Product Review: Turmeric

Turmeric. The idea is that it reduces inflammation. Your mileage may vary, but it seems to be working for me.

I’ll start this blog by saying I’m not a believer in dietary supplements, but turmeric seems to be working for me.   Here’s the deal:  I had what most folks would agree is a fairly serious motorcycle accident 10 years ago.  I was riding my Triumph Speed Triple on my way to teach a class at Cal Poly Pomona early in the morning when I exited the westbound freeway.   It was a trip I had probably made a zillion times before, but this morning would be different.  As I rode across the overpass, I saw a guy in a Camaro aggressively braking on the eastbound exit.  That’s the last thing I remember, other than briefly waking up when they were loading me onto a helicopter, and then briefly waking up when the helicopter was landing, and then realizing:  Man, I hurt all over.  I wondered if I was dreaming.  Was I still in the Army?  Was I in Vietnam?

Nope, it was none of the above, and it wasn’t that guy in the Camaro that I hit.   It was a woman in a Volvo one block further south, but I didn’t find that out until weeks later.  What I did learn a few days later was that I had broken my back, and I had broken my femur in two places, and they needed to operate to put a plate in my leg.  I didn’t remember anything about the accident because I landed on my head 50 feet from my motorcycle (the top of my helmet looked like a hard-boiled egg after it had been slammed against a countertop) and I had what they call traumatic amnesia.

My 2007 Speed Triple, unquestionably the most beautiful motorcycle I’ve ever owned. It was fast, buzzy, and twitchy, but it made me look good. Did I mention it was fast?

So there I was, in the hospital, in a drug-induced stupor.  The doctors reduced the morphine drip enough for me to sign the waivers for my surgery (hey, what else was I going to do), and then they did the body-and-fender thing on my left leg.  It was a week in the hospital, then a week in a skilled nursing facility (a misnamed place if ever there was one), and then three or four weeks in a rehab facility.  That was followed by months in a wheel chair, then a walker, then crutches, and then a cane.

My “I got screwed” photo, showing the plate and screws in my left leg. That plate ultimately broke, and I needed a second surgery to remove every metal piece you see in this photo and replace it with a femoral nail. You can see the two fractures in this x-ray, one at the top of my femur and the other about 5 inches down. Ouch!

My leg hurt like hell for the next year and a half, and then one day it really started hurting.  As in hurting Big Time.   Back to the docs again, more x-rays, and more bad news:  The plate had fractured.   It was time for revision surgery.  Trust me on this, “revision” and “surgery” are two words you never want to see together.  It seems the top fracture (the really big one you see at the top of the above photo) had healed, but the bottom one had not.  Maybe one out of two ain’t too bad in some things.  This wasn’t one of them.

So the doctors removed the plate and all the screws, they surgically broke the unhealed fracture again and did bone grafts, and then they put in what they call a femoral nail (that’s a metal rod that extends nearly the entire length of the bone, from the hip to just above my knee).   More time in a walker, then crutches, then a cane, and then I was on my own two legs again.  My leg still gave me a lot of grief, and then it was yet another good news/bad news story.   The remaining fracture finally healed after another year, but the femoral rod fractured.  But it didn’t matter, they said, because the bone had healed, and in any event, removing the broken rod wasn’t an option because of the way it broke.   That piece of metal in my thighbone would just be along for the ride for the duration.  These guys were starting to sound like a few motorcycle mechanics I’ve known.  You know, the kind who work in the big dealerships (that wire’s supposed to be hanging out below the headlight, Joe).

What about my left leg still hurting?  Man up, they said.  Well, they didn’t actually use those words, but it was clear to me these guys had done about all they could do.  I couldn’t take the Oxy they offered because it made me hallucinate (why anyone would take that stuff recreationally is beyond my comprehension), and Tylenol/Ibuprofen/Alleve and all the other over-the-counter pain meds didn’t make a dent.   Steroid injections and pills helped, but they came with their own set of problems, like terrible cramps and (don’t laugh) uncontrollable hiccups (I once had the hiccups for 4 days straight, day and night).  About the only thing that gave me some relief was riding my bicycle, but you can’t live your life from the saddle of a road bike.  I was doing a lot of overseas travel, and long airplane rides always aggravated the pain (especially those long flights to Asia flying coach).  It felt like someone had stuck a hot knife in my thigh nearly all the time.  Every once in a while the bastard would twist it, too.

The docs tell me what I have is traumatic sciatica, which is an injury to the sciatic nerve along my femur (rather than plain old vanilla sciatica, which is induced by compression of the sciatic nerve as it exits the spinal column).   Okay, so it has a name.  I quit bitching about it and basically, you know, manned up.  There wasn’t anything they could do.  That hot knife sticking in my leg became the new normal.  I rode across the US with it, I covered a lot of miles in Baja with it, I rode through the Andes in Colombia with it, and I rode across China with it.  I had, indeed, manned up.  But it was a gold-plated bitch.

My good buddy TK, who is a little younger than me, has his own set of orthopedic challenges.  We would sometimes compare notes on where it hurt the most.  You know, two old guys complaining about the results of too many good times on motorcycles.  It was kind of like that scene in Jaws when Quint and Richard Dreyfuss are comparing scars.  And then what I consider a miracle occurred a few weeks ago.  TK mentioned to me that turmeric was giving him a bit of relief, and hell, I thought I’d try that, too.  I’d tried everything else.  Like big city folks voting for a Republican, I had nothing to lose.

Much to my great surprise and relief, the turmeric seems to be working.  The idea is that it reduces inflammation, I’ve read.   That’s the same thing the steroids would do, but the turmeric doesn’t have the side effects that the steroids did.   The acid test for me was my recent flight to and from Singapore, and I got through that just fine.  My leg is feeling pretty close to normal these days.  I’m not at 100%, but I’m way better than I have been.  I even did a 7 1/2 mile walk while I was in Singapore with no pain.  I hadn’t done that since before the accident.

I bought my turmeric from Costco, and I only started using it after I checked with my doctor to make sure I wouldn’t be screwing anything else up (like most guys my age, I take pills for two or three other old guy ailments).  So here comes the disclaimer:  I’m not a doctor and I’m not recommending you start taking turmeric.   But if you have motorcycle-induced or other old age aches and pains that won’t go away, check with your doctor first and then consider trying turmeric.  It’s working for me.


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Masks at the Gilcrease Museum

During a recent Oklahoma visit, one of our stops was at Tulsa’s Thomas Gilcrease Museum.  Gilcrease (that’s him in the photo above) was an Oklahoma Native American who discovered oil on his property (Come and listen to my story about a man named Gil, sung to the tune of the Beverly Hillbillies theme song).   Mr. Gilcrease collected artifacts of the Americas, western art, and more (cue in the Indiana Jones music), and he built the museum bearing his name.   The Gilcrease Museum is an impressive place, and the collection of Native American masks is particularly impressive.   Here are just a few, all shot at ISO 3200 on my Nikon.  Enjoy, my friends.

The 2020 Corvette

The 2020 Corvette, as I configured it online. The pastel blue paint added big bucks. Hell, just painting the brake calipers red added $500. But it sure is pretty!

I received an email last night from Chevy advising me I could configure my own new 2020 Corvette online with their website.  Hmmmm, that sounded interesting.   The new Corvettes are mid-engined, like a Ferrari and some of world’s other exotic sports cars.  After doing as Chevy suggested, I’m mighty tempted.  The new Corvette is stunning.

I guess I first got the Corvette bug back in the early 1960s, watching a couple of TV shows.  One was Route 66, a story about a young Marty Milner and George Maharis (Todd and Buzz) bopping around the US in a Corvette solving the world’s problems.  The other was Bonanza, the great western sponsored by Chevy.  We watched it as much for the Corvette ads as we did for the show.  Ben, Hoss, Adam, and Little Joe.  They’re all dead now, I think, but I remember them well, and Adam (Pernell Roberts) even appeared in one of the Corvette ads.

I’d wanted a Corvette ever since I was a kid, and in 2004, as Chevy was transitioning from the C-whatever body style to the C+1 body style, they allowed the dealers to sell the ’04 models to GM employees at the GM employee discount.  It’s a long story how I qualified for it, but the bottom line is the discount exceeded $17K on a Z06 (a car most folks pay over MSRP for), and I was in.

To make a long story a little less long, I kept the Z06 for 14 years, and when I sold it, the car had a whopping 40,000 miles on the clock.  That’s about 2850 miles annually, and when you consider insurance and registration, that worked out to something slightly south of a dollar a mile just for insurance and registration.   Throw in our California fuel costs (currently well over $4 a gallon), depreciation, and maintenance (surprisingly little on a car like the Z06), firing up that silver streak was expensive.  I should have driven it more to get my money’s worth, but the Corvette was more of a toy for me than real transportation.  I loved the thing, but it wasn’t a good daily driver.  I didn’t regret seeing the Corvette go, but every once in awhile I think about another one.  Like when I received the email from Chevy last night that led to me playing around with their online configurator.  That pastel blue one you see above sure grabbed my attention. There’s no denying it: The new Corvette is an incredibly-beautiful car.   And I still qualify for the employee discount. But nah, I don’t think I’ll be pulling the trigger on this one.

The Original Exhaust Notes

Churchill Clark in 1969. Our graduation yearbook was dedicated to him. I saw Mr. Clark again at our 20th reunion.  He was one of the greats and the creator of the Exhaust Notes name. Sadly, he is no longer with us.

The year was 1968, I was a 17-year-old pup, and Churchill Clark approached me with an idea for the Viking Press.   We were the Vikings (no one is quite sure how we got that name, as there were very few Scandinavians in South Brunswick), and the Viking Press, you see, was our high school newspaper.  Mr. Clark was an English teacher (a great one), and he was the Viking Press faculty advisor.

A bit more background:  There were several cliques in our high school (there were, are, and always will be in any high school, I guess), and I belonged to the greasers.  You know, the gearheads.  We lived and breathed GTOs, Camaros, Hemis, motorcycles, street racing, and anything that ingested fossil fuel.  We were in the middle of the muscle car era, maybe one of the best times ever to be a teenager in America.  Old Mr. Clark wanted to get our crowd reading the high school newspaper (he was a bit of a greaser himself), and as I was one of the more literate greasers, he asked me to write a column about cars.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked.

“Whatever you want,” Mr. Clark answered.

So I did, and I have to admit, it was a heady experience seeing something I wrote appear in print for the first time.   My idea was to have a little fun with the war stories and poke at the ridiculousness of it all.  Mr. Clark titled the column Exhaust Notes and he drew the little car that appeared at the top of every article.  I liked both, and the Exhaust Notes name stuck.  When Joe Gresh and I started the blog, there was no question about what it was going to be called.

A few months ago my high school class, South Brunswick’s Class of 1969, held its 50th reunion.  My good buddy and friend since kindergarten, Kathy Leary, told me she had saved a few of the old Viking Press newspapers, and she scanned a couple of the articles for me.

Those were great times, folks, and great memories.  I’m glad Kathy had the foresight to hang on to those old papers, and I’m grateful she scanned and sent a couple of the articles to me.  And I’m glad old Mr. Clark trusted me to run with the idea.


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Natty Bumppo, the NY Times, and Shinya Kimura

One of my best friends from high school is a guy named Natty Bumppo.  That’s not his real name, but it’s what he goes by when he’s out killing mockingbirds and I thought I’d use it here.   Ol’ Natty sent a link to me for a NY Times story about what motorcycling in Manhattan has become (the story is in today’s edition).  Natty has a knack for knowing what I like, and he sure hit the mark on this one.   The cover photo, in particular, hit home.   But there are a lot more photos in that article and they’re all good.  They are in black and white, and that added to the feel of the article.

Anyway, the story reminded me of a piece I did for the CSC blog a ways back about Shinya Kimura.  My photos for that piece were in color, but the nature of Kimura’s customs and the feel of his shop lent a sepia feel to the photos (even though they are in color).    There are a lot of photos in this piece, folks, so it may take a minute or two to load.


When I rolled into the CSC plant yesterday, Steve Seidner asked me to come along with him to visit a shop a short distance away to meet Shinya Kimura, a man who builds custom bikes.  Steve thought it might be fun to grab a few photos of Mr. Kimura’s shop, and I was all for that. Little did I know about what I would see.

From the outside, all I could see was a small shop (at least it appeared that way initially), but when I entered, I was immediately stopped dead in my tracks by one of the most beautiful custom motorcycles I had ever seen. It was a CB750 Honda (one of the very early ones) with an incredibly beautiful sculpted aluminum fuel tank. The overall effect was visually arresting. I had never seen anything like it. The lens cap came off my Nikon, I dialed the ISO up to 800, and I had started snapping away.

Steve introduced me to Shinya, and he invited to look around the shop and photograph whatever I wanted. And I did just that, not really knowing who this guy was. But the shop…wowee! It was more of a studio than a shop, and it was amazing.

Last night I went through the raw files I had captured with my little D3300 and I processed them in Photoshop. I think they are some of the best photos I’ve ever taken, but that’s not me bragging about my photography or my Photoshop skills. It was what I was shooting that made the photos what they are.

Enjoy, folks…

I was lost in the wonder of Shinya’s small slice of motorcycle Nirvana and I guess that was obvious. Shinya smiled at me and asked me what I thought about his place. “I’d like to live here,” I said. It was that cool.

I grabbed one last photo, and I think it was a good one…


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Top This

I’m a big fan of electric motorcycles. I like electrical stuff in general and I spent most of my working life as an electrician with benefits. Harley’s new Livewire E-Hog is an impressive first effort but at $30,000 dollars a copy it is a lousy deal compared to E-bikes from other manufacturers. You can easily beat the Livewire in both speed and distance for half the cost but that’s not the Livewire’s major problem.

The Livewire’s problem is industry-wide. Harley and those other guys are trying to duplicate the internal combustion experience with an electric motorcycle and they are burning a lot of joules doing it. Electric motorcycles are not direct IC replacements and their riders understand this.

For motorcycles, battery technology today is not compact enough and recharges too slowly for a rider with no fixed destination in mind. Until manufacturers can agree on a standard-sized, easily swappable battery pack we are stuck waiting for the bike. The first battery operated power tools were like this: you had to plug the whole tool in and wait. No work could be done until the thing was charged.

With standard-sized batteries (within a product line) cordless power tools have nearly supplanted the old, outlet-bound stuff. It takes only a second to swap in a new battery and you are back on the job doing whatever it is that you do. No one has range anxiety because there’s always a hot battery in the charger ready to use. Tesla is working on speeding up charge wait times by swapping the huge battery in their cars and it only takes a few minutes. When an electric vehicle can pull up to a gas station and swap in a charged battery as fast as I can change my power drill battery they will have become viable transportation.

The reality is, manufacturers are not going to standardize battery sizes. The best we can hope for is a battery changeable along the lines of the power tool situation: each battery is specific to the brand. Even that will not happen soon and maybe if you move the goal posts it doesn’t need to happen for the majority of users.

That leaves commuting back and forth to work as the ideal use for an electric motorcycle. You can have a charging source at both ends of the ride and you will be busy working or puttering about the house while the bike charges so there’s no down time. Give up on the idea of e-bikes matching IC bikes in all instances. The highest and best use of electric motorcycles is a situation where you have time to kill between rides.

I know The Motor Company is not going to listen to me, but here goes: Harley, stop making expensive, high performance electric motorcycles. I’ve seen your lighter weight electric bikes and they are so far removed from the traditional Harley-Davidson customer they might as well be electric Buells.

Harley’s marketing for as long as I can remember has been based on heritage. Timeless styling and traditional products have served you well. For a successful E-bike look to your past and the Topper scooter; it’s the ideal commuter platform to modernize (not too much) and electrify. The boxy rear section can hold a huge battery bank without looking like it’s holding a huge battery bank. It’s a classic form that simply drips Harley-Davidson heritage and the youth of America will go gaga over the styling. Keep the thing below $4000 so a normal person can afford one. You’ll have to outsource most of the drivetrain components to keep the price reasonable but you can slap the parts together in an old V-Rod factory and call it made in the USA!

Seattle’s Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum

I was up in Seattle about a month ago, and while we were there, we visited the Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum.  It’s just below the Seattle Space Needle.   I enjoyed it, and if you are in the area and you want to experience something new, this is a place you might consider visiting.  I had seen exotic blown glass in Venice (Italy, not California) a few years ago and I guess I was expecting to see more of the same, but trust me on this, the Chihuly Museum is unique.  It features the blown glass artistry of Daly Chihuly, and it’s unlike anything I’d ever seen.  The shapes, the colors, the size of the sculptures…all of it was amazing.  Take a peek…

The Chihuly blown glass sculptures are huge, and it you look carefully at the photos, you can see people in the background and that will give you a sense of scale.  The Nikon’s low light level capabilities came through for me here; these photos accurately portray what we saw in the Museum’s darkened interior.

There sure are a lot of interesting things to see here in the US, and I’m constantly amazed at how many of them I had never heard of before.  The Chihuly Museum was in that category.   There are other exciting destinations out there, and when Gresh and I find them, you’ll read about it here.  Gresh is headed out to the Yamaha Endurofest in a couple of weeks (watch for that), and I’m headed overseas again.  More good stuff coming up, folks!

The Future is YooHoo

I have seen it in my crystal ball.   What the future holds.  When our readers ask, we deliver.  Fred, you da man. (ExNotes Disclaimer:  I use that word in the non-gender-specific sense, in case any of our readers get their panties in a knot.)

No animals were harmed in crafting this blog. Please use responsibly.

Standby, Fredo. I’m going to get on my motorcycle and get me a bottle of this stuff.  Our review is in the planning stages now.

Product Review: Marshalltown Grooving Trowel

We human beings spend a large percentage of our life-energy altering the Earth to better suit our desires. Take me, for instance. I’m constantly trying to rise up from Tinfiny’s mud-bound arroyo and beat Mother Nature into submission. New Mexico is no country for old men and I know I will lose in the end. We all lose in the end, our best efforts forgotten by the incurious, but that’s no reason to give up.

One of my favorite ways of taming nature is to pave it over with a layer of concrete. If it worked for Chernobyl’s smoldering, radioactive core it can work for Tinfiny Ranch. My latest attempt to delay the inevitable is the side patio. The ground on the north side of Tinfiny’s Carriage House was washing into the arroyo from heavy monsoon rains and, like the calcified bones of a long-dead Tyrannosaurus, the Carriage House’s foundation was laid bare. This is not good.

About 10-feet from the foundation I dug a footer and laid some blocks to serve as a seawall. I’ve been slowly filling it in with dirt, reburying the exposed foundation and compacting the fill in 8-inch lifts. It’s all going about as well as can be expected.

As I bring the north side up to grade I’m pouring a sloped, concrete patio to stop erosion and re-direct rain water away from the Carriage House’s foundation towards the arroyo. I love concrete as much as the next guy but even I know that great slabs of it are not the prettiest things to behold so I’m finishing the slab in smaller sections with each section grooved to resemble the cut blocks used in The Great Wall of China.

For grooving I’m using a Marshalltown trowel that I ordered online. The thing was not impressive right out of the box. It’s a flimsy looking tool that is not quite wide enough and it tends to create a border to your groove. You’ll need to practice a light hand for best results.

I thought the single direction canoe end would be a hassle, what with having to change the tool’s orientation with each stroke, but I was wrong. Grooving is much less labor intensive than edging so the back-and-forth motion used with an edger tool is replaced by a single stroke with the groover. One pass with this tool and the groove looks pretty well done. You’ll need to hit it a couple more times as the mud goes off but it’s easy as pie.

My initial reaction proved wrong: once you get the hang of it this thing really makes a nice groove. I’m free-handing the cuts just because I’m lazy and I don’t want all the lines perfectly square. The non-canoe end lets you get right up against the form. Except for making it a couple inches longer and a bit wider I am happy with how it performs. It has started to rust already but all my concrete finishing tools rust. I should probably oil them after use.

I’m so happy with the Marshalltown trowel I think I’ll keep on going around the side of The Carriage House and on into the back yard using the same method of construction. After all, you can’t let Mother Nature wash your house into the arroyo without putting up a fight.

The Three Flags Classic: I dropped out

If you’re waiting for blogs from me on the Three Flags Classic and updates on the RX4, you won’t get them.   I dropped out before I even started.  I don’t like to think of myself as a quitter, but that’s what I did on this one.

It came down to this:   I’ve been on the road for the last two months nearly nonstop and I needed a break.   I am not doing a very good job at being retired, and the travel just got to a point where it was overwhelming.  I had a consulting gig with a large agricultural firm in Colorado, then it was more expert witness work (analysis and a deposition), a trip back east for my 50th high school reunion (that was a lot of fun, but it was another week of travel), a trip to Seattle for a friend’s wedding (lots of fun there, but yet another week of travel), a couple of runs up the coast to be with grandkids (more fun, but again, more travel), and on and on it goes.   I don’t think I’ve been home more than two or three days in a row in the last two months.

Three Flags for me would have involved a full day on the motorcycle in 100-degree weather to get to Mexico today, a 681-mile motorcycle day tomorrow starting at 3:30 a.m. to get from San Luis Rio Colorado (in Mexico) to Cedar City (in Utah) through 110-degree weather on a holiday weekend, and another 1500 miles of riding to get to Canada over the next week.  And then another 2200 miles or so to get back to southern California. It would be two more weeks on the road.

Baja John was going to ride with me, but when he considered the distances and the temperatures and the timing, he decided not to go.  When Joe Gresh heard I wasn’t going, he thought about taking my place, but after an initial burst of wanting to go he came to the same conclusion as John did.  Those two guys are smarter than me.   What was I missing?  At what point in your life do you decide you need to stop and smell the roses for a bit?  At what point do you say:  Hey, I made a decision that was too hasty and I need to reverse it?

For me, that point was yesterday.  There’s nothing wrong with the RX4 motorcycle (in fact, it’s a great bike and the new ones are in port waiting to clear Customs now) and there’s nothing wrong with the 3FC19 ride.   The timing’s just not right for me.   I know I’m disappointing a few people with this decision, but I’m also pleasing a few people, and I’m one of them.