Category: Back In The Day

Pre-ride jitters…

Yours truly on an earlier ride to San Felipe. I’m buggy about riding in Baja!

By the time most of you read this, I’ll be on the road on a Janus Gryffin with Devin and Jordan headed toward San Felipe. It’s something I’m really looking forward to…a road trip on an exotic 250cc motorcycle in Baja.  That’s a formula for a good time, any time.

I’m always a little apprehensive before a big ride and I probably will not have slept well the night before you read this.  But I’m relaxed in the knowledge that as soon as the wheels start turning I’ll be completely at ease.  I know I’m going to have an awesome time.  And I know the memories will last a lifetime.  It’s always that way. If you ride big rides, you have had these same feelings before, during, and after any adventure.

Yesterday afternoon was packing time.  I always travel light.  It actually takes more time to pack light than it does when you can just bring whatever you want. I’ve get a set of Wolfman soft bags I’ll pull off one of my other motorcycles, and I’ve got a Nelson Rigg tailpack I’ll use for carrying my laptop and my camera.  I’m thinking I won’t need the Wolfman bags, as I want to get everything into the tailpack.  A change or two of underwear, an extra pair of socks, my meds (all us old guys need our meds), my riding gear, and I’m good to go.

There are all kinds of riders in the world.  I’m the kind that lives for big miles on rides that cross borders. I guess folks call that adventure riding, but I’ve been doing it before it had the label. Back in the day, we simply called these things motorcycle trips. My first one ever, when I was a college kid, was from New Jersey to Canada.  You know what they say about Canada: It’s almost like going to another country. All kidding aside, that was a great ride.  This one will be, too. They all are.

I love what Janus is doing, I know the CG engine is a classic stone-cold reliable motor, and I love riding in Baja. I know many of you reading this were alerted to the ExNotes blog by Janus’ Facebook posts. Thanks for joining us. If you’d like to get more info on where we are headed (and Baja in general), please take a look at our Baja page. Our ExNotes site has a lot on Baja, and that’s for good reason: It’s a great motorcycle destination. If you’d like to know more about San Felipe (our destination on the Sea of Cortez), please take a look at this “Destinations” piece I did for Motorcycle Classics magazine a few years ago. And for those of you who are loyal ExNotes blogistos y blogistas but you haven’t heard about Janus yet, please take a look at this awesome review my good buddy Richard Backus did on the bikes earlier this year in Motorcycle Classics magazine.

This is going to be a fun ride, my friends. Hang with us here on the blog, and you’ll be a virtual reality Bajaeno. One of these days, I hope our paths will cross on a Baja ride!

Don’t forget…if you’d like to get automatic updates on the ride and on future ExNotes blogs, please sign up for automatic email notifications on the widget you see here on the blog.  We’ll never provide your email address to anyone else, and you’ll be eligible for a drawing for one of our moto-adventure books!

Want to read the rest of the story?   Please visit our Baja page for an index to all of the Janus Baja blog posts!

Dream Bike: Steen Alsport

Back when we were running Briggs and Stratton mini-bikes a few kids had Yamaha Mini Enduro 60cc or Honda Mini Trail 50cc bikes. Both of these bikes were stone reliable and a real leap forward from the hard-tail, flathead, one-speed stationary motored mini-bikes. I had a blue Mini Trail Honda that was indestructible. Riding the Everglades of South Florida the cooling fins would cake with mud and the engine would overheat until it would stop running. Just stop.

Clearing the fins with a handy stick and waiting fifteen minutes restored the bike to health and I could ride away. This happened several times a day and the bike never used oil or smoked. Like I say, Stone Ax.

Into these tiny times strode a colossus: The Steen Alsport 100. What a machine! The Steen was equipped with a 100cc Hodaka engine, and the front forks were Earles type utilizing a swingarm and held up by two oil-damped shocks. The gas tank was fiberglass and beautifully shaped. White was the only color I saw but there were other colors. Steens were rare around the neighborhood.

The Steen was a little larger than a Mini Enduro or an SL70 but smaller than the (to us) full-sized Yamaha 90cc Enduro. The black expansion chamber (stock!) running along the side gave the bike a race-ready appearance. Whoever styled the Steen absolutely nailed it, as the Steen is still one of the best-looking motorcycles from any era.

I have no idea how the bike handled with the swingarm forks. With so much metal spread over such a large area I would guess the front turned heavier than it actually was. Later Steen went with a conventional fork, probably for looks more than suspension performance. The bike sounded great. It had a sharp cackle that our muted minis could not match. Even the Alsport logo and striping were cool.

Dealerships more so than motorcycle quality determined motorcycle popularity at the start of the 1970’s. There were no Hodakas to be found. Very few Kawasakis or Suzukis populated our riding areas. Oddly enough a Montesa or Bultaco might ride by. These were huge motorcycles. The Steen didn’t have much of a dealer network In Miami so there was only the one kid who had a Steen in our group. I should remember his name but it has slipped away to that place all memories eventually slip.

Today Steens are not outrageously priced. I see them for a thousand or two fairly often. Maybe people don’t know what they are or Hodakas are seen as more real; I don’t care, I love the things. If I win the lottery I’ll have a Steen just to stare at. I’ll start it up a few times a day and listen to the cackle.

Here’s one that sold for $1600 a few years ago:

Would you like to see all of our Dream Bikes?  Click here and you will!

Jack on the Rocks

I had a hard time deciding on the title for this blog.  The other contender was “Thank you for your service.”

Sue and I traveled through Tennessee last week. It’s a glorious state with a lot to see. I expected that. What I didn’t expect was the way we were treated on Veteran’s Day. I couldn’t pay for anything. When Sue and I went to the Jack Daniel’s Distillery in Lynchburg, they asked if either of us were veterans. I guess I was surprised at the question and I didn’t answer immediately, but Sue did. “Yes, my husband was in the Army.”

“There’s no charge for you today, then, sir, and thank you for your service.”

Wow, I just saved $20. That was nice.

Melissa, our tour guide at Jack Daniel’s.

The Jack Daniel’s tour was fun, even though it was raining cats and dogs on that fine Tennessee Veteran’s Day. Our tour guide, Melissa, made it especially so, with one great story after another. I’ve known of Jack Daniel’s for a long time; what I didn’t know was that it was a sleepy backwater distillery for most of its life until a young crooner named Frank Sinatra made it known he wouldn’t drink anything else.  Frank Sinatra was buried with a bottle of Jack, along with a dollar’s worth of dimes because he didn’t know where he was going, but he knew they might have pay phones there. Frank Sinatra’s favor put Jack Daniel’s on the map, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Jack on display. They have two more varieties in addition to those shown here (Honey, and Fire).

I found out that if you work at Jack Daniel’s, you get a free bottle of Jack every month (and they are always hiring). I learned that every bottle of Jack Daniel’s ever made has been made at that plant, which is fed by an underground spring with water that is perfect for producing Tennessee sipping whiskey. I learned that you can buy Jack Daniel’s by the barrel, and more than a few folks do (they have an entire wall lined with small plaques denoting those who did). Melissa walked us through the entire manufacturing process, and as a former manufacturing guy, I found it fascinating. They have a statue of Jack Daniel standing on several large boulders and, of course, they refer to it as “Jack on the Rocks.” We opted for the tasting tour at the end, and I learned that there are actually five variants of Old No. 7. All of them are really, really good. We had a blast.

Ready for sipping. All were great.
I always get one photo of Sue that defines the trip. This is the one from our recent Tennessee Tour.

After our amazing Jack Daniel’s tour, we stopped for lunch at the Southern Perks restaurant in Lynchburg. When we ordered our lunch, the young lady behind the counter popped the same question: Are either of you veterans? Again, Sue was quick to answer, and again, the response was the same: “Thank you for your service, sir. Your lunch is on us today.”

Downtown Lynchburg. It was a fun place.

Wow. I was speechless. A little choked up, actually. I’ve never been treated like this, and I left the Army a cool 42 years ago. I didn’t know what to say, and like always, I thought of the right response too late. When I hear “Thanks for your service” the next time, I’ll have my answer ready.

It was my pleasure.

The Chattanooga Choo Choo, Chickamauga, Chicken Shawerma, and more…

I’ve blown by Chattanooga a bunch of times on Interstate 24 and I’ve seen the sign for the Chattanooga Choo Choo.  I always wanted to stop to see it.  But I never had.  Until today, that is.  Yep, there really is such a thing…

The real deal: The Chattanooga Choo Choo. It’s on display behind a hotel of the same name, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Interstate and downtown Chattanooga’s other attractions.

This is my first visit to this fine southern city, and folks, I’m here to tell you:  Chattanooga is a fabulous town.  I had no idea.  This is a wonderful place, nestled along the Tennessee River close to the Georgia border.   The Chattanooga Choo Choo.  Lookout Mountain and Ruby Falls.  Moon Pies (yep, for real).   Great walking paths.  Nearby Chickamauga Battlefield National Park.  An incredible Civil War rifle collection.  Dining that makes the word “fabulous” seem wholly inadequate.  The verdict is in: I like this place!

So, what’s the deal with Moon Pies?  Hey, if you’ve never heard of Moon Pies, you need to get out more often.   And if you’ve never tasted one, well, trust me on this:   You owe yourself this treat.  It turns out that Chattanooga is where Moon Pies are made, you can get them in just about any local store, and there’s actually an official Moon Pie factory outlet in downtown Chattanooga.  That fact, all by itself, makes Chattanooga a bucket list destination!

Chattanooga: Home of the Moon Pie.
Heaven in multipack cartons. We bought several to bring home.
And we sampled a few, too. That other treat? That’s a Goo Goo, another local treat made in nearby Nashville, but that’s a story for another blog.

Lookout Mountain is another cool spot in Chattanooga, with an underground cave system that actually includes a 140-foot waterfall (all of which is underground).  Think Jules Verne and a journey to the center of the earth.  Yep, we hit it, too!

Deep in Lookout Mountain, headed for Ruby Falls.
Imagine what it must have been like to discover this while exploring an underground cave. Meet Ruby Falls, 140-ft tall, and all underground.

We had an incredible lunch at The 405, a place we just happened upon while walking around downtown.  The 405 is a Middle Eastern restaurant (I love Middle Eastern food) and it’s another one of Chattanooga’s best kept secrets.  I had a chicken shawerma sandwich and it was fabulous, with juicy roasted chicken, a perfect Tahini sauce, and pita bread made fresh on the premises.  I told our waitress I write a blog for the most discerning riders on the planet (that would be you), and the owner was at my table in a heartbeat.  It turns out that my new good buddy and restauranteur Rashad is one of us.  He rides a BMW sport bike, and we had a conversation about the great roads in the Chattanooga area.   Rashad told me you can ride 51 weeks out of the year in and around Chattanooga and the way he described the roads, this sounds like a place where I need to spend more time.  From my explorations around this region, I believe him.  I have to get back here.  And when you get out here, you have to try The 405.  Tell Rashad Joe sent you.

From downtown, it was a short ride to the Chickamauga and Chattahoochee National Military Park.   We were lucky.   It was Veteran’s Day, and the National Park Service was giving free guided tours.  I think they do that every day, but seeing this sacred place on this grand holiday (on the 100th Anniversary of the end of World War I) made it even more interesting.  Our guide was another new good buddy, in this case Ranger Chris.

Good buddy Ranger Chris on the Chickamauga battlefield.

Chris led a motor tour to three stops on the Chickamauga battlefield, and he made it come alive for us.  If you’ve never been to Chickamauga, my advice is to put it on your list.  Chickamauga and Gettysburg (fought just a few days apart) marked the turning point of the Civil War.   We thoroughly enjoyed Chris’ presentation and the tour.

One of the best parts of the Chickamauga stop was the visitor’s center.  It has several cannon on display, and a large map showing the battlefield.

Chris’s materials and his Ranger campaign hat. Good stuff at the Chickamauga visitor center.
The business end of one of many cannon on display at the Chickamauga site.

The Chickamauga visitor center also houses one of the best (probably the best) collection of Civil War rifles I’ve ever seen.   It seems a local engineer and gun collector named Claud Fuller had built a collection of some 5,000 firearms and he donated a portion of his collection for permanent display here.   They are magnificent.  This collection, all by itself, justifies a trip to the area.

One of several halls displaying Civil War rifles from the Fuller collection.
Fiddleback maple on a black powder rifle. These are beautiful firearms.
A presentation-grade Spencer. I could have spent all day just looking at these rifles.
Color case hardening on a Remington Hepburn rifle. This is amazing work.
Several Trapdoor Springfields on display. These fire the 45 70 cartridge, one of the all time greats. The second one from the right is an Officer’s Model Trapdoor Springfield. I had never seen one before. I would have joined the Army just to get one of these!

After spending the afternoon at Chickamauga, we had dinner at the 1885 restaurant in Chattanooga’s St. Elmo district.  I saw something on the menu I had never seen before:  Mushrooms and grits.  Hmmm, I wondered.  That sounded interesting.  And wow, was it ever!

Well, kiss my grits! This is before…
…and this is after. Yep, it was that good!

After dinner, our waitress recommended the cheese cake.  Hey, everything else had been amazing, so why not?

Lemon and cream cheesecake. It came with a discount coupon for the local Coronary Care Unit.

My dinner tonight was one of the finest I’ve ever enjoyed.  It was a great way to finish a Chattanooga visit.  I’m up for a summer ride in this area, and I’ll be back.   We’ll be home in California by the time you read this, and we’ll have a supply of Moon Pies for a short while.  Like my good buddy Reuben always says:  What a life!

Back in the Day: Another Bell helmet

Like everyone else who read the “Back in the Day” Bell Star piece, I greatly enjoyed Gresh’s blog.  I never owned a Star, but I bought one of the modern Bell helmets Joe referenced about 10 years ago from my good buddy Mike over at NoHo Scooters in Hollywood.  It was a lightweight, inexpensive full-face deal with artwork that made it an instant “I want” item.   The Boss was with me and she gave the nod, and Mike gave me a good price, so I bought it.

Not politically correct. But cool. I liked it. Bombs Away!

The helmet had a World War II aviation motif. It’s not politically correct, so if you’re going to get your shorts in a knot over the artwork, my advice is this:  You’re young.  Go to your safe space and take a nap.  You’ll probably get over it.

The military theme worked perfectly, I think, with a CSC motorcycle Steve Seidner (CSC’s CEO) built.  He called it “The Sarge” and it was his personal bike.  I liked both the motorcycle and the helmet so much that as soon as Steve’s bike came together (and he wasn’t around) I raced off to a spot I knew would make for a good photo…

The Sarge and my Bell helmet.  The motif worked.  For me, anyway.  Cue in the music from “Off We Go, Into the Wild Blue Yonder…”

I wore that helmet all the way down to Cabo and back on the CSC 150 Baja run.  It was a nice hat.  I really liked it.  It made me taller, thinner, and faster.  Better looking, too, if I kept the visor down.

The Bell on my CSC 150. I called my bike the Baja Blaster.

They say you are supposed to replace a motorcycle helmet every three years (“they” are the guys who make helmets, of course).  I don’t know if that’s really necessary, but it’s what I do.  After three years the insides of my helmets get pretty funky, and in my case aromatic reasons drive the need for a new lid.

But the three-year rule wasn’t what ended my relationship with the Bell you see here.  It was a different reason:  The outside surface got tacky.  Not in the good taste or politically correct sense (if that’s what you’re thinking), but tacky in an adhesive sense.   It got sticky to the touch, like flypaper.  I think it was because the adhesive bonding the wrap (the thin layer of artwork) to the helmet’s shell seeped through to the outside.  Whatever.  It would stick to my hands when I picked it up and I don’t like a clingy thingy.  A Bell guy told me he knew of the problem and it had been fixed, but they no longer offered the helmet I had come to love.

I sure wish Bell still made that helmet.  I would buy a new one and it’s what I’d be wearing today.

Back in The Day: The Bell Star Helmet

Different versions of the Bell Star. As the design evolved, the window grew and the helmet added a flip-up visor. They were the ultimate in cool.

In the early 1970’s I worked at The Art Colony, an art supply and picture-framing store on Westward Drive. Back then I fancied myself a sort of artist and I got discounts on oil paints, brushes, and different sizes of the pre-stretched canvas we made on site. The place smelled great. They had clay and water color supplies but I never messed with that stuff because I felt those materials were inferior to oil painting. Oils were good enough for the Old Masters so they were good enough for me. Even at 15 years old I didn’t like anything new.

Motorcycle vandalism was a problem at our school. Any nice-looking bike would be attacked in the school’s parking area. You’d get your seat cut or a bunch of rocks in your gas tank if the vandals were in a good mood. If they were in a bad mood your chain might be welded solid (the motorcycle parking area was next to the metal shop, a tactical error on the school administration’s part) or sugar poured in your tank. At the time I was riding a sweet, red Honda SL70, fully street legal and had a learner’s permit to ride in the daylight hours. I never took the bike to school. I’d ride to Carlson’s house, leave the SL70 there and walk to school.

After school I’d ride to The Art Colony and work a few hours until they closed. I earned fifteen or eighteen dollars a week, which was plenty to keep the SL70 in gas and tires. At least until Wilson got a Bell Star helmet. Damn, that helmet was cool. The rest of us had open face, jet-style lids that either slid back on our head and tried to choke us or pushed down onto our nose blocking most of the road. It was probably a fitment issue but we used whatever helmet no one else wanted. Buying a helmet was an unknown concept.

Wilson’s Bell Star fit his head and had a flip down visor that was great for riding in the rain. It rained a lot in Florida. Naturally, everyone started getting Bell Star helmets and whoever bought one became instantly cool. I had to have one. Murray Auto, in Hialeah had the best price on Bell Helmets: Fifty-one dollars out the door. This was a huge sum of money back when you could buy a running Japanese motorcycle for thirty-five bucks. Regardless, I had to have one. I wanted to be cool, too.

I beavered away at The Art Colony making frames, stretching canvas and skimped on everything I could. It took about two months before I saved enough to buy a Bell. Since I was working and couldn’t get to Murray’s during business hours I handed the money to Wilson for the helmet (he had an XL70 which was nearly the same motorcycle as an SL70) and he went to Murray’s to get the lid.

He brought the helmet back to the Art shop and when we opened the box the thing positively glowed. The paint was flawless, the interior was made of an exotic brushed rayon material. It was so clean. It was like the Playboy Mansion inside. Sliding the Bell onto my head was like entering another world. The intimate view from the Star’s porthole framed a world that had changed. I felt invincible wearing that helmet. I could batter down doors, go into space or ride through the worst rainstorm safe and dry inside. If you didn’t count the rest of my body.

Bell Helmets as I knew them went out of business. I don’t know what happened. I heard lawsuits killed them off. Another company bought the name and started making all sorts of Bell-branded stuff. Mostly for bicycles. You can still buy Bell-branded helmets, they even have a cool Star Classic model.

As for me, I’m back to wearing hand me downs or freebie helmets. I got a good deal on a twenty-five dollar no-brand helmet at Pep Boys. I feel my head is worth less and less with each passing day. Back when I was 15 I had my whole life ahead of me, a quality helmet was a good investment. Now, even with inflation-adjusted money I’ll probably never spend what that old Bell Star cost on another helmet.