loreto Mission.
After a lovely day sightseeing, I headed about an hour and a half back north to Playa el Requeson to find a bit of shade and a good place for my tent. The afternoon was blazing hot as I headed inland along Hwy 1, as I once again cursed myself for selecting June to make this ride. Complaining aside, I arrived and indulged in a long swim to take the sting out of the day’s heat. I found my new friends in the overlanding vehicle who gave me the gift of a cold drink with ice and offered the shade of their massive vehicle to pitch my tent. The day gave way to a glorious sunset, and soon, we had a modest fire complete with fresh fish for dinner. With a million stars out for our pleasure, full bellies, and the delight of margaritas on the beach, the night was spent with storytelling of our past adventures. Both Stephen and Shelly’s stories surpassed mine as they shared their adventures traveling through three continents over the past several years.
The two days camping on the beach flew by, and it was sadly time to make my way back north. I planned to head to San Felipe, but the reality of the heat made heading back to the Pacific side an easy choice. Retracing my ride through Baja allowed me to revisit a few of my favorite places and discover a few new ones to ensure this would not be my last ride there!
In Part 1 I shared with you my adventure from Sedona, AZ, crossing the border for the first time on a bike, and heading down Mexico’s Transpeninsular Highway to Guerrero Negro. This blog continues the adventure.
After an early morning departure leaving behind the comforts of the Hotel Mision Cataviña, I continued on Highway 1, enjoying a quiet morning and the rare good luck of an empty road. Settling into the ride with a deep breath that allowed me to loosen my tight muscles after two long days of riding, I felt the joy start to creep in as I took in the vastness and emptiness of the Sonoran Desert. The fierceness of the summer sun had already begun turning the winter greenness to a light wheat color. This did not diminish the stark beauty of her desert, with the surrounding hills in the distance with their deep purple shadows demanding a second look. My bike was doing great; her little single-cylinder engine was a gem off-road and could manage up to 80 miles an hour, more than enough in Baja. She was a perfect bike for the moment, made for Baja.
The desert south of Cataviña.
Rolling down into Villa Jesus Maria I was more than ready for a break, something cold to drink and some much-needed gasoline. I did well with the drink and break, but as can happen in Baja, the Pemex had no gas. It was another 40 kilometers to Guerrero Negro; as I emptied my MSR liter of gas into my tank, I said a little prayer to both Jesus and Maria to extend my range to Guerrero Negro.
In the Guerrero Negro salt flats.At Scammon’s Lagoon in Guerrero Negro.
Prayers answered, by perhaps both Jesus and Maria, I arrived with a smidgin of gas fumes left in my tank. Reaching Hotel Don Gus, which several riders had recommended as both affordable and bike safe, I pulled into the dirt parking lot to check in. This is a typical motel-style lodging with comfortable rooms and a simple restaurant serving hearty portions. My room settled, I headed for a taco truck that every rider raves about, Tony’s Fish Tacos. Let me tell you, I often dream of Tony’s fish and shrimp tacos with the perfect batter and lime crema!
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Fully satisfied and with still enough daylight left, I went to explore the salt flats famous in this area. A short ride from town, the salt flats looked like a mirage at times, fooling the eye into believing it was a vast lake. This soon gave way to the commercial operation with magnificent mounds of salt with trucks and bulldozers on the top of the salt hill so high that the trucks looked like toys. Soon I was passing the small boat dock and positioned my bike for a good pic. The sun was warm but blissfully not hot with the Pacific breeze. I set up my small camp chair, pulled out a flask filled with an excellent local Vino Tinto, and gave a silent toast to a perfect Baja day.
A Don Gus Hotel selfie.
I woke the following day with growing excitement, and unable to wait for daybreak I loaded my bike impatiently, waiting for the restaurant to open for a much-needed cup of joe. You will often find that opening and closing times in Baja are more of a suggestion than a hard rule. A half-hour later, I was in my room, firing up my rocket pocket stove and making do with a Starbucks instant coffee and some leftover tortillas. Bike ready and stomach full, I headed to the gas station to fill up Red, only to find I had caused a stir and was noticed by a few locals who wanted to meet the female American solo rider. A few of the younger ones asked what seemed like endless questions, wanting to know where I had been and where I was going. This completed, I was on the road heading to the part of Baja I had been waiting for, Mulege and the famous Bahia Conception.
The road out of town was uneventful, an endlessly flat straight that challenged me to stay awake and focused. About an hour later, I passed the midsize town of Villa Alberto with plenty of gas, shopping, and lodging. I stopped long enough for gas and was back on the road. My interest in the highway picked up as I neared San Ignacio. A few kilometers before San Ignacio there was another military stop, which was uneventful other than the guard looking at me, my bike, and a long look down the road with was becoming the norm question and answer: Solo? Si Solo! With an astonished look, he waved me on, wishing me a safe ride. My next stop was a visit to the Baja 1000 popular pit stop, Rice and Beans, a restaurant and hotel just off the highway with good food and cold beer. I left satisfied and headed to the main square of San Ignacio.
Inside the Rice and Beans Restaurant in San Ignacio.
The town of San Ignacio is a true desert oasis with more palm trees than you could count and a river running through the town. San Ignacio seems caught in a time warp as elderly men sit in the shade of the massive trees that frame the small-town square, reading and playing cards as they eye me parking my bike. Curious about this gem, I found just enough cell coverage to look up her history. San Ignacio was founded in 1706 by the Cochimi tribe. In 1728, missionary Juan Bautista de Luyando discovered San Ignacio and committed to building Misión San Ignacio Kadakaamán. The building is made of volcanic rock from the nearby mountains. Her mission sits quietly, waiting for the next visitor, and I was lucky to find her open and welcoming.
The San Ignacio Mission.San Ignacio’s town square.A restaurant in San Ignacio.
I reluctantly got back on my bike, heading back to the highway with a promise that I would return to San Ignacio for further exploration and to enjoy her peaceful river and nearby lagoon. With one more top off of gas, I headed down the road finding the excitement of endless twisties and, on the horizon to my left, the peaks of Tres Virgenes. One last climb took me to another peak, with soon a sweeping view of the Sea of Cortez. Massive winds kept me alert. The heat was near overwhelming, and the wind only accelerated my dehydration. I was physically spent with still another hour to my destination. Pulling into Santa Rosalia, I sadly passed her mission for another time. I stopped just long enough to douse myself with water at the gas station, drink as much water as possible, and get back on the road.
Soon I was riding through the arches that welcome you to the proper start of the town of Mulege. My destination was Historico Las Casitas. After several attempts to find the hotel cursing my Google Maps, I finally arrived. I walked in, took off my riding gear, and as if they were waiting for me to arrive, a young man said not a single word; instead, he handed me a glass of lemonade, a drink from heaven made with fresh limes, lemon, and cane sugar. I emptied my glass in two long swings. Gratefully finding an ounce of composure, I asked about a room for the night. I soon settled into my volcano rock room with mosquito netting; it took me no time to pass out with cold air soothing my heat-exhausted body.
The Hotel Las Casitas courtyard.My room in the Las Casitas.
Waking in the late afternoon, I discovered the L-shaped courtyard covered in vines and trees, allowing for continual shade against the heat of the June sun. My bike was safely parked in the courtyard; I made my way to the bar to the young man who had saved me with his magical lemon concoction and ordered another (with tequila this time). Sufficiently recovered, I headed out to discover the town and look for another perfect taco. Mulege, another mission town founded in the early 1700s and known for the beauty of the river that runs her length ending at the Sea of Cortez, her proud mission sets up on a hill overlooking the palm trees and river. Sadly not open, I wandered around the grounds taking in the softness of the sunset overlooking the river. I headed back to the town square, and with a food stand next to the market, I had a satisfying plate of carne asada tacos with the best beans I’ve had in Baja. Heading back to the hotel, I found the courtyard packed with locals and visitors enjoying the evening coolness. I was lucky to be greeted by the owner, I learned more about the hotel’s history, and I met a friend of his who could take me horseback riding the following morning. With plans set for the next day I gratefully slipped between the crisp white sheets, pulled my mosquito netting around me, and drifted off to sleep dreaming of the adventures ahead.
This is a blog I wrote for CSC Motorcycles several years ago (time sure flies when you’re having fun). The topic was as timely then as it is today. I like big bikes, but I like small bikes more, and I’m convinced that a small bike makes way more sense than a big bike for real world adventure touring. I thought I would post the blog again, as we are having way too much fun with CSC, BMW, Janus, and other companies who have seen the light. Here’s the blog from way back.
A 250cc bike seems too small to many riders. Is it?
The 250cc CSC Cyclone.
The motorcycle craze in the US really started in the mid-1960s. I know motorcycling goes back way before that, but motorcycling was essentially a fringe endeavor until Honda came on the scene. We met the nicest people on Hondas, if you remember, and that ad tagline was a winner (so is “Don’t Miss The Boat,” by the way). (Note: “Don’t Miss The Boat” was CSC’s tagline for the US RX3 introduction, and those who didn’t miss the boat participated in one of the best deals in the history of motorcycling.)
Honda’s sales model was a good one. They pulled us in with small bikes and then convinced us we needed larger and larger bikes. Many of us started with a Honda Cub (the 50cc step-through), we progressed to the Super 90 (that was my jump in), then the 160cc baby Super Hawk, then the 305cc Super Hawk, and at that point in about 1967 that was it for Honda. They didn’t have anything bigger (yet). After the 305cc Super Hawk, the next step for most folks was either a Harley or a Triumph.
Yours Truly, on a Honda Super 90 in the mid-’60s.
You know, back in those days, a 650cc motorcycle was a BIG motorcycle. And it was.
But Honda kept on trucking…they offered a 450 that sort of flopped, and then in 1969 they delivered the CB-750. That bike was so far out in front of everyone else it killed the British motorcycle industry and (with a lot of self-inflicted wounds) it almost killed Harley.
The Japanese manufacturers piled on. Kawasaki one-upped Honda with a 900. (Another note…it’s one of those early Kawi 900s that Gobi Gresh is restoring in the Zed’s Not Dead series.) Honda came back with a 1000cc Gold Wing (which subsequently grew to 1100cc, then 1500cc, and is now an 1800cc). Triumph has a 2300cc road bike. Harley gave up on cubic centimeters and now describes their bikes with cubic inches. And on and on it went. It seems to keep on going. The bikes keep on getting bigger. And bigger. And bigger. And taller. And heavier. And bigger. In a society where everything was being supersized (burgers, bikes, and unfortunately, our beltlines), bigger bikes have ruled the roost for a long time. Too long, in my opinion.
Is this where it’s going? (Note: I shot this photo at the Long Beach International Motorcycle Show about 15 years ago.)
Weirdly, today many folks think of a 750 as a small bike. It’s a world gone nuts. But I digress…
I’ve done a lot of riding. Real riding. My bikes get used. A lot. I don’t much care for the idea of bikes as driveway jewelry, and on a lot of my rides in the US, Mexico, and Canada, I kind of realized that this “bigger is better” mentality is just flat wrong. It worked as a motorcycle marketing strategy for a while, but when you’re wrestling with a 700-lb bike in the soft stuff, you realize it doesn’t make any sense.
Really?
I’ve had some killer big bikes. A Triumph Daytona 1200. A Harley Softail. A TL1000S Suzuki. A Triumph Speed Triple (often called the Speed Cripple, which in my case sort of turned out to be true). All the while I was riding these monsters, I’d see guys on Gold Wings and other 2-liter leviathans and wonder…what are these folks thinking?
I’d always wanted a KLR-650 for a lot of reasons. The biggest reasons were the bikes were inexpensive back then and they were lighter than the armored vehicles I had been riding. I liked the idea of a bike I could travel on, take off road, and lift by myself if I dropped it. To make a long story short, I bought the KLR and I liked it. I still have it. But it’s tall, and it’s heavy (well over 500 lbs fully fueled). But it was a better deal than the bigger bikes for real world riding. Nobody buys a KLR to be a poser, nobody chromes out a KLR, and nobody buys leather fringe for a KLR, but if that’s what you want in a motorcycle, hey, more power to you.
More background…if you’ve been on this blog for more than 10 minutes you know I love riding in Baja. I talk about it all the time. My friends tell me I should be on the Baja Tourism Board. Whatever. It is some of the best riding in the world. I’ll get down there the first week I take delivery on my CSC Cyclone, and if you want to ride with me, you’re more than welcome. (Note: And I did. We did a lot of CSC Baja tours, and CSC introduced a lot of folks to riding and to Baja. That one innocent little sentence became a cornerstone of CSC’s marketing strategy.)
I was talking up Baja one day at the First Church of Bob (the BMW dealership where me and some of my buddies hang out on Saturday mornings). There I was, talking about the road to San Felipe through Tecate, when my good buddy Bob said “let’s do it.” Baja it was…the other guys were on their Harleys and uber-Beemers, and I was on my “small bore” KLR. The next weekend we pointed the bars south, wicked it up, and rode to San Felipe.
The Boys…bound for San Felipe with my KLR leading the pack
That was a fun trip. I took a lot of ribbing about the KLR, but the funny thing was I had no problem keeping up with the monster motos. In fact, most of the time, I was in the lead. And Bob? Well, he just kept studying the KLR. On Saturday night, he opened up a bit. Bob is the real deal…he rode the length of Baja before there was a road. That’s why he was enjoying this trip so much, and it’s why he was so interested in my smaller bike. In fact, he announced his intent to buy a smaller bike, which surprised everybody at the table.
Holding court on the Sea of Cortez. That’s Bob on the right.
Bob told us about a months-long moto trip he made to Alaska decades ago, and his dream about someday riding to Tierra del Fuego. That’s the southernmost tip of South America. He’d been to the Arctic Circle, and he wanted to be able to say that he’d been all the way south, too.
I thought all of this was incredibly interesting. Bob is usually a very quiet guy. He’s the best rider I’ve ever known, and I’ve watched him smoke Ricky Racers on the Angeles Crest Highway with what appeared to be no effort whatsoever. Sometimes he’d do it on a BMW trade-in police bike standing straight up on the pegs passing youngsters on Gixxers and Ducksters. Those kids had bikes with twice the horsepower and two-thirds the weight of Bob’s bike, and he could still out ride them. Awesome stuff. Anyway, Bob usually doesn’t talk much, but during dinner that night on the Sea of Cortez he was opening up about some of his epic rides. It was good stuff.
Finally, I asked: Bob, what bike would you use for a trip through South America?
Bob’s answer was immediate: A 250.
That surprised me, but only for an instant. I asked why and he told me, but I kind of knew the answer already. Bob’s take on why a 250: It’s light, it’s fast enough, it’s small enough that you can pick it up when it falls, you can change tires on it easily, you can take it off road, you can get across streams, and it gets good gas mileage.
Bob’s answer about a 250 really stuck in my mind. This guy knows more about motorcycles than I ever will, he is the best rider I’ve ever known, and he didn’t blink an eye before immediately answering that a 250 is the best bike for serious world travel.
It all made a lot of sense to me. I had ridden my liter-sized Triumph Tiger in Mexico, but when I took it off road the thing was terrifying. The bike weighed north of 600 lbs, it was way too tall, and I had nearly dropped it several times in soft sand. It was not fun. I remembered another ride with my friend Dave when he dropped his FJR in an ocean-sized puddle. It took three of us to get the thing upright, and we dropped it a couple of more times in our attempt to do so. John and I had taken my Harley and his Virago on some fun trips, but folks, those bikes made no sense at all for the kind of riding we did.
Upright in this photo, but it was like wrestling a pig in mud a few minutes earlier.
You might be wondering…what about the other so-called adventure bikes, like the BMW GS series, the Yamaha Tenere, or the Triumph Tiger? Good bikes, to be sure, but truth be told, they’re really street bikes dressed up like dirt bikes. Big street bikes dressed up like dirt bikes. Two things to keep in mind…seat height and weight. I can’t touch the ground when I get on a BMW GS, and as you’ve heard me say before, my days of spending $20K or $30K on a motorcycle are over. Nice bikes and super nice for freeway travel, but for around town or off road or long trips into unknown territory, these bikes are just too big, too heavy, and too tall.
There’s one other benefit to a small bike. Remember that stuff above about Honda’s 1960s marketing strategy? You know, starting on smaller bikes? Call me crazy, but when I get on bikes this size, I feel like a kid again. It’s fun.
I’ve thought about this long and hard. For my kind of riding, a 250 makes perfect sense. My invitation to you is to do the same kind of thinking.
So there you have it. That was the blog that helped to get the RX3 rolling, and CSC sold a lot of RX3 motorcycles. Back in the day, CSC was way out in front of everybody on the Internet publicizing the Zongshen 250cc ADV bikes, and other countries took notice. Colombia ordered several thousand RX3s based on what they saw CSC doing, other countries followed, and things just kept getting better and better. The central premise is still there, and it still makes sense. A 250 may well be the perfect motorcycle.
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See that gap? That narrow space between the semi-truck hauling 20-foot long, 6-inch diameter solid aluminum rods and the BMW M6? I’m taking it, man, riding the horn button and twisting the throttle: zoom-zoom. See that intersection? The one with a whirlpool of scooters, three-wheeled single-cylinder diesel trucks and at least a hundred cars spinning left leaving eddys of pedestrians lapping at the edges? I’m a Hurricane Hunter riding straight into the maelstrom buffeted from side to side, tip-toeing around, swerving, cussing, sweating and focused, man, focused.
China’s city traffic requires all your intensity, taxes all your ability and is like nothing I have ever seen on the planet. There is no respite. There is no pause, You must lock on and track hundreds of individual trajectories from every point on the compass, constantly. Insane traffic scenarios unfold at a lightning pace, there’s no time to marvel at the stupidity. There’s only time to act.
The chaos is cultural: Chinese motorists drive like they’re riding a bicycle because they were only a few years ago. In less than one generation the Chinese have gone from pedals to 125cc Honda clones to driving millions of air-conditioned automobiles on surface streets designed for a sleepy agricultural nation. At any given moment dozens of traffic rules are being broken within 50 feet of your motorcycle. It’s a traffic cop’s dream.
Except that there aren’t any. For a Police State there are not many police in China. I’ve ridden entire days and not seen one Po-Po. My Chinese friends tell me the police show up for collisions but otherwise stay low-key. Because of this hands-off approach stop signs are ignored. Red lights mean slow down. You can make a left turn from the far right lane and no one bats an eye.
China uses the drive-on-the-right system but in reality left-side driving is popular with large trucks and speeding German sedans. Get out of the way or die, sucker. Painted lane-stripes are mere suggestions: Drive anywhere you like. Of course, sidewalks and breakdown lanes are fair game for cutting to the front of the cue.
China’s modernization process has happened so fast that the leap from two-wheeled utility vehicle to motorcycles as powersports fun never really occurred. In China there are millions of people riding motorcycles but relatively few motorcyclists.
If the cars don’t get you there are other strange rules that serve to dampen the popularity of Chinese motorcycling as a hobby. Motorcycles are banned on most major toll ways between cities. Law-abiding motorcyclists are shunted off to the old, meandering side roads. Which would be fun if they weren’t so infested with heavy, slow moving semi-trucks and near certain construction delays. In practice, since tollbooths have no ability to charge motorcyclists, Chinese riders blow through the far right lane, swerving to avoid the tollgate’s swinging arm. Ignore the bells, shouting and wild gestures of the toll-takers and roll the throttle on, brother.
Being banned from the highway is not a deal breaker, but being banned from entire cities is. In response to crimes committed by bad guys on motorcycles many cities remedied the problem by eliminating motorcycles altogether. Sales of new motorcycles in these forbidden cities is non-existent.
Rules designed to discourage motorcycling abound. Vehicles over 10 years old are not allowed to be registered, thus killing the used and vintage scene. Gasoline stations require motorcyclists to park far from the gas pumps and ferry fuel to their bikes in open-topped gas cans. Add to that the general opinion of the public that motorcycle riders are shifty losers too poor to afford a car.
So why do Chinese motorcyclists bother to ride at all? It’s not the thrill of speed; 250cc is considered a big bike in China and it’s really all you need to keep up with the slow moving traffic. I’ve spent a lot of time with Chinese riders and even with the language barrier I get that they ride for the same reasons we do: The road, the rain, the wind. After being cooped up in a high rise apartment (very few Chinese live in single-family homes) I imagine the wide-open spaces between crowded cities must seem like heaven. They did to me. Chinese motorcyclists and Low Riders ride a little slower, taking long breaks to smoke a cigarette, drink in the scenery or just nap. Every motorcyclist you meet is instantly your dear friend because we share this passion and despite all the minor regulatory hassles everybody knows love conquers all.
We’re introducing something new here on ExNotes. We publish new content every other day (sometimes more often, sometimes less often, but we’ve been pretty good about bringing you new stuff). But what about the days we don’t publish? We’ve published about 1200 blogs in the last four years, and a lot of them received super responses. So, on the in between days when when we don’t publish new material, we’re going to select some of our favorites from the past. This is the first. Every one of these reruns we’ll be preceded by The Wayback Machine in the title.
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Baja is a motorcycling paradise and I have a bunch of favorite destinations there. Seven of them, to be precise, although truth be told, I like everything in Baja except for Tijuana and maybe La Paz and Loreto. That said, my favorites are:
Tecate
San Quintin
Cataviña
Guerrero Negro
San Ignacio
Santa Rosalia
Concepcion Bay
Here’s where they are on a map:
So what’s so great about these places? Read on, my friends.
Tecate
Tecate is the gateway to the middle of northern Baja, and it’s the easiest point of entry. Both Tijuana and Mexicali are too big and too complicated, and the Mexican Customs guys are too official in those bigger cities. Tecate is a friendly place. The last time I picked up a tourist visa in Tecate, the Customs officer tried to sell me salsa he and his family made as a side gig. That’s what the place is like. I love it.
If you’re into fine dining (not as in expensive dining, but just great food), it’s hard to go wrong anywhere in Baja. Tecate has some of the best, from street taco vendors to Malinalli’s to Amore’s. I could spend a week just in Tecate. It’s that good.
Uncle Joe Gresh with street tacos in Tecate. Wow, were they ever good.The buffet at Malinalli’s is regional, awesome, and inexpensive. It’s a hidden treasure.Dos Joes’ motos on an Enfield expedition that took us through Tecate.The Tecate brewery dominate the Tecate skyline and is visible from just about anywhere in town. A can of ice cold Tecate with sea salt around the rim and a bit of lime juice…life doesn’t get any better.
San Quintin
San Quintin is 186.4 miles south of the border on Baja’s Pacific coast. It’s usually a quiet ag town that has a lot of things going for it, including interesting hotels, good food, and Bahia San Quintin. The Old Mill hotel and its associated restaurant, Eucalipto, is my personal favorite. The hotel is about 4 miles west of the Transpeninsular Highway, and what used to be a harrowing soft sand ride to it is now easy peasy…the road is paved and riding there is no longer a test of your soft sand riding skills. The Eucalipto restaurant is second to none.
What could be better than an ice cold Tecate overlooking Bahia San Quintin after a day’s riding in Baja? We once saw a California gray whale from this very spot.
A man, a motorcycle, and Mexico….the sign on the Transpenisular Highway pointing toward Bahia San Quintin and the Old Mill Hotel. The bike? That’s the 650cc Royal Enfield, perfect for riding Baja. But then just about any motorcycle is perfect for riding Baja.Bahia San Quintin at dawn. It’s an awesome spot.Uncle Joe enjoying breakfast in the Old Mill’s Eucalipto. It is an exquisite restaurant.
You’ll notice at the top of my scribblings about San Quintin I said it is usually a quiet town. The one exception for us was when there was a labor riot and we were caught in it. The Mexican infantryman about 80 miles north of San Quintin told me the road was closed, but his English matched my Spanish (neither are worth a caca), and without me understanding what I was riding into, he let me proceed. It’s not an experience I would care to repeat. But it’s the only event of its type I ever experienced in Old Mexico, and I’d go back in a heartbeat.
The Cataviña Boulder Fields
Ah, Cataviña. Rolling down the Transpeninsular Highway, about 15 miles before you hit the wide spot in the road that is Cataviña you enter the boulder fields. Other-worldly is not too strong a description, and if the place wasn’t so far south of the border it would probably be used more often by Hollywood in visits to other planets. The boulders are nearly white, they are huge, and the juxtaposition of their bulk with the bright blue sky punctuated by Cardon cactus.
Pastel geology. The area really is as beautiful as the photos depict it to be.
I get a funny feeling every time I enter this part of Baja. Not funny as in bad, but funny as in I feel like I’m where I belong. I once rolled through this region in the early morning hours with my daughter and she told me “you know, it’s weird, Dad. I feel like I’m home.” She understood (as in completely understood) the magic that is Baja.
I like the area and its stark scenery so much that one of my photos became the cover of Moto Baja! I grabbed that shot from the saddle at about 30 mph on a CSC 150 Mustang replica, which I subsequently rode all the way down to Cabo San Lucas (that story is here).
You should buy a copy or three. They make great gifts.
Every time I roll through Cataviña with other riders, the dinner conversation invariably turns to how the boulders formed. When I was teaching at Cal Poly Pomona, I asked one of my colleagues in the Geology Department. He know the area as soon as I mentioned it. The answer? Wind erosion.
Guerrero Negro
The Black Warrior. The town is named after a ship that went down just off its coast. It’s a salt mining town exactly halfway down the peninsula, and it’s your ticket in for whale watching and the best fish tacos in Baja (and that’s saying something). I’ve had a lot of great times in Guerrero Negro. It’s about 500 miles south of the border. You can see the giant steel eagle marking the 28th Parallel (the line separating Baja from Baja Sur) a good 20 miles out, and from there, it’s a right turn for the three mile ride west into town. Malarrimo’s is the best known hotel and whale watching tour, but there are several are they are all equally good. It you can’t get a room at Malarrimo’s, try the Hotel Don Gus.
CSC RX3 motorcycles at the Hotel Don Gus. We used to do annual Baja tours with CSC…those were fun times and great trips, and introduced a lot of folks to the beauty of Baja.What it’s all about…getting up close and personal with the California gray whales. They are in town from January through March.Tony, taco chef extraordinaire. You might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not.It’s worth the 500-miles trek to Guerrero Negro just to savor Tony’s fish tacos. You might think I’m exaggerating. But like I said above…I’m not.Man does not live by fish tacos alone, so for breakfast or dinner, it’s either the restaurant at Malaririmo’s or the San Remedio, a block north of the main drag into town. You won’t be disappointed at either.Sue’s photo of a Guerrero Negro osprey enjoying some sushi.
After you leave Guerrero Negro and continue south, the Transpeninsular Highway turns southeast to take you diagonally across the Baja peninsula. About 70 miles down the road (which is about half the distance to the eastern shores of Baja and the Sea of Cortez along Mexico Highway 1) you’ll see the turn for San Ignacio. It’s another one of Baja’s gems.
San Ignacio
San Ignacio is an oasis in the middle of the desert that forms much of Baja. The Jesuits introduced date farming to the region hundreds of years ago, and it’s still here in a big way. Leave Guerrero Negro, head southeast on Mexico Highway 1, and 70 miles later you run into a Mexican Army checkpoint, a series of switchbacks through a lava field, and when you see the date palms, turn right.
An oasis is usually formed by a volcano, and when a volcano is done discussing politics, it forms a lake. That’s the San Ignacio volcano and its lake, visible on the left as you ride into town.The San Ignacio church, built as a mission in the 1700s, dominates the center of San Ignacio. It’s a beautiful spot, one of the most photogenic in all of Baja.Another photo of the San Ignacio Mission. You’ll want to grab some photos in San Ignacio.Dates? Nope, not on that trip, but dates are one of the things San Ignacio is known for. I’ll bet they are delicious.
San Ignacio has a town square that’s right out of central casting, there’s a little restaurant that serves the best chile rellenos in all of Mexico (I’m not exaggerating), and the place just has a laid back, relaxing feel about it.
Santa Rosalia
You know, this town is another one of Baja’s best kept secrets. As you travel south on Highway 1, San Ignacio is the first town you encounter after traveling diagonally across the peninsula. Folks dismiss it because it’s an industrial town, but they do so in ignorance. There’s a lot of cool stuff in this place.
The ride into Santa Rosalia a few years ago with novelist Simon Gandolfi, Arlene Battishill, J Brandon, John Welker, and yours truly. That’s a dead fish I’m holding. We did a round trip to Cabo San Lucas on 150cc Mustang replicas, just to say that we could.
One of the things that’s unique about Santa Rosalia is the all-wooden architecture. The town was originally built by a French mining company (Boleo) and they built it they way they did in France. Like the Hotel Frances, which sits high on a mesa overlooking the town and the Sea of Cortez. I love staying there.
The Hotel Frances. It used to be a brothel.
There’s a cool mining musuem a block or two away from the Frances, and it’s worth a visit, too.
The mining museum in Santa Rosalia.
There are many cool things in Santa Rosalia, and one of the best is the Georg Eiffel church. It was designed by the same guy guy who did the Eiffel town.
Santa Rosalia’s church. It’s an unexpected delight. And I’m not even Catholic.Inside Santa Rosalia’s Georg Eiffel church.Stained glass. Photos ops abound in Santa Rosalia.
I’ve heard people dismiss Santa Rosalia as a gritty, industrial place not worth a stop. Trust me on this: They’re wrong. It’s one of my favorite Baja spots.
Bahía Concepción
Concepción Bay is easily the most scenic spot in Baja. It’s just south of Mulege (another delightful little town, and the subject of an upcoming ExNotes blog). Bahía Concepción runs for maybe 20 miles along the eastern edge of the Baja peninsula. I’ve seen whales from the highway while riding along its edge, the beaches are magnificent, and the photo ops just don’t stop. The contrast between the mountains and Cardon cactus on one side and the pelicans diving into bright green water is view from the saddle you won’t soon forget.
On one of many rides along Bahía Concepción, good buddy Joe Lee and yours truly rode our Triumph Triples. This is a favorite shot of mine.Besides “wow,” what can I say?World-famous novelist and motorcycle adventurer Simon Gandolfi andn yours truly on 150cc scooters. We were on our way back from Cabo San Lucas when we stopped for this Bahía Concepción photo. Hardtail 150cc scooters. Up and down the length of Baja. I think about that ride every time I see a GS parked at a Starbuck’s.
So there you have it: My take on seven favorite spots in Baja? How about you? Do you have any favorite Baja destinations? Let us know here in the comments sction!
So, I had just finished a certification exam that required more studying than I care to discuss. It was December 2008, and I was mentally exhausted and in much need of a beach vacation to reward myself for passing this rigorous exam. At the time I happened to be visiting Montreal and decided to hit up a travel agent to see what deals were available. My only criteria were sun, beach, and relaxation. It is rare that I ever take time to slow down, even on vacation. It seems most of my vacations leave me more exhausted than relaxed (even though they are pretty rewarding). At this juncture in my life I needed a “time out” to bask in the accomplishment of passing that exam, so I wasn’t looking for anything too adventurous.
The travel agent in Montreal listened to my criteria and recommended Mexico or Cuba. As a citizen of the United States, I thought I was not allowed in Cuba and when asking the agent, she assured me it was not a problem. Cuba was much less expensive than Mexico, it would meet my beach requirements, and it was off the beaten path since Americans were not formally supposed to travel there. Cuba it is!
The flight to Havana was a short 3 hours from Montreal and I was already yearning for a Cuban cigar and a glass of Havana rum while admiring sights along the white sand beaches. Once the flight began to descend it hit me as I could see the last of the Florida Keys fading away from the plane window “Wow, I wonder how much that travel agent really knew about the embargo for Americans.” I was about to find out.
Feeling a little bit nervous as I entered the immigration queue, I saw those ahead of me enter this little glass box. The doors closed, they showed their travel documents, and once the doors opened on the other side they were officially in Cuba. As it became my turn I entered the glass box, it closed, I showed my American passport when the immigration agent looked at it. He said “Uno momento” and went in back to gather with four other agents who looked at me, then at my passport, and began passing it around like a Mickey Mantle rookie card. Ahhhh, this is how my Locked up Abroad episode would begin I thought.
The Cuban people love Americans, and it is so rare an occurrence to see an actual American passport that it draws a lot of curiosity and attention, something I wasn’t particularly looking for. When the agent went to stamp my passport, I quickly remembered about the embargo. A Cuban stamp in my passport would not go over well when I returned to the United States next week.
“No Stamp por favor” I said nervously. He laughed said no problem and opened the glass box for me to enter Cuba. I made it! This is so cool!
What little I knew of Cuba was that my entire wallet was now useless. Health insurance, credit cards, ATM access: Nothing would be accepted in this country due to the embargo. I had about $200 Canadian and reservations to an all-inclusive resort to ensure I could enjoy a week relaxing and not worryimg about the limitations due to lack of cash. This idea worked perfectly, with the exception that my travels would be limited to short day trips near the resort in Veracruz, and it wouldn’t allow me to visit Havana.
This was all fine with me. I was able to relax at the beach while still having the ability to leave the resort to take in some local food and sights. This included cigar stores, drooling over the 1950’s cars that were still in pristine condition, and of course soaking up some much-needed sun. The resort where I was staying was filled with Canadians and whenever they had those silly contests in the evening they would always ask where the person was from. I was tempted every time I was called upon to grab the microphone and loudly say “The United States of America,” and then I would revel in the silence that was sure to follow that statement. For once I listened to my Dad’s advice (Don’t do anything stupid, Mike). For the entire trip I identified as a Canadian from Toronto (I couldn’t say Montreal as I didn’t speak French) and I successfully avoided the temptation to say otherwise.
As the week came to a close, I had a great tan. I was relaxed and refreshed both mentally and physically. Mission accomplished!
Once we began our descent into Montreal a revelation hit me: I still had to re-enter the United States, with a tan, in January, from Montreal. Would the US Immigration agent know I was in Cuba?
When the plane hit the tarmac, I did what any mature person who thought they were about to get into trouble does. I phoned my Mom and let her know that I may have overstepped, and she may be receiving a call from the US State Department in reference to my traveling shenanigans. After hanging up the phone I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a friend I had made at the resort. He happened to be sitting behind me and overheard the conversation with my mom. He let me know that I could use him as an alibi and that he was a member of a health club in Montreal that had tanning beds. That seemed to be a solid response to any questioning I might soon face. I’ll go with that, I decided. I began to feel a bit more confident as I nervously crossed into Vermont. The US Immigration officer had no questions for me and simply said “Welcome home Mr. Huber,” as he waved my car onward. It was only about 10 degrees that night, yet I still could feel the warmth from the Cuban sun glowing while breathing a sigh of relief I happily drove by the “Welcome to The United States of America” sign. Cuba let me accomplish all my relaxation goals and tacked on a pretty cool story along the way.
If you would like to read more about motorcycling in Cuba, take a look at Christopher Baker’s Mi Moto Fidel.
Berk and I were discussing the challenges of taking on additional writers here at ExhaustNotes. We print new stories about every two days and while we appreciate our loyal readers it wouldn’t hurt to drag a bunch more subscribers into the fold. We’d like ExhaustNotes’ popularity to reflect the quality of the content and to increase ad revenue to match our prodigious output. Plus, younger, less jaded motorcyclists who actually like all the electronic junk manufacturers strap onto motorcycles would be kind of cool.
So we’ve decided to try a thing: Berk says the best way to increase Internet hits and ad revenue is to publish interesting stories from insightful and entertaining writers on a regular basis. To do that, ExhaustNotes will need more than just two guys typing in their spare time. We may need three. Or four. Or more.
I don’t know about you but I’m ready for some fresh new perspectives on motorcycling and with Berk pushing 72 and me pushing a crusty 65 we tend to give fresh new perspectives a bit of the old stinkeye. You’ll notice we type a lot of dream bike segments and none of them are modern bikes. Do not stand on our lawns.
Perspectives don’t have to be young to be fresh, just different. Let’s hear how you love the way your motorcycle makes all the power and braking decisions for the rider. Hey, you still get to steer… for now. Tell us about the biker lifestyle and how it differs from the cosplay actors at comic-com. Exactly how do you use a 200 horsepower, full-race motorcycle on the street and stay alive? Tell us in an interesting way and you’ll get paid for doing it!
How much will you make?
Glad you asked: ExhaustNotes uses a simple formula to calculate how much we earn. We take the total site income from advertisers and Google ads and subtract the expense of running the site. That gives us a pool of money to pay the writers. You won’t get paid by the word. For example, if revenue after expenses is $100 and we publish 100 stories then each story is worth $1. Now, say Berk writes 70 stories and I write 30 stories then Berk makes $70 and I make $30. This is the part where you new writers will come in: If we publish 5 stories from you then the split will reflect your contribution. Berk divvies the money up twice a year, assuming there’s revenue.
On the surface this seems self-defeating, since you’ll be making the same amount per story as me and Berk then we must be losing money. Maybe not. The idea is to increase revenue, build the reader base and create a bigger pie. If it works we’ll all get filthy rich and go live with the prostitutes. Okay, maybe I can’t go live with the prostitutes but one of you guys might be able to.
We understand the unfairness of a 3000-word story earning the same as a 700-word story but life is full of unfair situations. Writing for ExhaustNotes is just one more. Try to picture this whole ExhaustNotes website thing as a grand experiment that we are opening up to a wider pool of participants. Who knows what will happen?
If you’ve already been a guest columnist for ExhaustNotes you won’t get any money from your past stories. That ship has sailed. This new deal is going forward from today. Mike Huber’s Romanian travel story is the very first one of our new system.
A few other things you should know: Berk is going to be the editor-in-chief and his word is final, meaning submitting is not the same as getting published. Punctuation and grammar matter. If Berk has to re-write your story to make it intelligible he probably won’t use it. ExhaustNotes only pays if we publish your story and we pay poorly at that. You retain all rights to your work and can do whatever you want with it. Remember: You are not going to make a ton of money doing this. If you feel our accounting methods are not strenuous enough don’t submit a story.
Having the proper mindset is critical. Berk and I write ExhaustNotes for the fun of it. If you factor in our time, we lose money doing it and I see no good reason why you shouldn’t lose money writing for us, too. Any beer money that happens to come our way is gravy that we use to buy mini bikes and reloading components. Topics are mostly motorcycle related with guns and construction materials thrown in, but any topic that is interesting will be considered. Everyone has to start somewhere; I started my writing career with a simple letter to the editor of The Key West Citizen. Let’s see what starts your writing career.
If you have a story you’d like to propose on motorcycles, guns, Baja, reloading, great rides, great roads, or any other topic you think would be of interest to our readers, email us with your story idea at info@exhaustnotes.us.
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Wowee, do we ever have some good stuff coming up right here on the ExNotes blog. Guns, motorcycles, adventure touring in Transylvania, and the results of a content safari through Arizona all the way to Albuquerque. Here’s an inkling of just a few of the topics coming your way.
What’s the real difference between a $1500 Colt Python and a $650 Ruger Blackhawk? Watch for our side-by-side, target-by-target comparo. It’s coming up.
Into resurrections? Hey, how about CSC’s replica of the original Mustang motorcycle! You read our recent story about the Al Simmons Mustang motorcycle collection and the origins of the Mustang. CSC’s Steve Seidner went a step further, and we’ll tell you all about it.
Ever have your well dry? I mean literally, not figuratively. Uncle Joe Gresh has, and he’ll tell you all about it. Gresh is a guy who makes MacGuyver look like an amateur. You’ll love this story.
We’re going to bring in a new writer or two (or maybe more). We have a blog loaded and ready to publish from good buddy Airborne Mike on a motorcycle ride through (get this!) Transylvania! I kid you not. Transylvania and the Transfagarasan Highway!
On that topic of new writers…Joe Gresh will tell you all about what you need to do to be considered for the ExNotes editorial staff. Watch for a blog on this topic in the near future.
The Pima Air Museum in Tucson is another treasure. Wow, that was a fun visit. There’s so much there we couldn’t take it all in during a single visit, and it’s a place that screams for more than a single blog. I need to return. The photo ops were incredible.
More good Joe Gresh stuff straight from Tinfiny Ranch, including the Gresh moto stable and the world famous Gresh project bank. Motorcycles, the MGB-GT, and more!
How about the Franklin Automobile Museum in Tucson, Arizona? Never heard of it? We hadn’t, either, but (trust me on this) it’s Tucson’s best kept secret!
White Sands Missile Range? Yep, that, too. Everything from a Nazi V-2 to current US weaponry, and we’ll have the story right here.
How about White Sands National Park? Think Sahara Desert, and you’ll have a good idea about what these rolling snow white gypsum hills look like. It was awesome!
The New Mexico Museum of Space History, with a guided tour by none other than Joe Gresh? That was a really fun visit with lots of cool exhibits. It’s coming your way.
How about sacred Native American ruins in New Mexico? We saw several and they were impressive, including the Kuaua Native American site along the Rio Grande River.
Albuquerque is quite a town, and Old Town Albuquerque is quite the place. We had a lot of fun wandering around and taking photos. It’s in the mix for a future blog.
And the Albuquerque 50th Anniversary Balloon Fiesta…wow, was that ever spectacular. The excitement and wonder of that event is one of the most impressive things I’ve ever experienced.
Stay tuned, folks. It’s quite an adventure, and it’s onging!
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This was all fine with me. I was able to relax at the beach while still having the ability to leave the resort to take in some local food and sights. This included cigar stores, drooling over the 1950’s cars that were still in pristine condition, and of course soaking up some much-needed sun. The resort where I was staying was filled with Canadians and whenever they had those silly contests in the evening they would always ask where the person was from. I was tempted every time I was called upon to grab the microphone and loudly say “The United States of America,” and then I would revel in the silence that was sure to follow that statement. For once I listened to my Dad’s advice (Don’t do anything stupid, Mike). For the entire trip I identified as a Canadian from Toronto (I couldn’t say Montreal as I didn’t speak French) and I successfully avoided the temptation to say otherwise.
