Back In The Day – Page 9 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Bangkok Part 4: The floating market, good eats, and good friends

By Joe Berk

It was to be a busy day in Thailand starting with a long ride south out of Bangkok to the famous floating market, an awesome shrimp lunch after that visit, then back to Bangkok, and then dinner at a fabulous Italian restaurant with a couple of good friends (I know people everywhere). Imagine that: Italian food in Bangkok (and it was good, too).

About the floating market near Bangkok: I’d first sort of heard of it way back in the early 1970s when I saw a James Bond movie and its chase scenes with those narrow Thai boats. The Bond flick was The Man With The Golden Gun (if you’re reading this blog, my guess is you’ve seen all the Bond movies). The movie showed the boats in Bangkok, not the floating market, but it planted a seed 50 years ago and I when I heard about the floating market on this visit, I wanted to see it. Here’s that scene I remembered showing James Bond doing his secret agent stuff (with an appearance by Sheriff J.W. Pepper, ably played by the late Clifton James) on Bangkok’s waterways:

The floating market is about 100 miles south of Bangkok. The concept is that there are shops on the canals in the delta where the Chao Phraya River meets the sea. The idea is you are on these long narrow boats and you float along, visiting shops. In some places the vendors paddle out to visit you. Every turn in the floating market was a photo op, and for me, the photo ops were the best part of our visit. I took close to 400 photos in the space of a couple of hours. All were with my D3300 Nikon and its 18-55mm kit lens. That combo is a stellar travel photography approach. The 18-55mm lens is not as sharp as a good prime lens, but it does a good job and it is versatile.

A typical scene in the floating market. It was very tranquil. In some places, it was also very crowded.

Need a python? I have one. You can read about it here.

Imitation, the sincerest form of flattery. Here, this young lady is imitating me photographing her.

Some animals do, too. If you’re wondering what this guy is…it’s a pygmy slow loris, rare primates that live in bamboo forests in Southeast Asia. They look friendly.

On the way back to Bangkok, our driver took us to a nondescript restaurant that didn’t look like much from the outside, but our driver knew where the good spots were. We had shrimp fried rice for lunch, and it was delicious. The freshness, the aroma, the taste…it was marvelous. It was easily the best shrimp plate I’d ever had, and I’ve had some good ones. I’m not supposed to eat rice and I’m not supposed to eat shrimp, but I’m glad I broke the rules for this meal.

A hidden gem…a Thai shrimp plate. I knew when I was enjoying it I’d probably never find this restaurant again. Maybe that added to the experience.

We returned to downtown Bangkok and I wandered around grabbing a few more photos. I promised something related to motorcycles in every Bangkok blog. Promises made; promises kept:

The Bangkok Moto GP. It’s at the head of every traffic line at every traffic stop.

Our plans for that evening included having dinner with our good friends Kevin and Nan at Rosseno’s Italian Cucina. It was another five-star dining experience, a world-class Italian restaurant in the middle of downtown Bangkok. It was only a couple of blocks from our hotel, so Sue and I walked there.

Rosseno’s Italian Cucina. It was superb. I had lasagna.

From left to right, it’s Nan, Kevin, Susie, and me.

During dinner, it started raining. After dinner it was pouring. It does that a lot in Bangkok. Kevin and Nan had arrived on one of Kevin’s motorcycles. I would have been concerned about the rain, but as folks who live in Bangkok, Kevin and Nan were not. To them it was no big deal.

Nan put on her rain gear (Kevin did not) and they rode off into Bangkok traffic.

Bangkok is one of the world’s great cities. It’s about the size of New York, and like most major cities in the world, it pretty much has everything you can imagine (including great Italian food).

Tomorrow’s adventure is going to be another Bangkok hidden treasure: The Jim Thompson house. Stay tuned. You’ll enjoy it.

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Bangkok Part 3: Soi Cowboy

By Joe Berk

Another day, another Bangkok blog, and another famous Thai locale…Soi Cowboy. Soi means street in Thai, so Soi Cowboy is Cowboy Street. It played a role in the movie Hangover II. It’s amazing how many famous spots there are in this amazing town. The guys in orange vests you see in the big photo above are motorcycle taxi dudes. They take folks (mostly women) around Bangkok on the back of their bikes carving paths through traffic as if it wasn’t there. It’s an amazing thing to see.

Soi Cowboy is a street that is pretty dead during the day. When the sun sets, though, Soi Cowboy comes alive. There are street vendors selling food from their carts. The clubs come to life. And the B-girls start doing their thing. As an older married guy, it all seems pretty silly. Sue was mortified. But it is what it is, and I’m going to show you just a little bit of it here.

One of the many food carts on the street in front of the clubs on Soi Cowboy.

Another food cart. I had the Nikon on its “auto ISO” setting, which basically means it runs the ISO up as high as it thinks it needs to be to get a good shot. Some of these photos were at ISO 12,800.

More Thai food. I didn’t work up enough courage to try eating off these street vendors, but I’ll bet the food was good.

The clubs are bars with entertainment. Most of the entertainers are young Thai women. Most of the entertainees are older western guys. It’s pretty sad, actually, and I imagine it’s a pretty rough life for the girls.

A snap shot in front of one of the clubs.

As always, motorcycles and motor scooters were everywhere.

Bikes lined up just off Soi Cowboy last night.

And finally, a look down Asoke (that’s the street name) from a pedestrian overpass.

So that’s it for this post from Thailand. Watch for scenes from the floating market tomorrow.

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Bangkok Part 2: The Wat Pho Temple

By Joe Berk

On our next day in Bangkok, Sue and I visited the Wat Pho Buddhist Temple. There are numerous Buddhist temples in this fine city, and on this (my third trip to Bangkok), the nod went to Wat Pho. The colors and the views were stunning, and my 8mm inexpensive Rokinon wide angle manual everything lens earned its pay yet again. I think it would be hard to find a Buddhist temple in Bangkok that was not impressive.

Wat Pho is one of Bangkok’s oldest temples, and it is one of six temples considered to be of the highest grade Buddhist temples in Bangkok. It is a royal temple.

Wat Pho has the famous reclining Buddha, which is 15 meters high and 46 meters long. It is one of the largest statues of Buddha in Thailand.

Colors abound at Wat Pho. It is a photographer’s delight.

A colorful tapestry inside the Wat Pho temple.

We later walked around town a bit, including a visit to the infamous Soi Cowboy area (it’s right around the corner from our hotel). I will post a few evening Soi Cowboy photos in a later blog.

Thailand is two-wheeler territory. Motorcycles and scooters are everywhere. There’s more to come on this topic, so stay tuned.

I said I would try to get something motorcycle-related in each of these blogs, and here’s the photo for this one: A Sukhumvit Street stoplight at night, with all the motorcycles and scooters filtered to the head of the line.

Later, folks. Ride safe.

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Bangkok Part 1: Good morning, Thailand!

By Joe Berk

In October of 2017, Susie and I visited Bangkok. I had a gig in Singapore and we opted to swing by Thailand on the way home. It was an awesome visit and I had a lot of fun taking pictures of Bangkok motorcycles, Thai women, a few Thai guys, food, and more. I thought I would rerun that series (with a few updates) for you here on the ExNotes blog. In as many of these posts as I can, I’ll tell you about the motorcycling scene in Bangkok, too.

Our first morning in Thailand! Sue and I were up with the sun and we walked around the block to get a few photos after a great breakfast in the Grand Pullman Hotel.

Sunrise in Bangkok. When it comes to smog, Bangkok is what California used to be.

The evening before was fun. We arrived at the hotel late at night, and because we had opted to stay on the executive floor, the hotel staff rolled out the red carpet for us. When we went to the check in counter and told the staff our names, they whisked us up to the top floor, brought us into the executive lounge, poured us each a glass of wine, put several kinds of appetizers in front of us, and seated on us on a comfortable sofa. Two young Thais basically interviewed Sue and me, they disappeared for a moment, and then they reappeared with our room keys. It was a pretty cool experience, and it was unlike any hotel check-in we’ve ever had.

That morning we walked around a bit taking in one of the world’s busiest streets in one of the world’s most exotic cities. The number of motorcycles on every street had our attention immediately. Something we had not seen before anywhere else in the world were the motorcycle and motorscooter taxis. People used motorcycles and scooters for taxi duty, as you will see in a few of the photos below.

A Thai motorcycle taxi rider waiting for a fare. Motorcycles are commonly used as taxis in Thailand.

Another Thai taxi, this time a rider on a scooter. The orange vests signify that these bikes are for hire. You have to be a daring person, I think, to hail a ride on the back of the Thai two-wheeler.

A Thai family on a scooter. And a few other scooters, all waiting at a traffic light on Sukhumvit Road, the main road through Bangkok.

The ubiquitous Honda CG clone engine. These power motorcycles made all over Asia. They are probably one of the more reliable engines ever made.

ATGATT: All the gear, all the time. Well, some of the gear. Maybe some of the time. Can you imagine what the emergency ward in any Bangkok hospital must look like?

Street food, Bangkok style. Thai food was surprisingly good. But we weren’t risk takers…we only ate in restaurants.

The fun was just beginning. I’ve been pretty lucky all of my life and my work has carried me to some pretty exotic locales. I’ve seen a lot of the world and most of it has been on someone else’s dime. That’s what this Thailand adventure was. A client brought me to Singapore to teach a failure analysis course to a group of their defense ministry engineers (I wrote a book about failure analysis a couple of decades ago and it’s been providing adventures like this ever since). The heavy lift on this trip was the airfare to Singapore (which the client covered); swinging by Bangkok and stopping off there on the way home only cost a bit more. It’s a great way to travel. I had my trusty Nikon D3300 with me (I love that camera), and I put it to good use on this trip.

I think I’m going to run this Bangkok series every day starting today and for the next six days to maintain the story’s continuity (there will be seven Bangkok posts in total). If it’s too much, hey, just check back in when it’s convenient for you.

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So Many Bikes, So Little Time

By Rob Morel

I have been following this column ever since it hit the blogosphere, and I noticed that nearly all of our ExNotes writers have written about motorcycles they previously owned. This story is about some of the motorcycles and scooters I’ve had. It’s good to look back and cherish the things that have made life fun, and for me, motorcycles and motor scooters have certainly been a big part of that. Since I was a wee lad out on the farm, motorcycles have been my comfort, sanity and spare time hobby. They kept me out of the drinking and drugs my friends were getting into during high school. I opted instead for racing motocross in the mid 1970s when I was in high school. I was a Suzuki mechanic during high school and I loved it (despite all the teenage hormones interfering with my mind).

My very first bike was a Motobecane moped, which was also known as our barnyard speedway bike. With a little rain on the manure we could slide that baby around like Mert and the boys at the San Jose mile.

My next bike was a 1969 Hodaka Ace 100, and it was my first love. I spent many hours riding this motorcycle around the farm. I learned how to work on bikes on this motorcycle. They were great bikes.

This next one is a 1969 Maico MC125 motocrosser. I never got to ride or race it. A personal shortcoming is that I like to take things apart to see how they work. I took the rotary carb the off the engine to see how it worked. I then put it back together not realizing the rotary valve needed to go on in a certain way to time it with the piston going up and down. It never ran after that and burned up in the chicken house fire. Now, 50 years later, I know how to fix it. They say we get smart too late. This bike, for me, is one of many things that proves it.

This 1974 Suzuki TM125 was my elixir through high school. I raced it at Puyallup International Raceway’s high school challenge.

The 1974 Suzuki TM250 was my other elixir through puberty. In my first race I looped it over backwards and they wouldn’t let me race again at the Starbuck track in Washington.

Here’s my 1976 Suzuki TS250. It was my first adventure travel bike and I loved it. I remember its two-stroke motor smoking down Interstate 5. Yeah, baby!

Then it was a series of bikes for which I have the memories but no photos. I had a Honda MT250 enduro that I traded for a Skidoo snowmobile. I should have kept the bike. Then it was a Suzuki GN400 thumper road bike. It was old school cool. Next up was a 1978 Husqvarna OR250 enduro. I broke a rib on crashing that bike going less than 10 miles an hour and I suppose that makes me lucky (that rib was the only bone I ever broke, and I’ve been riding a lot of years). I next had a GY200 Chinese enduro with a Honda-based engine. That was followed by a 1998 DR650 Suzuki, a nice big thumper. I had a Kinlon 150 road bike prototype that I later donated to the Barbour Museum. They resold it at a Mecum auction a few years ago.

Here’s my 1974 Honda MT125 Elsinore project bike. I rode to the Badrock Reunion at Hodaka Days with it a few years back.

My 1986 Husqvarna WR400 was a wonderful bike, but it was too tall and too hard for me to kick start with a bad hip. I think I was over-compensating for something. But the price was good so I bought it.

I had a 1988 Honda NX250, another one that left me fond memories but no photos. It was a nice little enduro with a water-cooled engine and a 6-speed transmission. It was kind of like a CSC RX3.

This was my 2006 Suzuki DR650. If it’s a yellow motorcycle, I’m a goner.

I had a 2008 Kawasaki Versys 650 (another one with no photos). That was my first long distance traveling big boy bike and I rode it to the Grand Canyon, Bryce, Zion, and Yellowstone. It’s the only bike I’ve ever crashed on the road. I spun out going about 35 mph in Yellowstone on the geyser snot on the road. Who would have thought that was even possible? I smelled like rotten eggs the rest of that day after landing in a ditch filled with geyser water. (Editor’s Note: Better that than crashing the manure-drifting moped you mentioned at the start of this blog!)

I was one of the first to buy the new 2015 CSC RX3 250 and it was a fabulous motorcycle. It’s the motorcycle you I covered 17,500 miles with it and had tons of camping fun on rides to Baja, Hells Canyon, the Grand Canyon, Canada, Death Valley, the ExtraTerrestrial Highway, the Columbia River Gorge, and Moab. I rode an Iron Butt (baby butt) ride on the RX3, and I rode on the original CSC Western America Adventure Ride and the Destinations Deal ride. I called it Donkey Hotey, and mounted a hood ornament on it.

Those RX3s were fabulous motorcycles. It’s hard to believe that they came out 8 years ago.

Other bikes I’ve owned that I don’t have photos of that I owned around this time included a 2008 Yamaha XT250, a 2009 Yamaha XT250, a 2006 GY200 Chinese enduro project R&R motor that I worked on with my son.

Here’s a photo of my 2002 MZ 125SM. It was a cool little water-cooled motard bike. I had a lot of fun on it.

I bought a 1982 Kawasaki KZ440 basket case bike and put a Harbor Freight 312cc motor in it. It had a constant velocity belt drive. I really wanted a Rokon RT340. I got one of those later, and I’ll cover it below. I then had a 1999 Suzuki DS80. That was one I fixed to resell for a neighbor’s kid. I had a 1982 Suzuki PE175Z. I got it running and sold it. It was a very nice enduro motorcycle.

I owned a 2009 BMW F650GS twin. The BMW was a very nice bike for traveling across America. I rode it from Oregon to Alabama and back.

This was my 2009 Aprilia Scarabeo 200 scooter. I bought it to run in the 2020 Scooter Cannonball ride, but Covid canceled that run and I sold it.

Here’s a 1975 Rokon RT340. I had one just like the one in the photo below. It had a Sachs 340 snowmobile motor with a CVT belt drive. I was a twist and go setup that could reach 90 mph. Well, not with me on it, but it could.

I had a 1985 Honda Elite CH150 scooter that had been stolen, recovered, and then sat for years out in the weather. I got it running and it became my daily driver. I affectionately called it “Tetanus Shot,” because I felt like I needed a tetanus shot just by looking at it.

This is my 2008 Suzuki Burgman 400 Maxi scooter that has become my traveling bike now. I guess that makes me a Burg Man, too.

Here’s my 2012 Honda NC700X. I did a 7000-mile Alaska trip on it. It ran like a sewing machine all the way up and all the way back.

Here’s a 2019 Genuine G400c Chinese thumper road bike. I bought it used for a good price. It’s a fun little nostalgic bike that has a 1970s look. The same company that imports Genuine scooters imports this bike from China. It’s made by Shineray (they pronounce it Shin You Way in China). The engine is based on an old Honda design that Shineray picked up, and that engine is used as the basis for the Janus 450cc. Joe Berk rode one of the Genuine motorcycles out of Barry Gwin’s San Francisco Scooter Company about three years ago and he liked it, too.

This blog may be getting too long with all my old bikes and photos, so I will stop for now. Thinking about my former bikes has been fun, though, and if you have a bike you have fond memories of, please leave a comment below and tell us about it. And watch for a future blog about me going over to the dark side and becoming primarily a scooter rider.

Rev’d Up Coffee in Claremont, California

By Joe Berk

Wow, did I get lucky with this…a coffee and motorcycle spot just a few miles from home. It used to be that I had to ride all the way up Angeles Crest Highway to Newcomb’s so I could hang out at a motorcycle destination where like-minded people stopped for something to eat and to admire other motorcycles. Then Newcomb’s closed, a victim of the down economy and the pandemic. There was another cool spot Gresh and I spent an evening at in Chongqing, but the chances of me riding the Enfield across the Pacific to get there are slim. And then, I noticed Rev’d Up Coffee and Classics in Claremont. Claremont is the next town over from where I live. I’d seen Rev’d Up before, but I figured it was just another Gen X or Millennial (or whatever they’re calling themselves these day) Starbucks refugee trying to cash in on the coffee craze with a little moto mystique thrown in as sort of an artificial sweetener. Boy, was I ever wrong; there’s nothing artificial about Rev’d Up or its owner.

Steve Solis, motorcyclist and Rev’d Up proprietor, taking a break from Bike Night cooking duties.

Steve Solis is the guy who owns and runs Rev’d Up. He’s a good guy, a lifelong area resident, and a rider. Steve’s personal ride, a Sportster, is usually parked inside the restaurant seating area during normal business hours, but he brings it outside during bike night.

Steve’s personal ride – a Harley Sportster with an extended front end and apehangers.

The theme of Rev’d Up is bikes, classic cars, and hot rods. Steve has a couple of vintage bikes on display in the restaurant windows, and there are cool moto things throughout the dining and coffee sipping area.

A Honda Dream on display in one of the Rev’d Up windows.

Another vintage Honda on display at Rev’d Up.

Older motorcycle helmets. I wore one of the Peter Fonda Captain America helmets in the ’70s.

In keeping with the Rev’d Up theme, the menus are displayed on car hoods suspended from the ceiling. One is from a Camaro, the other is from a Datsun.

The breakfast and lunch menu. On Bike Nights, Steve is out front making Philadelphia cheesesteak sandwiches. They sure smelled good.

The coffee and other specialty drink menu. I have to try the Easy Rider.

I asked Steve what the best kept secret was. His answer? The Easy Rider espresso. He said it was his favorite drink. Next time I’ll try it.

The best part of any of these gatherings is always wandering around in the parking lot, taking in the bikes, and talking to the riders. There’s no set theme regarding the bikes. Harleys, choppers, Ducatis, KTMs, BMWs, Triumphs, and more. They were all there.

Check out the SU carb and the velocity stack on this Shovelhead chopper. Where does the rider’s leg go?

The Harley Panhead engine, one of the two best-looking Harley engines ever made. The other one is the EVO motor. Those Panhead valve covers are impressive.

Bike night is not all about choppers. The colors on this helmet and motorcycle stood out.

Another classic and beautiful motorcycle. The 748 was a later version of Ducati’s 916. They look good.

There are no better colors for a classic BMW boxer twin than gloss black with white pinstripes.

As we were leaving, this Triumph pulled into the parking lot. All marques are welcome at Rev’d Up. It’s a cool place.

Rev’d Up Coffee and Classics is located at 212 West Foothill Boulevard (that’s Route 66) in Claremont, California. It’s definitely worth a stop, and I’d say it’s a worthwhile place to take a ride. Maybe I’ll see you there. Look for the orange Enfield in the parking lot; if it’s there, I will be, too.

Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 4 (It’s Probably Time to Head Back)

By Mike Huber

Balancing life is rarely easy. It seems there is something almost always out of sync, be it work, health, or a loved one in need of help. Peru is one of those rare times in my life where I and everything surrounding me seemed to be in perfect harmony. I was coming up on six weeks living in Cusco and the adventures seemed endless from my home base there. I was making a ton of new friends, but with Cusco being so much more of a tourist town these new connections were always short lived. Surely now it’s different with so many Westerners living abroad and working remotely, but being a pioneer of this lifestyle in 2012, missing a community began to set in. Not so much on the weekends as I was too busy, but during the weekdays a void began to drain me.

The decision to make the long journey back to the United States was not an easy one. It took so long to get to where I was and had built connections for my next planned move to La Paz, Bolivia. I was running very low on vacation time and everything I wanted to see in Bolivia was a multiple day bus ride. Buffering in unknowns (such as a bus breaking down in the middle of nowhere) was necessary. I would be city bound in La Paz, and I don’t think they had as many baby llamas to pet, so Bolivia just didn’t feel right on any level.

The last week in Peru was a much deeper experience (I didn’t even know it could get deeper than where I had been). Every moment I was out felt much more special knowing that time was short in this magical place. There was a lot to do in my Cusco backyard that hadn’t been explored. My focus had been on visiting remote areas such as Lake Titicaca (I had to say it again), rather than exploring the wonders closer to my home.

My final week in Peru was filled with exploring local points of interest such as the San Pedro market where there were all kinds of foods, drinks, and potions that most Westerners will never see or smell (be thankful you are missing the smell part). The market consisted of endless types of foods. Many of these foods seemed to be pulled straight out of an Indiana Jones movie. It wasn’t strange to see Guinea pig’s necks being snapped, and then the animal being tossed into a boiling pot, gutted, and grilled. Other items included horse heads, pig heads, and snakes in water jars. This market was a plethora of sensory overload. Normally I would just visit it to pick up a bag of coca leaves for about 30 cents and some of my “special” tea mix.

Somehow, I still managed to find time to do silly things with downtime during the weekdays. The last Sunday I was there it poured, and being bored, I was searching the apartment for something to eat while watching TV. I found in the back of the refrigerator a beer pitcher that I had filled with coca leaves a week or so prior and added a bottle of white wine. Well, it seems the wine had absorbed the coca leaves and turned the wine into a dark yellow. Being that this chapter was coming to an end I thought it would be the perfect day to partake in this concoction. Who knows, maybe it would have similar effects to the coca beer. I drank the entire pitcher. The coca-infused wine just had this bitter earthy taste that I really enjoyed. Like the coca beer it provided a jolt of energy with a nice light buzz that assisted me in packing and wrapping up my life in the Andean city of Cusco.

With the coca wine buzzing inside my head, a bigger question emerged: Where was I to live upon returning to the United States? My Boston condo was rented for another five months, so that option was out. I was not sure if it was the wine or the fact that this change may not be as simple as I had anticipated. Throughout my travels around Central and South America, it always seemed that if things went south, I could just return to the United States. Being so preoccupied in the moment during my travels, however, I never designed a fallback plan aside from boarding a return flight.

As the week came to an end, I was now boarding that flight. I was not, however, in too big a rush. It felt right to instead return to Nicaragua for a couple weeks and ease my way north and see my dogs. While I was there, Hurricane Sandy hit and knocked out power throughout the Northeast. That morning as I watched the news, I had a decision to make: Do I power up the laptop and be the only person in the Northeast who showed up for work, or do I continue with the “I am in Boston” charade?

I chose Option A, deciding that I was on my way back and had been outperforming most my peers for six months in five countries. Owning my choices and riding it in felt like the correct decision. My coworkers immediately questioned how I had internet, and my answer was simply “I saw there was a hurricane, so being remote I chose to go south to avoid it.” Not a lie, but not totally forthcoming. If I had replied with “I am working in the jungles of Nicaragua” no one would have believed me (this came up months later and no one did).

After the two weeks it was time to fully return to Boston to regroup. It was a rainy November day when I touched down at Logan. I weighed 30 pounds less and mentally I was even lighter. I still had no plan regarding what to do once I left the aircraft in Logan. My car was at a friend’s house. My Ducati was at my parent’s home in Maine. Before I had even cleared through Customs and Immigration, though, I knew this was no longer the place that called to me. The reentry shock into the United States was too much. I was swelling up with tears knowing It was now time to make the hard decision to leave New England, but where would I go as winter was just beginning?

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Running with the Big Dogs

By Rob Morel

Joe Gresh’s recent story of high-mile motorcycle rides reminded me of my 1,000-mile ride several years ago. I rode my Zongshen RX3 250cc motorcycle on an Iron Butt 1000 back in 2016. That ride was 1,000 miles in under 24 hours. It required documenting start and stop times, and providing all my fuel receipts to prove I actually did it.

The 1000 miles took just under 20 hours to complete. I made 11 gas stops, burned through 23.1 gallons of gas in 1,055 miles, and achieved an average of 45.65 mpg. My total fuel expenditures were $57.90. I ran the lowest grade of gasoline for the first 500 miles, and then I switched to mid-grade fuel. That resulted in an extra 2 to 3 mph on the top end, and more power to get over the hills. I didn’t need to downshift as much. I used 20W-50 premium synthetic oil.

What amazed me was the flogging the little 250cc motor took. I literally rode it at full throttle (at 65-70 mph on the GPS for 70-80% of the trip) going up and down interstate hills where the speed limit was 70 and 80 mph in Oregon and Idaho. The motor seemed to take it all in a stride.

I made judicious use of the gearbox to keep the engine above 6,500 rpm, which I had to do to get over mountain passes and curvy hills (usually in 4th or 5th gear). I never had to run the engine above 8000 rpm. On one long downhill stretch I held the throttle wide open to gain speed to get up the next hill; that sprint showed 75 mph on the GPS. Usually, though, I ran at 65 to 70 mph on the GPS with 80 mph cars passing me like flies on the way to the milk barn.

I really didn’t make any changes to the bike. The gearing on my motorcycle was up two teeth from standard on the rear sprocket. Stock gearing would have been fine. I had a nice gel seat. I was okay until higher temperatures arrived. Then it became an uncomfortable ride.

The bike never once gave me trouble or left me wondering if I would make it home. In fact, it impressed the Harley, Indian, and Victory guys I rode with. They soon left me with their higher top speeds, so I was riding solo for most of the 20 hours it took to complete the 1,000 miles. I made it to the last refueling stop maybe 15 minutes after they finished.

While not the best choice for Iron Butt riding, that little 250cc Zongshen motorcycle showed that it can run with the big dogs and finish what it started.

The Matawan Creek Man-Eater

By Joe Berk

Jaws. Nearly everyone has seen that movie. Many of us read Jaws, the book that preceded the movie. It’s been said that Peter Benchley based it on Moby Dick, another novel about a big white fish and a man obsessed with killing it. But people in the know…well, they know that Jaws had a different source of inspiration. It was the Matawan Creek maneater, a Great White shark that swam 11 miles upstream, in fresh water, and ate a bunch of people in and around Matawan, New Jersey. It all happened in 1916.

The New Jersey beachside resorts were having a tough year in 1916. It started on July 1 when Charles Vansant, a 28-year-old man from Philadelphia, went for a swim in the Atlantic Ocean along the Beach Haven, New Jersey shoreline. Vansant took his dog in the water with him. The dog suddenly disappeared, and then Vansant was attacked. Other swimmers heard Vansant screaming and went to his aid. A gigantic Great White shark followed them as they desperately pulled Vansant to shore. Vansant bled to death a short while later.

Fast forward five days to Spring Lake (another New Jersey resort), and 27-year-old Chris Bruder was attacked while swimming in the Atlantic. Lifeguards in a boat pulled him from the water, but Bruder bled to death before they reached the shore.

Shoot up the Jersey coast another 30 miles to Matawan. A few days after Bruder died, Thomas Cattrell (a retired fishing boat captain) was walking home and while crossing a bridge over freshwater Matawan Creek (which flowed into the Atlantic), Cattrell saw a large shark in the water below. He warned swimmers, but no one took him seriously (Matawan Creek was, after all, a freshwater creek). The next day, on July 12, 11-year-old Lester Stillwell went for a Matawan Creek dip; he became the shark’s next victim. Two of Stillwell’s friends swimming with him watched as he was pulled under and the water turned red. The boys ran into town for help, 24-year old Stanley Fischer accompanied them back to the creek, and he entered the water to search for Stillwell. It was Fischer’s bad luck that the shark was still eating Stillwell. Fischer tried to free Stillwell from the shark; the shark had a better idea and took a few bites out of Fischer. Fischer died a few hours later in a local hospital.

After attacking Fischer, the shark left the area and headed back toward the Atlantic Ocean. While swimming toward the ocean and still in freshwater Matawan Creek, the shark attacked 12-year old Joseph Dunn. Dunn survived, minus a leg. Dunn was the shark’s fifth victim.

If you’ve ever watched even a single episode of The Sopranos, you know you don’t mess with people from New Jersey. The Jersey coastal communities went into high gear, and after harvesting hundreds of sharks, they found the one responsible for the attacks. It was an 8½-foot Great White, and when the Joisey boys cut it open, various parts of the aforementioned people (and one dog) spilled out. The Matawan Creek (and surrounding community) attacks are believed to be Peter Benchley’s inspiration for Jaws.

So…about that photo at the top of this blog. The bridge is a Jersey Central railroad bridge that crosses Matawan Creek only 100 yards away from where Fischer and Stillwell were attacked. Amazingly, the open-mouthed shark painting was accomplished in under 35 minutes, in complete darkness, by an artist who goes by the name Tattoo Bob. I don’t know his last name or even if Tattoo Bob is his real name; he wishes to remain anonymous for obvious reasons.

All of this hit home for me. I’ve been in Matawan many times, and it’s not that far from where I grew up. When I was a kid, we used to swim in the freshwater creeks in New Jersey (they all ultimately flow into the Atlantic). A big day was to go down the shore and swim in the ocean. Jaws didn’t get published until 1975 (I read it when I was in the Army in Korea, when the novel was first published). It’s a good thing, I guess, that I didn’t know any of the above about Matawan Creek back in my youth. If I had, there would have been no way I’d enter the water, and even today, I won’t swim in the ocean. I’ll stick with much safer things, like jumping out of an airplane or riding a motorcycle.

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The Long Haul: Riding a Motorcycle All The Way

By Joe Gresh

In these Covid-aware times being a long hauler means suffering from the effects of contracting the virus that caused so many problems a few years ago. But “long hauler” used to have a different meaning in the motorcycle community. It meant a rider that rode long distances over relatively short periods of time. The Iron Butt group sprang up to create a framework of recognition and certification for the tough riders that did 1000 miles in 24 hours and the challenges escalated from there.

I’ve never felt the desire to ride 1000 miles in 24 hours although I would have loved to run that pace the time I raced the Baja 1000. No, I usually go a few hundred miles if I’m bopping around near the ranch on a day ride. If I’m traveling long distances I’ll shoot for 400 miles a day or a little more depending on the time of year. On motorcycle trips I try to take it easy and enjoy the countryside. I’ll stop often to read historical markers or pull off the road to sip a little piping hot Dancing Goats coffee from my Thermos. I might see a stream and wander over to look for gold nuggets or stick my feet in the cold water. To me, motorcycle rides should be fun, not an endurance test.

Sometimes I end up pushing it a bit like on the ride to Laguna Seca. I clocked 590 miles from Grand Junction, Colorado, to Tonopah, Nevada. I was riding the ZRX1100, it was hot, and I had plenty of daylight, so I just kept riding. I wasn’t in any great pain and there aren’t many places to get a motel room in the wilds of Nevada. That 590-mile run may not seem like much to an Iron Butt rider but I’ve done some other long distance rides on much less capable motorcycles.

The longest single-day ride I did on my 1971 Yamaha RT1-B, 360cc Enduro was from Cross City, Florida to Big Pine Key, Florida, a distance of 530 miles. The old two-stroke, single-cylinder dirt bike is a fairly comfortable place to sit and it will happily cruise along at 60-65 miles per hour so it’s not like I was doing something all that special. At the time a hurricane had blown through Big Pine and our house was a mess, so I was hustling to get back home and start cleaning up.

Another long day in the saddle was back in the 1970s riding my 1973 BMW R75/5. I was returning from a 41-state tour around America and the last leg was Cashiers, North Carolina to Miami, Florida. I racked up 750 miles in one, national-55-mph speed limited day. Back then you had to keep your eyes glued to the speedometer because it was nearly impossible to ride a 750cc motorcycle on a wide-open highway at 55 mph. You tended to creep up and all of a sudden you’re doing 70. The 55 mph speed limits stuck around a long time because it was a huge moneymaker for the Highway Patrol and local police forces.

I rode my Husqvarna 510cc Super Motard 500 miles from Window Rock, Arizona to Caliente, Nevada in one agonizing stint. This run was the most physically demanding and it demanded it all from my butt. The Husky’s seat is narrow for ease of mobility in the dirt. It has almost zero padding towards the rear and the front area was no wider than a pack of cigarettes. I did a lot of stand up riding and crossed leg riding that day.

The closest I got to an Iron butt ride was on a 1968 Sportster. This motorcycle is another poor choice for long distance riding. At least the seat wasn’t 4 inches wide on the Sporty. I started out from Van Horn, Texas. It was late March, so it was still pretty chilly in the pre-dawn hours. I rode all the way to Point Loma, California and it took around 18 hours. Of course, with an old Harley all that time wasn’t spent riding. You have to twirl wrenches a bit.

The Sportster’s charging system failed because the mechanical, coil and point type voltage regulator shook itself to pieces. Running a total loss ignition system I had to stop at gas statins and charge the battery every so often, kind of like a modern EV car. As the voltage would drop the bike would start missing due to the plugs whiskering.

Motorcycle plug whiskering isn’t common with today’s high powered ignitions and alternators but back then it was not out of the realm of possible failure modes. It happened when the plug shorted out from a tiny piece of metal stuck between the electrode and the body of the plug. The remedy was fairly easy: you had to remove the plug and clear off the bit of metal that was causing the short, then put the plug back in. Don’t ask me where the tiny pieces of metal came from; it’s best not to think about it.

At some point on the ride, I found a voltage regulator wire broken from vibration and figured out how to make the old, brush-type Harley-Davidson generator charge its battery. I made the last 200 miles at night without having to stop for a charge. All in, I rode the Sportster 854 miles and man, were my arms tired. It’s kind of funny that the long haul effects of Covid (foggy brain, tired feeling and dizziness) were the same symptoms I felt after riding that Sportster 854 miles.

I don’t think I’ll ever do a thousand miles in 24 hours. It’s just not important to me and defeats the purpose of riding a motorcycle in the first place. I guess if it was an emergency and I had to do it I could ride the Kawasaki ZRX a thousand miles in a day, but honestly, if that situation arose, I’d rather take the Toyota truck.

What about you? Are you a long hauler? How far have you ridden in a day? Does racking up mileage for mileage’s sake mean anything to you?

Another mileage story? You bet!