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.

650-12_DSC6280

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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Live on Amazon!

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.

Photo by Ren Doughty.

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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Fallingwater, Pennsylvania

By Joe Berk

Fallingwater, a famous Frank Lloyd Wright structure in southwestern Pennsylvania, is a place we have long wanted to visit.   We finally checked that box late last year and it was well worth the trip.  It’s one of Frank Lloyd Wright’s most famous architectural accomplishments, designed in 1935 and completed in 1939 for the wealthy Kaufman family.   The Kaufmans owned a large department store empire in nearby Pittsburgh, and Fallingwater was their vacation home.   The Kaufman family turned the estate over to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy and it now operates as an area open to the public.

A Commonwealth Treasure indeed!

The Kaufman family’s request to Wright was straightforward:  They wanted something unique, something that merged the mountains’ natural beauty with the architecture, and they wanted the local stream to run through the home.  The resulting home became one of Wright’s best known accomplishments.    Frank Lloyd Wright had a distinguished career and he is arguably one of the most famous architects who ever lived.  Fallingwater is the only Wright home open to the public.

A river runs through it…the view from one of the balconies at Fallingwater.  Check out the leaves turning color.
Note the layered sandstone construction.

The Kaufmans asked Wright to use natural materials from the area and he did.  Much of the home is constructed of local sandstone.  They also asked Wright to design the interior furnishings and decor.  It all works well together.

A local artist taking it all in.
Wright also designed the interior and its furnishings.
The family room.
Wright chotchkas.
Furniture crafted from local trees.
More interior pieces.
This looks southwestern, but it works with the sandstone walls.

In 2019, Fallingwater was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List.  It is also a National Historic Landmark, it is a Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Treasure, the American Institute of Architects named it the best all time work of American Architecture.  All that’s great, but take it from us, the ride and the place are awesome.  As a destination, Fallingwater is tough to beat.

A photo from the exterior, showing the balconies and the surrounding woodlands.

Fallingwater is in the Laurel Highlands area about 70 miles outside of Pittsburgh.  It’s a mountainous area, and because of that, the roads are perfect for great riding.  The scenery, the roads, and the riding in this area are pretty much what good motorcycle riding is all about in all but the winter months.  Fall is one of the best times to take it in as the leave turning colors add a further visual treat to what is already a delight to the senses.  The trick is to do it late enough in the year that the leaves are turning, but not so late that the temps are too low or the roads are too icy.  We were lucky; our timing was perfect.

You can’t just show up at Fallingwater.  You have to make a reservation and pay for your tickets online.  Trust me on this:  The tour is money well spent.


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Dream Bikes: Honda Super Hawk

By Joe Berk

That’s me, age 15, in the photo above.  I’m on my Dad’s Honda Super Hawk, and no, I wasn’t getting ready to do my best impression of Rollie Free or Walt Fulton (even though I was apparently wearing the same swim trunks as ol’ Rollie).  I wasn’t getting ready for a high speed run at all…it was summer, and we spent a lot of time in the water in those days.  And when Dad said it was okay (and sometimes when he didn’t), I rode the Super Hawk in the fields behind our house.

We didn’t know as much about photography back in the mid-’60s. But you get the idea. That Super Hawk was a lot of fun.  That’s me in the summer of 1966.
Rollie Free at Bonneville in 1948, on his way to a romping 150.313 mph land speed record. Check out the swim trunks.
Walt Fulton breaking 100 mph in 1952 at El Mirage, California, on a Mustang motorcycle.

The Honda fascination started with me as a 13-year-old kid.  We weren’t motorcycle people.  Yet.  I was mesmerized by a ’64 Triumph 500cc Tiger a guy at school owned.  That started a slew of snail mail requests to the motorcycle companies (snail mail was all we had back then, but we never felt communications deprived), and pretty soon I had a collection of moto sales literature.  Dad started looking at it.  Then we saw a Honda Dream at a McDonald’s (I wrote about that a few blogs back).  A short while later, Dad’s trapshooting buddy Cliff Leutholt (one of those nicest people who rode a Honda) visited us on his Super Hawk.  Jet black, chrome, silver paint, twin carbs, electric start, it was stunning.  Cliff said it was good for 100 mph.  Dad rode it (a first for my father) and he was hooked.   The 1960s were good times.

Me, with Dad’s CB 160, in February 1966. No snow, but it was cold that time of year in New Jersey.

The bug bit hard.  Dad started looking at the classifieds (remember those?), and in 1965, he bought the Baby Super Hawk, a scaled down, 160cc version of the 305.  Dad owned that bike for only a few months, and then he traded it in on a Super Hawk.  Sherm Cooper (of Cooper’s Cycle Ranch) offered Dad $450 for the 160 against the Super Hawk’s $730 (it was $50 more than Dad had paid for the 160), and just like that, we had a Super Hawk.  Boy, that was a blast.


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The Honda Super Hawk emerged from a vibrant and dazzlingly successful Honda Motor Company.  Honda first brought its motorcycles to the US in 1959, and, well, you know the rest.  1961 saw the creation of the 250cc Honda Hawk, which quickly evolved into the Super Hawk.  The Super Hawk bumped displacement to 305cc, and its 180-degree parallel twin was good for 28 horsepower at 9200 rpm (unheard of engine speeds back in the early 1960s).  The Hondas had 12-volt electrics, twin 26 mm Keihin carbs, a single overhead cam, a 4-speed transmission, and a wet sump lubrication system.

Like the Honda Dream in our recent blog, the Super Hawk had an electric starter, along with a kickstarter that oddly rotated forward (it was hard to look like Marlon Brando kick starting a Super Hawk, but I did my best).  The instrumentation was a cool touch.  Instead of the more conventional (i.e., British) separate cans for the tach and the speedo, both were contained in a single panel atop the headlight.  The Super Hawk had a tubular steel frame and front forks, but no front frame downtube (the engine was a stressed member).  The electric starter occupied the space where front downtube would be.  It was a clever engineering solution and that electric starter made life easier, but the Super Hawk didn’t look as cool as the 305cc CL 77 Scrambler (more on the Scrambler in a future blog).

The Super Hawk was a runner.  A road test in Cycle World magazine had the top speed at 104.6 mph and the bike ran a respectable 16.8-second quarter mile at 83 mph.  Super Hawks had twin leading shoe front brakes (something special in the pre-disk-brake era).  The motorcycle weighed 335 pounds.  The Super Hawk could be had in the same blue, black, white, or red color choices as the Honda Dreams, but unlike the Dream, all the Super Hawks had silver frames, side covers, and fenders.  I remember that nearly all Super Hawks were black; it was very unusual to see one in any other color unless you were an Elvis fan.

Click on the image to watch the video.

The Super Hawk had good starring roles, too, before product placement became the mega-industry it is today.  There were pop songs about Hondas.   Elvis Presley rode a red Honda Super Hawk in the 1964 movie Roustabout.  And a fellow named Robert Pirsig rode across the US on one with his son and wrote a book about it (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance); that book has become something of a bible in the travelogue and motorcycle deep think genres.  Pirsig’s Super Hawk currently resides in the Smithsonian.

So, back to my early days and my turning Dad into a rider:  As awesome as the Super Hawk was, it didn’t last long.  The progression back in those days was a small Honda, a bigger Honda, and then (before the advent of the Honda CB 750 Four), a jump to a Triumph or BSA.  Dad had been bitten by the bug big time, and in 1966, he bought a new Triumph Bonneville.  But that’s a story for another blog.


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Our previous blog on the Honda Dream is here.   And here’s our blog on riding a Honda Scrambler in New Jersey’s Pine Barrens:  Jerry and the Jersey Devil.

ExNotes Stock Car Racing Review: Vado Park Speedway, New Mexico

Sometimes the story you set out to write doesn’t want to be written. Something is wrong, there’s no ju-ju, there’s no vibe, or in this particular case, there are no decent photos. I have an expensive Canon 5D that takes beautiful racing photos and I have a pretty good 300mm zoom lens with selectable, 2-axis stabilization. It’s not a professional lens by any means but it can do a fairly good job if you’re steady enough and don’t shoot at nighttime. The problem with the 5D and 300mm lens combo is that it weighs a ton and I don’t like carrying the thing around.

Anyway, it’s foolish pride on my part to try and capture the moment because as soon as I stop to think about a camera it’s not a moment any more. It becomes staged. It seems phony and something like grasping for the shot that will make the story. I don’t want to be a photojournalist and I never was. I learned the basic operation of a camera only because photos were a necessary evil in order to sell a story to magazines.

Oh, how I envy Cameron and Egan. Man, those guys have it made. They write their columns propped up on six pillows in an overstuffed bed between 1000-count Egyptian cotton sheets while green-skinned slave girls serve wine and grapes as they type each 600-word, 10,000-dollar column. And they do it without photos. Sometimes the magazine’s art director will tack on a few squiggly line drawings for the folks that need a picture. When I read their stuff I don’t miss the photos one bit.


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Since I’ve pretty much given up on cranking out content for paper magazines, I find myself wanting to enjoy the story in real time. I want to live the story, absorb all the sounds, sights and smells, and then write about it later. Events may not be recorded exactly as they happened but they record what happened to me. At least I imagine it happened to me. Memories are funny things; each of us views the world looking out from different eyes.

Still, websites are a visual medium and photos do make the page look better. They also attract readers. For the Vado races I brought along the little Canon S100, a higher-end point and shoot camera not much bigger than a cell phone. I thought I could get a few photos good enough to use for this story but the shutter lag was hard to plan for. I’d press the release and a second later the camera would take the photo. In racing things move a long way in a second. Annoyingly, the auto focus kept locking on the barrier fence instead of the cars behind the fence. I have a bunch of really sharp shots of the fence

My first attempts were a mess. The S100 needed the shutter sped up and to do that it needed a higher ISO setting. And then the auto focus had to be disabled in the menu. All these settings required scrolling through the various menu pages or pushing buttons and turning dials, which I had forgotten how to do. Switching the S100 from regular stabilization to panning stabilization took twenty-three keystrokes to accomplish. For the same task on the Canon 5D you just flip a switch.

A man’s got to know his camera and the seductive lure of the cell phone has caused my camera skills to atrophy. While I was staring down into the S100’s tiny screen life was happening all around me. I turned off the camera, put it in my pocket and decided to watch the races.

The whole reason we were at the races in the first place was because of the Sylings. The Sylings are friends of ours who live in Alamogordo. They are forever going on fun outings then putting cheerful, Team Syling posts on Facebook. CT and I decided it would be a good thing to be more like Team Syling so we are making an effort to do fun things around New Mexico. The trip to Vado Speedway was CT’s birthday present/Team Syling adventure. I don’t want you to get the idea I’m not romantic; I also bought her a 12-gauge Mossberg pump shotgun.

Vado Speedway is a fairly new track about 15 miles south of Las Cruces, New Mexico. You can see it from Interstate 10. The track looks small but they claim it’s 3/8th of a mile. Maybe the outside is 3/8 mile. It’s a dirt track, like God intended us to race on, and the corners are banked. The straights are short but the track is wide enough to allow plenty of passing. There are two lines at Vado: the high line and the low line. Both have their advantages but late in the evening the low line became very bumpy at the apex of the corner. Cars were bouncing up on two wheels in the rough. Most of the fast guys stayed up high where it was smooth, only dropping down to block a rival. As the evening wore on cars started to use the outside wall as a contact point like a slot car dragging the rails.

Stock car racing has changed a lot since the seemingly unlimited supply of Chevelles dried up. The night we went all the classes looked like Super Modified. There were no stock bodied cars. The lowest class cars are beat up sheet metal concoctions that look like something a child of three would draw when asked to draw a car. They resemble station wagons with large panels of metal aft to act as air dams. Think of the last outlaw sprint car race you went to with those giant billboard wings on top. It’s the same idea. The front wheels ran exposed on some of the cars. I don’t remember what they were named but in my day this class would be called the Sportsman class except for the homemade bodies.

The next step up from the flapping, crashing station wagon class was more station wagons. For all I could tell it was the same class, maybe “A” to the previous “B.” This class would have been called Late Models when I was going to stock car races back in the days when the planet Mars could still support life. These cars looked like the ratty-class cars but were built much better. The sheet metal was straighter and it didn’t flap around or fall off. The paint jobs and lettering were nicer and they crashed less. Besides being uglier than old style stock cars the Late Models’ engines sounded crisper and revved faster than the other, looser station wagons.

The top-tier division, known to me as Super Modifieds, were really nice cars. You could tell the owners had a ton of money in them, probably as much or more than a NASCAR stock car. They were fast and didn’t crash very often. The Super Modified cars didn’t look like station wagons but they still had acres of sheet metal on the side to assist with corners. All the wheels were covered by bodywork. NASCAR driver Kyle Larson was racing in the Super Modifieds with a Hendricks car and he did fairly well. He got a Main Event second place finish against drivers that spend their entire career in this specialized form of competition.

The racing was very close and heats were frequent. All the classes had several heat races to determine which cars made the main event and the grids were well populated. Driver/teams from Kansas, Wyoming, Illinois, California and other states attended. The stands were another story. When CT bought our tickets she was told they were sold out of general admission so she bought reserved seats. After everyone was seated the grandstands looked about 60% full. Maybe the cold, night air kept spectators away.

When the racing was over the announcers thanked the track owner for keeping stock car racing alive. Whenever you hear that sort of talk it’s not a good sign. South-Central New Mexico used to have a stock car track in Tularosa, another a few miles away near Alamogordo, one on Highway 9 west of Sunland Park near the border with Mexico, and I think Deming might still have a track and maybe El Paso.

Stock car tracks used to be everywhere. Where I grew up there was a track in Medly and one just across the Miami River in Hialeah. Those tracks are gone now. I wonder if dirt oval tracks are disappearing all over America. I believe part of the reason for grass roots oval racing’s decline is that none of the cars racing are related in any way to the cars found in the parking lot. That is if you can find a car in the parking lot.   Today everyone drives bloated SUVs or pickup trucks.

Then there’s the high bar of entry into the sport.  Even those ratty station wagons require a lot of work to build. Maybe the demise of cheap, rear-wheel drive sedans is part of the problem. The class structure never adapted to new realities in the marketplace. Look how NASCAR’s rigid rules have created a situation where you can buy a box stock Dodge, Chevy or Ford off the showroom floor with more horsepower than a NASCAR contender. I know the old time stock cars shared few common parts with the cars they resembled but at least they resembled them and had engines you could check off on the dealer’s option page.

Finally, the “Car of Tomorrow” eliminated the last tentacles connecting the cars on the track and the car you drove to the track. Now all the bodywork is the same and only paint creates the illusion of several brands. The situation is probably not as bad as I’m making it sound. I’ve gotten grumpy as I got old. I liked it when stock car racing was the most exciting thing happening on a Saturday night.

I’ll be back to Vado Park Speedway. Later in the year they are hosting USRA Modifieds, which look a lot like old style stock cars. Then there are the winged and un-winged Sprint cars along with Super Trucks. We all need to do our part to keep this uniquely American form of racing alive. Hopefully a new generation will get interested in stock cars and start racing cheap, two liter, front-wheel drive sedans around those well groomed dirt ovals. I know a couple unused tracks nearb.  Just add drivers.


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The World’s Greatest Furniture Salesman

By Joe Berk

I’ve always loved Triumphs and I always thought they were not only the coolest bikes around but also the best bang for the buck.  I rode Triumphs in the ’60s and ’70s when they were air-cooled and I rode them when they were made by Hinckley.  I always thought the ’65 Bonneville was the best looking motorcycle there could ever be until the Speed Triple came along and took that title.   But the one that stole my heart was my ’06 Triumph Tiger in Caspian blue.  I loved everything about that motorcycle.    Seeing Bobbie Surber’s Tiger has me thinking about my Tiger again.

My Tiger in Baja. We both spent a lot of time patrolling the peninsula.

I wasn’t planning to buy a new motorcycle when I walked into Doug Douglas Motorcycles in 2006 and saw the one that would become mine.  But none other than old Doug Douglas himself noticed how I reacted to it.  Doug knew his business, and he told me he’d sell it to me for whatever the number was, which seemed like a reasonable deal.  Reasonable, however, was not the adjective that was governing my thought process when I saw that motorcycle, and Doug recognized that.  I gave Doug the only response I could think of at the time, which was:  I’ll take it.


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Sue hit the roof when I came home and told her she needed to give me a ride back to Doug’s to pick up a new motorcycle.  She stayed upset longer than usual when I told her how much it cost and that I would be taking the money out of the checking account.  “What happened to the money you got from selling your Suzuki?” she demanded.  It was more of an accusation then a question.

I had to think for a minute, and then I remembered.  “That mother-of-pearl and onyx bracelet I bought for you…I used the money I got for the TL to buy it” I said, and Susie mellowed.  Visibly.  It was like de-arming an IED.  “Oh,” was all she said, and then she was her usual cheery self.

When we arrived at Douglas Motorcycles, the tempest was over.  I introduced Susie to Doug and she said, “You must be the world’s greatest motorcycle salesman…my husband told me he took your first offer, and he never does that…”

Doug smiled.  “Oh, I’ve sold a few motorcycles,” he said, “but that’s not my real strength.  My real strength is furniture.  I am the world’s greatest furniture salesman.”

Stopping to let the fog blow over along Baja’s Transpeninsular Highway enroute to Bahia de Los Angeles.

Sue was perplexed, as was I.  Had I missed something?  Did Doug Douglas Motorcycles have another wing that sold furniture?

“Yeah,” Doug continued, “there are a lot of couples who bought new bedroom furniture and new dining room sets when the husband came home and told the wife he bought a new motorcycle from me…”


Riding Baja?  Insure with the best.  We always do.


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More Baja adventuresYou bet!