Feel Good Stuff – Page 8 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Digital Nomad: Returning to the USA

By Mike Huber

I had been living and working on the beautiful rain forest island town of Victoria, British Columbia, but I had noticed the past couple of times returning from my work trips to Seattle that the Canadian Immigration people started to take notice of me and were more than aware that the stories I was feeding them weren’t true (they could see my entry/exit dates and they did NOT track with what I was telling them). During one of the last times I crossed the border I was pulled aside. They ran my Massachusetts driver’s license and the agent quickly stated “You’re a long way from home, son.” To which I provided my normal reply by pointing at my backpack: No, sir. My home is right there. He didn’t find it funny (they never do). He returned my IDs and had me move through Customs without further issue.

It was definitely time to return to the United States. It didn’t take too long over the next week to pack up, deflate the leaky air mattress I had been sleeping on for 8 months, and place the Good Will furniture on the corner (the furniture and I shared the same situation; we were both looking for our next home). Loading everything into the car was the final step before getting on the Tsawwassen Ferry, which would bring me to Vancouver. It was a short and uneventful 3-hour drive to my new residence in Seattle, Washington.

Victoria was one of the very few places that made me cry when I left. I had a beautiful eight months living there and felt so fortunate that I was not only able to experience this island and the great people who live there, but that I was able to stay for so long. It is one of the few places I have lived that I proudly called my home.

I was back in the United States after a year and a half. It was time to get an actual apartment and furniture that wasn’t from Good Will. Belltown in Seattle seemed to be a no brainer as far as a location. There were tons of bars and restaurants, it was next to the Olympic Sculpture Park, and the Victoria Clipper was right there (if I felt the urge to jump back to Victoria on the high-speed catamaran). Maybe the coolest part of Belltown was that my apartment was in the shadow of the Space Needle, which is one of my favorite buildings.

The one big lesson I learned in my vagabond, digital nomad travels is it is much easier to get back on the wheel than it is to exit it. Getting an apartment and having my furniture sent from Boston was easy. Leaving the wheel required a ton of planning and preparation. It took months to downsize, find a storage for my vehicles, rent my condo, etc. The tasks seemed to never end when I prepared to leave the wheel, and as I completed each task I found myself constantly questioning my decision as I counted down to Day 0.

I was now a Seattle resident. Over the past 18 months I left from the start of I-90 near Fenway Park to the end of the same road at Safeco Field. It would have only been a three-thousand-mile trip on I-90, but I took the longest route possible by meandering through five countries. I was anxious to meet new friends and see how being back on the wheel would treat me, and more importantly, how I would adjust to this old lifestyle I had left 18 months ago.

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Season of Change: Part 4

By Mike Huber

I awoke in my tent still buzzing from the previous night’s ceremony. A frequent side effect from ayahuasca is not being able to sleep that well, but even with little sleep I was ready and excited to face the day with a renewed feeling of positive energy. I had not only made it through the ceremony but came out the other side feeling a confidence and happiness that I hadn’t felt in years.

Even though I had this elated feeling I was still cautious not to be too upbeat. I had a final ceremony that evening to go through and I was certain there were still a few things I had yet to process. Hopefully, this evening would be where I would find the purpose that I originally sought, a star to steer by to light a path, even if it was just a few nearly dead chem lights to point the direction. Just something.

I passed the day by talking with the others and listening to their experiences and getting to know everyone a little better. As the day wore on, I began to feel uneasy again as to what that night’s experience would be. With the ceremony starting at 19:30, the two hours leading up to it I spent in solace and went fishing to pass the time (I had two solid bites but didn’t set the hook so off they went).

Upon entering the yurt I sat on my mat and awaited to be called. Since this was the third ceremony and I felt as though I had resolved a lot of what I had come here for I chose a smaller dose. I wanted to be semi-coherent this night so that I could work with the plant, build a relationship, and have her assist me in bringing my purpose into the light.

As I returned to the mat with my cup of medicine, I sat looking deep into the cup for several minutes asking for guidance before I drank the bitter tasting plant medicine. It didn’t take too long before the muscular black panther appeared and strutted up the mat to be face-to-face with me again. As I sat eye-to-eye with this magnificent beast, I noticed behind it was the entire universe filled with an infinite amount of lavender colored geometric fractal patterns. I felt so uplifted and began to repeat “what is my purpose?” It was at this time the panther left and the universe melted into a dark scary funhouse as I began to violently purge into my trusty bucket that was kept at my side. All the while the facilitators were singing and their icaros were resonating through my entire body. It was beyond overwhelming. Every sense in my body was heightened as I was blasted with emotion from every direction.

One of my proudest accomplishments is being a paratrooper in the 82^nd Airborne Division, but on prior occasions taking ayahuasca my prior Army service never entered my hallucinations. As the madness of the funhouse carried on, I looked up through the ceiling and could see an enormous 82^nd Airborne insignia light up the entire universe. I once again was in a dark place and began asking why was I seeing this insignia. Did the plant have a problem with soldiers? Paratroopers? Every time I asked my surroundings just became darker and darker. Every so often it would uplift me for a moment and I would ask about the insignia. Each time I was thrust back into the funhouse of Hell. Obviously, I was asking the wrong questions (I learned this after the third or fourth time purging and visiting these dark places).

I am a slow learner. I managed to refocus for a moment and it hit me. It was almost as if the plant was screaming at me and punishing me for not coming to the obvious conclusion of these signs. I had asked for purpose during that ceremony and that was it. The medicine was showing me what my purpose was. It is to help my fellow veterans in some capacity (this was the conclusion I reached). This was what I had asked for, but I had been too overwhelmed by the hallucinations to focus and obtain that answer.

It’s been three months since I attended the ayahuasca ceremonies. While I am still very mindful of what lessons the plant medicine has taught me, life (as it tends to do) has had me distracted and I find myself backsliding into old habits and losing focus on my new purpose. I am now alert enough to realize this and I have the discipline to push myself back on track. As I continue my path forward I am thankful for having the resolve to attend and learn from this beautiful plant medicine. It is not a magic bullet, but if you follow through on the lessons this plant teaches you there is no doubt you will be a better person.

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Bangkok Part 6: Bangkok bikes

By Joe Berk

So what’s today’s blog all about? I promised I would tell you a bit about the different kinds of motorcycles and motor scooters in Bangkok, and this is that story.

Scooters, Cubs, motorcycles…they are everywhere. Every traffic light is the start of a drag race to the next light by all the bikes.

Bikes dominate Bangkok’s urban landscape. I know that sounds like a catchy thing to say (snappy writing, perhaps), but it wasn’t intended to be literary lavishness. It’s just the way it is. Two-wheeled transportation is everywhere. In traffic, the bikes filter by on the left and on the right. In front of any business or in any parking area, there are hundreds of bikes. And at every stop light, dozens of bikes filter to the head of the line. The excitement builds as the countdown stop light nears green (they tell you how many seconds until the light changes over here), and in the last few seconds before the red goes away, a zillion motorcycle engines start revving. The word “glorious” seems appropriate.

Filter to the front of the line, start revving as the lights nears turning green. The pink autos are taxis (taxis are either pink or metallic green in Bangkok).

There are few big bikes in Bangkok. Oh, you’ll see one now and then, but they are a rarity. Over here anything over 200cc or 250cc is just wasted displacement. I’ve been to Bangkok several times and of the tens of thousands of motorcycles I’ve seen (and those are not exaggerated figures), there were exactly two big bikes. One was a Harley Sportster and the other was a Triumph Bonneville. There’s just no need for more displacement.

A lone Triumph Bonneville, tucked away in a Bangkok parking spot.

A Ninja. Honda, Kawasaki, and Yamaha are popular over here. Surprisingly, I didn’t see too many Suzuki motorcycles. We did see more than a few Suzuki automobiles, though.

One moto thing that’s noticeable right away are the orange vests. When you see a rider with an orange vest, that means they are using their bike as a taxi. They give short rides (the folks here tell me typically under 2 kilometers). The riders have to wear the government-sanctioned orange vests and a helmet; passengers don’t wear any safety gear. A lot of the female passengers wear skirts and ride side-saddle (I’ll show more of that in the next blog). I’d say roughly 10 percent of all the bikes are being used as taxis. Most of the drivers are men, but you do see women riders occasionally.

A mototaxi, a rider, and a food delivery bike.

Surprisingly, it’s rare to see more than two people on a bike. You do see it, but not like I have seen in China or Colombia (I once grabbed a photo in Colombia of a motorcycle carrying six people).

Bikes are working vehicles over here. I mentioned the taxi thing; it’s also very common to see bikes weighed down with all kinds of freight.

There are scooters (you know, the things that are styled like Vespas), step-through motorcycles (like the old Honda Cub), small sport bikes (small displacement CBR or Ninja type bikes), plain old motorcycles, and (surprisingly) a lot of Grom-styled bikes.

Another rare sighting…a Vespa in Bangkok. Most of the scooters are of Chinese origin. But this Vespa? If you’re thinking it’s from Italy, you’d probably be wrong. Zongshen (in China) produces these for Vespa.

Here’s a guy on one that looks a little like a Ducati. I’m pretty sure these are made in China, as Gresh and I also saw them for sale on our ride across China. If you were wondering, the clutches don’t rattle on these.

When I was last in Bangkok 6 or 7 years ago, I saw a few Kawasaki motorcycles that looked a little like the Honda Grom. Today, the Grom style is very popular in Thailand, with motorcycles of this style from several manufacturers.

I’ll close this blog with a three photos of a bike I spotted yesterday that I thought was pretty cool. It’s a CG-clone-based motorcycle, and its owner has a sense of humor.

A little Beemer. Well, a Beemer wannabe. Unlike modern Beemers, this one has a rational seat height.

I wonder if the Cafe Racer decals are factory original, or if the owner added them.

We are enjoying our last full day in Bangkok. We’re up early tomorrow for the flight back to California. It’s been grand. We’re staying in the top floor of a 5-star hotel in downtown Bangkok (the Pullman Grand Sukhumvit) and we’re living in the lap of luxury. The room is awesome, there’s a pool and a gym, there’s a free tuk tuk ride wherever we want to go, there’s free booze and breakfasts and dinners, and it’s costing less than what a Holiday Inn might cost in the United States. We’re going for a dinner cruise up the Chao Phraya River tonight with our good friends Kevin and Nan, and we’re going to hit another one of the temples later today. We took a grand long boat ride on the Chao Phraya yesterday and it was awesome.

There’s one more in this series of Bangkok blogs, and it will feature a set of photos showing Thai women passengers on moto taxis. Stay tuned. I think you’ll like it.

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Break-Up Bikes (my journey to a Yamaha TW 200)

By Bobbie Surber

Can we talk about an important matter that has been on my mind?

Do women who ride motorcycles handle breakups differently compared to women who don’t rider?

It’s a thought that tickles the imagination of everyone at some point, right? Well, maybe not everyone, but hey, this is my little tale, so here we go. Picture this: it was summer, I had just experienced a breakup that left my heart in pieces, and an opportunity for a soul-searching solo ride presented itself. In that moment of contemplation, I assessed my true desires in life, and you know what came to mind? Dirt and sand riding. Yeah, I’m talking about that exhilarating feeling of kicking up dust and cruising through sandy terrain. Don’t get me wrong, my beloved Triumph Tiger 900 (affectionately named Tippi) will always hold the top spot in my heart. But hey, a girl needs a little something on the side, a petite and playful companion for short rides. You catch my drift, right? I know some of you guys can relate! Ha!

Fast forward through the summer months and as August approached a dear friend (who also happens to be an extraordinary adventure rider) reached out to me. By then, I had been on my solo riding journey for over two months, feeling both physically drained and financially pinched. And then, like a shining beacon, my friend, let’s call her Destini, introduced me to the elusive TW 200—the side cheating bike of my dreams. This unicorn of a motorcycle was up for sale in Southern California, and armed with a few snapshots and a contact number, I was ready to make my move.

Now, you won’t believe the audacity I had, claiming to be financially constrained but wasting no time in contacting Eric, the seller. He was enjoying a leisurely dinner with friends on a perfect summer evening when I burst into his life with overwhelming excitement. I must have been yapping like a caffeinated squirrel, leaving him wondering if I was either on some mind-altering substance or going through a manic phase. But can you blame me? I had set my heart on that bike! It wasn’t just a want—it was a dire post-breakup remedy! A 2015 Yamaha TW 200 with a mere 800 miles on it listed for only $4000. Surprise, surprise, Eric turned out to be a gem of a person and agreed to a small Venmo deposit to secure the deal.

Now, here’s where the plot thickens. I was miles away in the Olympic peninsula of Washington while the prized possession awaited me in sunny southern California. One could say I needed a trusty sidekick, and luckily, a kind friend volunteered to inspect and purchase the bike on my behalf.

Before I knew it I was the proud owner of a TW 200. Come September, picture me cruising through the neighborhood on a splendid Sunday afternoon, giggling like a mischievous child. That little bike felt so lightweight and petite. Its chunky rear tire was the only contrasting feature. And would you believe it? My shattered heart seemed to magically mend, thanks to a mere $4000 and the promise of thrilling rides in Baja and my enchanting town of Sedona, conquering as much dirt as possible! Love was in the air once again, and my mind was filled with visions of the adventures that lay ahead.

And thus, my riding comrades, this is the tale of how I acquired my very own break-up bike!

The Yamaha TW 200 is a unique dual-sport motorcycle known for its distinctive features and versatility. Here are some key details about the Yamaha TW 200:

- Engine. It’s powered by a 196cc, single-cylinder, air-cooled four-stroke engine, designed for reliability and easy maintenance.
- Fat Tires. One of its most recognizable features is its oversized tires—both front and rear are unusually wide for a motorcycle of its size. The fat tires, with dimensions of 130/80-18 rear and 130/80-18 front, contribute to its off-road capabilities and stability on various terrains.
- Low Seat Height. The TW 200 boasts a low seat height, making it accessible and comfortable for riders of varying heights and skill levels. This characteristic also aids in maneuverability, especially off-road.
- Suspension. It’s equipped with long-travel telescopic front forks and a rear mono-shock suspension, providing decent travel for off-road adventures while maintaining comfort on the road.
- Utility and Design. Its design combines elements of a traditional dirt bike and a street motorcycle. It features a high-mounted exhaust, a large, round headlight, a rear rack for cargo, and a simple, utilitarian appearance.
- Availability. While production and availability may vary by region and year, the TW 200 has gained popularity for its unique design and capabilities, which contributes to its demand in the used market.

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Season of Change: Part 3

By Mike Huber

I returned to my mat/astral spaceship with a full dose of ayahuasca in a cup that I was about to drink. This would be my 12^th time consuming this magical potion from the jungles of South America. As I sat staring into the cup that would soon bring me into another world I was as scared as I had ever been in my life, especially having just had one of the most frightening journeys of my life the night prior. Looking into the cup of dark molasses-colored and textured fluid I set my intentions and fearfully drank what was a little over an ounce, but it would prove to be more than enough to benefit me.

Similar to the prior evening I sat back to let the medicine absorb into my body. There was nothing for me to do but let the medicine perform its work now. Once the singing of the icaros began I could feel another entity coming towards me, but it wasn’t the panther from the previous night. It was a War of the Worlds type of jellyfish with tentacles. I was relaxed since in previous ceremonies this was the hallucination I was used to. One of the tentacles came down and at the end of it was the pattern of the inside of the ayahuasca vine but I could tell it was an eye scoping me out. Yet again I was eye to eye with a new entity introducing itself to me. What was constantly on my mind was if this entity would disappear and return me to the Hell I was in the previous night.

Pretty much as soon as the hopes of not returning to that Hell faded, yup, you guessed it I returned to the exact same Hell as the previous night. Damn it! It was for a shorter period of time though (or so I thought as time is relative in the spirit world). There were no voices or guidance this time, though, so I wasn’t quite sure of the lesson I was being taught (but I did vomit ferociously for quite some time). Once that began to wind down my name was called and I moved to the facilitator that would sing to me face to face. I was instantly uplifted and felt just pure happiness. A happiness and peace with myself that I hadn’t felt for years. I was comfortable within my own skin and felt as though I had been reborn and given a new chance to experience life through this new lens that I hadn’t had previously.

That evening I went back into the room to have tea with others and was no longer huddled in the corner. I participated in the conversations while also checking in on others to ensure none of them felt as I did the previous night. It was one of the best experiences I had to date with this medicine, but I still had one more night to go through, so I was cautious not to become overly comfortable. It was time to rest, eat, hydrate and get my head together for tomorrow night’s final ceremony.

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Brazil Moto Chase

Here’s a chase scene that’s billed as the wildest motorcycle chase ever. I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate, but it is an entertaining few minutes.

The presumption here is that the chase is real, and some dude and his pillion dudette were in a heap of trouble down there in Brazil when they were finally caught. You’ve got to be pretty nuts to attempt outrunning a police officer on anything, but I guess more than a few crazies do so even here in California. About 25 years ago I was in the carpool lane on my TL1000S Suzuki honking along at about 95 mph when I suddenly sensed something on my 5:00 position. I looked in the mirror and there was a CHP cruiser not 5 feet off my rear wheel, just a little bit to my right rear. I hit my turn signal, slowed slowly (I didn’t want that CHP car giving me a proctological examination), wove my way through traffic, and got off at the next exit. I was expecting the indignant, outraged lecture, but to my surprise the CHP officer was an attractive young female who politely asked for my license, insurance, and registration. “I’m surprised you pulled over,” she added.

“Really?” I asked. “You actually get people try to outrun you?”

“All the time,” she said. “If they get away, we can’t go by their tags and arrest them. They’ll just say it wasn’t them, and because of the helmet, it stands up in court.” Hmmmh. You could have knocked me over with a feather. “That’s if they get away,” she added. “Most of the time they get wadded up somewhere down the road. We just follow the ambulance to the hospital and issue the summons there.”

On this topic of motorcycle chases: They are a staple of more than a few motion pictures. I think the classic chase scene (and the best one) is Steve McQueen in The Great Escape (Bud Ekins did the jump in this scene, for which he was paid an unheard of $1000 when the movie was made). There are many great movie chase scenes. Let’s hear from you: What’s your favorite motorcycle chase scene?

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Season of Change: Part 2

By Mike Huber

I was about to consume ayahuasca for the 11th time in my life.

The twelve of us gathered in the yurt around 19:30. Having previously participated in ten ceremonies, the process felt natural and comfortable. That’s not to say that I wasn’t scared, but I was familiar with this beautiful plant. Most importantly I trusted the plant and the people overseeing my consumption of it.

In the past, the first night for me was not that painful and was more of a “getting to know you” feeling. Normally it was a very pleasant experience. I would see a lot of colors and just the entire universe would unfold in front of me. The second night is when the effects of this medicine would become serious and step up intensely.

This would not be the case tonight. Within 30 minutes of setting my intentions, consuming the brew, and the singing of beautiful icaros (native Peruvian songs) by the facilitators, I began to feel the effects. About this time is when the hallucinations began along with an uneasiness in my stomach. One of the side effects of drinking this medicine is that purging, or vomiting, is a frequent occurrence.

What I am about to describe is my ayahuasca journey. Full disclosure: A lot of it won’t make any sense, but it is the outcome that I want to highlight. The hallucinations first came as a beautiful black panther crawling up my mat to sit in front of me. It was so close and real that I could feel the vibrations of it purring as we sat face to face for some time just staring at each other. I thought this was a new form of an introduction. The muscular black panther disappeared after a short time and at the instance of his departure I was instantly thrust into a hellish scene with a red sky and fire everywhere. The only structures visible were totem poles made of fire, and they were screaming at me. I then began to violently throw up into a bucket (which I had placed exactly where I could find it in the dark). This went on for…well, until I was finished reliving every mistake I had ever made in my life. Every time I’d been rude to someone. Every time I had put someone down. Every time I had doubted myself. Every time. Once that was over, I felt like one does when awakening from a bad dream, still having that feeling the dream was real. It was that feeling, but it was multiplied a thousand times.

After the ceremony the host came by and checked in with us all. I was still pretty shaken. I was putting the evening back together to try to ground myself.

Upon formal closure of the ceremony a group of us went inside the house to have tea and discuss our individual experiences. I sat quietly in the corner of the room listening to everyone’s stories. They were all beautiful and gentle. I was still reliving the hell I was shown. It would be a night of very little sleep for me.

The next day I was DONE. I was ready to leave and not stay for another ceremony. The day began with me crying inside my tent and really not much else. I talked with my friend who ran the retreat sharing my feelings about leaving. For me, even thinking I would quit is unheard of. I am a paratrooper and we do not quit! But that first night was so painful it was hard to imagine another two evenings like it. My friend shook it off as part of the growing experience. I knew he wasn’t wrong.

The next night not only did I attend ceremony, but I requested a 20% higher dose. As I drank it I said aloud “Run towards the sounds of guns” and tapped one of the practitioners and said “Hey, please look out for me I may need some help tonight.” He promptly replied, “I’ve got you!”

I returned to my mat to set my intentions for that evening and waited to see what this next ceremony would bring.

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The Motorado Vintage Motorcycle Meet, Santa Fe, New Mexico

By Joe Gresh

We were flying low and slow, like vatos do, heading north from Mountainair, New Mexico. The Mud Chuckers, one on a Buell 1000, one on a Kawasaki Vulcan 750 and me on the 1974 Yamaha RD350. It had been a few years since the last Motorado event and we decided to ride up as a group. Covid and inertia combined to equal a 4-year gap since the last Motorado event. Last year in 2022 we held an unofficial Motorado rump-meet at the traditional location. About 15 old bikes showed up and no one drank beer because the pub was closed. There was a swap meet going on and we drew some interested lookie-loos. It was better than nothing for sure and I was prepared to go do it again this year but the real Motorado got on the pipe.

Saturday’s weather was warm and sunny and none of us felt in the mood to go very fast so we burbled along at 50 miles per hour enjoying the beautiful, two-lane New Mexico scenery. Traffic was typically light. Three cars passed us. At this stately pace the old two-cycle, twin cylinder Yamaha RD350 progressed 58 miles for each gallon of gas. That number would be a lot more impressive except the ancient, 1950’s era Sportster motor powering Mike’s Buell did 68 miles per gallon. Long stoke, four stroke, no poke, no joke.

The unofficial, official motel for Motorado 2023 was the Sunset Motel in Moriarity, New Mexico. The Sunset is laid back and low slung just like us. You don’t get breakfast at the Sunset but you do get a monster homemade muffin, which is almost the same thing. After getting settled in our rooms we rode off to get dinner at Shorty’s BBQ joint.

Shorty’s has the best BBQ brisket in Moriarity but the place is always in kind of an identity crisis. The first time I ate at Shorty’s the walls were covered with Jesus stuff, bible quotes and crosses. A few years later I stopped by and the entire restaurant was a shrine to Donald Trump. The Mud Chucker’s are about as far from liberal as you can get, but are also not too fond of The Donald so I feared the worse going in, but the décor had changed again. Now the place was Jesus-lite® without a single reference to our 45th President and a marked reduction in Christian symbolism. You get to experience Shorty’s political and spiritual evolution through the walls of his establishment and eat a great brisket sandwich to boot.

Late September in New Mexico is prime motorcycle riding season. The mornings are cool, gradually warming to hot afternoons. Elevation changes and drifting clouds create a seesawing temperature landscape. The Mud Chuckers were moving slowly on Sunday morning and I’m of that certain age where I no longer care whether I arrive anywhere at any particular time, so we managed to pull out of the motel around 11 a.m. From the Sunset, it’s a straightish shot up Highway 41, through Galisteo to Highway 285 and then north a few miles to the Motorado.

There was a good crowd at the 2023 Motorado. It looked to me as though they had not lost any attendance despite the 4-year layoff. All brands of old bikes were represented and several shops had booths selling whatever it is they sold. I hit the Motorado T-shirt booth first but they weren’t set up to take credit cards and I had a limited amount of cash on hand. Once again it was no T-shirt for me. This whole T-shirt thing is out of control.

One of my dream bikes, a Kawasaki Avenger 350. These disc valve two strokes were pretty fast back then and still fast today.

High pipes on a Norton P-11. This is pre-isolastic mounting so you get to feel every vibration the parallel twin puts out.

Every Motorado I see a bike I never knew existed. Here’s a Taurus diesel that looks a lot like Royal Enfield running gear strapped to a diesel engine.

This over restored but still beautiful Ariel Square Four was a stunner. I hung around to hear it run but got tired of waiting.

The oldest bike at the event, a 1906 Fairy opposed twin. Not sure of the horsepower but they made 2-1/2 to 8 horsepower models. I bet the 8 was a real screamer.

This bike is the great grand-daddy to the RD350. Two generations behind the RD it’s still a sweet looking bike.

After a few passes we had seen pretty much all the bikes in the show and the swap meet. The Chuckers and I took the long way home on the Turquoise Trail through Madrid, New Mexico and got back to the Sunset motel at Sunset. Moriarity rolls up the sidewalks on Sunday night and all the regular places were closed so we retreated to a 24-7 truck stop that had the worse spaghetti ever made, and then we called it a night. It’s tough eating night-spaghetti.

The morning ride from Moriarity was brisk bordering on cold and our rag-tag group made the 200-mile rode low and at our now standard slowpoke speed. I’m very happy the Motorado is back in business and barring another world-stopping pandemic I hope they stage many more years of vintage shows. As long they hold the meet I’ll be riding an old bike up to Santa Fe to check out the hardware. I’ll see you there next year. Swing by the Sunset Motel and we can ride the last 50 miles together.

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Riding the Dark Side: My Switch to Scooters

By Rob Morel

So at 66½ years old my health is not what it used to be. I’ve sold all my “nice” bikes and now ride two scooters, a 1985 Honda CH150 Elite around town and I just bought a 2008 Suzuki Burgman 400 for distance travel.

I had a hip replacement 2 years ago. That’s working really good now. Bone spurs on lower back made it very painful swinging a leg over to get on and off a regular motorcycle, plus just riding on a bike all day was not fun anymore with the dagger like pain in my neck and back, which I’ve had for years. I could just roll with it in younger days. I can’t do that anymore. I’ve had immense fun going on motorcycle camping trips in the Pacific Northwest, Canada, Baja, several National Parks, and more places with the two Joes (Gresh and Berk). All great memories.

A few months ago, a friend had a scooter he wanted to sell. The price was something I couldn’t walk away from. My friend told me $100 and you can come get it. The short story was it was stolen years ago, recovered, and then sat outside for years. The people that stole it tried to paint it black over the nice original red color. Being left out in the weather resulted in a lot of rust, and it gummed up every control that needed to be able to move. Leafcutter bees made homes in every nook and cranny. Under the plastic I found hordes of dead bugs and cobwebs. The brakes were not working due to the bugs and water had entered the drums and rusted them.

I figured if I could get it running without too much effort it would be worth tackling the other issues. I took the carb apart and cleaned it by soaking it in ultra sonic cleaner, and I poked little wires through the jets that were plugged solid with old gas. I added a new air cleaner and battery. To my surprise, it started and idled okay. Then I replaced the old tires with new ones, oiled the cables, took the switches apart and blew out the dead critters, and lubed them. The fuel tank looked like it came off the Exxon Valdez. It was all rusty inside. So I rinsed it several times and got chunks of rust to come out as well as the gas that had turned to turpentine. Just to make sure, I installed two inline fuel filters on the gas line. I also added a new fuel vacuum petcock. Basically, I just gave it the tender loving care it needed from years of neglect. Five hundred bucks later, I rode it around and got all the lights working. I next took the constant velocity transmission apart and cleaned it, lubed it, installed a new belt, and Bob’s your Uncle. It’s a fun little scoot that gets up to 55 mph.

After riding the scooter around I noticed my back wasn’t hurting like it used to. I think the sitting position and not having to spread my legs apart like on a regular motorcycle relieved the pain. Or maybe it was the potholes my city is famous for pounding on my spine that did the trick. I’m hoping the the scooter will carry me into my goldener years and I can keep riding.

I’m now familiar with the term “Rat Rod.” I named my scooter “Tetanus Shot.” Every time I look at it, I feel like I need a tetanus shot. So does everyone else, especially the Harley guys I park next to at our coffee shop. I park next to them on purpose.

With the comfort and fun of riding Tetanus Shot around, I figured that if I could sell my 2009 BMW F650GS (a great bike) and my little Chinese 400 thumper road bike, I would have the money to buy a maxi scooter. After the customary searching and reading all about the big boy scooters, I decided that a Suzuki Burgman 400 would be a good long distance scooter. I found one an hour away with 5200 miles. It was a 2008. I rode it and thought it would do all this old geezer needed. $3600 later, I rode it home.

It didn’t take long to get familiar with the Suzuki’s handling and power, which surprised me when I left the seller’s gravel driveway and the rear end broke loose from too much throttle on the gravel lane.

Accessories I installed to make comfier included heated grips, a 3D-printed throttle lock, a rear trunk for added storage, a cell phone holder, a GPS mount, and handlebar shields to keep bugs and stones from hitting my hands and cold weather riding. I added wiring for my heated jacket, a wind screen extension, and a Roto-Pak mount on the trunk for extended gas range. I took the rider’s seat back rest and made it taller to support my back better.

A few weeks ago, I wanted to take one more 4-5 day trip before the weather turned wet and cold. I loaded clothes, tools, extra gas, and the various other assorted things I take on bike trips, and pointed the Burgy towards Seattle.

1250 miles later I can say I really enjoyed riding the big Suzuki scooter. I had no problem running 75 to 80mph on Interstate 5 through Seattle’s rush hour traffic. Vibration was very minimal. Wind protection was good. I noticed the large wind screen would really wobble at speed and when cross winds hit it. The seating position was very comfortable and I could move and stretch my legs more than on a motorcycle.

One thing not as good as my motorcycles was not being able to stand up while going down the road to stretch my legs and cool the nether regions when it was hot. I could do it, but it was a very different sensation than a motorcycle.

My back was pain free while riding all day. My back would hurt and remind me after I stopped, but it is what it is .

My Suzuki’s fuel consumption was 55-65 mpg, which surprised me because at 70 mph the engine was turning around 7000 rpm. The Burgy’s 3.4-gallon fuel tank provides a 150 to 180 mile range, which is just right for a needed rest. My 1-gallon Roto-Pak for extended range was emptied several times.

The route was Walla Walla to Yakima, over Snoqualmie Pass into Seattle. I rode up Interstate 5 to Burlington to visit my best customer. Then it was north to Bellingham to see the Grizzly Machine tool store. Then we turned down to Seattle. I spent a night with a friend. I rode down Interstate 5 to Kelso, crossed the Columbia River, I next headed west to Astoria, and then it was down Oregon 101 to Lincoln City for the night. The next day I rode down to Newport, east to Albany, Oregon, then up Interstate 5 to the Columbia River Gorge, where I spent the night in a motel in Cascade Locks, Washington. In the morning I ran east on Highway 14 to Mary Hill Stonehedge, then over to Goldendale for lunch, then east to Bickleton and the Tri-Cities, and then back home to Walla Walla. I enjoyed riding the Burgy. The scooter did everything I expected it to do. I’m hoping for many rides into the sunset on this scooter.

After being self-annoyed for 34+ years, I finally got my “walking papers.” I am shutting down my machine shop and plastic injection molding business. My best customer sent all the work I used to do for them to China and the shop I’ve rented since 1995 is up for sale, so I’m scooting on out of here.

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Bangkok Part 5: The Jim Thompson House and Museum

By Joe Berk

Today was another exciting day, and we visited another one of Bangkok’s best kept secrets. Sue and I took a tuk tuk ride to the train station and we made our way on Bangkok’s elevated inner city railway system to our destination du jour: The Jim Thompson House and Museum, located inside the city along a remote canal. Tucked away, you might say. And that’s entirely appropriate. Read on and you’ll understand why.

The view from the passenger compartment.

Getting around on Bangkok’s elevated railway was surprisingly easy. And that’s Mo Chit.

The destination of our tuk tuk and train travel was the aforementioned Jim Thompson House and Museum. You might wonder: Who was Jim Thompson?

Jim Thompson, before he disappeared in the jungle forever.

Okay, here goes, and when I’m done giving you the Reader’s Digest version of this amazing tale, you tell me if isn’t something that might be the story line of the next Indiana Jones or James Bond adventure.

Jim Thompson was a young east coast guy born into wealth who went to Princeton University and became an architect. He joined the Army just prior to World War II, he jumped out of airplanes while he was in the Army (I like this guy already), and he ended up in the Office of Strategic Services during the war (the OSS was the forerunner of the CIA). Toward the end of the war, Thompson was stationed in Thailand where he found interesting and previously unknown (unknown outside of Thailand, that is) artisans doing amazing things with silk. To make a long story a little less long, Thompson is the man who made Thai silk famous. Seriously. He designed silk clothing for royalty, elites all over the world, and folks in Hollywood (including the costumes used in the movie, The King and I).

Along the way and with his background as an architect, Mr. Thompson starting collecting classic Thai teak homes and Asian artifacts (like I said above, the guy had money). He built a compound comprised of six teak homes he moved from ancient Thai cities to Bangkok, and there he built a compound that he made his home. The big photo at the top of this blog is part of it. It’s in Bangkok now, but when Thompson built it, it was well outside the city. Bangkok expanded around it.

Then, to make this story even more interesting, in 1967 Jim Thompson disappeared in the Malaysian jungle without a trace. I know, it sounds like a story line from a movie or one of those adventure novels you buy in an airport bookstore, but folks, no one can make up stuff this good. A former US Army paratrooper/OSS officer/CIA agent turned wealthy silk magnate, complete with an ancient Thai compound on a canal in Bangkok who goes missing deep in the jungles of Malaysia. What was it? A tiger attack? An assassination when former enemies finally caught up with him? Or something else? No one knows. At least, no one who’s talking.

With that as the backdrop, here are a few more photos of the Jim Thompson House and Museum.

One of the exterior shots. The really good stuff was inside. I thought about trying to sneak a few photos, but then I remembered Thompson’s background and thought better of it.

Our guide, in an area where photos were allowed.

One last photo inside the Jim Thompson compound.

This was an amazing visit. I would have liked to have taken more photos of the inside of the home and the amazing ancient Thai artifacts it held, but as I mentioned above, no photography was allowed inside. You’ll just have to take my word for it. This is one amazing place and one amazing story. If you ever find yourself in Bangkok, seek out the Jim Thompson House and Museum. Most people have never heard of it. It’s one of the more fascinating places I’ve ever visited.

I took one more photo that day as Sue and I walked back to the train station. It was a convex mirror at a tight street intersection, you know, the kind that lets drivers approaching from either way see what’s around the corner. It called out for a selfie, and we answered that call.