Feel Good Stuff – Page 10 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part I

By Bobbie Surber

As a passionate female solo rider, I often find myself facing a barrage of incredulous looks and questions from both strangers and friends. They ask the usual list of queries: “Is it safe?” “Where will you stay?” “What if your bike drops?” It’s become almost customary to respond by sharing my blog or articles that capture the essence of the joy I find in solo travel, whether by foot or by bike. This brings me to my latest and most epic solo adventure – a motorcycle journey from my home in the enchanting town of Sedona, Arizona, all the way up to the stunning landscapes of Canada. Covering over 6,700 miles of magical terrain, this journey was a test of my spirit and a celebration of my love for long distance motorcycle travel.

It all began last fall when the idea of a ride to Canada took hold of me. I knew that this was the journey I was meant to embark upon. I was determined to take my time, to savor the journey, and to visit as many National Parks as possible along the way. My plan was simple yet liberating: I would make up my route no more than a week in advance, pack light, and camp as much as possible off my trusty motorcycle, a three-cylinder Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi.

On the crisp morning of June 2nd, with the sun just beginning to warm the high desert of Sedona, I geared up for my adventure little did I know then that I would be gone for 11 plus weeks. The air carried an unusual coolness, a welcome departure from the scorching desert temperatures. My first stop was an obligatory one – Flagstaff, Arizona, just a short 30-mile ride from Sedona. The journey up Oak Creek Canyon was a visual feast, with Red Rock views and sinuous twists and turns that are a motorcyclist’s dream. I found myself at a Starbucks in Flagstaff, sipping on a well-deserved Americano, wondering what the day had in store for me as I charted my course towards North Grand Canyon National Park.

Leaving the comfort of Flagstaff behind, I embarked on Highway 89-A, leaving the tall pines of the city in my rearview mirror. The road led me to Lees Ferry, a spot where I could steal a quick moment with the majestic Colorado River. Riding through this part of Arizona on 89A felt like transitioning to another world. The landscape shifted from rugged mountains to a breathtaking desert expanse. Sandy plains, cacti, and the awe-inspiring sight of the Colorado River slicing through towering cliffs and canyons greeted me. Every time I ride through this area, I feel like I’m letting go of the worries of the world and immersing myself in the raw beauty of nature.

Arriving at Lee’s Ferry, I gazed in wonder at the grandeur of the Colorado River. Red Rock bluffs reached skyward, casting their reflections onto the water’s surface. A few photos captured the essence of the moment, and then I was back on the road, with Tippi carrying me across the vastness of the desert landscape with mountains looming in the distance with turbulent looking skies, laden with the threat of rain seemingly daring me to press onward.

Press on I did, and by the time I arrived at Jacob Lake, I was soaked to the bone. The reward, though, was immediate and satisfying. The general store at Jacob Lake had the antidote to my damp spirits – a hot cup of coffee and the most heavenly homemade cookies I’ve ever tasted in Arizona. While I warmed up and indulged my taste buds, I chatted with fellow riders who regaled me with tales of epic early June snowstorms they’d encountered that day while riding back from the Grand Canyon. It’s moments like these, swapping stories with fellow riders, that make a solo journey so enriching.

A swift pit stop at Jacob Lake was followed by the task of setting up my tent, which proved to be a bit of a challenge in the rain. But that’s the essence of adventure riding, isn’t it? You adapt, you overcome, and you keep moving forward. With my campsite established, I wasted no time and headed to North Grand Canyon. Fortunately, I was spared the snow, but a wicked hailstorm tested my resolve as I carefully made my way further up the rim.

By the time I reached the park, the weather gods seemed to have taken pity on me. Dry weather prevailed, and I was treated to the most dramatic skies one could hope for when visiting the North Grand Canyon. As I stood there, gazing out into the vast expanse of this natural wonder, I couldn’t help but feel humbled by the forces of nature and the grandeur of the world we live in. It was a moment of pure serenity amidst the chaos of my journey.

The following morning, I bid farewell to North Grand Canyon, heading down into Kanab for a quick gas and coffee break before completing the remainder of my ride on Highway 89A, with Zion National Park as my next destination. With two days and one night to immerse myself in the beauty of Zion, I was eager to experience the park in all its glory.

Entering Zion National Park on a motorcycle is a unique adventure. The winding roads and the freedom to embrace the open road add an extra layer of exhilaration to the journey. Plus, if you time it right, like I did, arriving early can help you avoid the epic traffic jams that can plague this popular destination.

Setting up camp as quickly as possible, I wasted no time in hopping onto a shuttle ride to the park’s lodge. From there, I embarked on a day of hiking, exploring several of Zion’s shorter trails. I couldn’t resist attempting to secure a permit for Angel’s Landing, a trail known for its breathtaking, albeit nerve-wracking, vistas. Alas, the permit eluded me, but that didn’t dampen my spirits. Zion offered me an array of other trails and sights to explore, and I reveled in every step I took.

Zion’s rugged beauty is a testament to the power of nature’s sculpting hand. Towering sandstone cliffs, cascading waterfalls, and the vibrant colors of the Virgin River create a landscape that feels otherworldly. With my camera in hand, I captured every nuance of this remarkable place. Hiking a portion of the Narrows, with water rushing around me, was a highlight I’ll carry with me forever. Zion National Park, with its mesmerizing mix of desert and oasis, and once again confirming why I love this park so much.

As I lay in my tent that night, listening to the sounds of the wilderness around me, I couldn’t help but reflect on the incredible journey I’d embarked upon. From the stunning landscapes of my hometown of Sedona to the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing beauty of Zion, my solo motorcycle ride to Canada had already been a whirlwind of experiences. And this was just the beginning.

My journey would continue northward, taking me through more National Parks, enchanting towns, and breathtaking vistas, mountains, desolate beaches, and new friends I’d yet to meet. Each twist and turn of the road held the promise of new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in a way that only solo travel can offer. The open road called me, and I was more than ready to answer its invitation.

In the world of solo travel, there’s a unique freedom and self-discovery. It is a chance to test your limits, embrace the unknown, and find solace in the beauty of the world. My motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada was not just a ride; it was a pilgrimage of the soul, an exploration of the heart, and a celebration of the indomitable spirit of the open road. As I drifted into sleep under the starry Utah sky, I couldn’t wait to see where the road would lead me next on this remarkable adventure.

My fellow adventurers, I invite you to stay tuned for the next captivating chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road stretches before us, brimming with the promise of extraordinary experiences and inspiring tales yet to be written. With each twist of the throttle I embrace the unknown, and I can’t wait to share the unfolding journey of a lifetime with you.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

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.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 3 (Lake Titicaca)

By Mike Huber

No trip to Peru can be complete without a journey to Lake Titicaca. It is the largest alpine lake on the planet at an elevation of 12,500 feet, and the lifestyle of those who live on the lake is beyond fascinating. This huge lake is nestled in a giant basin between two of the Andean mountain ranges and extends across the border to Bolivia. And yes, it has a funny name. There was no way I was going to miss this place even though it was quite a distance from my home base in Cusco.

Having planned to use all my vacation time while in Peru, it wasn’t too difficult to load up on my work early in the week and take a four-day weekend to knock out Lake Titicaca (did I mention it has a funny name?). Allowing four days would provide me with enough time to take a leisurely tour bus to this region of Peru, get some hikes and tourist attractions in along the way, and then return on an overnight bus on Sunday. This would assure (hopefully) that I would make it to work on time Monday morning. Instilling project management principles usually results in a successful outcome. To me the planning of a project or a vacation followed the same rigid processes. Of course, the vacation ones always had a few surprises along the way that I would have to adjust to, but that’s part of the fun.

The bus ride was filled with incredible beauty with stops at local markets and panoramic mountain views that had me saying to myself “wow, I am in the Andes!” over and over again. Out of all the bus rides I’d been on, this was by far the most pleasant. I was used to the altitude, there were no Kirk Cameron movies, and I had made a special tea to enhance the ride (PM me for details on that, but it will probably bleed into another article). The entire ride was an extremely joyful 8 hours where I had an opportunity to meet two wonderful girls from Japan (we are still friends to this day).

Feeling beyond happy but tired, we finally pulled into the lakeside city of Pulmo, Peru. This first day here would be relaxing and adjusting to the world I had just entered. There was a giant golden condor statue on a steep hill above the city, which provided a sense of calm. There was a large market that made for great people watching while having some coca tea and even a coca beer. The beer was like a prehistoric provided a buzz and amp at the same time. It almost reminded me of my Jager bomb days in Boston. Thankfully for the people of Pulmo I didn’t take it that far.

The next day I joined a boat tour that took us to many of the man-made islands. These islands were floating and made of dried totora, a type of papyrus the local population harvested from the lake marshes. The people are known as the Ura. The islands are fairly large, some of them over an acre or more in size. There were stores, restaurants, and cafes on some of the islands.

The islands were surprisingly stable and didn’t rock as we stepped onto them. When talking to one of the Ura (and speaking as well as I could in Spanish), I asked how they made the islands once they gathered the papyrus. It was a constant cycle of drying the papyrus, bundling them, and tying them to the upper part of the island. He showed me a hole cut into the center of one of the islands. It looked like a hole you would ice fish through and it was about 3 feet wide. The hole was large enough to see the bottom reeds starting to decay and back into the water. It was a constant process to keep their “land” from being swallowed by the lake. Many of the Ura, not much more than a mile offshore, hardly ever returned to the mainland shores of Pulmo. They much preferred their isolated yet tightly knit community on the lake where life was simple.

The city of Pulmo was so different from both the Amazon jungle and where I lived in Cusco. The more I explored Peru the more diverse and mystical it became. Sunday was a relaxing day with more coca beer and local foods with my new Japanese friends.

As the sun began to set it was time to find my way back to the bus depot and board the redeye that would return me to Cusco. It didn’t take too long for me to peacefully fall asleep on the bus. I didn’t wake up until the bus entered Cusco. It was a short taxi ride to my home and just in time to lead my first conference call of the day. Still bleary-eyed and having a buzz from the weekend (and the coca beer) my workday progressed as though the trip was just a dream. It was an adventure I wanted to share with my co-workers, but they wouldn’t understand as they were still under the assumption I was living in my condo in Boston. Throughout the day I wondered if and when I would ever return to Boston.

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!

British Motorcycle Gear, Motorado, and more…

By Joe Berk

On occasion, I’ll post a blog that’s a general update and a peek into what’s coming down the pike. I’ll be on another secret mission to Asia next month, returning to one favorite Far East locale and visiting another for the first time. They each have a vibrant motorcycle and auto culture and I’ll get as many photos as I can. You can bet I’ll have several blogs on both places. It’s going to be fun.

Andrew Capone of British Motorcycle Gear at the Isle of Man.

We’re quite happy to welcome British Motorcycle Gear as an ExNotes advertiser. BMG is a New Jersey moto shop with very high quality motorcycle clothing, parts, and more. Good buddy Andrew Capone is the owner and he’s good people. In addition to being a Jersey Boy (as is yours truly), Andrew is a serious rider, a motojournalist, and a world traveler. He’s Motorcycle.com’s “go to” guy on all things related to the Isle of Man, and there’s a chance he may even pen an article or two for us here on ExNotes. Gresh tested and reviewed British Motorcycle Gear products here on ExNotes and it’s good equipment. And here’s even more good news: Andrew is offering an exclusive discount to ExNotes readers. Just punch in the code BMGJOES when checking out, and you’ll get an 11% discount on everything (except gear that’s already on sale, and Halcyon mirrors and goggles). Check out the British Motorcycle Gear website; I know you’ll enjoy it.

Joe Gresh is headed to a New Mexico vintage motorcycle show and the Motorado event in the near future, and you’ll read about that right here. I’m looking forward to reading all about it. Mike Huber, Bobbie Surber, and Rob Morel all have more stories in work for you. Mike is BMWborne on a transcontinental blitz, Bobbie is headed off on another motoexpedition to points south (as in way, way south), and Rob is working a few more projects up in Washington.

One last note: Our request for financial site support (or, as some would call it, my high tech begging) is doing quite well. Thank you to all our supporters. We appreciate it greatly.

Help us bring more content to you:

Want to Support Us?

By Joe Berk

Joe Gresh’s “Call to Arms” post had a lot of positive results for us (thank you, everyone who contributed), and we’ve had a lot of folks ask us to make it easier to support the site. So that’s what we’ve done.

There’s no obligation, there’s no subscription required, you’ll still have access to everything on the site, and if you choose not to donate, that’s okay, too. We still love you. But we’re making it easier (as you have requested) to support ExhaustNotes and our blog. PayPal, credit cards, whatever. 100% of anything you contribute will go to the writers.

Just click on the button below and do whatever you feel is right, and thanks in advance.

Sponsors: A Call To Arms

By Joe Gresh

Sponsored content is a way for publications to earn money. How it works is companies pay cold hard cash for bloggers to write a story about the products they’re selling. Most reputable websites and magazines print a notice letting you know the story is paid advertising. We’ll never have to worry about that because we don’t write sponsored content.

Not writing sponsored content is not the same as not having sponsors, though. Sponsors pay money for advertising on our website but don’t have any say about what we write. Sponsors support the website because they feel the content will attract the sort of people who they want to reach. For ExhaustNotes those people will be motorcyclists, shooters, travelers (especially Baja travelers), and concrete finishers. I know, it’s an odd mix of topics, but both Berk, me, and our other contributors write about what we know.

So here’s the pitch: If you have been reading ExhaustNotes and think the eclectic collection of stories we create might appeal to your customers, by all means become one of our sponsors. If you just like reading the website and want to help support us, become a site sponsor even if you have nothing to sell. Maybe we’ll make a wall of names for people who sponsor the site. We want sponsors to support ExhaustNotes.us because they think that the writing we are doing is worthwhile.

So dig down into those dusty advertising budgets and drop an email to us (info@ExhaustNotes.us). Let us know how we can help you spend your money.

Cayucos, Hearst Castle, and the Wine Country

California’s Pacific Coast Highway is one of the best motorcycle roads on the planet, and I never miss an opportunity to travel it. One of my favorite destinations on the Pacific Coast Highway is Hearst Castle. We’ve written about it previously here on ExNotes.

As the title of this blog implies, base camp was in Cayucos, California, instead of Cambria (more on that below). And from a photography perspective, instead of lugging around my boat-anchor, full-frame Nikon D810, I took the smaller and lighter Nikon D3300 with a “walking around” 18-55mm lens and a Rokinon 8mm (a super wide angle). I’ve been using that combination more and more lately.

The Rokinon 8mm super wide angle lens. Manual everything, it’s fun to use and it does a surprisingly good job.

There’s not much in San Simeon, so people who visit Hearst Castle usually stay in Cambria. We stayed a stone’s throw away from Cambria in Cayucos, which is just north of Morro Bay.

Most folks who visit Hearst Castle stay in Cambria, a touristy, kitschy spot just down the road from San Simeon (the Hearst Castle location). This time we tried Cayucos, a tiny town that’s a bit further south down the Pacific Coast Highway. It’s friendlier, less expensive, and for my money, a lot nicer and more enjoyable than Cambria. Sue and I stayed in the Sunset Inn, a bed and breakfast in Cayucos. If you’re in Cayucos, the Ludano restaurant is the place for dinner (William Randolph Hearst was a regular here while building Hearst Castle). For a more casual Cayucos dining experience, Duckie’s (near the Cayucos Pier) is an awesome walkup seafood restaurant (try the fish and chips; they were great).

Hearst Castle, as seen through the Rokinon 8mm super wide.

The Neptune swimming pool at Hearst Castle.

One of the Hearst Castle’s guest bedrooms.

The Rokinon lens is strictly a manual affair. It doesn’t autofocus and it doesn’t work with the camera’s automatic metering features. It’s manual everything…focus, f stop, ISO, and shutter speed. The focus part was easy…I simply cranked the focus ring all the way over to infinity (with a wide-angle lens, that works). For ISO, shutter speed, and f stop, I used the camera’s histogram. Shoot, check the histogram, adjust, shoot again, check the histogram, adjust, and keep going until things are just right. Too dark, and I adjusted the shutter speed, the f stop, and the ISO until the histogram showed everything between the histogram upper and lower limits. Too light, and I made adjustments in the opposite direction. For the money, the Rokinon lens is a lot of fun, and I like the effects I get with a wide -angle lens. Some folks don’t. That’s okay. It’s my gear and these are my photos.

As mentioned earlier, I also used the Nikon 18-55mm lens on this trip. It’s not the sharpest lens but that’s okay. I’m not the sharpest matzoh in the box, either, and a matching lens fits me well. When I shoot in RAW (the camera’s capture everything, sort-it-out-later-in-Photoshop mode), the 18-55mm lens works surprisingly well, like in the photo at the top of this blog. It’s a shot of the Cayucos Pier, in which I did a little bit of post-processing to darken the sky and the water. I’m pleased with the results.

While we walked the pier, we talked to folks who were fishing from it. The fishing was good: Halibut, perch, and one fellow had landed a 4-foot shark earlier in the day (I wish I had been there when that happened; that would have been a hell of a picture).

The Nikon D3300 digital single lens reflex camera and the 18-55mm zoom lens that comes with the camera. It’s not a super sharp lens, but it’s not super expensive, either.

I took the photo below with the 18-55mm lens just a few miles up the Pacific Coast Highway. These are elephant seals and I liked how this photo turned out, too.

One of several elephant seal vista points along California’s magnificent Pacific Coast Highway. The two in the water was grunting loudly at each other in a domination contest. These seals can weigh up to 5,000 pounds.

You know, the discussions about lenses, cameras, and photography can go on endlessly. Sometimes all you need is a cell phone. I was blown away by the photos Joe Gresh grabbed when he recently visited Laguna Seca after riding his Kawasaki ZRX from New Mexico. Joe shot all of those with his iPhone, which is a much easier way to go on a motorcycle. When I travel with a digital single lens reflex camera on a motorcycle, the camera and a couple of lenses steal a lot of saddlebag space. There’s advantages and disadvantages to everything, I guess.

Old Creek Road out of Cayucos is a fun ride.

Riding the Pacific Coast Highway is a bucket list ride, and if you get an opportunity to do so, you should grab it. The area I’m describing in this blog is roughly halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. The Pacific Coast Highway is currently closed around Gordo (well north of San Simeon), but that still leaves a lot of nice riding on the table. One of the best rides is Old Creek Road northeast out of Cayucos. It’s a lightly traveled and grand road, full of twisties, and it cuts through the California wine country to link up with State Route 46 (another fine road through the wine country). A few miles further east, 46 intersects Highway 41, and that’s where James Dean lost his life in a car accident (there’s a sign marking the spot). There are a lot of interesting things and a lot of interesting roads in California.

More Epic Rides are here!

Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 2

By Mike Huber

Peru is most famously known for one of the 7 Wonders of the World. What’s frustrating is that like national parks in the United States, whoever declares things a “Wonder of the World” keeps adding more to the list, or in this case with the 7 Wonders, they change them. Absolutely one of my life’s objectives is to hit all 7 Wonders. Machu Picchu is and should always remain in that highly respected list of these magnificent artifacts of humanity’s past.

Getting to Machu Picchu isn’t easy even if you are living in Peru. I feel the best way is to hike the Inca Trail over three or four days to arrive at this city deep in the Andes. One of the biggest issues with my whimsical lifestyle is it is difficult to plan too far in advance. To reserve a spot to hike the Inca Trail (at the time in 2012) was about four months. In Huber travel years that is equal to about two years, so that option was out. The more touristy way to arrive is via a train with a glass roof. Compared to my past bus rides, it was heaven (there were no showings of Fireproof on this ride).

The train pulled into Aquas Calientes, which is the small town nestled deep in the Andes at the base of Machu Picchu. Almost instantly I was filled with energy. I don’t know if it was energy from the ancient civilization that once resided here or that I was at a lower elevation of 7,000 feet as compared to the 12,000 feet where I had been living.

The following day I was up early to catch the first bus up to Machu Picchu. The bus ride was filled with hairpin turns with quick glimpses of one of the 7 Wonders. I had my face pressed into the cold bus window awaiting each new view around every corner. Upon arrival, I stopped at the kiosk just outside the park entrance to load up on water since a full day of hiking was on the itinerary.

Once entering the ruins and taking some time to… yes, hang out with the llamas…the realization hit me that I had two full days in this mesmerizing ancient city! I noticed people would unload from busses do a quick photo in that iconic spot we all have seen in every travel magazine, have an hour or so to explore the ruins, and then they were off. What’s funny is that angle is not even of Mt. Machu Picchu, but of Huayna Picchu. Having two full days here would allow me the opportunity to summit both mountains and enjoy the area to its fullest.

The first day I decided I would climb the higher and much less visited of the two summits. Mt. Machu Pichu towers approximately 1800 feet above the Inca city below. This should have been a more strenuous hike but between being 4,000 feet lower in elevation, the energy from these powerful ruins, and a solid reserve of coca leaves, the mountain was a fairly easy climb. With so few people along the trail (I was one of the first in the park and many were just there for the photo ops) the trail was pretty much mine for the morning.

After the hike and with the coca leaves leaving my system, it was time for a siesta. I wandered throughout the ruins until I found a hidden room and climbed atop the walls in the sun and snoozed for a bit until I was awoken by some new friends. Marmots. The little guys were scampering throughout the ruins and occasionally would knock off rocks loud enough to jostle me awake. The day couldn’t have been more perfect.

Day Two in the ruins was a similar routine with me catching the first shuttle of the morning. Plans for this day were to summit Huayna Picchu and then hike down behind the mountain to almost the same elevation as my base of Aquas Caliente, but on the other side of the mountain. This area had no one in it. It was a steep trail. In one hike it left the Andes Mountains and descended into a rain forest that felt like no one had visited in centuries. It wasn’t nearly as large as the main city on top of the mountain, but it had a few structures overrun with jungle growth. The difference in climate in this short and steep hike was amazing. After returning it was time for another nap and a few more short hikes along portions of the Inca Trail before returning to the shuttle to bring me back to Aquas Caliente.

With life always seeming so busy and the pressure to constantly move and go it was more than nice to be able to allocate so much time here and fully embrace every part of this city. Few people have this opportunity and the ones that do tend to rush through it so quickly that they don’t allow themselves to feel the mystical energy that emits from this city in the clouds of Peru called Machu Picchu.