Category: BMW

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.
A full view of the Panhead chopper.
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.

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!

Packing for a Long-Distance Motorcycle Trip

By Mike Huber 

It feels like the perfect time to do a write up on packing for a long-distance motorcycle trip.  I left Sedona, Arizona, two weeks ago for a motorcycle journey to British Columbia on my BMW GS1200.  I didn’t quite pack everything I own, but close to it.  Having recently taken a hiatus from my day job there is no time frame for returning to Arizona other than when the weather changes in the Fall. With this being the case packing had to be tight, yet diverse enough for every possible type of weather that I may encounter.

My philosophy has always been less is better. This holds even more true when you have such minimal storage space on a motorcycle.  There is no need to have every centimeter packed to the gills.  Having a bit of remaining space allocated is important in the event you need to add gear or choose to pack sloppily after camping in the rain.  That buffer space should be held sacred. So, here is everything I am bringing along this journey.

      • Kelty 1-person Tent
      • Enu 2-person hammock (I like a larger hammock so I can wrap up if it’s cold)
      • Big Agnes sleeping bag (15 degree rated)
      • Laptop bag with chargers and backup portable battery
      • Luci Llight
      • Hiking boots
      • Stool
      • Cooking pot, cup, utensil, propane
      • Towel
      • Portable grill (for throwing a steak or freshly caught fish on top of some coals)
      • 25ft of paracord (usually for additional hammock straps as needed)
      • Day pack for hiking
      • Tire repair kit
      • Compressor
      • Fishing gear
      • Jumpmaster knife
      • Hatchet
      • Air mattress
      • Air pillow
      • Raingear (top and bottom)
      • Leatherman
      • SpotGen3 GPS (My Mom likes to know I made it to camp alive)
      • Headlamp
      • 3-liter expandable water blivit
      • Swimsuit
      • 2 pairs of pants
      • 3 pairs of socks
      • 3 pairs of underwear
      • 3 t-shirts
      • 1 pair of shorts
      • Duct tape
      • Electrical tape
      • Sweatshirt
      • Baseball hat
      • Riding jacket
      • Lambykins
      • Military side pack (for all fishing gear)
      • Winter hat (my Mom knitted)

Currently 10 days into this trip with 8 nights of camping in numerous weather conditions and I have remained quite comfortable.  Another barometer of success is when someone walks by my campsite as I am laying in my hammock reading a book and they comment “WOW, you fit ALL that on your motorcycle?”

I just smile and reply with a “yup.” I am now in northern California and will start hitting possibly more wet and cold weather so I will see how my gear continues to stack up against the elements as I travel further north with no real itinerary.  The main objective of this trip is to slow down, enjoy the moment, be present, and meet up with old and new friends along the ride.

Let me know if there is a piece of gear you feel I am missing or that you hold close during your long-distance motorcycle trips. I am always interested in improving my packing and living conditions while on the motorcycle.

Hey, a quick photo from this trip…there are two Joes, a deer, and two wild turkeys in the picture below.

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El Condor Comida

By Mike Huber

Pinnacles National Park is the 50th National Park I visited. I believe there are 63 National Parks total (National Park Service keeps adding them yearly, so…).  As with all the parks it is rare to be disappointed with a visit to any of them.  In fact, I have visited some of the parks numerous times just to be sure to fully embrace each part of them as many are quite large.

Pinnacles National Park is one of the lesser visited National Parks, which I find refreshing since there are fewer tourists than other National Parks, like Yellowstone and Yosemite where the crowds can be almost overwhelming and detract from the experience. For Pinnacles I had reserved two nights camping so once I arrived late in the day, I could knock out a shorter hike and complete a long hike on the spare day.  The longer hike I chose was to summit the highest peak in the park, Chalone Peak, which reaches 3,304 feet in elevation.  That isn’t that bad because there is only a 2,034-foot elevation gain from the base. This is a 9-mile trail that snakes through beautiful hills. Every turn provided an incredible panoramic view of the fields below and the mountains that stretched to the sky.

Once summitting the peak, it was time to rehydrate and fuel up with lunch for the hike back.  As I sat down, I heard what sounded like someone vomiting.  Looking to my left I saw I was sitting about 25 feet from a California condor.  It was tagged with No. 89.  The National Park Service tags these rare birds to track and follow them at a level not seen since Facebook started tracking me. Having researched No. 89, I learned this guy was born in captivity in Idaho in 2011. There are under 600 of these massive birds remaining in the world. To have the rare opportunity to see one was magical, but to be able to sit next to one for 30 minutes as I ate lunch was something spiritual, equivalent to petting the gray whales in Baja.

As I sat eating my lunch the condor and I constantly exchanged gazes.  Every so often it would spread its wings to show off its true size.  Not only did it not seem bothered by me, it seemed to enjoy my company (I mean, who doesn’t?).  After about 30 minutes I began wrapping up lunch and as I packed up, No. 89 silently turned away, spread its wings, and leapt off the rock like a hang glider sailing down about 100 feet and then turning upward it flew off into the distance.

This magical encounter reinvigorated me for the 4.5-mile hike to the base of the mountain. I had a solid buzz from the encounter for the remainder of the day.  Just like all the close encounters I have had in nature, that buzz never seems to fade and it has me looking forward to National Park Number 51.

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Mike Huber Stops By

By Joe Berk

Good buddy Mike Huber rolled through So Cal a few days ago and spent the night at Casa Berkowitz.  It was a fun visit.

Mike Huber on the UberMoto. Mike’s current GS is his second one.

I first met Mike on one of the CSC Baja expeditions, and the circumstances of our meeting hit on shared interests (motorcycles and Baja) and a shared background (we are both alums of the Benning School for Boys).

An August 1972 jump school postcard purchased at the Benning School for Boys Post Exchange.

The CSC crew (me and maybe a dozen fellow RX3 riders) had stopped for gasolina on the 200+ mile stretch between Baja’s El Rosario and Guerrero Negro.  Cataviña is about 130 miles south of El Rosario, and for a long time it has been the only place to buy fuel on that section of Mexico’s Highway 1.  There were no gas stations then; enterprising Mexican capitalists sold it from bottles on the side of the road (capitalism rules, my friends).  Today there is a Pemex in Cataviña, but that’s a relatively recent development.

Refueling in Cataviña. That’s good buddy Tuan, an RX3 rider and one of my former students at Cal Poly Pomona.

You can imagine the scene…a dozen bikes crowded around a handful of people selling fuel out of jugs.  Or maybe you don’t have to imagine it; just take a look at the photo above.  It was a hot day, we’d been on the road a while, and we were two days into a seven-day trip.  I looked at the other bikes around me and on one of the motorcycle tailpacks I saw a decal that commands instant and profound respect from anyone who’s been there:  The winged parachute emblem showing that the bearer graduated from the US Army Airborne School at Fort Benning, Georgia.

Mike’s jump wings on the back of his first GS. It was this emblem that first alerted to Mike and his background. Mike’s done 19 jumps (5 in jump school and another dozen when he served with the US Army’s 82nd Airborne Division).
When the jump wings fell off, Mike replaced them with an 82nd Airborne Division decal. The “AA” stands for “All American.”   I learned that when I asked one of my jump school instructors; he first told me that for us trainees, it stood for “Almost Airborne.”   Then he told me the real story.

That’s weird, I thought.  I had only known the guys on this ride for a few days, I’d seen all of their bikes, and if any had been adorned with jump wings I would have picked up on it immediately.  I was pondering how I had missed that when I looked at the guy standing next to the bike.  It was Mike Huber, whom I had not met yet.  My next befuddled thoughts were that I thought I had met everyone.  Where did this guy come from?  Then I looked at the motorcycle.  It wasn’t an RX3.  It was a BMW GS 1200.  The two machines looked enough alike that I had not noticed the difference when Mike worked his way into our herd of turtles at the gas stop in Cataviña.  I looked up at Mike again and he was grinning.  He knew I was confused and I think he was enjoying my being perplexed.

Mike’s current GS 1200. It’s a stunning motorcycle.

Mike and I hit it off immediately.   He stayed with us a couple of nights later in Mulegé (at good buddy Javier’s magnificent Las Casitas Hotel), and we’ve kept in touch ever since.   Mike did a guest blog or two for us here on ExNotes, and he became one of our regular writers last year.

When Mike told me he would pass through our neck of the Peoples Republik, I told him we wanted him to stay the night and enjoy a barbequed salmon dinner with us.

The port saddlebag on Mike’s GS.
And the starboard pannier. Mike gets around, as you know from his blogs here on ExNotes.

We had a great visit.  The Tecate cerveza (and later, the Spanish wine) flowed freely.  Sue crafted a desert we recently learned about on an olive plantation in Spain (see our most recent blog), and it was awesome.

The post-dinner treat: More vino, and chocolate gelato topped with orange-infused olive oil from the Basilippo plantation in Spain. Olive oil on ice cream sounds strange, but take my word on this: It’s wonderful.

As always, it was great to spend time with my good friend and fellow scribe Mike.  The next morning after a good breakfast Mike was in the wind again, headed north toward Ojai, the Bay area, and beyond.  You will be able to read about those travels right here, on your favorite motorcycle blog.

Good times and good friends, folks.  It’s what life is all about.  That, and clicking on the popup ads.

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Life as a Digital Nomad: Part 1 (Testing the Waters)

By Mike Huber

In 2010 the company I worked for gave me my pink slip due to budgetary cuts.  I was feeling distraught and lost because I had been working there for 8 years. Fortunately, I had a great director who helped by transferring me from a management position into a project manager slot that would be fully remote.

Remote positions at the time were called working from home.  It didn’t take long for me to ask myself a question:  What if I didn’t have a home? This mostly was bar talk amongst friends and I didn’t expect the crazy scenarios we discussed to ever become a reality.  Well…it seems planting those seeds in my mind was all it took for them to nurture, and then to grow into 13 years of almost nonstop travel.

The first two years were mostly spent learning to excel in my new position as a project manager along with clumsily discovering how to adjust my work/life balance in creative ways.  This involved motorcycling throughout New England in between work responsibilities.

Something I learned early is that there are McDonald’s with wi-fi everywhere, and at the time it was one of the better places to stop to respond to emails or for a conference call (this was a life prior to riding a BMW, so I didn’t require Starbucks).  I timed my rides to reach these locations 10 minutes prior to conference calls.  This allowed me time to set up and prepare for them as needed.

The first day as a remote employee I decided to knock out a ride from Boston to Route 17 in northern Vermont.  Route 17 is also known as the “Little Tail of the Dragon.”  It was May and I was literally working off my Ducati Monster M1100 as I tore up Vermont. Since it took so long to reach Route 17 it made sense to ride it twice to ensure the long ride was worth it and regain the curve back in my tires.  It may have been one of the best days I have ever had working and figured this newfound freedom would provide many opportunities to fill in the gaps that I had been missing by going into a regular office day to day.

Riding all the way to Vermont from Boston on your first day in a new position probably was a bit of overkill.  I was missing calls and hadn’t noticed my phone was constantly ringing in my pocket (an easy oversight being so heavily focused on riding).  I was in flight formation and setting the pace for a flock of mallards that happened to be flying down the White River, which ran parallel to Route 100.  Unbeknownst to me the phone continued ringing as the Ducati’s Termignoni exhaust roared through the Green Mountains while I leaned into corners that followed the river.

Shortly after parting ways with the mallards and crossing back into New Hampshire, I saw some lights behind me.  It was a New Hampshire State Trooper.  Dammit! I am sure I was speeding, but the question always is how fast. It was fast. As I began talking to the State Trooper to try to minimize the damage, I could now hear my cell phone ringing.  I picked it up as the Trooper ran my information.  It was my new manager based in Virginia calling to introduce herself and ask if I had noticed that I had missed a call I needed to be on.  I stated I was just out getting a coffee (which was 100% true; it’s just that the coffee was 200 miles away).  This was probably one of my more challenging multitask scenarios (i.e., signing a speeding ticket while on an introductory call with my manager).  To this day I feel I would have been able to get out of that ticket had I not been so distracted by work. Lesson 1 as a remote employee learned.

After that day I knew I should take my work a bit more seriously and slow my pace.  I continued to ride, but always ensured I attended every call (which I did over the next 13 years). My work ethic has always been strong, and I didn’t want to compromise this position and what I could possibly do with it by losing my focus.  Continuing to merge my work responsibilities with riding was something that I honed to an art form.

Once I was comfortable performing my work one or two days a week off the motorcycle, I thought I would step the adventure up a notch: California.  I had relatives in Oakland and there was a Harley rental in San Francisco, a short transit ride away.  It made sense to fly there for two weeks and work remotely in a new environment and time zone to see how I would perform.

The test run couldn’t have gone smoother.  I was on Pacific Time when my team was on Eastern Time.  This ensured that by 1:00 p.m. all my tasks and calls were completed.  Having earlier workdays provided much more time to explore San Francisco and the Bay Area.  A couple of vacation days in the mix allowed time to rent a Harley in San Francisco and take a 3-day trip to Tahoe and Yosemite.  Even though I was on vacation those days I felt obliged to join work calls whenever possible just to stay on top of my projects, while obtaining bonus points from management for doing so on my time off.  I felt this made up for my missed meeting when I had first started this position in New Hampshire.

The California trip had solidified my abilities to work from anywhere.  On the return flight to Boston my thoughts focused on a farfetched mindset:  What if I don’t have a home?  It would take a few months of planning and a solid leap of faith.  As with all leaps of faith you never know where or how it will end, but I felt sure I could make this dream a reality. What I didn’t realize is how far I would take this and the new experiences my decision would deliver.  I turned my life into Ferris Bueller’s Day Off on steroids over the next 13 years.

Lisbon

I should have paid more attention in my elementary and junior high school geography classes. I remember studying Christopher Columbus (the guy who “discovered” America), but the other explorers’ names are lost among my fading neurons. And here we were, in Lisbon, where Vasco de Gama, Magellan, Henry the Navigator, old Christopher C. himself, and others hung out five or six centuries ago.  I wish I could repeat my 7th grade geography class with Mr. Costa for just that reason.  Being 12 years old again would be cool, too.

My new good buddy Ibrahim, one of our fellow tourists on this adventure, is a serious photographer.  He used my consumer grade Nikon to take the photo below at the Parque Eduardo VII .  It was one of the first places we stopped in Lisbon, and the statue at the end is Christopher Columbus. Look at those hedges and think about how much labor is needed to keep them looking this good. By the time you get to the end trimming them, you’d have to go back to the beginning and start over. That’s the Tagus River in the background. Lisbon is right on the Atlantic Ocean. A lot of 14th and 15th century New World explorations started right here.

Susie and yours truly at the Parque Eduardo VII in Lisbon. Photo by Ibrahim Alava.

The photo below is from one of many churches we visited (we saw many churches and a couple of synagogues in Spain and Portugal; before the Spanish Inquisition, there was a thriving Jewish community on the Iberian Peninsula).

Blue and white tiles were a common decor in Spain and Portugal.

Blue tiles were everywhere in Lisbon.  Spain and Portugal were occupied by the Moors for centuries. The Moors brought their art, their architecture, and their style (including blue tiles) to the region.  The Moors were ultimately driven out, but the tiles remained. I could spend a month in Lisbon just photographing the tiles. The tiles get their blue color from cobalt, which is locally mined.

We wandered through Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood to a church at the top of a hill, led by a local guide. Our walk here involved a steep uphill climb through narrow streets and alleys. When Sue and I first joined up with our tour group two days earlier, I felt good seeing that the group was mostly made up of old people (I called our group the Portugueezers). I figured our age would hold the walking and climbing to a minimum. I was wrong. We did a ton of walking and climbing. My iPhone told me one day I did over 17,000 steps. Most days were at least 10,000 steps.

A colorful door in Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood.
An interesting doorknob.

I took a lot of artsy-fartsy photos of doors, doorknobs, door knockers, and other things as we climbed the twisting and narrow streets of Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood.  My fellow Portugueezers thought I was a serious amateur photographer when I frequently stopped to grab a picture, and I didn’t say anything to persuade them otherwise (the stops were so I could catch my breath).

I noticed that a few of the homes had printed tiles with photos of older women on their exterior walls. I tried to find out more about this on Google but I struck out (I should have asked our guide while we were there, but I was huffing and puffing too hard to ask). Maybe these women were famous Portuguese mountain climbers. Sue later told me our guide said the tiles tell a bit about the residents of each home.  Say hello to Ms. Delmira and Ms. da Luz.

Ms. Delmira, an Alfama neighborhood denizen.
Ms. da Luz, known as Maria to her friends.

We were in an area frequented by tourists and there were lots of shops selling things. Where there were colors, I took a photo or two.

Dresses for sale in Lisbon.

We then went down to the waterfront Belém area along the Tagus River. The statue below is a monument to Henry the Navigator.

An interesting monument to Henry the Navigator in the Belém area.
A closer view of statues on the Henry the Navigator monument.

The Hieronymites Monastery was across the street from the Henry the Navigator monument. Jose, our guide, told us that nuns in this monastery (I didn’t think they had nuns in a monastery, but what do I know?) were famous for their Pastéis de Belém. Jose disappeared for a bit and then reappeared with samples for us to try. They were excellent.

James (one of our fellow travelers) and Jose, our tour guide.

Like Porto and other big European cities, downtown Lisbon was a hotbed of scooter activity.  At any traffic light, scooters filtered to the front of the queue, and when the light turned green, it was a multi-scooter drag race.  It was fun to watch.  I guess Portugal has a helmet law; everyone wore one.  But that was it for protective gear.  Think full face helmets accompanied by t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops (all the gear, all the time).  I’m guessing I saw a hundred scooters for every motorcycle, and when we did see motorcycles, they were mostly 125cc machines.  Many appeared to be of Chinese origin, with Honda and Yamaha motorcycles making up the balance.   There were a few big bikes; I spoke to a guy at a rest stop who was on a BMW GS.  He told me he liked his GS and it was a good machine, but he had another motorcycle that was his pride and joy:  A Harley Sportster.  “It has a carburetor,” he proudly told me (an obvious vintageness badge).  I thought I might refer him to our earlier ExNotes post, 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster, but he was in a hurry and I had already run out of ExNotes business cards.

Check it out: 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster.

There’s more, but this blog is getting long enough. You get the idea. After two days in Lisbon, it was on to Évora and then Spain.

Stay tuned, my friends.

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Arizona Moto Camping

By Mike Huber

One of the advantages of living in Arizona most of the year is that you can ride every day, comfortably (I added “comfortably” because I know there is some guy or gal in Maine riding year-round in sub-arctic temps with snow).  We in Arizona can enjoy our passion for camping in all four seasons because of the extreme elevation changes, which allow moving to different climates with a one or two hour drive.

Arizona has an endless amount of camping areas, both dispersed and in formal campgrounds.  I thought highlighting two ends of the spectrum in would be a great way to convey the vast diversity Arizona offers.

Forest Road 300: Mogollon Rim

Forest Road 300 begins in the west off Arizona State Road 260 and ends 42 miles later near Payson’s Arizona State Road 87. The Mogollon Rim is home to the largest ponderosa forest on earth.  Although there are maintained campgrounds along this road, I prefer to disperse camp.  This provides one with the rare opportunity of awaking to an overlook in which you can see for over a hundred miles.  This spectacular view is something that a formal campsite cannot provide.  The road for the most part is in decent shape (excessive rains this year may have changed this however) and can be completed without a 4-wheel drive vehicle.

When traversing the 7,000+ ft elevation of the Mogollon Rim I will usually just ride down the many side roads until I come upon a campsite that isn’t too crowded or exposed, which I can then call home for the evening.  One of the main risks as you are indeed so exposed is that of lightning strike.  You may be able to find a perfect cliffside dispersed campsite but be aware that weather changes frequently and it is never okay to set up camp outside the tree line in this area. In fact, as you scout out your site it is wise to look up at the trees.  If you see many that have been damaged from previous lightning strikes, this is not a location in which you want to camp.

Another benefit to this area is the cooler weather at these elevations, which makes for a perfect Arizona summer trip.  The temperatures can be easily 20 degrees cooler than it is in Payson, which sits at 5,000 feet.  The refreshing temperatures and light breezes in the summer make this a perfect location for spending an evening around a campfire with friends while you enjoy the endless views.

Lake Roosevelt: Cholla Campground

I was hesitant to write about this location as it is my go-to happy place in winter and probably one of my favorite campgrounds in the southwest.  In winter it can be a cold drive if you are in northern Arizona until you drop into Payson, where the temperatures quickly gain 15 to 20 degrees and provide reassurance you’ll experience a perfect lakeside camping night (lakeside camping is a rare treat in Arizona).

Cholla Campground is part of the National Park Service so if you have a Senior or Veterans pass the fee is only $12 ($24 without the pass).  The site provides water, showers, toilets, and a beautiful lakeside view with an abundance of wildlife.  Having an elevation of just over 2,000 feet assures that on most nights, even in winter, it doesn’t get uncomfortably cold.

Another advantage to this campground is there are “tent only” loops so you can distance yourself from those noisy generators and the RV crowd if you choose to.   Choosing these loops provides a quiet night as you watch eagles fly by in the evening with their dinner in their talons while you cook a steak over hot coals while having a 360-degree view of the best sunsets.

Arizona is a much more diverse region than most people think it is.  This unique state isn’t all cactus and barren desert, and the above two locations highlight this diversity.  Motorcycle camping in Arizona can be a year-round pastime without being smothered in heat or waking up with a frozen water bottle (both still seem to happen to me all too frequently).

What are your favorite camp locations in your home state?

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Toad Rock Campground, British Columbia

By Mike Huber

When traveling I keep a loose schedule.  I talk to people along my journey and gain insight on what is best to see, and just as importantly, what is best to avoid. In 2017 while sitting outside Starbucks somewhere in Washington state a couple asked where I was headed (I ride a GS1200; frequenting Starbucks is an ownership obligation).  I didn’t have much of a destination in mind and the couple asked if I had my passport, which I did.  They recommended visiting Toad Rock Campground in British Columbia. Just like that, Toad Rock Campground became my weekend destination.

I entered Canada through Idaho.  It always seems once crossing the border everything just becomes more magnificent. Trees are larger, there is more wildlife, the mountains are higher, the water is bluer, you get the point.  I crossed the Canadian border at Rykerts, B.C.  This was a bit out of the way but it was what the couple had recommended.  The main reason (besides 3A being a phenomenal road) was that I would take the World’s Longest Free Ferry across Kootenay Lake to Balfour.  Once I disembarked the ferry in Balfour it was just a short hop to Toad Rock.  It turns out taking the longer route was absolutely the right call.

Arriving at Toad Rock, I dismounted from the GS and went to check in.  The lady running the camp stated it was full, but I could find a patch of grass in the back and set up camp. I signed in and paid (I want to say $10 CDN but don’t fully remember).  She then looked at me, pointed and said, “If you’re an asshole I will throw your ass OUT!”  To which I swiftly replied “Yes, Ma’am.” Later I found out she even makes motorcycle clubs remove their vests and colors to avoid any friction within the camp.  This was all fine with me.

I rode to the back forty to find my piece of lawn, which was located well outside the wooded main area.  The camp looked really cool with lights hung all through it to include a central gazebo with a stage, bar, and a very large refrigerator which was firmly held closed by a bungy cord.  I asked someone what the deal was with this cord.  They replied that there was a large pig that wandered the campground to scare the bears away and if you don’t bungy the refrigerator, the pig will open the door and drink all your beer.  Interesting indeed.

My camp was set up by 13:00 and I discovered a local loop for an afternoon blast around southern B.C. The loop entailed riding Route.31 around to Route 6.  From Route 6 I dropped down into Nelson, B.C. Nelson would make a great stopping point for a late lunch and has a quaint downtown area to walk around and stretch. The roads were in great shape and outside the mountain views being minimized from several wildfires it was a perfect June day to enjoy this part of the province.  What made the day even better was stopping twice to jump into an ice-cold mountain stream that hugged the road to cool off.  The streams were cold and refreshing, especially after riding in full gear during the peak of the day.

Upon leaving the streams my entire body would be tingling (like I just ate a piece of peppermint gum) from the extreme change in temperature it had just experienced.  Having been fully refreshed from my swims it was time to eat. My stomach was growling for a burger just as I entered the town of Nelson.  While eating a giant bacon burger and enjoying a cold Kokanee beer I suddenly heard a loud chopping through the air.  I recognized that sound from years before.  It was a Chinook helicopter coming to refill its water bucket in the lake to continue fighting the wildfires.  Once that show was over and my burger was finished it was time to head back to Toad Rock and see what was going on at camp for entertainment.  I would not be disappointed.

As I arrived at camp around 17:00 the pavilion in the middle was just getting warmed up and people were piling in serving drinks from the BYOB bar, retrieving beers from the refrigerator (and remembering to secure the beers from the thirsty pig), and talking with others. It wasn’t long before riders were randomly grabbing instruments to play music.  Everyone was welcoming as they took turns sharing their motorcycle adventure stories.

At this point I realized we all were in the middle of a great motorcycle story just living in the present here. The festivities continued late into the night.  As the night wore on and people slowly began to drift off to their campsites, I decided it was time to return to my tent as well.  The only problem was I couldn’t find my campsite. I knew it was in the lawn section but that seemed impossible to find as I went by the same tents a few times as I wearily followed the colored lights strung throughout the trees.  I began to worry that I’d have to locate the owner to ground guide me back to my campsite. Does meandering the campground hopelessly lost constitute being an asshole?  It was at this moment I saw a familiar landmark that marked my tent location and I haphazardly slid into my home for the evening. This was a day that fully encompassed what being a motorcyclist is all about: Living in the present, embracing each moment, and bonding with fellow riders.

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More riding in Canada?  You bet:  Check out the Three Flags Classic!

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