Feel Good Stuff – Page 15 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Part 1 of the Dingle Way, Ireland – Tralee to Camp

By Bobbie Surber

The Dingle Way trail in Ireland was an epic adventure that left me feeling invigorated and alive. As a lover of hiking and long-distance walking, I knew that Ireland would offer the perfect landscape to immerse myself in nature and challenge my physical limits. I was torn between the Ring of Kerry and the Dingle Way, but after much research and the advice of a dear friend, I chose the latter for its remoteness and stunning vistas.

The Dingle Way is a long-distance walking trail that spans approximately 115 miles across the southwestern region of Ireland. The trail begins and ends in the charming town of Tralee, passing through the picturesque town of Dingle and the stunning Dingle Peninsula. The views along the way are nothing short of breathtaking, with panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean, the Blasket Islands, and the Macgillycuddy’s Reeks mountain range.

After a long train ride from Dublin, I arrived in Tralee, a charming town in County Kerry. The town is known for its friendly locals, rich history, and stunning natural beauty. It serves as the county seat of Kerry and is the starting point for both the Dingle Way and Kerry Camino trails. After checking into my room for the night, I took advantage and visited the famous Roses of Tralee, the nearby Tralee Bay, and the breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean, rugged cliffs, and rolling hills. My day ended with a hearty bowl of vegetable soup and my newfound love of Red Breast single pot Irish Whisky. Aided by a wee drop of Red Breast, I returned to my lodging and fell into a dreamless sleep.

I woke early the next morning in time to see the light break through a brooding overcast sky. As I sat enjoying the conversation of my host, Veronica, I could not help but linger over my stellar Irish breakfast and excellent strong coffee. Reluctantly I said my farewells and set out for the official first day of my journey. I felt a wave of nostalgia for my past adventures and growing excitement for this one. The weather was typically Irish, with epic wind and rain pounding the trail, but I relished the challenge and pushed myself to keep going. The dark sky contrasted sharply with the emerald foothills, and the wind dared me to remain upright with the weight of my backpack. But I felt alive with the excitement of the adventure.

As the day wore on, I stumbled upon a cozy sliver of a pub in the village of Camp. The bartender’s great-grandfather built the pub, adding a touch of history to my visit. Stepping inside, I was immediately enveloped in warmth and hospitality. The locals were friendly and welcoming, and the music and laughter echoed off the walls. It was the perfect place to recover from a long day on the trail.

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Sipping on a pint of Guinness and chatting with the locals, I felt a deep contentment and gratitude. Despite the day’s challenges, I had made it to this cozy pub, surrounded by new friends and Ireland’s rich history. Moments like these made me fall in love with travel and the thrill of adventure.

After a quick stop at the B&B, I couldn’t resist the allure of the Railroad Pub. Sunday nights were special, with locals gathering to play their instruments and sing. As I walked in, I felt like I had stumbled onto the set of a small Irish independent film. The pub was alive with energy, music, and laughter spilling out onto the street.

The characters inside embodied everything I had imagined about rural Ireland – warm, friendly, and full of life. They welcomed me with open arms, inviting me to join the festivities. I grabbed a pint of ale and found a spot at the bar, taking in the sounds and smells around me.

As the night wore on, the music grew louder and the dancing more exuberant. I couldn’t resist the urge to join in, stumbling onto the dance floor with newfound confidence. The locals cheered me on, and soon I was lost in the moment of joy.

Despite being busy behind the bar, Mike, the owner, took the time to chat with us and ensure we were taken care of. His kindness and generosity added to the magic of the night, making it one I’ll never forget. As I stumbled back to the B&B, my heart full of the music and memories of the night, I knew this trip would be one for the books. The traditional music and singing had truly been the highlight of my journey so far, and I couldn’t wait to see what adventures awaited me on the rest of the Dingle Way/Kerry Camino. With cozy pubs, delicious food, and breathtaking views, I knew this adventure would be epic!

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Dublin: A Lively Pub and Friendly Locals

By Bobbie Surber

I set off for Ireland with a one-night stay in Dublin as a stopover before traveling via train to walk the Dingle Way, a long-distance walking trail that circles the Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry. It is a 179 km (111 mi) trail that takes about 8 to 10 days to complete, and it is considered one of the most scenic walking routes in Ireland. I will write more about this epic trail in my next post.

After a long flight from the USA, I arrived at Dublin Airport and took a bus to the city center. A half-hour later, I arrived at Temple Bar neighborhood with a blustery short 10-minute walk to my Hostel. I planned to check in and get a recommendation from the staff on their favorite local pub to enjoy a good dinner and a pint of beer before turning in early for a much-needed sleep and an early morning train to start my long-distance walk.

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Well, that was the plan I had scripted for myself, but Dublin had other plans in store for me.

Walking into a local pub packed to the roof with Friday night revelers, I barely had enough room to squeeze inside the entrance door. The pub was so full that it seemed impossible to get to the bar, let alone a table for my dinner or to order my wee pint of beer! I was turning around and determined to leave when a friendly Irishman quickly put me at ease with his warm welcome and offered me a pint of Guinness. Despite the crowded bar, he skillfully navigated through the throngs of people to a table where a group of Germans welcomed us to join them. Over the course of the night, we enjoyed several pints (okay many pints) and shots of Green Spot Irish whiskey while the lively music had the entire bar singing and dancing. I even danced with my Irishman and a sweet-hearted German with a great sense of humor. At around 2 am, we stumbled out of the pub and continued the revelry at a local place where you got it; more pints and shots were served.

I never actually made it to bed that night; my head was pounding, and my vision was blurry when I returned to the hostel just in time to witness the sunrise and the city come back to life. With barely enough time to collect my backpack, I set out for the next leg of my adventures in Ireland. Despite the hangover and lack of sleep, I called an Uber lift to take me to the train station, and during the ride, the driver asked me about my sightseeing experiences the previous day. When I revealed that I had only visited one small pub, he laughed and declared me a true Irishwoman at heart. Regrettably, I never had dinner that night, but the memories of the vibrant pub and the friendly locals I encountered will remain with me forever.

Sláinte!

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ExNotes Mentors: Bernie Hunt

By Joe Gresh

I’ve worked in the trades most of my life. I don’t pull that “most” figure out of a hat. It has yet to be determined how my remaining years will be spent but even if I started a new career tomorrow there is simply not enough time left to exceed the 50-plus years I’ve spent doing manual labor, unless I live to 110 years old. So far all the mentors I’ve written about were involved with the line of work I was doing, be it construction, the various marine trades I engaged in or mechanics. Bernie Hunt was a different sort of mentor in that he created an entirely new and unexpected line of work.

Mr. Hunt was the editor of The Key West Citizen, our local daily newspaper way down south in the Florida Keys. For a small town there were a lot of dramatic events happening in Key West seemingly all the time. It was such a clannish place and so vested in the smuggler’s lifestyle that the Feds were constantly blowing into town arresting high officials because local law enforcement was in on the deal, if not outright protecting the crooks. Scandals were plentiful and the news business was hopping.

After one of the many hurricanes that hit our place in Big Pine Key, the whole island was littered with junk. Residents would stack their crap along the roadsides where it sat waiting for someone to haul it away. Big Pine Key was considered The Sticks to Key West and other islands and so we were usually last for any kind of assistance. No matter where you lived in the Keys, local government was slow to react in times of disaster and we had to wait for FEMA to come in and mop up the mess. This took many, many months.

With the stinking piles of trash as a backdrop I wrote a letter to the editor about how the roadside junkyards were a boon to people like me. I found a rare column-shift collar for a three-speed manual transmission Ford Econoline van in the piles. I dug out a nearly complete 1972 Yamaha RT2 motorcycle not far from home. My friends in Big Pine Key called it Beirut Auto Supply because our neighborhood looked like images of war-torn areas in the Middle East.

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Mr. Hunt called me. He said he wanted to know if I was a real person and that he loved the letter and wanted to make it into a column for the Sunday edition of the newspaper. I was pretty excited. He asked if I could come down to the Key West Citizen offices and meet with him. This was pretty cool considering I was a boat electrician and not a writer.

That’s how I met Bernie Hunt for the first and last time. We chatted in his office and he asked, “What makes you so funny?” I was caught off guard by the question since the Beirut Auto Supply story wasn’t all that hilarious to me. I couldn’t think of anything and I told him that I didn’t know, that I was just writing about how it was on Big Pine Key. I felt dumb as hell.

After a bit more chatting, Mr. Hunt said, “Call me Bernie. How would you like to write a weekly column for us?”

To see how weird this question was you have to understand about Key West’s long, distinguished literary history. The Island is lousy with writers ever since Hemingway drank, fought and typed standing up here. You can’t swing a 6-toed cat without hitting a struggling writer. Taking a chance on a boat electrician with zero writing experience and from Big Pine Key when he had dozens of real writers to pick from sitting on the stoop outside his door was just plain foolhardy.

Brian Catterson, an editor of mine at Motorcyclist once told me that the only correct answer to an editor asking you to write a story is “Hell yes.” I didn’t know that at the time but I still said, “Hell yes.” Bernie took me on a tour of the newspaper building introducing me to the people we met along the way. “This is Joe Gresh, he’ll be writing a column for us,” Bernie would say, like I was somebody they should know. The printing room was an analog delight: huge rollers spun giant coils of newsprint into sheets of printed material. Steel dies were laid out and inked, Bernie complained about how the cost of newsprint had gone up and said they would need to raise the price of a copy if it kept up.

When I got home reality hit: How was I going to write 700 words a week? I bent to it and with a lot of help from CT editing the gibberish I produced we managed to get a Sunday column done. And then we did another. And another. And another.

CT typed my handwritten stories and then faxed them to the newspaper where they would be typeset and printed. Deadline was Friday for the Sunday edition. I wrote about 80 Sunday columns over two years for the Key West Citizen. In all that time Bernie never called me except to say that they couldn’t run a story because it was too weird or for legal reasons. The column received many letters of complaint, which I loved. Bernie never gave me direction, writing advice or told me he liked what I was doing: he just kept printing the stuff.

One day Bernie left for another editor’s job. I lasted a few more editions but the new editor from Ypsilanti, Michigan didn’t care for my shtick and stopped printing my stories. I was never actually fired I was simply ignored. I was pretty burnt out from trying to come up with a topic and write a story each week so I wasn’t too upset about the way it ended.

When I decided to write about him I tried to find Bernie online. I can’t tell if he’s dead or alive. The last place I have him living was Las Vegas, Nevada. I found some phone numbers and email addresses and tried contacting him but no dice. After the Key West Citizen he went on to be editor at many different newspapers and magazines. He even won a Pulitzer Prize (I think), so he’s done fairly well without me. Bernie was the most hands-off mentor I’ve had. His method was to point me in an unfamiliar direction and kick me in the ass. It worked well.

If anyone knows where Bernie is now, do me a favor and send him a link to this story.

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A Cup of Joe?

By Joe Berk

So where did the phrase “a cup of Joe” originate? For the book, that’s easy. Good buddy Marcus won the naming contest a few weeks ago with his suggested A Cup O’ Joes, which was the first suggestion to arrive in our Comments section and my immediate favorite. Yeah, that’s the commercial, and yeah, if you haven’t bought a copy already, please do so. But from where did the term “a cup of Joe” actually emanate?

There’s no conclusive answer, but like many things, there are lots of opinions (making it a near perfect topic for Internet musing, I suppose). Here are a few I found.

The Navy Angle

One hypothesis holds that “a cup of Joe” is based on a US Navy booze ban. Secretary of the Navy Josephus “Joe” Daniels prohibited alcohol on ships in 1914. After that edict, the strongest thing a sailor could drink on board a US Navy vessel was coffee. Angry sailors coined “a cup of Joe” to describe their coffee as a result.

The Big Jamoke?

Language historians think “a cup of Joe” didn’t enter the English language until around 1930. Linguists think the term came from an adaptation of the invented word “jamoke,” which was a combination of java and mocha. “Jamoke” may have become “Joe.” Eh, that seems a bit farfetched to me, but the term “jamoke” sounds kind of cool to me. I like it.

An Average Joe

A third hypothesis is that the word “Joe” means something common. You know, like “the average Joe” (understandably, not one of my favorite expressions). Because coffee is such a common man’s drink (a common woman’s drink, too, based on the long line of women I always see at any Starbuck’s ordering obscene $8 coffee-based concoctions), the expression “a cup of Joe” emerged. I don’t put much stock in this one, either.

So what’s the answer?

Beats me. Maybe good buddy and coffee empresario Ren of Batdorf & Bronson Coffee can weigh in with his opinion. Or maybe one of our other readers knows. Let’s hear what you think.

My take on all the above? “A cup of Joe” just seems to fit. I am not the sharpest matzo in the box when I wake up in the morning, and I need my coffee to sharpen my thinking. “A cup of Joe” is an expression that fits perfectly for me. I’m enjoying mine now.

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Wildlife in The Southwest: Javelina

By Mike Huber

Having grown up in Maine I spent most of my childhood experiencing life up close with nature. I have always been drawn to the unique wildlife in different regions of our country. In the Southwest this is especially true as the terrain is so different than Maine, or really anywhere else I have traveled. Many people think desert and cactus, sand, maybe an old cow skull on a fence post and envision a region void of life. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Once you get out exploring this fragile ecosystem it’s easy to see and hear how much life there is in this harsh environment.

One of the coolest animals I have seen along my travels is the javelina. These beady eyed little critters look very similar to boars or wild pigs but are actually in the rodent family. If you are in the desert during a full moon and the wind is just right, and if you are lucky, you can hear a pack of these little guys chomping up prickly pear cactus and tearing up people’s lawns. They are a little local gang of hoodlums causing mischief throughout the neighborhood and then disappearing into the thick desert underbrush as quickly as they appeared from it.

The first time I saw javelina was while camping along the Arizona and Mexican border. Sleeping in a tiny one-man tent I woke up to what I thought were wild horses munching on some leaves. The sound got louder and closer as whatever it was moved in on my position. I wasn’t quite sure what to do but wanted to be certain I wasn’t trampled by horses in my tent (that’s one way to end the story). I popped out of my tent and flicked my flashlight on. What I saw was about 10 pairs of beady little eyes staring back at me and snouts wiggling in all directions. Not having any idea what these things were and not being armed I began shouting at them “Quit screwing around!” Little did I know that is the exact command they understood and followed. After a few moments of a harrowing standoff, they took the hint and went around my tent without missing one leaf. The strange-looking beasts made their way into the rugged desert terrain as I stood outside my tent still trying to figure out what had just marched through my campsite.

Frequently wintering in the southwest I am now very accustomed to these little troublemakers, and it always brings me great joy in seeing them marching across the street like the Beatles on the Abbey Road Album cover. On more then one occasion when I see them in the backyard, I will close the gate and jokingly say “We got us a petting zoo!” In my experience the javelina are pretty focused on obtaining food and don’t pay much attention to us humans being near them. except if you move quickly, make loud noises, or they have babies in their herd.

So, whether these little Star Wars looking creatures are hanging out around my campsite in the middle of the desert or foraging through the neighbors’ yards, they are a pleasant reminder that the environments I travel through change in many ways. The javelina are a vital part of the desert’s fragile ecosystem that we are guests in to enjoy and embrace.

Disclaimer: Opening a javelina petting zoo is a foolish thing to do. Do not attempt to pet, embrace, or feed them either as they can turn on you and attack.

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The Wayback Machine: Zongshen, Chongqing, and Tempus Fugit

By Joe Berk

Time flies when you’re having fun. It’s hard to believe it’s been a dozen years since I first visited Zongshen for CSC Motorcycles, and when I did, the RX3 wasn’t even a thought. I went to Zongshen looking for a 250cc engine for CSC’s Mustang replica (the photo above shows CSC’s Mustang and an original 1954 Mustang Pony). CSC’s Mustang replica had a 150cc engine and some folks said they wanted a 250, so we went hunting for a 250cc engine.

The quest for a 250 took me to a little town called Chongqing (little as in population: 34,000,000). I spent a day with the Zongers and, well, you know the rest. This is the email I sent to Steve Seidner, the CSC CEO and the guy who had the foresight to dispatch me to Chongqing. I was energized after my visit that day, and I wrote the email you see below that night. It was a dozen years ago. Hard to believe.

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17 Dec 2011

Steve:

Just got back from the Zongshen meetings in Chongqing. This letter is a summary of how it went.

Our host and a driver picked us up in a Mercedes mini-van in the morning at the hotel. It was about a 1-hour drive to the Zongshen campus. Chongqing is a massive and scenic city (it just seems to go on forever). Imagine mid-town Manhattan massively larger with taller and more modern buildings, built in a lush green mountain range, and you’ll have an idea of what the city is like. We took a circular freeway at the edge of town, and the views were beyond stunning. It was an overcast day, and every time we came around a mountain we had another view of the city in the mist. It was like something in a dream. Chongqing is the Chinese name for the city. We in the US used to call it Chun King (like the noodle company). We drove for an hour on a freeway (at about 60 mph the whole time) to get to the Zongshen campus, and we were still in the city. I’ve never seen anything like it. The city is awesome. I could spend 6 months here just photographing the place.

The Zongshen facilities are huge and completely modern. The enterprise is on a landscaped campus (all fenced off from the public) in the city’s downtown area. We were ushered into their office building complex, which is about as modern and clean as anything I have ever seen. You can probably tell from this email that I was impressed.

Let me emphasize this again: The Zongshen campus is huge. My guess is that they have something in excess of 1.5 million square feet of manufacturing space.

Here are some shots of some of their buildings from the outside…they have several buildings like this. These first two show one of their machining facilities.

There were several buildings like the ones above on the Zongshen campus. It was overwhelming. This is a big company. The people who work there live on the Zongshen campus (Zongshen provides apartments for these folks). They work a 5-day, 8-hour-per-day week. It looked like a pretty nice life. Zongshen employs about 2,000 people.

Here’s a shot showing a portion of the Zongshen office building. Very modern, and very nicely decorated inside.

Zongshen is the name of the man who started the business. The company is about 20 years old. Mr. Zongshen is still actively engaged running the business (notice that he is not wearing a beret). I had the Chinese characters translated and what he is saying is “I want Joe to write our blog.”

Zongshen has a few motorcycles and scooters that have received EC (European Community) certification. They do not have any motorcycles that have received US EPA or CARB certification. They do have scooters, though, approved in the US. They have two models that have EPA and CARB certification. I explained that we might be interested in these as possible powerplants for future CSC motorcycles.

I asked to see the factory, and they took us on a factory tour. In a word, their production operation is awesome. The next several photographs show the inside of their engine assembly building (they had several buildings this size; these photos show the inside of just one). It was modern, clean, and the assembly work appears to be both automated and manual (depending on the operation). Note that we were in the factory on a Saturday, so no work was occurring. I was thinking the entire time what fun it must be to run this kind of a facility. Take a look.

Zongshen has onsite die casting capabilities, so they can make covers with a CSC logo if we want them to. Having this capability onsite is a good thing; most US manufacturers subcontract their die casting work and I can tell you that in the factories I have managed, getting these parts on time in a condition where they meet the drawing requirements was always a problem in the US. Doing this work in house like Zongshen is doing is a strong plus. They have direct control over a critical part of the process.

In addition to all the motorcycle work, Zongshen makes power equipment (like Honda does). I grabbed this shot as we were driving by their power equipment factory.

Here are some photographs of engines in work. Zongshen makes something north of 4,000 engines every day.

Yep, 4,000+ engines. Every day.

The engines above are going into their automated engine test room. They had about 100 automated test stations in there.

Zongshen makes engines for their own motorcycles as well as for other manufacturers. They make parts for many other motorcycle manufacturers, including Harley. They make complete scooters for several manufacturers, including Vespa.

These are 500cc, water-cooled Zongshen ATV engines….

Zongshen can make engines in nearly any color a manufacturer wants. When we walked by this display I asked what it was, and they told me it showed the different colors they could powder coat an engine.

Quality appears to be very, very high. They have the right visual metrics in place to monitor production status and to identify quality standards. The photo below shows one set of their visual standards. These are the defects to avoid in just one area of the operation.

This idea of using visual standards is a good one. I don’t see it very often in factories in the US. It’s a sign of an advanced manufacturing operation. And here’s one set of their production status boards and assembly instructions…boards like this were everywhere.

The photo below shows their engine shipping area.

Here’s a humorous sign in the Zongshen men’s room…be happy in your work, don’t take too long, and don’t forget to flush.

As I said before, this entire operation was immaculate. Again, it’s a sign of a well-run and high quality plant.

We then briefly ducked into the machine shop. It was dark so I didn’t grab any photos. What I noticed is that they use statistical process control in manufacturing their machined parts, which is another sign of an advanced quality management approach.

I also have (but did not include here in this email) photos of their engine testing area. They test all engines (a 100% test program), and the test approach is automated. I was impressed. Zongshen’s quality will be as good or better than any engine made anywhere in the world, and we should have no reservations about using the 250cc engine in our CSC motorcycles. These guys have it wired.

My host then took us next to a factory showroom at the edge of the Zongshen campus. Here are a few photos from that area.

Check this one out…it’s a 125, and it looked to me to be a really nice bike.

Now check out the price on the above motorcycle. This is the all inclusive, “out-the-door-in-Chongqing,” includes-all-fees price.

Yep, that’s 8980 RMB (or Yuan), and that converts to (get this) a whopping $1470 US dollars. I want one.

The Chinese postal service uses Zongshen motorcycles….as do Chinese Police departments, and a lot of restaurants and other commercial interests. These green bikes are for the Chinese Post Office, and the red ones are for commercial delivery services.

Another shot from their showroom.

Zongshen also has a GP racing program, and they had their GP bikes on display with photos in the factory and the actual bikes in an office display area. Cool.

And finally one last photo, Steve, of Indiana Jones having a blast in Chongqing.

The bottom line, Boss, is that I recommend buying the 250 engine from these folks. Their factory is awesome and they know what they are doing. I write books about this stuff and I can tell you that this plant is as well managed as any I have ever seen.

I’ll be in the air headed home in a few more days. This trip has been a good one.

That’s it for now. I will send an email to the Zongshen team later today confirming what we want from them and I will keep you posted on any developments. Thank you for the opportunity to make this visit.

Joe

So there you have it. What followed was CSC becoming Zongshen’s North American importer, the RX3, the RX4, the TT 250, the San Gabriel line, the electric motorcycles, the Baja RX3 runs, the Andes Mountains adventure ride, the 5000-mile Western America Adventure Ride, the ride across China, the Destinations Deal ride, and more. Lots more. The first big ride with Zongshen was the Western America Adventure Ride, and in a few more days, we’ll post the story about how that came about. We were excited about hooking up with Zongshen; the Chinese were excited about riding through the American West. And ever since then, it has been one hell of a ride.

Stay tuned.

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Potpourri Part 1

By Joe Gresh

Clutter tends to accumulate in our lives. The unfinished and the left-hanging gather dust motes and wind up in soggy cardboard boxes of odds and ends. So it is with ExhaustNotes stories: some of them just sort of fizzle out inconclusively yet what remains is not enough meat for a stand-alone follow-up story. In an attempt to close the books on a few articles and give our dear readers peace of mind here are a few loose ends, tied.

The Harbor Freight Tire Machine

I’ve used the Harbor Freight tire machine to change five motorcycle tires and can report a 100% success rate. These successes include installing stiff knobby tires on the wide Husqvarna rims. Five in a row without a leak is unheard of for me. I’ve pinched a tube 5 times in a row! My usual success rate is around 50%. While the tire changer makes the job easier it’s still a bit of a work out. The built-in bead breaker is a godsend for old, stuck on the rim beads and having the rim held securely at waist level is nice on my sore back.

Working the machine, I ended up mostly using regular tire irons instead of the plastic duck-on-a-lever contraption. I haven’t given up on the duck lever and it may be a case of user error. I plan on making the duck part pivot on the lever part to allow it to mate with the curve of the rim better. My experience with the HF tire changer has been positive even if I did have to do a few modifications to make the thing function. I feel like I no longer have to fear the Husky’s tires and am confident I can change them in a reasonable amount of time without too much damage. I’m not sure HF still carries the motorcycle tire adapter so if you want one you might have to check several stores to see if they have the thing in stock.

The Husqvarna 21” front wheel conversion

After spending several hundred dollars and several days labor on the failed Husky wheel conversion I’m happy to report the bike is now back to stock configuration and rideable. After grinding clean through the old caliper I had to buy a new 4-piston Brembo caliper. I also replaced the wheel bearings as the originals had suffered enough of my abuse pounding them out of the wheel hubs twice.

Since I have given up on the 21” wheel idea I bought a Continental TKC knobby in the Husky’s original tire size. The tire cost $140 from Amazon and the knobs are about as high as the worn out knobs of a real dirt tire. The TKC is the knobbiest 17” tire I could find that fit the rim. I’m hoping the TKC will provide a bit more grip off road.

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My buddy Mike graduated from a 390 KTM and has bought a new 890 KTM and I’ll have to work the Husky a bit harder to stay up with his 100 horsepower dirt bike. I’ve also raised the Husky fork tubes up ½” inside the triple clamps, effectively steepening the rake a bit. The old street slick on front would push in the dirt making corners a sit on the gas tank type of deal. Loose gravel was like riding on marbles and mud would coat the old tire within one revolution making the bike feel like it was on ice. Maybe the deeper grooves between knobs will give the mud some place to squish. Anyway, the bike looks much more dirt ready if a bit silly with the tiny front wheel.

Yamaha RT1-B 21” front wheel conversion

After my not so shocking failure converting the Husky to a 21” front wheel I had a brand new 21” knobby tire just sitting in the shed. Mirroring the same poor tire choice issue as the 17” Husky, the 1971 Yamaha’s 3.25 X 19” front tire is an oddball. I have been running through my inventory of $10, new old stock Metzelers but those tires were approaching 30 or 40 years old and had weather checking on the sides. I was getting a bit of chunking on the side knobs also as the rubber was just plain old and breaking apart.

Luckily for me, the Yamaha 21” conversion went smoothly. I bought a 1975 Yamaha DT400 front wheel, which is nearly a drop in conversion. The actual size of the tall-ish Metzeler 19” is only about ¾” shorter than the new 21” tire. I thought the bigger wheel might rub the fender but there’s clearance. I like the low fender look on the old Yamaha so I might raise the fender a tiny bit for more mud room. It’s usable as is, I’ll just have to budget my mud riding.

The old, looping, brake cable guides were in the wrong spot for the new wheel. The brake cable on the new wheel is routed straight up from the wheel, in front of and parallel with the fork legs making the cable shorter and more direct as there is only one turn in the run. So I had to buy a new brake cable. I bent up a small piece of file cabinet to make an upper cable guide, for the bottom I used an off the shelf Adel clamp.

Old Yamaha Enduros are not known for having powerful brakes so I was surprised to see the 1975 conical hub had a ½” larger brake drum. The extra braking power provided by the 6” drum is counteracted by the larger diameter wheel so it’s kind of a wash in the braking department. At least I didn’t go backwards.

At the end of all this back and forth motion I have two motorcycles with new front tires and a warming trend on the way. Spring is right around the corner and Mike has a new 890 KTM that we need to get dirty. We have the whole state of New Mexico to explore. I’ll have some more potpourri for ExhaustnNotes as I continue to tie up those loose ends.

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A Cup O’ Joes is available now on Amazon. Every bathroom in every motorcycle shop and every motorcyclist’s home needs this book. They make great gifts. Check out the blurb:

Joe Gresh and Joe Berk bring you a collection of their favorite articles and stories from the ExhaustNotes.us website, Motorcycle Classics magazine, Rider magazine, Motorcyclist magazine, ADVMoto magazine, and other publications. Ride with the Joes in China, Colombia, Mexico, New Zealand, Canada, the former Soviet Union, and the United States. Read their opinions on motorcycles, accessories, and more. Humor, wit, insight, and great reading…this collection of motoliterature belongs in your library. Published in black and white.

You could wait for the movie, but the movie deal fell through. You know the story…I wanted Leonardo di Caprio to play me or Gresh, the studio countered with Danny DeVito, and things fell apart after that.

Seriously, though, you need this book. It will make you taller, skinnier, more attractive, and a faster rider. Trust us on this.

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Moss Landing Moto Art

By Joe Berk

If you’re on the Pacific Coast Highway and you’re riding through the little fishing village of Moss Landing, it’s nearly impossible to miss the moto art at the J&S Eagle Iron and Leather Shop, although that’s exactly what I did on a trek north a few years (no doubt because it was raining so hard). On the way back, though, the sun was out and I when I saw these I knew I had to stop for a few photos. I shot these photos about 5 years ago and I don’t know if these moto sculptures are still there. It might be worth a ride to check it out.

Ernie Buck, the store manager, told me these gigantic bike sculptures are Hecho en Mexico and go for about $20K each. I guess that’s not that far-fetched considering what a new Harley or BMW costs these days, and these things are easily three times the size of those bikes.

The first moto gigante was constructed mostly of license plates. Bear in mind that all three of these sculptures use giant tractor tires (that will give you a sense of their size). Like I said above, they’re huge!

The next one was fabricated from horseshoes. Horseshoes! Imagine that! Where do artists get their ideas?

It was cool. I liked the gangster whitewalls. I had a set of those on my ’92 Softail. You know, the top of those tires was about the same height as me!

The third bike was fabricated almost entirely of shovels.

Maybe the bike above is a Shovelhead (you know, the one that came after the Panhead). It was cool.

You know, the bikes above make for interesting displays, but I wondered where I would put such a thing if I owned it. You’d need a huge lawn or a spacious home in which to display this kind of art, and even then, I’m pretty sure Sue would have none of it. They sure were interesting and they made for cool photos.

The Pacific Coast Highway is an amazing road and it’s always been one of my favorite rides.

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Fat Chance

By Joe Gresh

Here at ExNotes we cover a wide variety of topics. Some relate to motorcycles or outdoorsy type of activities. Some are about ways of telling time or shooting a bull’s-eye with great precision. This ExNotes story stretches our genre as tight as my t-shirts stretched around my belly. I wouldn’t have written this story had it not been for Berk’s suggestion. So don’t complain to me. It’s all Berk’s fault.

I have a bad relationship with food. I’ve always had a bad relationship with food. When I was a tiny, undersized kid my Pops used to harangue me to eat more food. He would pound his fist on the table point at my plate and yell, “You’re never gonna get big unless you eat!” Mealtimes were misery for me. Mom wasn’t that great a cook and with the old man badgering me to eat more the whole dinnertime affair was something to be endured and gotten over with.

For years I dreaded mealtime, there was always such a stupid drama over my food. I wanted to throw the food against the wall and tell him, “You eat the crap, I’m done!” I used to hide food under my plate to show him I’d eaten everything. I just wasn’t hungry, man. I can’t really blame my dad. He came from a poor family and food was scarce. It must have galled him to see me rearranging food around my plate in an attempt to make it look eaten. Wasting food was the ultimate sin in our house.

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As I grew older and slightly larger my appetite increased. I could tuck into some fried chicken and collard greens, you know? For most of my life I never had to worry about being fat. I kept busy working and ate whatever I wanted. My dad would beam with pride as I polished off two helpings of stew beef washed down with a quart of sweet iced tea.

We made our iced tea so sweet the sugar would drop out of solution. The water simply couldn’t hold any more sugar. You had to stir it before taking a slug. The tea was at maximum saturation and by some mysterious combination of temperature and barometric pressure the sugar fell to the bottom like morning dew. And that banana pudding was divine, I tell you.

My weight stayed around 174 pounds for decades. It didn’t matter what or how much I ate and believe me, I wasn’t too discerning about what I shoved into my mouth. It was all just food. Some food-stuff tasted better than other food-stuff but never good enough to wash a dish for. I frequented fast food places because their offerings were paper wrapped, disposable and filled the void. I was just going to eat it, man, it’s not like I was going to put it on display in my trophy cabinet.

Things stayed that way until the last five or so years. My clothes started fitting tight. My stomach required copious quantities of Tums to keep the acid from gurgling into my throat and burning the back of my mouth. I kept eating like always even though my activity level went down. I was no longer working 6 days a week crawling in and out of boats.

My belly grew larger and larger until I hit 195 pounds. For a modern American male 195 pounds isn’t all that surprising but hang all that meat and blubber on a 5-foot, 6-inch frame and you’ve got a fat little bastard. My dad would have been proud. Nothing fit anymore. Even my shoes were tight. My riding gear became coat rack decorations. I puffed going uphill, my fiberglass filled, burnt out COPD lungs struggling to supply oxygen and my heart pounded to circulate blood through all that fat.

And I was fine with it.

CT is the one who decided it was time to slim down. She started watching her food intake and I began to follow along. We don’t really have a diet we just stopped eating food. I began to lose weight. Both of us urged the other on. Just how little food did it take to stay alive? Turns out, the answer is very little food. I probably eat about a quarter of the calories I used to eat. Some days we have only toast and unsalted peanuts.

I’m hungry and miserable but in a strange way I feel liberated. Eating is a trap; I had to get angry at food to break the eat-reward cycle. Now I despise food for what it did to me. I look at food as poison. This is probably not a healthy relationship with food either but I figure food needs me more than I need it.

I no longer care if it’s feeding time. I eat whenever I can’t stand the hunger. I never eat until I’m full because satisfaction is the opiate of the people. I don’t want to be full and I stay hungry because it’s righteous and I am striving to be a righteous man. CT and I recently went on a 1000-mile jaunt through Arizona and since neither of us eat much we never worried about stopping for lunch or going out to dinner. You can save a lot of money starving to death.

Beyond nutrition, food has always played an important social purpose. I imagine the earliest proto-humans gathered around the fire pit to grunt in a rudimentary language about their lives. Even hyenas share their kill, kind of. Social gatherings are tough but I get through them with a doggie bag and sparkling conversation. Hopefully no one notices I’m not eating much or that I pity their food-centric lives.

This dietary change made me aware of how much eating had become a part of motorcycle riding for me. In retrospect, all I ever did on a motorcycle was ride to restaurants and eat. The other day I rode down to my favorite taco place in Alamogordo and just kept riding past. I don’t need an excuse to ride. I carry a thermos of hot, robust Dancing Goats® coffee and stop my cycle to have a sip now and then.

I’m down to 172 pounds. I’m shooting for 170 but the ounces are coming off very slowly. My buddy Ren gave me the best advice on how to lose weight. He said, “It’s making 1000 small, right decisions each day.” I’d like to say I feel better but I really don’t. I can get up the hill a little better and I don’t eat tums like candy anymore. With my stomach empty the acid can stay put where it belongs, not sloshing over my back teeth. CT tells me I’m breathing easier at night. I can even wear my old leather motorcycle jacket; it’s been a few years since I could. But truthfully I’m not any happier. If I could eat all that junk food without gaining weight I would.

As a for-instance, this morning I ate tortilla chips with guacamole and a small container of Motts applesauce. For lunch I had some unsalted peanuts. I don’t know what I’ll have for dinner and I don’t care. I don’t want to anticipate food. Each meal must stand on its own. I’m kind of lucky that I was never a foodie-type person. I get no thrill from a well-prepared meal and just eat it for fuel. Exxon or Texaco, makes no difference to me, it’s all gasoline.

Anyway, being hungry isn’t the worst thing in the world. I guess a large percentage of humans on earth go through their entire lives like that. The longer I keep at this starvation diet the less desire I have to eat. Like right now as I type this I’m hungry but I’m making a small, right decision to ignore the feeling. Maybe after a while it will go away.

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