Feel Good Stuff – Page 8 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Merry Christmas…

By Joe Berk

…and Happy Hanukkah, too. Man, it’s hard to believe the ExhaustNotes blog is 5½ years old. We started in July 2018, and here we are, the day before Christmas, in 2023. Where does the time go?

This is a short blog, and its purpose is simply to wish everyone a happy holiday season. I hope 2023 was a good year for you and that you have a great holiday tomorrow. Keep the comments coming, keep clicking on those popup ads, if you need moto clothes click on over to British Motorcycle Gear, and if you’re headed into Mexico next year, be sure to insure with BajaBound (Gresh and I are talking about another Baja trip in March, and you can be sure that’s who we’ll use).

There won’t be a blog on Christmas day…we’ll be too busy unwrapping presents. From all of us (Joe, Mike, Bobbie, Rob, and yours truly): Enjoy the day.

That photo above? I shot it in La Playa de Belem, Colombia, on Christmas Eve, using my D3300 Nikon, the 18-55mm Nikon lens, and available light. The Moto Colombia ride was one of the best ever. You can get the whole story of our adventure in the Andes here:

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A Drought While Surrounded By Water

By Mike Huber

This year I decided to expand my hobbies while traveling across the United States by motorcycle. I enjoyed camping and riding but felt with the long summer days I needed something to do once I arrived in camp (other than drink beer around a beautiful campfire, which will still happen no matter how many hobbies I take up). Fishing seemed to be a perfect way to spend early evenings once my campsite was set up. I was going to become a successful motorcycle fisherman.

OK, well the successful part ended rather quickly. I started off just crushing it and catching fish almost every time I went camping. I was fishing lakes around Arizona and thought that once I was in California it would only improve. It didn’t. In fact, I didn’t catch a single fish from July to the end of August. In my own defense, I was fishing rivers where most were fly fishing and not using lures or worms. But still, to be skunked day after day for a few months was demoralizing, especially one day when fishing in Lassen National Park. There was a couple next to me, literally right next to me, using the exact same power bait and reeling in bass after bass. As soon as he landed a fish his wife would clean and cook them on the spot. Meanwhile, I wasn’t even getting a bite. I may have cried that night in my tent a little (or a lot). I kept a positive outlook, as I was just starting my trip and had so many states to visit that my luck would surely turn around.

My luck did not turn around. It got to where the fish were mocking me jumping all around my lures. Even when I changed from power bait to spinners to gummy worms every 30 minutes or so, it just wasn’t happening. This is where my friend said to me “That’s why they call it fishing, not catching.” Ugh. I clearly need better friends.

As my travels (and my fishing drought) continued, I camped and fished in 14 states without a bite (AZ, CA, OR, WA, ID, MN, PA, NY, VT, NH, ME, NJ, VA and MD). Talk about a drought. This was awful. I think what made it worse was my BMW GS1200 was so loaded down that I had the pole visible on the bike held by ROK Straps which invited people to come up and talk with me about my fishing success and comment “oh, you will definitely catch something here…I’ve never been skunked there.” Well, I didn’t and I was skunked. Repeatedly.

On November 1^st my BMW was stolen. The steering column was cracked open like a lobster and it was pushed into an alley where the thieves pried open my panniers and took only a few items. One of them happened to be my trusty $40 Walmart collapsible fishing pole. This was the ultimate insult to wrap up an unsuccessful fishing year.

Not being one to give up, the first thing I bought after the BMW was recovered was another fishing pole. Over the winter months my plans are to start watching YouTube videos and reading how to improve my chances on the waters I travel along next spring throughout this great country. 2024 is my year to catch fish!

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The Great Flood of 2023 in Augusta, Maine

By Mike Huber

I found myself without my motorcycle spending the holidays with friends and family in my hometown of Augusta, Maine. Normally Augusta is a pretty low key (boring) town to me. I pass my time here watching my favorite evening news show 207. The show covers local hometown people, their unique to Maine hobbies, and the lives of those that reside in Maine. The show is hosted by Rob Caldwell, and my favorite, Samantha York. It’s always a pleasure for those who are within earshot of me during this show. I constantly blurt out entertaining Maine stereotype commentary throughout the show. Everyone really loves and embraces my unedited commentaries as the show goes on (no they don’t).

Sadly the week or December 18^th would not be a week of me watching my beloved 207 news show due to a massive rain and windstorm that blew through the state that Monday. In all fairness to my obnoxious sidebar comments it was a hell of a storm. Up to 5 inches of rain and winds topping out close to 70mph. Although we made it through with minimal power outages, we were in the minority as close to 80 percent of the largest power company’s customers were down. Throughout the state about 400,000 were out of power (about a third of Maine’s entire population).

The following day I decided to go for a ride into the bustling city of Augusta to see what it looked like after the storm. I thought it would be quiet in the city; boy, was I incorrect. There were lines for gas that were easily 40 cars deep in almost every gas station. An attempt to go to a local grocery store was quickly shot down when the line to just get into the parking lot was about as long as the gas lines.

Now my biggest concern at this point was when the internet and cable would be restored so I can watch 207 and continue to absorb Maine life through their perspective. It was another letdown on Tuesday as when 19:00 came around, there was still no cable, which meant no 207. I had a bit of a cell phone signal to help pass the time and a decent book to read, but it just wasn’t the same without 207 to light up another dark evening. My mom helped me pass the time by having me engage in crosswords, and as I did it allowed me to reflect on my poor decisions in life that led me to this point. Either way as 19:30 approached that constant red light on the modem continually reassured me this would be another night without 207 had come and gone.

At the writing of this on Wednesday morning the water of the mighty Kennebec River has crested and I can only assume it will be another quiet evening without the internet (or 207) as the river level lowers and the heroes who work at the power companies restore power. We are all maintaining continued optimism for a speedy internet and power recovery so that we can enjoy 207 during the holiday season.

Stay strong my fellow Mainers!

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Mount Rainier

By Mike Huber

Mount Rainier, just a two-hour drive south of Seattle, was something I became obsessed with while living in the Pacific Northwest. I loved looking at that volcano. Mount Rainier often wasn’t visible during the winter months due to the cloud cover, but when it was visible it was a sight to be seen, especially at sunset. The entire volcano would glow orange, almost as if it was a 14,000-foot candle. It was magical.

To summit this peak, one has to be extremely skilled as a mountaineer or have a guide due to the multiple avalanches. This was something I had to experience up close, but I didn’t have the climbing talent. I would have to find another way to experience this.

The following August I began training by spending two months climbing numerous peaks in Washington until my body felt solid enough for an attempt to climb to Mount Rainier’s base camp, Camp Muir. I drove to the base of Mount Rainier in Paradise, Washington, and slept in the back of my car that night. That gave me a better chance of snagging a camp permit for Camp Muir in the morning. This mountain base camp was mostly for those who dared to summit this volcano, and it was nothing more than a hostel at 10,000 feet. It was a small wooden shed with two levels of plywood that held 12 hikers.

The hike up to the camp was a smoker. I left at 7:00 a.m. and didn’t reach Camp Muir until 14:00. It was like climbing up a black diamond ski slope. I didn’t have crampons and my pack was quite heavy as I had loaded it with a lot of water (a rookie mistake). Once arriving at the camp and securing a spot in the shed, I spent the rest of the day talking with those that would be summiting in the early hours the following morning. They summit at night to avoid warmer periods of the day when avalanches were more prevalent.

The hikers all woke around 2:00 a.m. to begin the summit. Even though the temperatures were low I decided to get up and see them all leave. This provided the opportunity to view all the stars as well as the entire Milky Way spread across an otherwise dark night sky. As the hikers made their way I could hear the loud cracking of avalanches in the distance. Camp Muir was angled so it was well protected, but that loud thunderous sound sure got the hairs on the back of my neck up.

In the morning as the sun came up I could see 270 degrees around me, and volcanoes were visible in every direction. It was a site to behold as I finished my breakfast (the remainder of a crushed Subway sandwich). It was time to begin my descent. The coolest part of this hike was going back down. I brought a large black garbage bag with me on this hike. The reason being is as you descend there are luges carved throughout the path down the mountain. This allowed the opportunity to glissade, sometimes picking up an unreal amount of speed to the point where I would use my legs as brakes to ensure I didn’t get too out of control.

Once returning to a much lower elevation the snow began to disappear and it was time to pack the garbage bag up and hike the remaining 2 miles down. Not having slept much the night prior due to the higher elevation I was looking forward to hitting a breakfast place in Paradise to refuel as the crushed Subway sandwich gave way to hunger. I could tell I was close to the base as the people I ran across were less and less in shape or prepared and once I saw a family wearing crocs I knew my breakfast had to be within a ¼ mile or less.

As I entered the café, I got a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. I felt fulfilled because I was able to experience the hike even without summiting. The hike to Camp Muir was still challenging and I knew it would leave me sore for the next few days. It would also provide memories that have lasted. Every time I see Mount Rainier in the Pacific Northwest, I am able to relive my experience and appreciate that magnificent mountain in a more personal way.

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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?