Joe Gresh – Page 13 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

The 2022 Tarantula 100

They say time flies and that’s corny-true but I think time accelerates the closer you get to the end. We have been living on Tinfiny Ranch for 6 years now and I have missed the Prairie Dawgs Tarantula 100 desert race each of those years. It seemed like there was always something that needed doing or I was off somewhere else. I usually hear about the race after it has run and say to myself: I’ve got to make it down to mile marker 45 and check it out next year.

This year was the someday year. My old high school chum Greg was in town so we burbled Brumby down Highway 54 early Sunday to catch the second day of Prairie Dawg action. The event is held at a huge off-road playpen about halfway between El Paso and Alamogordo. When we first moved to La Luz I attended a Prairie Dawg club meeting. They were a great bunch of guys and gals (another of those things I keep meaning to do is join The Dawgs). I’m not real big on organized motorcycle events preferring instead to toss about on the floor picking up cat hair like a gigantic sticky lint roller. To enter a race, to pre-run the course, to get in physical shape so that I could hold on to a bucking 1971 Yamaha 360 for 100 miles of desert seems like a lot of effort.

Effort that could be better spent consuming beer and eating beef jerky in the warm February New Mexico sunshine. So that’s what me and Greg did. We arrived on a perfect day just as the riders meeting was ending and wasted no time getting to the start line. The PD riders lined up according to class. The start is dead-engine. When the flagman, who gave no 30-second board or hint of when he was going to drop the flag, gave the signal you had to start your bike and off you go. It was so unexpected I missed several photos. With the dead-engine start, the electric start bikes had a bit of an advantage over the kick start bikes.

The race is run in 50-mile loops. When the riders come back through the pit area they ride underneath a red, pipefitting type of arch where the transponder records their time. We had a bit of a wait after the last class was on their way so we got our chairs, beer and beef jerky and settled down to discuss how old we were getting, the various ailments we were suffering under and to try and remember some long ago event that the other guy was reminiscing about.

One hour later the first of the Pro Class arrived at the transponder. Most everyone took on a gallon of gas, a swig of water and were on their way for the second lap. Some guys pushed their bikes under the yellow pit-tape ribbon and called it a day. Greg and I set up behind a hill at a spot that had a good view of the last mile or so of the course and the red transponder arbor. Some pits were located before the transponder, some after, but I guess it didn’t matter as the second lap was the one that counted. The sun beat down, the early morning chill was long gone, and our world became a balmy 70-degree red dirt sand dune. We shed our jackets and settled into a mellow, New Mexico low simmer.

Greg was heading to Fort Stockton, Texas later in the day so we decided to hang around until the first youth-class rider completed his lap. That came around 2 hours into the race or almost exactly twice the time it took the first pro-class rider. We folded up our chairs, shook the sand off and went back to the Alamogordo Moose Lodge where Greg had left his gigantic motorhome. I read later on the Prairie Dawg’s Facebook page that there was some trouble with the scoring system and I’m not real sure who won. I figure why mess up such a nice day out with accounting issues.

I don’t know if I’ll ever compete in the Tarantula 100. I’m still able to trail ride all day long but can only make about 2 miles at race pace. Staying up to speed for 100 miles would leave me rubbery-armed with blood pooled in my calves. I don’t want to take that helicopter ride. There is a 60+ class but those guys looked pretty fit. Maybe they’ll let me enter the mini-cycle class. Pouring concrete would be easy in comparison.

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Hasty Conclusions: First Look At The Harbor Freight Tire Changer

I usually change my own motorcycle tires. I’ve been doing it since I was a small child and the job has never been all that easy. In fact, I dread changing tires but there is no other way. The thought of taking a motorcycle in for new tires was as alien and hoity-toity to me as having a live-in maid. The Husqvarna changed all that. The Husky’s wide, 17-inch rims combined with even wider tires really stymied me. I would pinch the tube nearly every time I put a tire on that bike.

One time after pinching the tube four times trying to get the last bit of bead over the rim I stuck the only tube I had in the 150/60-17 back wheel: a 21-inch dirt bike tube. That tube lasted for the duration of the tread life and when it came time for a new tire I folded my cards. I took the rim to our local independent motorcycle shop, Holiday Cycles.

Holiday Cycles charged me $25 to install whichever tire I supplied. Size did not matter. I didn’t need to buy the tire from them, as they don’t stock sizes to fit the Husky. What a relief to drop the new tire and wheel off at Holiday and pick it up a few hours later shiny and new. And there were no holes: the tire held air. This was a wonderful relationship. Holiday gradually raised the price of a tire change to $40 but it was still worth it to me. Avoiding hours of struggle only to have the tire leak was not the sort of thing I wanted to go back to.

Unfortunately, Holiday Cycles closed up recently and I’ve been lucky not to need a new tire on the Husky. There is a Yamaha and a Kawasaki dealer in town that change tires. I’ve never used them; I kind of liked Holiday Cycles.

My buddy Mike from the Carrizozo Mud Chucker’s bought a Harbor Freight motorcycle tire changer and said it was okay. Better than a 5-gallon bucket, I think were his words. Naturally anything Mike gets I have to copy.

Harbor Freight spammed my Facebook page with the motorcycle tire adaptor part for $32. This seemed like a good deal. My first thought was to just get the adaptor and make my own base. When I got to Harbor Freight I saw the base was only $44 and it was made for changing car tires. I looked at the bright red, powder-coated base and thought, no way can I make a base this nice for only $44. I bought the car-tire changer base. I was all in for $76, a little less than two tire changes at the old bike shop. You get a lot of steel for your money with Harbor Freight and I loaded up the weighty boxes of metal and drove home.

Like most of Harbor Freight’s shop equipment, you have to modify the things to make them work a little better or at all. One of the first things I did was take the motorcycle adaptor to Roy’s Welding to weld the three legs of the adaptor to the adaptor hub. The factory setup is a couple bolts on each leg. This does not work well as the bolts are squeezing on square tubing. No matter how tight you torque the bolts, right down to crushing the square tubing, the arms won’t stay flat and move up and down easily.

The whole purpose of the motorcycle adaptor is to secure the rim so that you can work on the beads without the whole assembly skidding across the shed floor. You don’t want the three legs flopping around. Roy had a hard time welding the legs because the powder coating was very thick. “Man, they put a ton on there.” I thanked Roy, paid my $15 and the welded legs are very secure now.

The way the motorcycle adaptor works is two of the legs have adjustable, pinned rim-grabbers. You adjust those to suit your rim size. The third leg has a screw-driven rim-grabber that tightens onto the rim like a vise. Initially I thought the grabbers worked from the inside out. Turns out they grab the outside of the rim.

Since the grabbers are flat-faced when you tighten them onto the rim it doesn’t hold well: the tire slips upward and out of the adaptor. Mike simply heated the grabber tips and bent them inward so that the rim can’t slip out. My other brother, Deet, who also has a Harbor Freight tire machine, made some nice, plastic rim protectors to grip the rim. I copied Deet’s system. We will see if it works or just snaps off the first time I use the motorcycle adaptor.

I had an old bead breaker but the Harbor Freight tire machine comes with a pretty good bead breaker built right into the base. You use the (included) long tire iron as a lever. The base unit for car tires looks like it should work well. I might try changing a few MGB-GT tires on the thing. I think it needs a sturdier center cone to hold automobile rims but maybe not.

Bolting the base unit to the concrete floor was fairly easy. A hammer drill does the job faster than a plain old rotary drill. I used 5/8” expansion studs on three of the base legs and a 3/8” expansion stud on the bead-breaker leg to keep the bolt size down in that area. I also added a few angle pieces to join the three base feet together. Harbor Freight should have welded the foot pieces but that would make the package larger. Shipping stuff from China isn’t cheap.

Adding it up, I have about $100 in the Harbor Freight tire machine with the motorcycle adaptor, anchor bolts and plastic. I had to clean out a section of the shed to make room for it but it looks the business sitting there doing nothing. The long tire iron that came with the base is sort of fat for motorcycle tires so I may look around or make something different, maybe something with plastic tips to keep from scratching chrome wheels. I’ll do an update when I get around to using the thing. I figure with the money I’ll save using the Harbor Freight motorcycle tire changer I can start interviewing for that live-in maid.

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Retail Therapy, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Lower The Boom

Here at ExhaustNotes we like to support local businesses. Without local stores and a healthy business environment a town dries up and becomes a collection of houses. Interaction between the town populace slows to a crawl and sad as it is, the only action will be found at Walmart or the Chevron station out by the highway. That’s no way to live.

In the USA we operate on the capitalist economic system. This means I do your laundry and you do my laundry, we keep handing the same money back and forth. The cyclical movement, or pumping action, of these few, tattered dollars are where the magic happens. Capitalism relies on all of us constantly spending and gathering dollars: the trick is to keep that money supply moving. If no one buys anything no one earns anything and the whole system crashes.

When we buy stuff online that money goes out of our local economy to some far-fetched location. In other words, they do our laundry but take their laundry to another town or state. Maybe they don’t even get their laundry done. Maybe they invest in block-chain cyber securities and sit on it.

If the system is functioning correctly you will eventually do the laundry of someone who did the laundry for someone else three states over who did the laundry for someone else. Except when the system gets so large and ruthlessly efficient your town becomes unable to do laundry at the massive scale required to match the price of the other, Mega-Laundry-Towns.

The local pool of cash begins to flow in one direction: out of here. Your neighbors no longer want you to do their laundry. It’s easier and cheaper to send dirty clothes to an Internet laundry service. The people in your town become bitter, superstitious and convinced the system is rigged against them. Less money circulating means people have to shop for the cheapest place to get laundry done or forego clean clothes altogether, taking money out of circulation even faster.

Look around now: the people are wearing dirty clothes because no one can afford laundry service. There’s nothing to buy and no money to pay for it if you did find something to buy. Since there is no money circulating the pulse of your community grows weaker. Young people see a bleak future with no one to do laundry for and leave. They move elsewhere, anywhere clothing is being washed, leaving the halt and the lame behind.

Neighborhoods become run down due to deferred maintenance. Angry, desperate, hungry and poor, this is the point when you turn to a life of crime. You steal from other poor people, your neighbors, and get caught doing it. After the trial you are sent away to a privatized, for-profit prison because your local prison cannot compete with the private Mega-Prisons. There you are: locked up and forced to do laundry. For free.

So ExhaustNotes likes to shop local. Like the other day when my wife’s lock switch fell out of the driver’s door of her Jeep. It’s a Jeep thing. The plastic bezel that holds the switch has two little tabs that fit behind the door panel and the switch is held in by two metal flat springs. The whole magilla snaps into place and works fine unless the tabs break off. I spent 45 seconds on Amazon and found a replacement selling for $14 with free 2-day shipping. I was about to send the bezel to my cart when I thought about our local Jeep dealer and figured I’d practice what I preach. I like having a Jeep dealer in town and I want him to stay in business.

The Jeep dealer is about 23 miles away and I know I should have called first but I usually have a hard time describing what I want to the parts guy. I drove down the hill to the Jeep dealer and chatted up the parts guy. He found the driver’s side switch bezel on his computer after 15 minutes. “We don’t have it in stock, it’ll take a couple days.” I said, “go ahead and order it for me.” The price was $35. I asked the parts guy if he gave a local discount and he knocked $10 off. I was well-chuffed as they say in England.

A few days later the Jeep dealer called and said the part had arrived. I drove back down the hill and picked up the bezel. All was well with the world. Sure, I paid $10 more than Amazon but I had supported our local economy: I kept the money in town.

When I tried to install the bezel I noticed that it was the bezel for the passenger door. The little graphic of locked and un-locked would be upside down and the angle was wrong. Darn it. Ah well, mistakes happen. I rigged a few pieces of sheet metal to hold the switch in the door and drove back down to the Jeep dealer. I know I could have called but I figured I’d have a hard time explaining that they ordered the wrong part and it’s easier to deal in person. The parts guy looked the bezel over and apologized. He said he would order the driver’s side bezel for me.

A few days later the Jeep dealer called and said the part was in. I drove back down the hill and picked up the part. It was the correct one and fit perfectly. All in, I drove 184 miles to get a $25 switch bezel that cost $14 on Amazon. I used around 12 gallons of gas. Gas is right around $3 a gallon here so I spent $36 on gasoline. My time doesn’t really count because I enjoy riding around in old Brumby but if you’re counting I spent about 11 hours driving back and forth and talking with the parts guy.

I feel really good that I supported a local business. The money I spent was circulated to the gas stations, the Jeep place and a hamburger stand where I ate lunch on one of the four trips to the dealership. I really spread it around, man. I used my Social Security check to pay for the switch so that’s Uncle Sam’s money injected right into the veins of my town. Buying local is the best way we can work together to save capitalism… and have clean clothes to boot.

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My 2022 Social Media New Year’s Resolutions

The New Year is a good time to take a clear-eyed look at your past and relive your many failures. It’s a time to regret what you have done, a time for guilt and bitterness, but no matter how badly you screwed things up the preceding year the New Year is also a chance to make things right. The New Year is like a fresh tub of store-brand guacamole, its smooth machine-made surface waiting for that first nacho chip. Full of promise, the New Year is a blank slate upon which to write your opus of good intentions. This is your moment, this is your time: don’t blow it by double dipping.

Making resolutions in real life often requires some effort on our part to accomplish. Things like losing weight or getting stronger, maybe to change into clean underwear, or foolishly, to drink less. These are hard things to do which is why so many New Year’s resolutions lie broken and forgotten by February. Social media resolutions are much easier to keep. In fact, most of them only require you to pause, to not do, to disengage. With that here are my five social media resolutions for 2022.

Social Media Resolution Number 1: I will stop informing Internet grifters… I mean sellers that the price they are asking for their well-used sale item (without shipping) exceeds the price of a brand new, duplicate item with shipping included. I don’t know why I have chosen to be Mr. Price Check on various forums but it needs to stop. If Joe Blow wants to list a rusty old Yamaha gas cap for three times more money than a new one from Yamaha who am I to post a link to the cheaper new item? Why do I care? Am I really trying to warn other idiots of the price gouging or am I a Bob Barker-like crusader for the frigging Price Is Right? From now on I vow to stay out of the grifter’s deal and let the buyer beware. Unless it’s a basket case JT1 Mini Enduro for 2800 dollars; then I have to pipe up.

Social Media Resolution Number 2: When some tasteless, classless, skill-deprived person puts up a photograph of their sad, pipe-wrapped, loop-butchered, Brat style motorcycle and then asks the hive mind what do we think about it, I vow to stop telling the builder what I think about it. It does the builder, and I use that term loosely, no good to list all the horrible things he has done to what was a pretty cool vintage Japanese bike. I promise to stop telling the idiots who vandalize a decent motorcycle that the bike is worthless now and they should give their 4-inch angle grinder to a chimpanzee because the average chimp has a better grasp of style and tool usage than the so-called builder. Look, if Brat builders had any chance of turning around their lives I’d go along with the god-awful mess as just a phase. I’d try to steer them in the right direction, you know? But that’s not going to happen. The Brat builder’s bad taste will only grow progressively worse, going from butchering Japanese bikes to big wheel baggers constructed entirely of Bondo to huge, jacked-up diesel pickup trucks with those 28-inch rims. Regardless, I will never comment on the Brat’s topic from this day forward.

Social Media Resolution Number 3: I will stop blocking people who answer, “Google is your friend” or “use the search function” in response to questions on a brand-specific motorcycle owner’s forum. Unlike these paragons of efficiency, you and I understand that owner’s groups exist for more than the just the facts. The owner’s group fosters camaraderie, and a sort of gallows humor develops regarding your particular motorcycle’s consistent failures. It’s reassuring to know that you’re not alone when your swing arm breaks. The search bar does not provide real-time condolences. After sufficient time any owner’s group will have covered all known problems and these issues will have been exhaustively discussed. At that advanced state of know-how answering a query with conventional wisdom becomes almost like a chant. Chanting is good for the soul; it wipes the mind clean, if only for a moment. I approach a Zen-like state when I repeat, “remove the sway bars” to a Jeep YJ owner for the 1000th time.

Social Media Resolution Number 4: I will stop trying to figure out Facebook. My Facebook account is slowly losing functionality. One by one, little features disappear. Facebook Messenger went away a few years ago. I can’t access the messages, but Messenger still sends me notices that a friend has left a message. I can no longer post videos unless I download them to YouTube first then paste a link on my page. YouTube uploads slowly with my weak Internet connection. A 5-minute video might take 8 hours to upload. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

I’m no longer in control of some Facebook pages I created. Group settings are changing and I didn’t change them. I used to shake my fist at Facebook and rail against the Face-less algorithms that keep eroding my online presence. For 2022 I’m going to let the anger go. I’m going to stop bitching about Facebook and let its perverse tentacles unwind themselves from my life at whatever pace their little robot-minds care to proceed. I have found that my opinion of humanity varies in an inverse proportion to how much I use the service: lots of time on Facebook depresses me, less time on Facebook and my outlook improves. Maybe human beings were never meant to know so much intimate detail about each other’s lives. In the past it took active agency to find out who was a jerk. Now people tell you they are jerks 10 or 15 times a day. In writing.

I now know jerks in every country of the world. I know jerks in India, I know jerks in Saudi Arabia, I know jerks in China, and I know jerks in every state of these United States and its territories. Before the Internet was created there was no way I could I dislike so many people. It’s a little overwhelming. I don’t believe we have evolved enough to cope with so many jerks all at once. Handing us a phone and an Internet connection is like taking a pre-contact tribesman from the Amazon jungle and dropping him off in the middle of the Las Vegas strip with a bag of halcyon-days meth and 7500 dollars cash. It’s too much, too soon and I’m going to stop trying to sort it all out.

These four social media resolutions seem eminently keepable to me. They seem like actions that will improve my life at absolutely no cost in time or effort on my part. I like that. What are your social media New Year’s resolutions?

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ExNotes Review: KooBee Fit-All Dirt Bike Headlight

My 2008 Husqvarna 510 came equipped from the factory with the worse headlight I’ve ever had on a motorcycle. What am I saying? It’s the worse headlight I’ve ever had on anything and that includes those old HO scale slot cars that had headlights actuated by the motor controller thingy.

Not only is the headlight dim: the most annoying thing is the way the Husky eats incandescent bulbs. I go through one bulb every 500 miles. The bulbs themselves are oddball scooter type and 35 watts barely casts a glow on the road. The lens is melting from the little bit of heat generated and the separate, small parking light bulb will no longer stay attached because the hole it fits into has melted into a large egg shape.

In an attempt to slow the destruction I installed a weak, low wattage LED bulb and that unit has managed to stay lit for 5000 miles. “Lit” is a relative term: the LED struggles to illuminate the leading edge of the Husky’s front fender. But it does stay on. It gets dark pretty early his time of year so I decided to take another shot at the headlight situation by buying an entirely new headlight.

The KooBee universal fit headlight comes with a halo-type parking light, a low beam and a high beam. The plastic lens is fitted into a plastic number plate faring that resembles the original Husky part. Included with the light were four of the rubber headlight mounts, the kind that go around the fork tube just like the originals the Husky came with. All in all the setup looks fairly well made for cheap plastic junk.

Fitting the light was a bit of an issue because the original headlight bucket was shallower and the whole unit fit closer to the fork tubes. The KooBee light fixture stuck out further and the mounting arms were too short. The light would have fit if I removed all the wiring, the horn, the speedometer and the anodizing on the fork tubes. Instead I made three aluminum extension arms to move the headlight a couple inches forward allowing the rat’s nest of wiring a little room to breathe. As it is I had to relocate the horn and rearrange the wiring to fit it all in.

The next problem was connecting the KooBee to the Husky’s headlight plug. The KooBee came with 4 loose wires in a pigtail with no plug or socket at all. Naturally, the Husky uses a strange 4-pin socket and plug, unlike the normal 3-pin type you see on most older motorcycles and cars. I lopped off the Husky plug and soldered the KooBee headlight wires to the Husky pigtail. I can unplug the headlight when it catches fire pretty fast now.

When it came time to fit the rubber mounts to the Husky forks the nice looking kit rubbers fell apart. The rubber looked ok and was molded well but it seemed like it was already partially decomposed. You could pull the things apart like Playdough Fun Factory clay. The kit rubbers were tossed into the trash bin and I used the original Husky rubbers, which still had life after 14 years.

With everything put back together I turned on the ignition and the halo/rim light was already brighter than my old LED on high beam. Firing the bike off lit the low beam and it was a huge improvement. I flicked the high beam on and got a nice bit of light. When I’m describing the light output you must take into consideration where I was starting from: near total darkness. The KooBee has an up-down adjuster screw but no side to side. For side adjustment you move the rubber bands that hold the light onto the forks. I haven’t tested the light at night because it’s too damn cold for that stuff right now. It almost doesn’t matter because it is what it is, there’s no putting a bigger bulb in the KooBee. If it goes out you replace the entire headlight. The KooBee was $45 on Amazon and if it stays on for a few thousand miles I’ll be happy.

I suspect the KooBee’s black plastic is sort of soft. I tried to wax the faring part so that bugs won’t stick but the wax seemed to take the gloss off. The stock Husky stuff dulled fast also. Maybe that’s just the way plastic body parts are. After it warms up a bit I’ll take a night ride to see how the KooBee works. I might need to adjust the thing but I know it’s much brighter than the stock light. Look for a mid-March KooBee follow up report here on ExhaustNotes.us.

ExNotes Review: Motorcycle Camping Stoves

In 1975 Greg Smith and I went on a long motorcycle ride. Greg had one of the first Goldwings, a pretty metallic blue motorcycle with a Windjammer faring. I had a BMW R75/5 also with a Windjammer faring and Samsonite bags. The ones with the soda machine, round key lock to hold the bags into the frames. We visited 41 US states and were on the road 3 months: Florida to California to Canada to Maine and most of the states between the coasts. In all that time I think we stayed in a motel three times; the rest was camping. Mostly we stayed at state parks for a dollar or commercial campgrounds with showers and toilets at the cost of around 2 dollars a night. If it was late or we were lost we would pull off the road and find an out of the way place to set up our tents. If it was really late or we were tired we would toss our sleeping bags on the ground and sleep just about anywhere.

Modern campgrounds are more like mini subdivisions now and the huge RV’s jammed cheek to jowl cost way more than houses did in 1975. But when we were discovering America on the Goldwing and BMW, tents were still popular. People camped out of their cars. KOA campgrounds were a luxury stay with plenty of hot water and clean bathrooms. We were on a strict 10 dollar-a-day budget back then, so eating at a restaurant was off limits except for cheap fast food places. We cooked all of our breakfasts and dinners. It was fun.

The very first motorcycle camp stove I bought was a Peak 1. Greg had one too.

New, the Peak 1 cost like 20 dollars, which was a huge amount of money back in 1975. I had bought many motorcycles for less money. The Peak was worth it, though, and has proven to be indestructible. It still works fine some 47 years later. Starting the Peak 1 has never been a simple process. You pump up the tank pressure and fiddle with the two fuel levers (instructions are printed on the side) and then a big yellow flame erupts from the stove. After a minute or so it settles down and you flip the small lever to normal operation. To adjust the flame use the long lever.

My Peak could use a new pump diaphragm but with determined pumping you can build enough pressure to light the thing off. After the cross tube gets hot the stove makes its own pressure. The colder it is the harder the stove is to start but it has never failed to start. The Peak 1 burns Coleman stove fuel or some stuff called white gas. White gas was available at many gas stations in the 1970’s so it was easy to fill the little tanks on our stoves for a few cents. A full tank would last a week of meals and coffee.

The Peak 1 is sort of big and heavy; I wouldn’t want to backpack with the thing. I don’t think gas stations sell white gas any more so you need the Coleman fuel. Any Wal-Mart has Coleman fuel. I used the Peak for many years until motorcycle camping became less likely to happen and I shoved the old warhorse onto a shelf.

For economy, nothing beats a penny, beer-can stove. They cost nothing. These little alcohol-burning stoves are super lightweight, probably the lightest you can get. You can’t buy a beer can stove, you’ll have to make one and YouTube has probably 1000 videos on how to build your own. The Cliff’s Notes version is you cut two beer cans and fit the two bottom bits together. Then you punch some holes for the flames to shoot out and a hole for filling the contraption. The penny serves to slightly pressurize the stove for a nice long flame. You’ll need some rocks or a wire frame to hold whatever you’re cooking. I used a bit of bent brazing rod.

Fuel for the stove is available everywhere. Drug stores, liquor stores (Everclear), auto stores (Heet) alcohol is ubiquitous in our country. The way it works is you fill the stove with a few ounces of alcohol, put the penny in the middle and light it up. The one I made lights easily. Some builders complain about hard starting. One fill up will boil a quart of water and burns for 12 minutes or so. The beer-can stove has its drawbacks. Once the thing is lit you don’t want to move it or tip it over. It’s all too easy to set your arm on fire. Don’t try to conserve fuel, let the stove run until it’s out of alcohol. Lastly, the stove is fragile and easy to crush: pack accordingly.

Now we come to my favorite stoves: these little butane stoves cost between $10 and $15 on Amazon. They are extremely compact, like beer can stove size but not as light weight. They use slightly hard to get butane canisters (Walmart again) but they start easily and boil water fast. I have two sizes. The larger one was the first type I bought and it’s now my go-to motorcycle camping stove. My buddy, Mike, bought the smaller burner so I had to get one, too. They’re cheap. The small one will fit anywhere. Folded up it’s about the size of your thumb after you smashed your thumb with a hammer. The larger one actually works better because the flame is spread over a larger area. Water seems to heat faster with the big one but I haven’t timed it.

You can get butane fuel in several sizes. For a short, 2-3 day camping trip the small canister will do. Oddly, the large canister of butane costs less than the small one and it’s good for a week of camping. When I pack for a motorcycle camping trip I try to save space everywhere. It kills me to pay more for less fuel.

My newest stove is this wood burner. It’s so new I haven’t even used it yet. It’s bulky but not so heavy. The photo shows the stove fully assembled and ready for use, it breaks down to about 1/3 the size for packing. The big idea behind this stove is you don’t need any fuel to run the thing. Wood twigs, leaves, bits of brush, anything that will fit in the stove and burn are fair game. The stove is designed with side-draft vents to help cut down smoking. I got it because I like the idea of free fuel in an unlimited supply. I’ve yet to camp where there wasn’t enough stuff on the ground to make a pot of coffee. The top is cut away so you can feed a steady supply of soiled baby diapers, 12-pack Budweiser cardboard cartons and discarded Covid facemasks into the beast. Cook your dinner and clean up the environment at the same time! Drawbacks are you have to use the stove outside. No brewing a nice cup of Batdorf & Bronson coffee in the motel room.

There are many other types of small camp stoves. Everyone is trying to design a better, smaller, lighter stove. Some stoves cost hundreds of dollars. That’s not my bag, man. I guess I am into motorcycle camping stoves like Berk is into armaments: a stove for every pot, as it were.

Resurrections, KLR250 Part 5: Two Steps Back

In Part 4 of the KLR Chronicles I managed to damage the water pump oil seal. Never one to stand pat, in Part 5 I damaged the new water pump ceramic seal. It wasn’t easy and I’m still not sure how it happened.

After cleaning off the old gasket material stuck to the clutch cover I managed to get the new oil seal installed without drama. Next I used a suitable sized socket to pound the new ceramic seal into the water pump housing. This all went well and as such was probably where I broke the seal.

The clutch cover has two locating dowels but the gasket was sort of floppy and would slip out of place when I tried to install the cover. I ran down to NAPA and picked up a can of spray gasket High Tack goo and used that to hold the gasket while I messed with the cover.

Reassembling the mess was easy from then on and I filled the radiator with new coolant expecting success. I took the bike for a short ride and dammed if the water pump wasn’t leaking worse than when I started. Resigned to never getting the bike going I removed the water pump cover and water pump impeller. I thought maybe the impeller o-ring was the culprit so dismantled the cover and replaced the o-ring and tried again. It still leaked. Dismantling the pump for third time was when I found the crack.

The ceramic seal is a multi part extravaganza consisting of a flat seal area, a spring, a rubber bellows and the metal ring part that fits into the housing. I tried pulling the ceramic part off but it just crumbled. It took a bit of tugging to remove the bellows and spring from the metal. And then I remembered that when I removed the old seal the spring, bellows and seal fell out into my hand. This made me think that the old seal wasn’t leaking at the ceramic interface and, in fact, was leaking between the bellows and the metal ring part.

If you’ve followed my mechanical exploits you can guess what happens next. I cleaned the metal ring (still stuck in the housing) and the old seal bellows. Then I blobbed black RTV silicone on the ring and glued the old seal/spring/bellows into the new ring.

And it worked! The water pump no longer leaked. This kind of repair is not the sort of thing you want to rely on 50 miles out into the desert so I’ll have to order yet another water pump seal. This time I’ve got an idea and will try something different to remove the metal ring. I hope to not pull the clutch cover again. We will see.

More Resurrections are here!

ExhaustNotes Travel: The North Rim

Berk recently did a story on the Grand Canyon and I have visited the park many times. I’ve never made it to the North Rim however, and a trip to Las Vegas, Nevada was a wonderful opportunity to check out the other side of that great big hole in the ground as it was practically on the way. If you plan on going know that the North Rim closes around the end of November. When we arrived a few days before Thanksgiving the ranger station, restaurant, gift shop and lodge were all closed. The park was still open but the place was deserted. Only us and a few other cars were at the park that day.

National Park fees are getting kind of pricey. 35 dollars was the day pass fee except there was no one to collect the money. There was an electronic-pay box near the Ranger Station. Several of the other visitors were poking and prodding at the box but no one was having any success actually paying. Payees would stab their card in and look to the waiting customers as if to say, “What do I do now?” Someone else would try to help the lost soul but we were getting nowhere. I never got a chance at the box because we decided it must be out of service and besides we were just taking a drive through.

The North Rim is quite a bit different than the South Rim. For one, it’s about 1000 feet higher in elevation. The slope is different also: rain water on the North Rim flows into the canyon while rain water flows away from the canyon on the South Rim. What this means is that the South Rim is relatively straight along the edge with many places to pull over and gaze at the canyon, The North Rim has fjord-like canyons that intersect the Colorado River gorge at right angles so getting to view points means longer drives and some backtracking to get to the next one. There are fewer car-accessible spots on the North Rim and in fact most of it is hiking material. I don’t hike.

There are supposed to be bison running around but except for chipmunks we saw very little wildlife mostly due to the onset of winter. The critters were probably settling in snug somewhere we couldn’t see. The view points may be fewer but the views are still spectacular at the North Rim. My cell phone camera was dwarfed by the immensity of the scene and the photos you see in this story reflect that tiny little sensor.

The North Rim is kind of far from anywhere; the closest lodging we could find was at the Jacob Lake Lodge. The Jacob Lake Lodge is an all-in-one resort with rooms, a gift shop, a nice place to eat and a gas station. The staff was made up of bright young college students who work several-month shifts then go back to school. There are staff accommodations on site. CT and I were amazed at how smart, kind and genuinely good people these kids were. The entire place was run by 20 year-olds, not an adult in sight.

Jacob Lake Lodge is open year around and is worth a visit even if the North Rim is closed. There is a big fireplace and comfy seats to sit in as you pen manifestos or just check your email. The logs are 3 feet long and the fire is tended to by the 20-somethings. The drive up on 89A takes you from mostly desert to pine forests in a few miles. I’ll be going back again because I missed Jacob Lake’s famous pie due to eating so much food. You should go, too.

Here’s a link to our earlier Grand Canyon story, and here’s a link to our Reviews page (it has other National Parks).

ExhaustNotes 2021 Motorcycle Rider Gift Guide

Long after the last word has been typed, when the world lays in waste and all that remains is a ground-hugging sulfuric cloud of swirling brown gas fed on by fantastic single-celled creatures all named Bob, there will be Christmas gift giving guides. This is because gift-giving guides are really just listicles masquerading as useful information. Listicles are the lowest form of writing and like the single-celled Bobs, can survive anything. Of course that depressing scenario doesn’t stop ExhaustNotes from jumping on the bandwagon. At least we waited until after Thanksgiving.

The motorcycling community is many-fractured; to the outsider we may seem to require only one description: motorcyclists, but that is far from the reality. ExhaustNote’s gift guide recognizes both the Yin and the Fro of the motorcycling public and is helpfully broken into rider type to better match motorcycle-gift to motorcycle-giftee.

This beautiful gold-tone trophy is an excellent gift for the Canyon Racer. Canyon Racers are easy to identify because they just passed you on the inside of a blind corner…in a school zone. Canyon Racers ply their trade on public roads because those guys on the racetrack are going way too fast for Canyon Racer to get past; unlike that Chrysler mini van they out-braked and stuffed mightily in the Arby’s drive up window. Canyon Racers have colorful motorcycles that mimic the appearance of race bikes in the same way Canyon Racers mimic actual racers. They dress in expensive leather suits and spend most of their time sanding down the edges of their tires to mask a common malady named Chicken Strips. Have no fear of duplicate gifts with the above trophy, the one you give your Canyon Racer will be the only one he ever sees.

Morbid and practical describes both the finely crafted casket above and the riders in our next group: The Cruisers. Consisting of mostly dead men, the Cruiser rider segment is so old they can remember the time before the Internet was invented. As the Cruiser rider’s body withers away to leather and buckles the bikes he rides become ever larger, slower and more expensive. Often mistaken for a briefcase, the Cruiser rider blows all his money chasing chrome and noise-making devices leaving his next-of-kin no money to pay for his funeral. The casket above will subtly tell the Worst Generation, best known for their ability to close the door behind themselves, that the one thing belonging to future generations that the Cruisers can’t mortgage is time.

One of the handiest gifts you can give an Adventure Bike rider is this inflatable cast. The tall, heavy motorcycles Adventure Riders prefer are sized exactly right for breaking an ankle when they fall over. And fall over they do. A normal person would look at an Adventure motorcycle and never in a million years guess that you are supposed to take the machine off road. Everything about the bike, its weight, size, width and ground clearance screams ridiculous. The Adventure Rider only screams when the bike falls on him. Other suitable gifts for an Adventure Rider would be a first aid kit, health insurance, a girl friend or a gift card to a nationwide chain of coffee brewers.

These rose-colored glasses are perfect for the Vintage motorcycle enthusiast. Even older than the Cruiser Rider, Vintage Riders are way more stubborn. They can be found at home because their bikes are never actually ridden. Simply looking at a motorcycle is all the excitement their weak and failing hearts can take. (This means no girl friends!) If you get the optional, rose-colored magnifying glasses your Vintage Rider will be able to identify the date codes on the many, many parts he has stored in boxes. Knowing the date code won’t really change anything but he will sleep better having the useless data points. The Vintage Rider will never sell his parts because he knows what they are worth, preferring instead to leave it to his nephew to toss the boxes of greasy bits into a dumpster when he is summoned to settle the Vintage Rider’s estate.

This gift will delete…I mean delight Scooter Riders. Properly used, the castration tool will provide welcome clearance for the odd, two-feet-together seating position most scooters employ. In addition to the improved comfort, dramatic personality changes can be expected that will make your favorite Scooter Rider more pleasant to be around. He’ll fight much less and smell better to boot! If your Scooter Rider has designs on a singing career get him one sooner rather than later.

All these gifts are available online at Amazon or other local-shop destroying, mega corporation websites. Merry Christmas!

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Ferrari versus…Jeep?

You’ve probably seen the movie Ferrari versus Ford a few years ago about Enzo Ferrari, Henry Ford II, Carrol Shelby, and the 24 hours of Le Mans. As flicks go, it was decent show. Ford GTs are cool and so are Ferraris, made even more so by their stint in the police show a few years ago where a Ferrari Testarossa shared top billing with the two actors who played the good guys. That show had one of the greatest intro scenes ever:

I didn’t know why that show and the Miami Vice sound track was playing in my mind repeatedly for the last day or so, and then it hit me: Joe Gresh posted an old passport photo on Facebook. Take a look and tell me what you think:

Gresh is a Jeep man, though, through and through. Like me, I think he’d have a hard time even getting into a Ferrari. Hence the title of this blog.

A bit about the Ferraris on Miami Vice. It’s shades of Long Way Around all over again, you know, when those two dilettantes who call themselves adventure riders wanted to borrow a couple of KTMs and do a show about going around the world on motorcycles. KTM wouldn’t cough up the bikes, so BMW stepped in with their GS ADV bikes, and Starbuck’s parking lots haven’t been the same since.

Something similar happened on Miami Vice. Its producer asked Ferrari to give them two Testarossas and the answer was no. So they had two kit cars made up using Corvettes as the base car and Enzo went nuts. He sued the kit car company, but in the end, he coughed up the two real Ferraris so Don Johnson could be authentic. Not as authentic as Joe Gresh in a Jeep, but more than he would have been otherwise.

One more thing about Miami Vice: A lot of big name actors got their start on that show. Take a look: