Category: Back In The Day

A Distant Memory: Memphis Bike Night

By Joe Berk

This is a sort of a Wayback Machine post, one that goes way back.  It’s from June of 2012, which is way before Gresh and I started the ExhaustNotes blog.  I used to write the CSC Motorcycles blog (it’s where I started as a blogger).   I was thinking about Tennessee the other day and I remembered that I had written a blog about the Memphis bike nights, but I couldn’t find it in the ExNotes archives.  Then I realized: It predated ExNotes.  It was a CSC blog.

I have got to be the luckiest guy on the planet. I’m taking this great tour through the South, and yesterday we found ourselves in Memphis.  Memphis is a great city for many reasons, not the least of which is Graceland.  As I mentioned in the CSC blog yesterday, Susie and I took the Graceland tour and we loved it.   It was beyond awesome.  I’m a great Elvis Presley fan, and the opportunity to visit his home was not one to be missed.  Folks, if you ever get to Memphis, Graceland is a must!

Well, our good fortune did not end there.   We had an awesome dinner at the Rendezvous, a super barbeque joint my good buddy Georgia Robby recommended.  Folks, trust me on this…barbeque just doesn’t get any better than this!

The Rendezvous in Memphis…the best of the best!

After our great dinner, we moseyed on over to Beale Street.   That’s kind of like the Memphis version of New Orlean’s Bourbon Street…it’s the place to be in Memphis.  We noticed a lot of motorcycles heading that way, and then, hey, we saw that the street was shutdown…and it was nothing but motorcycles!  Turns out that Wednesday night is Motorcycle Night on Beale Street!  Check this out…

Midweek Memphis Moto Madness on Beale Street!

The Memphis moto night is one big street party, folks!  We were having a blast talking to the riders there.   They saw my California Scooter shirt and everyone wanted to know about the CSC bikes.   It was awesome.  We met a lot of people and made a lot of friends.

The photo below shows Carl and Ryan, a father and son team.  These are cool guys.  Carl was on his Gold Wing, and Ryan was on a CX500 he and Carl rebuilt.  Ryan just graduated from technical school, and when his father asked him what he’d like for a graduation present, Ryan just asked to go with Carl on his next motorcycle trip.  That’s pretty cool stuff, folks.

Wisconsin Carl and his son Ryan…riders extraordinaire!

We actually rode alongside these guys about 100 miles east of Memphis without meeting them.  Susie recognized the Gold Wing when we saw them again at the Memphis moto night.   Talk about a small world!

I grabbed a lot of photos on Beale Street.   Every body was having a good time.   I asked the fellow below if I could grab a shot, but he kept smiling for every shot and looking like too nice of a guy.  I asked him to strike a tougher pose, and wow, did he ever!

He’s really a nice guy!

We were having a lot of fun.  We noticed police officers at each intersection making sure that Beale Street allowed no one other than motorcyclists, and I asked a couple of them if I could grab their photo.   They said sure, but only if Susie was in the picture…

Susie with two of Memphis’ finest!

The police officer on the left looks like he’s having a good time…but the guy on the right looks like he wanted me to explain that traffic ticket I never paid…

Well, hey, the next day we had an absolutely awesome Memphis breakfast.  I had a French toast fluffer-nutter with whipped cream and blueberries, and hash brown sweet potatoes with marshmallow.

There’s peanut butter and bananas sandwiched between those slices of French toast!
Hash brown sweet potatoes with marshmallows!

Steve saw the above photos and told me I might need to lower the gearing on my CSC motorcycle when I returned to California.

The next night we made it to Mobile, another great southern US city.   In the morning, we toured the USS Alabama, a floating museum just outside of Mobile.  It was beyond awesome.   The ship bristled with guns.   I was amazed, and I have to tell you, it’s worth a trip to this part of the country just to see this magnificent battleship.  After seeing the USS Alabama, we followed the Alabama Scenic Byway to the Emerald Coast in Florida’s panhandle, and we had a great grilled amberjack dinner in Fort Walton Beach.  Imagine bone white sand and emerald green water, and you’ll have a pretty good handle on Florida’s Emerald Coast.

That trip was 14 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday.  Good times brought to life once again through the miracles of the Wayback Machine!  The blog you read above evolved into a Destinations piece for Motorcycle Classics magazine.  You can find it and more here.

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What Fear Doesn’t Know

By Bobbie Surber

I started the John Muir Trail alone in August 2014 because I was afraid of solo wilderness travel and decided the only way to get through it was to go. Two hundred and eleven miles from Yosemite Valley to the summit of Mount Whitney, alone, in twenty-one days. I had walked several Camino de Santiago trails. I knew what my legs could do. What I didn’t know was whether I could trust myself out there with no one to defer to and no one to blame if it went wrong. About ten days in, somewhere in the Evolution Range, the trail stopped being hypothetical about it.

Evolution Valley, August 11, 2014

Evolution Valley has a reputation. Every hiker on the JMT knows the name before they get there, the way you know certain words in a foreign language before you have ever been to the country. Sacred. Iconic.

The valley floor opens at 9,500 feet. The green catches you off guard, Evolution Creek winding through golden meadow grass, the peaks rising above it all. Darwin, Mendel, and Huxley are named for the scientists who mapped the theory of evolution. The whole region carries their names. A pack mule grazed in the middle distance like it had nowhere to be. I wanted to stay for days.

What I remember is rocks tumbling along the shore and a sky boiling so close above me it felt like something you could reach up and touch.

On a trail this long, you keep running into the same people. Joan was a nurse, and we had fallen into step together enough times over the preceding days to know each other a little. Her hiking companion was difficult in the way that some men are difficult on the trail, controlling the pace, the decisions, the route. What I had pieced together over those chance miles was that before they left he had taken Joan’s wallet, her ID, and locked everything in his car. She had no money. No identification. No way out that wasn’t entirely on his terms.

The storm came the way they always do in the Sierra in August. Fast. Without apology. We turned back from the pass. The man looked around and declared a campsite near Wanda Lake.

Wanda Lake, 11,426 feet.

Wanda Lake sits at 11,426 feet, the largest lake at the base of the pass. Rocks scattered along the shore, the surrounding peaks nothing but scree and exposed granite, the water grey-green under the storm light. No trees anywhere in the frame. No shelter. No dip in the terrain between you and whatever the sky decides.

Southbound hikers passing through said it plainly: worst possible place to stop. Death zone for lightning. The man didn’t move. Joan looked at me.
I packed up my tent and left.

Joan stayed. I thought about her the whole way down, and if I’m honest, most of the way back up too.

The moonscape above the tree line.

The trees had stopped somewhere far back down the trail and the world had changed. Granite slabs in every direction, pale as bone, thin fingers of grass finding whatever purchase they could in the cracks. Nowhere to step off and disappear. Nowhere to wait out the storm. Three or four miles of that back down to tree line alone, the lightning coming closer, the thunder hitting hard enough to feel it in your chest, past Sapphire Lake, past Evolution Lake, back through the point where granite finally gives way to trees.

Sometime in the night a young hiker asked for shelter. Her tent had flooded out. She came inside and we lay there listening to the lightning work through the dark, each strike closer than we wanted, praying it would move on without finding us.

His camp. The death zone.

By morning, the lightning had stopped. The sky hadn’t cleared, but the lightning had stopped, which felt like enough. Outside, the trail had become a gathering point. Everyone I had met on the JMT was there packing out. The mountain had called a meeting, and the vote was unanimous: hike out, trip over.

A man found me in the crowd, someone I had spoken to on the flight out to Yosemite at the very start of all this. A lifetime ago. His hiking partner had quit after three days. He had kept going alone. We agreed without much discussion to summit together and he went to break camp.

He came back without his pack.  Wife. Kids. He was hiking out. He said I should come too. Every person around us had made the same decision. The sky above the pass was still doing things skies should not do. He wasn’t wrong to ask.

I stood there in tears while everyone packed out around me. The lightning was gone but the sky was still dark. The pass was still up there. I was genuinely afraid. Not the manageable kind. The kind where your breathing goes shallow, your stomach turns, and adrenaline floods your body until your hands shake.

Every rational thought said to give up and call it quits. Instead my feet turned uphill.

It was the same thing that had kept me moving on the first Camino when everything hurt, the bed was warm, the next town far. Not courage. Just an inability to stop.

The same miles back. Through the trees, past Evolution Lake, past Sapphire Lake, back into the moonscape. The sky was boiling. In monsoon season you just move through it and hope.

A hiker came toward me on the trail heading the same direction I was. He had been pushed back the day before, same storm, same decision point. Now he was going back up too. I asked what he thought it was going to be like.

It’s going to be a shit storm, he said.

He kept walking.  So did I.

Muir Hut, 11,955 feet.

The Muir Hut sits at 11,955 feet at the top of the pass, a round stone shelter built in 1930, low against the mountain as though it grew there. The door was wood, dark and heavy, slightly open. I pushed through it.

That same hiker was inside. He had made it up first, sitting there with a camp stove and two cups.

He handed me one. Coffee.

The storm hammered the stone walls. The coffee was hot. Both my hands around the cup. Inside I was fine.

He said he was sorry for being such an ass. We laughed about that. Two people with no business being up there, sitting in a hut built to honor John Muir while the mountain made its point outside.

We walked out of the hut and the storm had passed.

Lightness and grace. After all of that, just lightness.

A few days later, Joan found me on the trail. We hatched a plan. I pulled the hundred-dollar bill tucked into my pack. Others gave what they could. We mapped her a route out. She didn’t hesitate. Some kinds of courage don’t need explaining.

Whitney was still days away. The tears at the summit were still ahead, the kind I hadn’t understood when other hikers described them. But coming down that pass in the running water, something had settled. I stopped and turned around.

The sky clears, August 12, 2014

The sky had gone clean and blue, a full moon already up over the granite, the trees black against the last light. I took a picture. I knew I would want to remember what it looked like when the mountain finally let me go.

I was going to finish. And Evolution Valley was still out there, waiting for a return trip in better weather. It still is.

Legends Motorcycle Museum

By Joe Berk

Legends Motorcycle Museum in Springville, Utah, is not just a museum; it is a compound, consisting of three retro-industrial-themed buildings and numerous motorcycle-related shops and eateries.  And if that’s not enough good news, it’s located in one of the best riding locales on the planet:  Magnificent Utah.  Surprisingly, I had never heard of Legends.  I only found it during a Google search after my good buddy Mark at Motorcycle Classics magazine asked me to focus on motorcycle museums.

I arranged to be at the Legends Museum early so that I could photograph the motorcycles without other guests getting in the way (both for the ExNotes blog and for Motorcycle Classics magazine).  We entered through the Museum’s shop, which contains work bays and advanced CNC equipment where the place makes its own parts.  The owner, Rick Salisbury, is also an automobile enthusiast; we saw a stunning restomod 1957 Cadillac convertible (with a crate Chevy LS2 engine) being assembled.  A large and initially terrifying black pit bull welcomed us with a deep growl; when I froze, my new friend Winston approached cautiously, put his big paws on my shoulders (he stood taller than me), and gave me a friendly lick.  I realized that coffee (served in the Museum’s adjacent Sidecar Café) would not be necessary.  Thanks to Winston, I was now fully adrenalized and wide awake.

The view upon entering the Museum was visually arresting, starting with the famous Von Dutch VW-powered motorcycle (as seen in many print publications and in an episode of the American Pickers TV show).  It stood proudly on a weathered steel pedestal.  The Von Dutch motorcycle was surrounded by numerous Panheads, Knuckleheads, Indians, and other old motorcycles, machines that were built when guys like Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, and Kennedy lived in the White House.  None of the bikes were restored.  I had entered barnfind Heaven.  I’ve been in lots of museums that proudly display motorcycles that look better than the day they rolled off their assembly lines.  Legends is different, and I’m here to tell you it is better.

The Legends Museum second floor is comprised entirely of pre-1920 motorcycles.  A Journs Cyclone, one of only 12 known to exist, dominates the display; the Museum’s owner paid a whopping (and record) $1.3 million for it at Mecum’s last year.  There were many more exotic motorcycles.  Thor.  Henderson.  Flying Merkel.  I’ll let the photos do the talking here, folks.

One of the best things about the Legends Motorcycle Museum is its north central Utah location.  Utah is one of our most beautiful states, and it figures prominently in our collection of previous Motorcycle Classics Destinations pieces (which include Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, Cedar Breaks National Park, Utah Highways 12 and 24, Arches Canyon National Park, Golden Spike National Historic Park, and Flaming Gorge National Park).    If you’re headed to Utah, Legends should be part of your itinerary.  And if you’re not headed to Utah, you should start thinking about a visit.  It’s spectacular.

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Big Boy And The Mother Of Intentions

By Joe Gresh

Motorcycle riding gives you a good excuse to go places and see things, not that you need an excuse. I like a steam train, I have a motorcycle, thus riding up to Ogden, Utah to see a big old steam train seemed like a sensible thing to do.

My Carrizozo Mudchuckers buddy, Mike, was all for the idea so we planned to meet Big Boy, the last of the steam locomotives, in Ogden, where the train would stop for two days. As we waited for the appointed day the normally beautiful New Mexico weather cooled and became cloudy with rising damp. Ogden, being 900 miles north of us, was experiencing the same weather degradation except much, much colder.

Just a few days before leaving there was snow and rain in Utah. A 75-car pile up in Denver, and rain and cold all along our route north, had us thinking “this ride will suck.” I kept watching the weather reports hoping for a better forecast, but it looked like miserable weather the entire trip north only starting to ease off a bit on the Monday we would start riding home from Ogden.

I have plenty of cold weather riding gear. Things like electric vests, heated grips and a plastic rain suit can keep you warm enough. I’ll use them if there is no other option. But there was another, simpler option: Don’t ride into the rain and cold.

One day before were planned to leave I called the Mudchucker and said: How about we go to Willow Springs for vintage motorcycle racing instead? Call me a fair weather rider but sunny California was an easy sell. We dumped Ogden and the Big Boy steam train faster than oil prices rose after we bombed Iran.

The Mudchucker taking a break from headwinds.

The plan worked. We left town a day later than the Big Boy run. That allowed some of the bad weather to move east. Our first day on the road was cool, cloudy but comfortable, the second day we had strong headwinds and 40-degree cold, but nothing nearly as painful as the stuff we would have experienced earlier and further north.

We mostly followed old Route 66 west jumping on and off Interstate 40 as required. It was an odd time of year I guess. The entire town of Seligman was closed: Gas stations, food markets, all shuttered. Further on we rolled into tiny reservation villages with nothing available to buy or rent. I admit, traffic was light on historic Route 66.  If a guy set up a food truck he’d starve to death.

On westward we rode, through Kingman down to Oatman. Again, every store in the tourist-friendly little donkey-town of Oatman was closed. The day ran long, we needed ice cream, it was getting dark, I couldn’t see much through the dark face shield on my helmet, and we pulled into an abandoned gas station to check out the motel situation in Needles. The Mudchucker was tired. He stopped next to me and toppled over. I tried to hold us up but the combined weight of Mike, his Moto Guzzi V7 and my ZRX1100 Kawasaki was too much.

We went down like the stock market after we instituted tariffs.  The bikes were stacked against each other much like the system is stacked against the common man. It took a bit of doing to untangle them and lift the bikes upright. Damage was light: a few dings in the right-side Guzzi jug, a busted turn signal, scratched gas tank, and bent brake levers on the ZRX1100. Amazingly, there were no dents or major issues.

Not a lot of damage for tossing one bike on top of another.

A homeless guy camped at the gas station saw the whole thing. He didn’t laugh or say anything. He must have thought we were total losers.

The tip over had us in a melancholy mood. In the motel that evening we talked about that inevitable day, our strength gone, our skeletons frail, the day when we could no longer ride. Mike felt a side car was the way to go. I favored a three cylinder, two stroke, Kawasaki-powered gurney.

But gurney-time isn’t here yet and by the third day we were riding along basking in the warm Mojave desert. Things were looking up and thoughts of our physical decay burned away. Or maybe we just forgot we were falling apart. I hear that happens but I can’t remember where I heard it. Route 66 to Amboy was closed so we had to stay on Interstate 40, only returning to Route 66 west after paying $7.50 per gallon of gas at Ludlow.

Some kind of inspection station east of Barstow on Route 66.

Out of Barstow we rode past Hinkley, the toxic-water town made famous by Julia Roberts and Erin Brockovich. We made it to Lancaster, our base camp for Willow Springs.

Lancaster is an interesting place. On the back roads we came in on there were piles of trash dumped everywhere. I guess the town doesn’t have a dump. Or maybe the dump fee is too high so people drive out of town a few miles and drop their load. It reminded me of the trash piles I used to pick through in the Florida Everglades. You can find some good metal in those piles.

I saw some nice chairs 5 miles from Lancaster.  If I had the Toyota truck, I would have grabbed them. There was a lot of broken concrete that would make excellent fill back at the ranch. Drywall was another popular item on the side of the road. Once in town things cleaned up slightly, and Lancaster looked much the same as other generic, California desert towns: New chain stores along the highway, decomposing shops, homeless people and frequent stop lights in the old sections.

The Wyndham motel on Avenue I was new and along the highway. They have a pretty good breakfast setup. There were the usual sausage paddies, scrambled eggs and pour-your-own waffles. We waddled out to the bikes and rode the 20 miles to Willow Springs racetrack.

Vintage motorcycle racing is mostly a family affair. Spectators not directly involved with the racing or supporting the racers are rare and we had the grandstands to ourselves. Multitudes of classes meant non-stop action all day long.

Lots of races and classes to keep track of at an AHRMA event. You won’t leave the track unsatisfied.

AHRMA racing covers all eras with heavy emphasis on bikes that were never actually raced back in the day, at least compared to the races I saw as a youth. Honda 160s are a popular class and an example of bikes that were never raced where I grew up.

Sloper 160 Hondas are strangely popular. I had one as a teen. In stock form they would hit 75 MPH. In race trim a bit faster.

An unusual number of Moto Gizzards circulated the Big Willow track. Maybe because they were so popular, only a few Yamaha Twins survived to race AHRMA. Most of the race bikes were 4-strokes.  In the 1970s that ratio would be flipped and 2-strokes ruled the track. I guess the point is to run what you want and have fun with it.

The RD350 went from a mainstay of road racing to a rare bird at historic events.

The Willow races were not as well attended as the Laguna Seca AHRMA events. Laguna Seca is set in soft, coastal hills and has space for vintage motocross along with a vintage trials section. The camping at Laguna Seca is better. I suppose you can camp at Willow but it’s more of a motor home type camping than a tent. I’m not sure what happened between AHRMA and Laguna Seca and it’s none of my business, but I wish they would get it sorted out and go back to Laguna.

Nice, clean, crappers at Willow. A clean crapper makes the day just that much nicer.

Willow isn’t bad, mind you. The racetrack recently sold and the new owners are fixing it up a bit. There are several tracks and the food concession was better than Laguna. You can get a decent meal at Willow.

The last time I was at Willow Springs was in the 1970s. The pit looks the same and there are added buildings along the front straight. My memories are dimming and I can’t remember why I was there in the ’70s, but it was probably motorcycle racing of some sort.

If you take away the little houses, pit row looks about the same as I remember from the 1970s.
Kawasaki built a Superbike production racer called the S2. I don’t know if this is one but it looks like one.
Suzuki big-block race bike. Although, it could be a 750. I didn’t look that close.
SR500. Great bike from Yamaha unfortunately suffering from The Slows. My XL350 could stay with them through the gears and pull away at top end.
Roper and Fulton on Italian Harley-Davidsons. About 100 years of racing experience in this photo. They are faster than you. Sorry about the cell phone photo.
Zippy Yamaha 100cc twin. I might get a stocker one of these one day.
CA110(?) I have one of these in pieces waiting for assembly. The engine is shot so I bought a clone 140cc overhead cam engine. It fits the gram and clears the front wheel by 1/4-inch.
Manx Norton. For a while these 500cc singles ruled the road racing world. Still faster than a SR500.
If you don’t like crowds you’ll love AHRMA racing.

Rosamond, the town closest to Willow has grown quite a bit and lots of housing developments are being thrown together. Eventually someone will build houses around Willow if the new owners don’t do it first.

The ride back to New Mexico was full-on warm. We took backroads from Lancaster to Victorville and sort of paralleled Interstate 10 along Yucca Valley and Twentynine Palms to Parker, Arizona. Our miles per day were shrinking and we were stopping more often. Temperatures reached 95 along the sparsely populated Highway 62.

I was smelling the barn, you know? I kind of lost it on the last day in Show Low. We woke up at 4:30 am to get an early start. I wanted to get home and the Mudchucker was leisurely watching TV and eating a bagel. By 8:30 a.m., I had been awake 4 hours and drank 16 cups of coffee waiting. I had a lot of pent-up nervous energy.

Maybe 7 days on the road rubbed my nerves raw. It doesn’t seem like an asset.

Finally underway, we burned up the highway into New Mexico, a slight frost between us, and I managed to get home at a decent time (before dark). I’m starting to wonder if 7 days on the road is too much for me. Riding motorcycles with a partner is a series of compromises strung together with miles and miles of pavement. Are the compromises worth the companionship? I’m sure I must annoy the Mudchucker at times.

Maybe I’m just getting old and cranky. At least, that’s the excuse I’m going to use.

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The World’s Most Beautiful Motorcycle

By Joe Berk

I always try to think of a clever title for these blogs, like my buddy Joe Gresh does effortlessly, but I’ll never be as good at this as he is at this.  For this blog, I set my attempts at being witty aside and went with honesty.  This is easily the most beautiful motorcycle I’ve ever seen, and that’s what I went with for the title.

I recently wrote about this stunning restomod Moto Guzzi (created by Lindsay, Steve, and Moe at Cycle Garden in Indio, California) as one of the bikes I’d have in my imaginary collection of the world’s most desirable bikes.  Then a couple of Moe’s videos of this very same motorcycle popped up the day after I drafted that blog.  One video shows Moe’s last checkout ride on the bike, and then another one shows the bike being loaded up for shipment to its new owner in Ohio (lucky guy, he is).  Check this out…

This is cool stuff.  I’m glad I saw the bike in person.  It’s beyond beautiful.

Someday, folks.  Someday…

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Buell Fever Part 9: It’s a Bagger!

By Joe Gresh

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again because it gets the word count up: when you leave town in New Mexico you are more out-of-town than other places.  Traffic here is light, cell phone coverage is spotty, gas stations are fewer and far between-er.  If you break down 10 miles from home, you might as well be 100 miles from home. It could be a few hours before a car comes along and are there any ax murderers out there?

Even though it annoys my internet buddy, Hacksaw, or maybe because it annoys him, I like to have a few tools, a patch kit, a rain suit, a tire inflator, some water and a few snacks. I even carry a tiny emergency tent and bivouac in case I need to spend the night doing a bit of unplanned camping.

Arrow points to the small tail compartment. Who let the cat out of the bag?

The Buell has a small compartment in the tail section that will hold a few items, but that’s about it. Normally a tank bag holds most of my on-the-road junk and I may rig one on the Buell. I’d hate to mess up the cool paint job (which is what sold me on the Buell in the first place).

A rear rack is another option, I looked around the World Wide Web and didn’t see much for an S2. I didn’t feel like making one either. Which left saddle bags.

Erik did a neater job of it.

Buell made a touring version of the S2 called the S2T; that bike had nice looking bags that blended into the subsonic styling of the Thunderbolt. I didn’t see any of those for sale. I’m guessing people keep them if they have a set.  After I started this project, I found a set for $1000, one-third the cost of the entire Buell.

Who knew Harbor Freight sold motorcycle gear?

My favorite store, Harbor Freight, had a sale on pelican-style plastic cases. Branded Apache, they are fairly sturdy, weather tight boxes that even have a pressure relief valve for those high altitude runs. Normally these cases are used for cameras, test equipment or anything that needs protection from the bumps and bruises of life in these United States.  The HF cases look like most of the bags attached to popular Adventure Barges except a bit smaller. I bought two of the 3800 series for $50 total. Attaching them to the Buell was a challenge.  Being an underslung monoshock frame there’s not a lot of bolts on the back section to attach things to. One obvious spot is the passenger peg. It’s a big, strong bolt that you could lift the bike from. The first step was to make a bit of plastic (brand name: Starboard) to connect the bag to the footpeg. This gave me a starting point to work out the rest of the mounting system.

Mount slides over passenger peg and is secured with a pinch bolt in front.

To keep the back part of the saddle out of the rear tire I made a U-shaped bracket that attaches under the seat with rubber covered Adel clamps. The right-hand side is tight due to the Buell’s wide belt drive pulley. After a few tries, I had an ugly brace welded up.

Not a thing of beauty. Hopefully it will keep the bad away from the tire.

For a mid-mount I bent a piece of aluminum to fit around the rear subframe tube. I probably didn’t need this, but more support is always more support.

I may not need this mount but I like it.

Anything mounted solidly to a Sportster-engined motorcycle usually has a short lifespan. Because of this, the bag-to-rear-bracket connections are those rubber isolator type deals (four on each side for a total of eight). If these isolators don’t survive, it will be easy to replace them with progressively larger isolators until the entire bag is all isolator, leaving little room for storage.

A total of four isolators and the flexible plastic peg mount should keep the bag on the Buell.

The HF bags have two snap-type latches that seem to hold ok but there are also two holes for a padlock or carabiner to ensure they don’t pop open. I’m going to add a small padlock for extra security. Not for theft, but instead for unplanned bag opening.

I seem to do a lot of test rides on the Buell. I’ve put 1500 miles of testing on the bike, and the bagger test ride took me on a 280-mile mountain loop out to Roswell then back on Highway 70 through Ruidoso and tacos at Los Agaves-east (the other Los Agaves is in Artesia).  After eating delicious tacos, I noticed oil on the right saddle bag. It wasn’t coming from the tacos. In fact,  there was oil all over the place.

I checked the rear cylinder, the source of a previous leak, but it was nice and dry. The Buell had been getting kind of bouncy, and the rear shock was dripping oil. By the time I got home there was no rebound damping at all. The Buell was wallowing like an overloaded Chevy station wagon complete with sticky brats in the way-back.

Do these bags make my butt look big?

I need to do a little work on the shock absorber (two steps back), but the bags turned out well. (One step forward) at speed I reached back to touch them, and they were mostly vibration-free. The rear bracket is not my finest hour and if these bags hold up, I may take a stab at a better-looking rear bracket.

Under side view of rear bracket. I may re-do this part later. Tubing would look better.

On the lonely western roads between Mayhill and Roswell it was comforting to have a few tools and water in case of breakdown. I like a more practical motorcycle, and the Bagger Buell is practical. I may add a refrigerator and a microwave to make my rides even more practical.

Read earlier dispatches from the Buell resurrection project!

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Drinking our own bathwater…

By Joe Berk

A few months ago I wrote a blog about artificial intelligence and I promised we would never use it for the ExhaustNotes blog.

I lied.

Good friends Liz and Sebastian were over for dinner a few nights ago and Sebastian told me about Google’s Gemini AI program.  The next morning he sent an email in which he suggested trying it with this prompt: Joe Berk has written extensively about motorcycles, including motorcycle touring. Summarize his work in this area and summarize what else he has written or is known for.  So I did.  What came back in a second or two floored me.  Take a look…

Joe Berk is a prolific author and motorcycle enthusiast whose work is characterized by a blend of technical expertise and a “dry, tongue-in-cheek” narrative style. He is perhaps most recognized in the riding community for his adventures with CSC Motorcycles and his deep connection to long-distance touring in Mexico.

Motorcycle Touring and Writing

Berk’s motorcycle writing often focuses on the intersection of adventure, small-displacement bikes, and international travel.

Baja and Mexico Exploration: Berk is an authority on riding in Baja California. His book Moto Baja! chronicles his transition from riding a heavy Harley-Davidson Softail to exploring the peninsula on various smaller machines. He has led numerous tours for CSC Motorcycles, detailing routes through Ensenada, Cataviña, and Guerrero Negro.

The ExhaustNotes Blog: As a primary contributor to ExhaustNotes, Berk writes extensively about “resurrecting” vintage bikes (such as Buells and KLRs), gear reviews, and the technical nuances of reloading ammunition for sport.

Police and Military History: He authored The Complete Book of Police and Military Motorcycles, which serves as a definitive reference for the evolution of service bikes globally.

Small-Bike Advocacy: Much of his touring work highlights that you don’t need a massive touring rig to see the world; he frequently documents 2,000-mile journeys on 250cc machines, focusing on the scenery, local food (like Tony’s fish tacos in Baja), and the mechanical reliability of the bikes.

Professional and Technical Works

Outside of the motorcycle world, Joe Berk (often published as Joseph H. Berk) is a highly regarded expert in engineering and industrial management. His “day job” expertise frequently bleeds into his motorcycle writing through his meticulous attention to mechanical failure and process.

Engineering Management: He has written over ten books on technical subjects, including Systems Failure Analysis, Total Quality Management, and Cost Reduction and Optimization.

Defense and Munitions: Berk has a background in the defense industry and is known for pioneering the use of fault tree analysis in munitions manufacturing. This technical background informs his writing on ballistics and firearms reloading.

Creativity and Leadership: He has published works aimed at professionals, such as Unleashing Engineering Creativity and Managing Effectively: A Handbook for First-Time Managers.

History and Firearms: Beyond engineering, he wrote The Gatling Gun, a historical look at the weapon’s evolution from the 19th century to the modern Vulcan cannon.

Distinctive Style

Berk is known for a “military-style” brevity mixed with humor. Whether he is explaining the metallurgy of a .357 Magnum reload or describing a tarantula photo shoot on the Transpeninsular Highway, his writing remains grounded in a “straight-talk” philosophy that prioritizes authentic experience over marketing fluff.

Wow, that was not bad.  Aside from a few inaccuracies, I couldn’t have done better myself.  I had to try the same AI prompt for Huber and Gresh.  Here’s what came back for Uncle Joe…

Joe Gresh is an acclaimed motorcycle journalist and adventurer known for his self-deprecating humor, technical “backyard” mechanical skills, and a “ride what you have” philosophy. He is a frequent collaborator with Joe Berk, most notably through the ExhaustNotes blog and various high-profile projects for Motorcyclist magazine.

Motorcycle Touring and Writing

Gresh’s touring work is defined by a grit that eschews the luxury of modern adventure riding. He often chooses machines that are intentionally underpowered or aged for his journeys.

The Trans-America Trail (TAT): Gresh is famous for his multiple assaults on the Trans-America Trail—a grueling off-road route across the U.S. He famously attempted it on a Kawasaki KLR250 (nicknamed “The Widowmaker”) and a vintage two-stroke Yamaha DT400, documenting the mechanical failures and physical tolls with a trademark cynical wit.

The CSC Western America Adventure: He was a key figure in the “publicity stunt” ride where a group of riders took 250cc Zongshen (CSC) motorcycles on a 5,000-mile loop of the Western United States. His writing helped prove that small-displacement bikes could handle serious American touring.

“Toxic” Tours: Gresh has a penchant for “Toxic Tours,” such as flying to Washington to buy a 1971 Yamaha RT360 Enduro sight-unseen and attempting to ride it home to Florida, dealing with decades-old seals and “petroleum hairballs” along the way.

International Adventures: He participated in an epic 6,000-mile ride across China, which further solidified his partnership with Joe Berk and resulted in extensive digital and print chronicles of the culture and mechanical challenges of riding in Asia.

The “Backyard” Mechanic and Technical Style:  Beyond touring, Gresh is revered for his technical “how-to” (and sometimes “how-not-to”) articles. Unlike factory-service manuals, his writing focuses on the reality of the home garage.

Resurrection Projects: He is known for “resurrecting” neglected bikes, including Buells, Kawasaki ZRXs, and ancient Japanese two-strokes. His articles often involve ingenious, low-budget fixes for things like worn-out kickstands or leaking fork seals.

Streamlining and Efficiency: Gresh has a deep interest in motorcycle aerodynamics and fuel efficiency. He often writes about the “Vetter” era of streamlining, arguing that modern bikes are unnecessarily blocky and fuel-inefficient.

Industry Commentary: As a former columnist for Motorcyclist (specifically the “Cranked” column), he provided a counter-culture voice to the industry, often critiquing the high costs and complexity of modern motorcycles.

Other Work and Public Persona

ExhaustNotes Blog: Gresh is a co-founder and primary voice of ExhaustNotes.us, where he writes on everything from tool reviews (comparing Harbor Freight to Craftsman) to photography.

Firearms and Ballistics: Much like Joe Berk, Gresh is an enthusiast of firearms and reloading, frequently weaving technical ballistics data and shooting range stories into his blog posts.

Cultural Critique: His writing often touches on music (Australian cult classic movies like Stone), the “absurdity of the modern world,” and the decline of the traditional biker lifestyle.

In essence, if Joe Berk is the disciplined, engineering-focused half of the duo, Joe Gresh is the chaotic, grease-stained poet who proves that the best stories usually come from the most unreliable motorcycles.

Wow again.  And again, aside from a few inaccuracies, this was indeed Joe Gresh.   It is good stuff.   Next up?  Google Gemini’s take on Mike Huber…

Mike Huber is a motorcycle adventurer, author, and journalist whose work focuses on the philosophy of travel, the freedom of a nomadic lifestyle, and the technical realities of long-distance touring. Like Joe Berk and Joe Gresh, he is a significant contributor to the ExhaustNotes community.

Motorcycle Touring and Writing

Huber’s writing is often deeply personal, focusing on the mental and emotional shifts that occur during long-term travel.

Living Off a Motorcycle:  Huber is well-known for his “Year in America” project, where he sold his possessions, left a traditional life in Seattle, and spent over a year living entirely off his motorcycle. He used Airbnb and camping to maintain a remote career while traveling, proving the viability of the “digital nomad” lifestyle on two wheels.

A Trip Into The Moment: This is his primary literary work, a memoir that chronicles his motorcycle journeys. It emphasizes the concept of “The Moment”—the meditative state reached when the distractions of modern life are replaced by the immediate requirements of the road.

Small-Bike International Touring: While he is often associated with the BMW GS series (his “UberMoto”), Huber is a proponent of using small-displacement bikes for international travel. He has documented extensive tours through Japan, Thailand, and Mexico (specifically Baja), often arguing that smaller bikes offer better agility and a more authentic connection to local cultures.

The “Huber” Style: In the ExhaustNotes circle, a “Huber” has become a colloquialism for a specific type of travel—minimal planning, flipping coins to decide the next destination, and embracing the “beautiful uncertainty” of the road.

Military Background and “UberMoto:”

Huber’s perspective is heavily influenced by his service in the U.S. Army’s 82nd Airborne Division.

The Airborne Connection: His writing frequently references his background as a paratrooper (with 19 jumps to his credit). This “All-American” military discipline often contrasts with his otherwise free-spirited “motorcycle gypsy” persona, giving his work a unique groundedness.

The BMW GS (“UberMoto”): Much of his technical writing and gear reviews revolve around the BMW GS platform. He is known for pushing these heavy adventure bikes into challenging terrain, often adorned with his 82nd Airborne decals.

In the context of motorcycle journalism, Mike Huber is defined by the intersection of the veteran’s discipline and the nomad’s soul, making him a go-to voice for those looking to escape the “gray” of conventional life for the vibrant reality of the road.

Again, good stuff.  Gemini got Mike’s number of jumps wrong (actually, it’s 25, but Mike figures Google didn’t include his five during Jump School).

Overall, I’m impressed.  But not to worry…I’m not impressed enough to start using it for our regular blogging.  That will be us for real.

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My Vintage Bike Wish List

By Joe Berk

Like most of you, I spend a lot of time thinking about what I’d park in my garage if I had the money and the space for a motorcycle collection.  At various times in my life I’ve owned several motorcycles at the same time and I’ve sort of realized the dream I describe here (at least in terms of how many motorcycles I owned), but this blog describes something different.  The bikes I owned in the past came about as the result of having the time and the money when something cool caught my fancy.  This time, I’d start from scratch and define what would go into my ideal collection.  Gresh and I have theorized and fantasized and written about this in the past (see our Dream Bikes page).   Here, I’m starting from scratch and I’m limiting myself to six motorcycles (just because I think that should be the right number of bikes).  You might be surprised at some of my choices.

1965 Triumph Bonneville

When I was a kid in high school, one of the seniors (a fellow named Walt Skok) bought a new Triumph Bonneville.  I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I wanted one.  Later in life, I bought, rode, and sold several Triumph Bonnevilles, but I never scratched that itch for a ’65 model.  Someday…

To me, everything about the 1965 Triumph Bonneville was perfect:  The colors, the exhaust system, the exhaust notes, the tank parcel grid, the design symmetry, the little decal recognizing Triumph’s world speed record, and more.  I always wanted one and I still do.

1965 Harley-Davidson Electra-Glide

I’ve owned a couple of Harley full dressers, but the one I always wanted was the 1965 Electra-Glide.  That year was the first year Harley offered electric starting and it was the last year of the panhead engine (which I think is the best-looking big twin engine Harley ever made).

The ’65 Electra-Glide is another bike that, in my opinion, was styled perfectly.  I like the tank contours, the 1965 paint design, the panhead engine’s look, the fishtail mufflers, the saddlebag contours, the potato-potato-potato exhaust note, and more.  Apparently, my thoughts about this motorcycle’s intrinsic beauty are also shared by the U.S. Post Office (see the above postage stamp).  The ’65 Electra-Glide is the bike I used to think about as a teenager when I rode around on my Schwinn bicycle, imagining that my Schwin was a Harley.

Cycle Garden 1974 Moto Guzzi El Dorado

Ah, a Cycle Garden Guzzi.  This is one I tumbled to only recently.  I’ve been writing a series of articles for Motorcycle Classics magazine, and one of the shops that’s been helping me is Moe Moore’s Cycle Garden in Indio, California.  I always thought the mid-1970s Moto Guzzi were stunning in their stock and restored configurations.  Then, during one Cycle Garden visit, I saw a custom bike that Moe and his crew had assembled for a client.

The bike was a 1974 police motorcycle, but it painted in a breathtaking battleship gray and metallic blue paint theme.  I could see myself riding it, rumbling through the open roads and magnificent landscapes of Baja.  It is a motorcycle that is firmly on my list.

1983 Harley XR-1000

I wrote a Dream Bike piece about this during the first year of  the ExhaustNotes.us blog’s existence, and the thing that struck me about it was that Joe Gresh told me I’d beat him to it…he was thinking about doing a Dream Bike piece on the same motorcycle.

I’ve never owned or ridden an XR-1000.  Come to think of it, I never heard one run.  I could have bought an XR-1000 new for around $8K when they were new, but I didn’t have a spare $8K laying around in those days.  It’s another one of those motorcycles bikes for which I think the visual and visceral appeal is perfect.  Maybe someday I’ll get to scratch that itch.

2006 Kawasaki KLR 650

To me, this is an interesting choice with which some might take issue.  I don’t care.   I loved my KLR 650.   Lifelong good buddy Baja John had one, too.  That’s Baja John and yours truly somewhere in Baja in the photo below.

The KLR 650 is one of my all time favorite motorcycles.  Mine was a first-gen KLR, and I think those are more desirable than the second gen bikes.  My KLR was perfect for exploring Baja, and I did a lot of that on it.  It had just the right amount of power, it was simple (except for the shim-and-bucket valve adjustments), it was a very comfortable motorcycle (the ergos were perfect), and it was inexpensive.  I bought it new in 2006.  It was one of the best motor vehicles (of any kind) I ever owned.   If you’re wondering why I sold it, so am I.

2015 CSC RX3

The CSC RX3 motorcycle is another bike that I thought was just perfect for me.   I covered a lot of miles in Baja and elsewhere in the world on it.

I think a 250 is the perfect size for a motorcycle (you can read why here).  I traveled through a lot of the world on one:  Through the American West, Mexico, the Andes Mountains in Colombia, and China (with Joe Gresh; Joe and I are in the photo above auditioning for a Chinese gladiator movie).  All those trips and all those miles were awesome, and the RX3 didn’t miss a beat on any of them.  I almost cried when I learned Zongshen discontinued the RX3, and if they were to bring it back (which they should), I would no doubt be riding the world and blogging the RX3’s virtues again.

There you have it.  It was fun thinking about this, writing this blog, imagining the above six motorcycles parked in my garage, and riding them in different parts of the world.  A quick mental tally tells me I could make the above wish list a reality for something around $120K in today’s dollars.  Hmmmm…I don’t have a spare $120K laying around, but maybe if a few of you hit that donate below…

What about you?  What would be the ideal collection you’d like to see in your garage?  Let us know in the comments below.

You know you want it.   Go ahead.

The Wayback Machine: CHiPs!

By Joe Berk

In the 1960s and 70s, you couldn’t turn on a TV and flip through the channels without encountering a cop show.   Hawaii Five O, Kojak, and more.  TV series had shifted from westerns to police drama, and TV was what many of us did in the evening.  Basically, we watched what the entertainment industry brainwashed us into watching.   It’s no small wonder a lot of guys my age wanted to be cops when they grew up.  Rick Rosner (a TV producer and one of the certifiably-smartest guys on the planet…Google him and you’ll see) was also an LA County Reserve Sheriff’s deputy.  One night while on duty during a coffee break (a donut may have been involved), he saw two CHP motor officers roll by.  That’s how and where the idea for CHiPs was born:  Motorcycles.  Southern California.  Police.  All the right pieces fell into place.

I had just returned from a year overseas (where I enjoyed nonstop good times during a 13-month party, courtesy of Uncle Sam) when CHiPs first aired in 1977.  It was hokey…the music, the scenes, the premise of nearly every episode, but it was motorcycles, and I never missed an episode.  The series ran for five or six years, and it featured two main characters:  Ponch Poncharello (played by Eric Estrada) and Jon (played by Larry Wilcox).  Their sergeant, Joe Getraer (played by Robert Pine) was also a regular on the show.

Guys like Gresh and me know that running a Z-1 Kawasaki through soft sand, up and down stairs, and other motoshenanigans doesn’t make a lot of sense (EDIT:  Maybe I’m wrong about this…see the video at the end of this blog).  But we’re mere mortals.  Ponch and Jon made the big Kawis behave in every episode.  It was all part of the story, and it was all set in and around Los Angeles.  That’s one of the reasons, I think, many of my early experiences in So Cal were like deja vu all over again when I moved here.  I’d seen all these places in CHiPs before I left Texas and came to California: Angeles Crest Highway, Malibu, downtown LA, the Pacific Coast Highway…the locations and the motorcycle scenes were burned into my brain.

Susie was putzing around on Facebook the other day when she found a local community bulletin board that said the CHiPs stars would be here for autographs and photos.  Did I want to go?  Hell, yeah!

Larry Wilcox, aka Jon Baker, signing a photo for me. He seemed like a genuine nice guy. In real life, Wilcox was a Marine in Vietnam who served in an artillery unit.  Wilcox is a year or two older than me.

The CHiPs show had a motor sergeant (Sergeant Joe Getraer) who was played by Robert Pine.  Pine was there as well, and he was happy to pose for a photograph.  Mr. Pine is 80 years old now.

Sergeant Joe Getraer, played by Robert Pine, who had a full time job keeping Ponch and Jon in line. Pine, like Estrada and Wilcox, had a welcoming personality. It was a fun day.

Erik Estrada was a central character in the show, the one who was always in some kind of trouble with Sergeant Getraer.  Ponch (his nickname, as in Ponch Poncharello) and Jon no doubt influenced a lot of guys to apply for jobs in the real California Highway Patrol.  The real California Highway Patrol had a real motor officer and a real CHP BMW at this event, along with a couple of patrol cars.

Susie and Erik Estrada.  All three of the CHiPs stars allowed everyone to take as many photos as they wanted.  There’s nothing pretentious about these guys.

There were a lot of things I enjoyed about this event.  We had to wait in line to get up to the table for autographs, but the wait wasn’t too bad and the event wasn’t rushed at all.  The weather was nice and it was a fun way to spend a Saturday morning.  Pine, Wilcox, and Estrada chatted with everybody, and Mr. Estrada walked the length of the line several times apologizing for the wait and telling us they were going as fast as they could.  There were a few people in line who were disabled, and Ponch helped them maneuver up to the picture-posing area (he was very friendly).  All three of the TV CHiPs seemed to have the same personalities as the characters they played 50 years ago, with Estrada being the most mischievous (and, where the ladies were involved, the most flirtatious).

I asked Estrada if he still rode and what kind of motorcycle he had.  It was a topic he wanted to talk about.  “Ponch” told me he sold his Harley Softail 20 years ago, and that he now owned one of the six Kawasaki police motors used on the show.  “The Teamsters gave it to me,” he said.  I thought that was pretty cool.

The other stars in the show were southern California, the California Highway Patrol, and the Kawasaki Police 1000 motorcycle.  I imagine CHiPs did a lot for CHP recruitment, and the Kawasaki police motorcycles did a lot for Kawasaki (in both the police and civilian markets).  It was a brilliant bit of product placement before product placement became a thing, and it led to a nearly complete bifurcation of the police motorcycle market.  Departments east of the Mississippi River stuck with Harley-Davidson, and departments west of the Mississippi went with Kawasaki (although that has changed in recent years).  If you are wondering how I know that, I did a fair amount of research for The Complete Book of Police and Military Motorcycles when I wrote it 20 years ago.

The Complete Book of Police and Military Motorcycles is back in print and you can purchase a copy for a low, low $9.95.

Whoa…check this out…it just happened yesterday right here in LA.  Who’d a thought?  The CHP on full dress Harleys chasing down a guy on a Kawasaki KLR 650, and staying with him on the freeways, splitting lanes, on surface streets, and off road.  These are CHiPs legends being created as this blog was being written!

Whatever the two CHP officers’ names are, you can bet they’re being called Ponch and Jon now!

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Why Are All My Friends Buying Harleys?

By Joe Berk

Don’t get excited; I don’t have that many friends.  But lately two of them (Baja John and Uncle Joe Gresh) both bought Harleys.  I guess I started thinking about it when I went to the gym yesterday morning.  There was an early Harley V-Rod parked in front.  It looked brand new.  It’s too bad that bike didn’t make it with the beer bellies and tattoos bunch.  Harley is on the skids now, struggling through a huge sales downturn and significant layoffs.  I guess they don’t know what to do.  I do (small bikes and even smaller prices; it ain’t rocket science, Milwaukee).  Eh, what do I know?

The V-Rod had me thinking about Baja John.  He bought a V-Rod last year.  I haven’t seen it yet, so I called John and asked him to send a photo.  It’s the one you see at the top of this blog.  I need to get out there to Arizona and visit with John again.  Maybe on the next pig hunt.  Maybe sooner.

And then there’s Gresh and his Buell.  I knew more about that motorcycle, as Sue and I hosted Gresh out here in La La Land when he came out to pick it up.   It’s a beautiful motorcycle, and it’s been fun watching Joe resurrect it.  He’s having fun.  It’s too bad Buell didn’t work out for Harley, either.  I thought those bikes might have been the answer.  Joe’s adventures have had me thinking maybe I need to find an older Buell to play with.  It would be fun.  But there aren’t too many Harley dealers around here anymore; they’ve been dropping like left wing loonies (sorry for the redundancy) at a MAGA rally.  Seriously.  Harley dealers are falling fast.  It’s a shame, really.

The upshot of the above, of course, is that if you are in the market for a Harley, this is probably a good time to buy.  I’ve owned two Harleys; one was a turd and the other was awesome.  They sure were beautiful, though.  Even the ’79 Electra-Glide (the turd) that treated me worse than Kamala Harris at a Toastmasters meeting was drop dead gorgeous.

I think if I was going to buy another motorcycle, it would be a Moto Guzzi.  The work I’ve been doing for Motorcycle Classics magazine with Cycle Garden in Indio cemented what I already felt:  Guzzis are the world’s most beautiful motorcycles.  I like the Ambassadors and El Dorados from the 1970s, and I also like the Griso.  I’m keeping my eyes peeled.  And there’s another plus on the Guzzis:  They sure are easy to maintain.

How easy?  Hey, buy a recent issue of Motorcycle Classics, turn to the “How To” section, and you’ll see.  The upcoming issue has a feature on how to de-rust a gas tank, and it’s pretty interesting.  I think you’ll like it.

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