Joe Gresh – Page 29 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Canon S100 Review

The only camera that survived our 40-day, Zongshen RX3 China tour was the one inside my cell phone. My Canon 5D, that weighs a ton, broke its battery door and the 28-135 zoom lens actually fractured and stopped zooming. It sounds like the gears inside are broken. Both were inside a padded camera bag and the bag was wrapped in extra clothing. Don’t let anyone tell you we didn’t pound on those Zongshen RX3’s.

My go-to travel camera, a little Canon S95, also could not survive the rough Chinese trails we explored. The S95 suffered a broken screen and refused to boot up due to a broken top plate. Again, this camera was in my jacket pocket and not rattling around in a bag. We ride hard, you know?

Back in the USA the 5D battery door was an easy $7 fix. The 28-135 zoom lens is still broken and the parts to fix it are nearly as much as a used lens. I may not even replace it as I’ve gotten away from hauling the big 5D on motorcycle trips. It’s a great camera that takes beautiful pictures but magazines and web sites do not require technically perfect photos, only interesting subjects.

The Little S95, by dint of its size was harder to fix. I bought a new top switch plate for $14 and using a microscope, replaced the part without damaging a lot of other parts in the process. To my surprise the little camera booted up and would take photos. The broken screen was slightly annoying but the worse problem was that the front ring did not work anymore. The S95 really needs that ring to operate correctly. I’m pretty sure I broke the ring in the process of installing the top switch. These tiny digital cameras pack a lot of components into a tiny space. Fixing them is nothing at all like concrete work. The S95 was consigned to the busted camera drawer.

Joe Berk and I recently went to Mexico to road test the new Royal Enfield 650 and that trip convinced me that I needed a decent point and shoot camera. The cell phone camera is great but there were times I needed zoom but didn’t feel like digging out the big camera. I wanted a pocket DSLR.

Back to the busted camera drawer and the S95 I went. The parts to fix the screen and the front ring switch cost around $50. Add to that the $14 I had already spent, and the fact that I would probably end up breaking something else while fixing the S95, and things were looking glum for my S95. The little beat up Canon is a great shooter and I’ve had two-page spreads published in magazines with it, so while I hated to give up on an old friend I began to look for a used, working S95.

Prices for used S95’s hover around $100 for a fairly straight, functioning example. The funny thing is the next generation model, the S100, was the same price as the older unit. With a wider and longer lens and a much faster processor than the S95 the only thing making me hesitate was the S100’s bad reputation for a lens error glitch. When the glitch hits the lens stays extended and the machine refuses to take photos. So it’s kind of a major glitch, you know? Here you can see the extra bit of S100 (left) vs S95 (right) wide angle.

Here you can see the extra bit of zoom. S100 on left.

I researched the camera forums and found some S100 owners never have the lens error and of those that did a ribbon wire falling out of its socket was the cause for most of the failures. So I bit on a sweet 100-dollar, S100 that looks like brand new and seems to function perfectly.

The S100 boots up noticeably faster than the S95 but I am never in that much of a hurry. It will burst a bunch of shots faster than the old model. This may come in handy for action shots. The wide-angle lens is only noticeable when comparing both cameras side by side. When it comes to photography, more is always better. I’m happy with the little S100 and can’t wait to try it out on a motorcycle trip. If I ever go on another motorcycle trip, that is.

The Wall

Here at ExhaustNotes.us we are all about the motorcycle, with a smattering of gunplay and interesting adventure destinations thrown in to keep the place hopping. But what if there were no bikes, adventures or bullets? What then? Keep reading and I’ll tell you what then, Bubba.

Concrete, my friends, and the mixing of it is the solution to a lackluster moto-life. Dusty and powder soft with an aggregate backbone, believe in it and concrete will provide. Trust in it and it will repay you a thousand times. The grey dust keeps me going because lately I haven’t been riding motorcycles or watching Emma Peel on YouTube so there’s nothing to write about except the grey dust. The grey dust keeps me hoping for some far-off, much better two-wheeled days. Think of this as an ExhaustedNotes blog.

Situated in the steep-ish foothills of the Sacramento Mountains, Tinfiny Ranch is slowly bleeding into the arroyo, you know? You put down your cold, frosty beer and the next thing you know your Stella is halfway to White Sands National Monument. On the lee side of The Carriage House we’ve lost a good 18-inches of mother earth because while it doesn’t rain often in New Mexico when it does rain it comes down in buckets. This sudden influx of water tears through Tinfiny Ranch like freshly woken kittens and sweeps everything in its path down, down, down, into the arroyo and from there on to the wide, Tularosa Valley 7 miles and 1500 feet below. Claiming dominion over the land is not as easy as they make it sound.

So I put the motorcycles away and took a cudgel to Tinfiny. I pounded, I dug, I formed and I poured. I am building a wall and Mexico has not stepped up to the plate with the promised assistance. The thing has grown to 70 feet long and varies in elevation from a foot to 4 feet high. Repetition has honed my skills: I can do 8-feet of wall every two days and the days stretch on and on. I figure I’ll stop when I run into the Pacific Ocean.

After the wall is up the resulting divot will require filling with dirt. I have lots of dirt on Tinfiny Ranch; the conundrum is where to borrow it from without causing even more erosion. I’m hoping that leveling the back yard will provide most of the needed fill.

I’ve made the wall porous to keep water from backing up behind it and poured L braces in an attempt to keep the wall from toppling over. The beauty of the wall is that it will work in any orientation. I’m nearly ready to start the slow process of dumping dirt and compacting it 6-inch layer by 6-inch layer until the land is even with the top of the wall. At that point the floodwaters should flow over the wall spilling into the arroyo. Unless, of course, the hill becomes so saturated that the entire wall slips into the arroyo. And I become one of those questing specters drifting the canyons wailing my banshee wail, never resting, never finding peace.

Silver and Red

Most all of the fun things we did as little kids were instigated by my Grandparents. Between raising four kids and working constantly to pay for the opportunity our parents were left spent, angry and not that into family-time trips. We did try it a few times but it seems like the trips always ended with someone crying, my parents arguing or a small child missing an arm. With only 16 limbs between us we had to be careful and husband our togetherness for fear of running out.

Things were very different with Gran and Gramps. We were allowed to sleep over every weekend during which we attempted to destroy their house and any of their valuable keepsakes not made from solid iron. Maybe because of our destructiveness they acted as if they liked taking us on adventures. Camping with one hundred million mosquitos at Fish Eating Creek, going to The Monkey Jungle where the people are in cages and the apes run free, and picnics at Crandon Park beach were commonplace events. We had it made.

Twice a year Gramps would take us to Daytona for the stock car races. This was back when the cars resembled production models and ran modified production engines. There was none of this Staged racing or Playoffs. We went to Daytona to see the race. It didn’t matter to us who had the most points or won the season championship because Daytona was a championship all by itself. If you asked the drivers of that era to choose between winning the Daytona 500 or winning all the other races on the schedule I bet you’d have some takers for the 500.

We always bought infield tickets. Camping at the Daytona Speedway was included with infield tickets so we immersed ourselves in the racing and never had to leave. Gramps had a late 1960’s Ford window van with a 6-cylinder, 3-on-the-tree drivetrain. The van was fitted out inside with a bed and had a table that pivoted off the forward-most side door. To give us a better view of the racing Gramps built a roof rack out of 1” tubing. The rack had a ¾” plywood floor and was accessed via a removable ladder that hung from the rack over the right rear bumper.

At each corner and in between the corners of the roof deck were short tubes that a rope railing system fitted inside. Metal uprights slid into the short tubes and were secured by ¼-20 nuts and bolts. Rope was strung through the uprights and snugged making for a passable handrail. The railing was an attempt to keep little kids from falling off the roof of the van. Once the ladder was in place and the railing installed we would bring up chairs and a cooler. A portable AM radio provided a running commentary of the race progress. We took turns listening. It was a wonderful way to watch the races.

Back then Gramps was in what we call his silver and red period, not to be confused with his red and green period. Everything he built in that era was painted either silver or red. For some reason Gramps preferred a bargain basement silver paint that dried into a soft, chalky coating that never really hardened. The whole roof deck was painted silver except for the sockets that the uprights fitted into. Those were painted red. The stark contrast made it easy to locate the sockets.

When you would climb the ladder to the upper deck your hands would pick up silver paint. If you sat on the deck your pants would turn silver. If you rubbed your nose like little kids do your nose would turn silver. It was like Gramps painted the deck with Never-Seez. After a full day of racing we looked like little wads of Reynolds Wrap.

Our camp stove was a two-burner alcohol fueled unit that, incomprehensibly, used a glass jar to contain the alcohol. Even to my 10 year-old eyes the thing looked like a ticking time bomb so I kept my distance while gramps lit matches and cussed at the stove.

The alcohol stove took forever to light, requiring just the perfect draft. The slightest breeze would extinguish the flame. Once lit it didn’t make much heat. Our eggs were always runny and cold. It took 3 hours to cook bacon. The plates Gramps passed out to our tiny silver hands were made from aluminum. Any residual background heat remaining from the Big Bang was quickly transferred from the food to plate ensuring everything was uniformly gross.

Gramps found great pleasure in our complaints about his food. He would smile and chuckle at us if we asked for our eggs hot. When we wished aloud for Granny to be there to make the food he really got a belly laugh. He prided himself on cooking poorly. I never understood why we had the stove in the first place. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches would have been a lot easier and way more appetizing.

After the races were over it took forever to clear the infield. We took our time breaking down the upper deck, putting away the camping chairs and the stove and coating every surface we came in contact with a fine, silver dusting of color. I don’t know why I remember these things so clearly. It must be that silver paint, that chalky texture. I can close my eyes and feel the dry, talc-like residue on my hands even now.

Flippers

In all passions you will find lovers and users. The vintage motorcycle passion, looking backwards towards a rose-tinted youth seems to have more than its share of both. Most vintage motorcycle enthusiasts are into the hobby because they either had a particular model or dreamed of owning a particular model way back when they were freshly weaned from the teat of childhood. Powerful first impressions drill that Yamaha RT1 or Kawasaki Z1B into a youngster’s brain like the clean, soapy scent of their first girlfriend’s hair.

Dreamers will spare no expense to make the fantasy whole, a living breathing relic of their past that they can ride today. The sounds of an old two-stroke twin can bring tears; the fierce kickback from an ancient thumper calls forth the rare, crystal clear memory along with an aching foot. When the time comes that they must sell their pride and joy to pay for an assisted living facility, Dreamers care about the motorcycle going to a good home, to someone who will appreciate the motorcycle as much as they did.

Not so the Flipper. The Flipper sees everything in dollars and cents. His only concern is extracting the maximum amount of cash from the Dreamers. The Flipper appears to share our enthusiasm and in fact may be knowledgeable about old motorcycles but his is a clinical, product knowledge. The Flipper could be selling Pokémon cards or Barbie dolls still in the original packaging and feel nothing for any of it.

The Flipper, egged on by TV shows glorifying the act of preying on the uneducated, scavenges the countryside looking for old motorcycles to buy at below market rates. Or steal in real terms. He then raises the price to astronomical levels and pops the thing on eBay to watch the Dreamers bid the thing even higher. Widows, children settling an estate or ex-wives exacting revenge on unfaithful husbands fuel the Flipper’s trade in misery.

Some Flippers don’t bother to learn their product line. You’ll see them on vintage motorcycle chat sites posting up a part or an entire motorcycle and asking, “What is this and what’s it worth?” They actually want to know model and year so they can eBay the thing. It’s a lazy Flipper that buys on appearance alone.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with the buy low-sell high business model except when passion enters into the process. Flippers, through their actions, drive up the cost of vintage motorcycling for the Dreamers. His great financial gains encourage other Dreamers to sell out their childhood memories and become Flippers themselves. With a finite supply of product this process of devouring our own eventually attracts the Collectors.

Collectors have a Flipper’s business sense along with the money to back it up. They don’t need to sell anything ever. When a collector dies an auction house usually disposes of his motorcycles to an audience comprised of 90% Collectors and 10% Dreamers. Flippers know there are no good deals at an auction. By withholding product from the market the Collector also helps drive up costs for those of us who just want an old motorcycle to ride.

This cycle of driving up costs continues until people who don’t really give a crap about them own all the old motorcycles. The Dreamers are priced out of the market and go on to other hobbies like heart surgery or knee replacement. As the generations that originally desired the motorcycles begin to die off the prices will drop and the Flippers, seeing a contracting market, will move on to destroy another fun, economical hobby. Like model trains.

There is no solution to the Flipper problem. Events must follow their course and human nature cannot be denied. Profit wins over passion every time. It’s enough that we loved the old bikes for what they were. Our memories will not be for sale.

Fixing MotoAmerica

Motorcycle road racing in America has not met expectations for quite a while now. Our guys are no longer dominating GP racing as they did in decades past. MotoAmerica, our premier road racing league has made strides by reinstalling the 1000cc bikes as the premier class and bumping the 600’s down to B-team. Hiring my Internet-buddy Andrew Capone as rainmaker for the series is another great move towards professional sponsorship and revenue generation. I’ve never raced on pavement but I rank as an expert spectator due to the sheer number of road races I’ve attended. I’ve got a few ideas on how to make MotoAmerica better and I’m not shy about cranking them out.

From my cheap seats way in the back of the bleachers the first thing that needs doing is to make all racers have large, flat, standard size number plates with a stark contrast between the background and the number. These plates should be situated so that they are legible when the motorcycle is upright or leaned over. Copy how AMA flat track does it. I have no problem seeing the plates they use. So many times at Daytona I’ve lost interest in a race because the stylized graphics on the motorcycles obscure identifying marks. Numbers that are fairly easy to read in a still photo become much more difficult to read when the motorcycles are trotting past at 100 miles per hour and the view is 100 yards away with a barrier fence between you and the action. A hard to follow race is a boring race.

American road racers are never going to get back atop the pinnacle of GP racing until they test themselves against the world’s best. It’s expensive for a US rider to got to Europe so why not bring Europe to the USA? What if all the contract issues could be solved and MotoAmerica paid start money to a few of the GP guys? Pay Rossi to start a few races, Marquez or Dovizioso would be a huge draw. I’m guessing the increased gate alone would pay for Rossi. This harkens back to when European motocross stars were paid to compete over here. American racers gained first hand experience on where they needed to be in order to defeat the best. There is no physical barrier preventing our top AMA racers from competing on even terms with world-class GP racers. Show our greyhounds the European rabbit and they will move heaven and earth to stay on their tail.

Paying start money to stars will cost a lot so MotoAmerica should welcome any advertiser with money into the road racing world. Alcohol, cigarettes, recently legalized medical pot growers, even trailer park Oxycodone dealers should be allowed access to the audience for a price. MotoAmerica can be the expensive venue for all manner of sin-tax products to sell their wares. The squeaky-clean motorcycle racer thing cannot work. The general public will never engage with MotoAmerica because they think all motorcyclists are riff-raff. MotoAmerica should embrace the outlaw buried deep within every rider’s heart.

I have more ideas for MotoAmerica, lots more. Some of them un-publishable, some of them illegal or require three people. How about free programs to go with that expensive ticket? What if a few road races counted towards the flat track championship? Wouldn’t it be a crowd pleaser to see a circle of FT guys show up to battle on pavement in a close flat track championship? Anyway, I’ll wait here at Tinfiny Ranch for the inevitable MotoAmerica call asking me to join the team. I’ll have to decline; monsoon season is coming and I’ve got a lot of concrete work to do in preparation.

Get Out: Kilbourne Crater

If you roll along dusty, unpaved county road A011 through the desert shrubbery of New Mexico’s south-central region, and you roll with purpose, you will fetch up on the shores of Kilbourne Crater. Kilbourne was formed by a maars-type volcanic eruption. In a maars eruption a crater is created by hot magma coming into contact with the water table. When the two meet, the rapidly heated water turns to steam, expands and blows huge chunks of ground skyward. By huge I mean 2.5 kilometers across 1.8 kilometers wide and 125 meters deep. It’s a big hole and it must have made quite a racket when it blew its stack 20,000 to 80,000 years ago.

Maars volcanic eruptions don’t form the classic Hanna-Barbera, cinder cone shape or leave behind crowd-pleasing lava flows. At first I thought a meteor caused the crater but the crew at Southwest Expeditions had several guest speakers situated under a billowing tent to set me straight. They also had a van if you didn’t want to burn your own fuel to get to the crater. I saved $2.57. In addition to downloading a heck of a lot of information about volcanism into the assembled masses they served us a fine chicken-taco lunch.

Lunch was fabulous except for one thing. That thing being a giant jar of sliced jalapenos. No one was eating them because the lid was too tight. I gave it a good twist but the lid would not budge. I’m not the strongest guy in the world but I can open a damn jalapeno jar, you know? I finally gave up and handed it to this big guy that looked like Chief from the movie One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. I swear, he took the lid in his fingertips and the lid spun off easy as pie.

It put a damper on my lunch I tell you. I ate moody qua-moody. Am I getting old? Will I need a Clap-On soon? Life Alert? After the jar debacle it was probably best that Southwest Expeditions canceled our hike down into the crater. The temperature was 92 degrees and the wind was howling. No sense crushing anyone else’s sense of self-worth.

After lunch we assembled to participate in an art project with Tim Fitzpatrick and Jeff Erwin. Fitzpatrick had a long swatch of bright red cloth that he wanted to juxtaposition against Kilbourne’s vast, earth-colored sweep. It was something to do with the wavelength of light and spectra. I’m not sure because Fitzpatrick lost me after he said, “Hold this red cloth.” While we marched around Erwin flew a drone to capture footage of the cloth snaking across the rim of the crater.

After piercing Kilbourne’s visual solitude with our happy, marching red-band the artists had each of us recite one line of John F. Kennedy’s, “We choose to go to the Moon” speech and took headshots of the readers. I’ll let you know when the thing pops up on you tube.

Surrounding Kilbourne are ash dunes and surprisingly little lava. What lava pieces you do find at the site are more block-shaped and are pieces the explosion ejected from an older layer of lava that had covered the area long before Kilbourne was born from pressurized steam. There’s also a lot of ammunition shell casing scattered around. I imagine the lead-to-lava ratio will approach 50:50 by the year 2234.

The reason for all of this activity in the middle of nowhere was the 50th anniversary of astronauts Conrad, Bean, Gibson, Carr, Irwin and Schmitt training in Kilbourne Crater for their upcoming Apollo 12 Moon mission. That would be the second Moon landing. Kilbourne was chosen for its dust, the rough terrain and the multitude of geologic examples found at the site.

Other Apollo missions trained at Kilbourne: Apollo 13, 14, 15 (canceled), 16 (renamed 15) and 17 crews all did their time in the hole. NASA’s budget and our will to explore the Moon waned and the Apollo missions kind of ran out of steam. Which, in a suitable ending is what created their moon-mission training ground those many years ago. Maybe one day NASA will return to Kilbourne and use its dusty, rocky landscape to train another generation of astronauts. I hope to see America once again become a space-faring nation and that those astronauts will be heading to Mars.

Royal Enfield 650cc Twin Road Test

When I saw the first photographs of Royal Enfield’s new 650 twin the bike seemed perfect. 650 vertical twins have owned the sweet-spot of cool long before McQueen bashed them around the desert and they are still an ideal size and configuration for all around use. Unfortunately the latest vertical twin offerings from other motorcycle manufacturers have sprouted slow-moving tumorous pistons, lost their summer beach-bodies and become uselessly complex. The whole situation kind of put me on edge. I was actually a bit angry: “Royal Enfield better not screw this up,” I mumbled to my cat.

I liked the new Interceptor 650 so much I was going to get really pissed off at Royal Enfield if the bike was crude and uninspiring. Luckily for everyone involved, the Interceptor, or INT, or Cartridge, or Clip or whatever legal BS we are supposed to use, is a great bike. It’s hard to judge long-term quality without the requisite passage of time but from what I can see the 650 is well and truly the Nads.

In the video I rave about the frame, because it is noticeably well-finished. I couldn’t get over the thing. All the component parts of the RE 650 appear to be designed not only with function in mind but also with an eye toward aesthetics. This is a motorcycle that will look just as good dismantled as it does assembled, like how a Norton 750 looks good in pieces on your cycle bench. Thanks, whoever is responsible for this.

The 650 Royal Enfield engine feels peppy and it breathes well. The bike pulls hard right up until the rev limiter cuts in at 7500 RPM. It feels like a happy engine if you know what I mean. Sitting upright I saw an indicated 115 mph in 5th gear at redline and 6th gear dropped the top end to 110. I think if I didn’t have 75 pounds of touring garbage flapping in the breeze and made myself really small I could have gotten 120 mph in high gear.

The fuel injection on my 650 delivered its tiny spurts of fuel precisely and in a timely fashion. I could not imagine it working any better. On the highway the thing got an amazing 70 miles per gallon. Fuel injection is one of the few modern advances that I think are useful on a motorcycle. Handling was a non-issue: The bike tracked well and the suspension is good enough for me.

The shifting is slick and effortless and if I wasn’t running out of old Cycle magazine issues from the 1970’s to steal complimentary phrases from I’d go on about the transmission for hours. I’d really like to take this bike apart and see what makes it so good.

The brakes were not super powerful. I never felt like the bike wouldn’t stop but I’ve gotten used to incredibly powerful brakes on other bikes. It’s not a deal killer for me because this is a multi-purpose motorcycle, not a race bike. I didn’t care for the Royal Enfield’s anti-lock brake system but in their defense I don’t like anybody’s anti-lock brake system. I’ll have to yank the fuse or defeat the system somehow when I get mine.

Yes, I would actually buy one of these motorcycles if moto-journalism paid in something more fungible than “Likes.” I’m not sure what they will actually sell for yet but it will be less than the other guys. If they make a high-pipe scrambler version all bets are off.

Some motorcycles play much larger than their spec sheets would indicate. The Royal Enfield is one of them. It’s such a joy to travel on a simple, lightweight motorcycle and the pleasing burble exiting from the 650’s exhaust system is music to anyone who rode a Honda twin from the 1970s. The 650 is a bike built to ride and it’s nice to look at parked in the garage.

I’m afraid motorcycle riders have become trapped in the American Dream of bigger is better and more plastic is better. The road grows dimmer and further from their nerve endings in the cause of comfort and technology. Stop now. You can easily find a more powerful motorcycle or find a faster one but you’ll play hell finding a better looking motorcycle than the Royal Enfield 650. And you won’t find one that’s more fun to ride on the street.

If you’d like to read the rest of our recent Royal Enfield Baja adventure ride posts, here are the links…

BajaBound on Royal Enfield
18 Again
The Bullet Hits Home
We’re Off
We’re Off 2
Snapshot
Tecate
San Quintin
Royal Enfield 650cc Twin: First Real Ride
The Plucky Bullet
Guerrero Negro
Ballenos
Whales
The Bullet in Baja
A Funny Thing
No One Goes Hungry
Day 7 and a Wake Up
The Bullet
The Bullet: Take 2
The Interceptor

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Garelli!

At one time I owned a 1973 BMW R75/5 motorcycle. I traded 1300 dollars and a 1957 small-window VW van for the BMW. The good points about the bike were the suspension and the weight. For a 750cc the bike was lightweight and the thing had plenty of fork travel so it worked pretty good off road. The bad part was the charging system. I never could get the damn thing to electric start due to the battery being low. At the time I tried everything I knew to fix it but the little red discharge light was on constantly.

But this story isn’t about the BMW because I soon lost my driver’s license by wheeling and speeding around Florida on the German motorcycle. (It would do 110 MPH!) Maybe that’s the root of my animosity towards the brand. It had a bizarre ignition key to boot.

A year or two earlier Florida had changed the description of a moped and you no longer needed a driver’s license to operate one. I still had to travel 10 miles to my job at the JC Penny auto store so my mom drove me to the Garelli dealer on 49th street and I picked up their loss leader, Plain Jane Garelli moped for 399 dollars.

With no speedo and painted fenders the red Garelli was a study in thrift. It got 80 miles to a pre-mix gallon flat out at 30 miles per hour. Helmets weren’t required on a moped so I didn’t wear one. I wore a ball cap turned backwards.

My route to work changed to avoid busy roads. I crossed railroad trestles and scrambled behind Hialeah Speedway cutting across parking lots and running down alleys being chased by the exact same dog each day. The ride to work became an adventure and I learned to wheelie the Garelli for long distances. The moped’s lights were not exactly powerful but they always worked and the ride home at night kept the thrill going.

In the rearmost section of the luggage rack was a tin box containing the Garelli’s tool kit. The tool set was a spark plug socket and a couple wrenches of the cheapest thin steel so I used a letter punch to stamp ‘Snap-On” into the factory tools. This got huge laughs whenever I dragged the kit out to do what little maintenance the Garelli needed.

I rode the Garelli for three months and even after my license was reinstated I kept riding the moped for a while to save my driver’s license for a big cross-country trip my buddies and me had planned. I finally sold the bike for 300 dollars to an old man who could barely pedal the thing fast enough to get it started.

I hope to be that old man some day.

Baja: A 7-day Itinerary

Daily destinations for a 7-day, relaxed whale watching Baja itinerary.

Good buddy Peter asked me to post a map of our recent Royal Enfield adventure ride to see the whales in Baja. That was a great suggestion, and it also provides an opportunity to suggest a great 7-day itinerary to see the whales in Baja. This was a relaxed ride of approximately 200 miles per day, and a full day off the bikes in Guerrero Negro on the day we saw the whales. One thing I want to mention up front: If you’re taking a motor vehicle into Mexico, you must insure the vehicle with a Mexican insurance policy. We insure with BajaBound, and that’s who we always recommend.

Day 1: The Los Angeles Basin to Tecate (170 miles)

The 170-mile distance I reference here is taking the 15 or the 5 south from the Los Angeles area. When you get down to the San Diego area, just find California 94 off the freeway, stay on it for about 25 miles heading east, and make a right on 188 for the 2-mile hop to Tecate.

You can make Tecate in about three hours if there’s no traffic. It’s an easy run and it gives you time to process into Mexico by picking up a visitor’s card, you can change U.S. currency into pesos, and you have time to explore Tecate a bit. An alternative route is to head south by riding over Mt. San Jacinto into Idyllwild and then take country roads through California down to Tecate, but you’ll need a full day if you do this and you would get into Tecate much later.

Jonathan and Pablo at Amores. It’s world class dining in downtown Tecate, and it is amazing.

My advice for a Tecate hotel is either the El Dorado or the Hacienda (you get to either by running straight into Tecate and turning right on Boulevard Benito Juarez. If you are with your significant other, you might consider the Amores Restaurante for dinner (it’s world class fine dining and it is superb). If you want something simpler, go for Tacos Dumas, a short walk from the Hacienda Hotel. There’s also a great Chinese restaurant across the street from the Hacienda (there are a lot of great Chinese restaurants in Mexico).

Day 2: Tecate to San Quintin (180 miles)

Day 2 starts with breakfast at 8:00 a.m. at the Malinalli Sabores Autóctonos restaurant. It’s in the same building as the Hacienda Hotel, and as explained to us by Jonathan (the head chef at the Amores restaurant) it’s the best breakfast in Tecate. I think it’s the best breakfast anywhere, and with their exotic buffet featuring different Mexican regional cuisines, it will start your day right.

Maria, one of the friendly folks who took care of us in the Malinalli Sabores Autóctonos restaurant.

After breakfast, head east on Boulevard Benito Juarez, turn right when you see the sign for the wine country, and stay on that road (it becomes Mexico Highway 3) to Ensenada. It’s Mexico’s Ruta del Vino, and the scenery and the vineyards are grand.

On Mexico’s Ruta del Vino headed for Ensenada!

After 70 miles of glorious wine country, you’ll hit Mexico Highway 1 just north of Ensenada. Turn left, hug the Pacific, and skirt through Ensenada (one of Baja’s larger cities). After Ensenada, you’ll pass through several small towns and then the road becomes the Antiqua Ruta del Vino, or Baja’s old wine country. The scenery is impressive. Stay on that road; you’ll pass through many small agricultural towns as you continue south through Baja. San Quintin is the destination on this second day of our Baja journey. There are lots of hotel options in San Quintin; my favorite is the Old Mill Hotel. Watch for the Old Mill Hotel sign, and make a right when you see it to reach San Quintin Bay and the hotel 4 miles to the west. Staying here is a tradition for Baja travelers.

When heading south in San Quintin, watch for the sign pointing to the Old Mill Hotel.

Lucy, the lovely young lady who brought us beer and dinner at the Eucalipto restaurant.

There are two great restaurants on either side of the Old Mill, and the Old Mill now has its own restaurant, the Eucalipto. Good buddy Javier is the owner and head chef, and the cuisine is fabulous. You’ll get a free beer when you check into the hotel. Ask for a Modelo Negra; it’s superb.

Day 3: San Quintin to Guerrero Negro (264 miles)

This is the long stretch, and it starts with a run south from San Quintin through Los Pinos, and then roughly 20 miles along a roller coaster road skirting the Pacific. Then it’s a climb into the hills, a Mexican military checkpoint, and you’ll arrive in El Rosario. Top off at the Pemex in El Rosario, and if you’re hungry, you might have a late breakfast or an early lunch at Mama Espinoza’s (try the chicken burritos; they’re awesome). After that the Transpeninsular Highway climbs into the Valle de los Cirios and the desolation that is Baja. You’ll see several varieties of plant life that grow in Baja and no place else on Earth (including the Dr.-Suess-like cirio and the mighty Cardon cactus).

A Royal Enfield Interceptor 650, the first one to enter Mexico, parked near a giant Cardon cactus in Baja’s Valle de Los Cirios.

It gets even better when you enter the Catavina boulder fields. The area around Catavina is a magnificent region with stunning scenes. There’s a hotel on the right side of the road that seems to change ownership every time I’m down that way. The food is good (but a little on the pricey side); the trick is to get there before any tour buses arrive. A new Los Pinos 7-11 type store recently opened across the street from the hotel and it looks like they’re putting gas pumps in, which is a good thing. For now, though, if you’re on a bike we advise filling up from the guys selling gasolina out of cans. It’s 110 miles to the next gas station, and most bikes don’t hold enough fuel to make the entire 231-mile run from the Pemex in El Rosario all the way to Guerrero Negro.

You’ll want to fill up in Catavina if you’re on a motorcycle. Photo by Baja John.

After the Catavina boulder fields, it’s a run through Baja’s Pacific coastal plains to Parallelo 28, the border between Baja and Baja Sur (the two states comprising the Baja peninsula). There’s an immigration checkpoint there where you might have to produce your visitor’s form, but usually the Mexican immigration folks just wave you through. Make a right turn off the Transpeninsular Highway, and head on in to Guerrero Negro.

Joe Gresh riding through the Catavina boulder fields on a Royal Enfield Bullet.

A gray whale skeleton as you make the right turn heading into Guerrero Negro. Good times ahead!

There are plenty of hotels in Guerrero Negro. I’ve stayed at the Hotel San Ignacio (no restaurant), Malarrimo’s (one of the best restaurants in Guerrero Negro), the Hotel Don Gus (they have a good restaurant), and the Hotel Los Corrales. They’re all good. The real attraction here, though, is whale watching, and that’s the topic for Day 4 of our 7-day Baja adventure.

My KLR 650 parked in front of Malarrimo’s in Guerrero Negro. It’s a decent hotel and they have a great restaurant. It’s on the right as you enter Guerrero Negro.

Day 4: Whale Watching in Guerrero Negro (0 miles).

Day 4 is a day off the bikes and a day devoted to whale watching. I always have breakfast at Malarimmo’s when I’m in Guerrero Negro. For whale watching, we’ve used Malarimmo’s and Laguna Baja’s tour service; both are great. They have morning and afternoon tours. Folks ask if the whale watching is better in the morning or the afternoon. I’ve found both are awesome (and both are just under $50 per person). The whale watching tours are only available January through March because that’s when the California gray whale herd is in Scammon’s Lagoon. You’ll be out on the boat for roughly three hours, so you’ll want to use the bathroom before you go. You can expect a genuine life-altering experience when you visit with the whales. You might think I’m exaggerating, but I am not. Bring a camera. No one will believe what you tell them about this experience unless you have pictures.

Up close and personal with a California gray whale in Scammon’s Lagoon. It is an experience like no other.

After seeing the whales, look for a fish taco van parked on northern side of the road. That’s my good buddy Tony’s Tacos El Muelle truck. Tony makes the best fish tacos on the planet. Yeah, I know, that’s another strong statement, but I know what I’m talking about here.

Tony, fish taco chef extraordinaire. Tell Tony Joe sent you.

For dinner in Guerrero Negro, there are lots of options. The Hotel Don Gus has a great restaurant, Malarimmo’s is great, and we most recently tried the San Remedio (off the main drag on a dirt road in Guerrero Negro) and it, too, was awesome.

Restaurante San Remedio in Guerrero Negro. It was authentic,and you will very likely be the only non-local guest.

Brianda, who served us dinner at the San Remedio.

Corvina grilled with olive oil and garlic at the San Remedio. It was 135 pesos, or about $7 US, including soup.

Day 5: Guerrero Negro to San Quintin (264 miles)

You might wonder: Are there other ways to head back north in addition to the way we came down? The short answer is yes, but the roads are sketchy and I’ve seldom felt a need to take a different route. My advice is to just go back the way you came down, and stop and smell the roses along the way. There’s plenty to see. Take photos of the things you missed. Enjoy the ride.

Joe Gresh feeling his oats on the ride north out of Guerrero Negro.

Photographing a cirio plant in the Valle de los Cirios.

Gresh spotted an unusual (and abandoned) geodesic dome in the desert north of Catavina on the way south and he said he wanted to stop there on the return leg north. So we did!

More artwork framed our test Enfield from the geodesic dome’s interior. Gresh had the idea to grab this photo. He’s better at this than I am.

On the return leg of this adventure, you can stay at the Old Mill Hotel again. Yeah, it’s my favorite. There are other hotels in the San Quintin area, including the much larger and more modern Misione Santa Ines (which also has a great restaurant). There’s also Jardin’s, which Baja John told us about but I haven’t visited yet. One of these days I’m going to spend two or three days in and around San Quintin. It’s a cool area.

A bleu cheese salad at the Eucalipto. It was exquisite.

The Old Mill’s Eucalipto isn’t open every morning for breakfast, but that’s okay because there are lots of good places to eat once you get back on the Transpeninsular Highway heading north. If you want to pick one of the great breakfast spots, just look for any restaurante with a whole bunch of cars parked in front (the locals know what they are doing). If you’ve never had chilequiles, give this Mexican breakfast specialty a try.

Day 6: San Quintin to Tecate (180 miles)

This is the same ride we took on the way south, and my guidance is the same: Stop, smell the poppies, and grab a few photos along the way. If you can hold out for a great lunch, I have two suggestions. One is the Los Veleros in Ensenada, which is in the Hotel Coronado building as you ride along the coast. The other is Naranjo’s along the Ruta del Vino (Highway 3) back into Tecate.

The Naranjo’s dining room along the Ruta del Vino. It’s on the left as you head north to Tecate, and you’ll have to watch for it or you’ll miss one of the best restaurants in all of Mexico.

Yours truly in the LA Cetto tasting room. I’m wearing my R Heroes USA workshirt, a top-quality item I’ve been wearing on every adventure ride for 10 years!

I always like to stop at the L.A. Cetto vineyard on the way home (rather than on the first part of the ride). I’ll pick up one bottle of wine (and for me, that’s either a Malbec or a Cabernet). I’d like to be able to take more home, but it’s tough to do that on a motorcycle, and you’re only allowed to bring one bottle back into the United States. Rules is rules, you know.

If you had dinner at Tecate’s Amores on the way down, you might want to try a street taco restaurante on this, your second night in Tecate. We like Tacos Dumas, just up the street from the Hacienda Hotel. It’s awesome.

For an authentic experience, try Tecate’s Tacos Dumas restaurante. Life doesn’t get any better than this.

Day 7: The Ride Home (168 miles)

This is an easy run, and for me, it starts with a breakfast at Malinalli Sabores Autóctonos in Tecate (yeah, I love that place). After that, it’s a quick stop at the Mexican immigration office to return your tourist visa (don’t skip this step; you need to check out of Mexico and simply crossing back into the US won’t do that). If you’re in a car, you’ve got to get into the long line waiting to get back across the US border. If you’re on a bike, go a block or two east of the street you took into Mexico, turn left, and look for the US border crossing. There’s a break in the K-barriers guiding the automobile line, and you can go right to the head of the line. I’ve never had a problem doing this, even though it feels like I’m doing something wrong.

And folks, there you have it: Seven glorious days of the best riding on the planet. I’m ready to go again.

If you’d like to read the rest of our recent Royal Enfield Baja adventure ride posts, here are the links…

One more thing…if you like what you see here, don’t forget to sign up for our blog update email notifications! We’re having our next drawing for one of our moto adventure books in just a few days, and getting on the email list gets you in the running!

The Interceptor

When I was a teenager and LBJ was in the White House, my standard against which all motorcycles were judged was the 1965 Triumph Bonneville. To me, that represented the ultimate motorcycle, and to this day, it’s what I think of when people start talking about the perfect motorcycle. It’s what came to mind when Royal Enfield announced the 650 Interceptor. I think 650 cubic centimeters is a good size for a motorcycle. I think a British vertical twin is the perfect vehicle (to borrow a phrase from good buddy Melissa Pierson). And I know that Baja is the best place on the planet for a motorcycle trip. That’s why I wanted to get the new Enfield and ride it through Baja. The perfect bike on the perfect ride. I predicted it would be a great trip. I was right.

Originally, we wanted to get two Interceptors, but they weren’t available. Enfield countered with an offer of two 500cc singles. Okay, we thought, that would do, and we realized it was a gutsy move on Enfield’s part to lend the bikes to us. Then that same dealer we’ve been so disappointed in couldn’t seem to get around to getting the bikes ready for us, and the plan shifted to an Interceptor and a Bullet. Even better, thought Gresh and I, and we were off, headed south into Baja. The two different bikes would make for an interesting contrast.

It’s a funny thing; we thought the story would focus primarily on the newer bike (the Interceptor), but the Bullet proved to be a fun and interesting motorcycle (like Gresh mentioned in his blog below). Don’t get me wrong; the Interceptor is an amazing machine. In fact, I’d say it was perfect. But it was almost too good (and I’ll get to that further along in this post).

Back in the day when I was a youngster dreaming about owning a Triumph Bonneville, I only knew one guy who rode an original Royal Enfield twin. That was Ricky Stang, a guy I knew in high school (go Vikings). Everyone else who rode was either on a Triumph or a Honda. Ricky had this amazing Enfield 750 with an all-chrome gas tank. He was (and still is) a cool guy. How cool, you might wonder? Well, he bought a Mustang car and modified the emblems by chopping off the M and the U, so his car said STANG (Ricky’s last name). That’s how we rolled back in the ‘60s.

Okay, back to the main attraction: The 2019 Royal Enfield Interceptor. Let’s start with the basics. It’s a 650cc vertical twin, just like my dream bike, the ’65 Triumph Bonneville. The Enfield brochure (downloadable on the Internet) puts the “kerb” weight at 202 kg (that’s 445 lbs; the ’65 Bonneville was 363 lbs), the wheelbase at 1400mm (that’s 55 inches, just like the ’65 Bonneville), and the horsepower at 47 (the ’65 Bonneville had 50). The new Enfield has a 6-speed transmission (the ’65 Bonneville had a 4-speed). Hmm, the right displacement and the right dimensions. The Enfield weighed a bit more, but the ’65 Bonneville didn’t have disk brakes front and rear, ABS, electric start, turn signals, an oil cooler, or catalytic converters.

The Enfield engine is magnificent. It is very torquey, and on our Baja foray I never felt like I was undergunned. The exhaust note is perfect (it sounds like a real motorcycle). The engine is extremely smooth. It didn’t seem to care what gear I was in; I could just roll on the throttle and the bike responded. In fact, a lot of times I’d be riding along thinking I was in 6th gear only to discover that the bike was in 5th or even 4th. It is that smooth. And a lot of times while climbing mountains in Baja’s Valle de los Cirios, I didn’t have to bother downshifting. Twist and go. Cool. We had the bike weighed down with lots of gear on our Baja trip; the Enfield didn’t seem to care. The engine is a 4-valve per cylinder, single overhead cam design, but the Enfield folks somehow managed to pull off the styling such that it looks a lot like the original overhead valve Enfield design of the 1960s (kudos for that). It is a good-looking and brilliantly-performing motor.

Perhaps the best-looking engine in the business, this SOHC, 4-valves-per-cylinder motor strongly resembles the 1960s Enfield OHV motor. The left side engine cases make it look like a non-unit-construction engine. Well done, Enfield!

The bike never felt heavy to me. The Enfield carries its weight low and it felt light and quick everywhere. Yeah, on paper it’s 80 lbs heavier than the ’65 Bonneville. It didn’t feel like it, though. It feels good.

Enfield’s spec sheet says the bike is air-and-oil cooled, and there’s a non-obtrusive oil cooler mounted on the frame downtubes. The engine looks perfect. It’s nicely finned and you can see the thing. The exhaust system is a work of art. The mufflers are nicely shaped megaphones and brilliantly plated, and the exhaust header curvature is perfect. (Why is the word “perfect” emerging so frequently in this report?) I’m guessing the headers are a “pipe in a pipe” arrangement, as the pipes exhibited no heat discoloration. The clamps securing the exhaust headers to the cylinder head are neatly finned gizmos, just like Triumph had in the ’60s. Both sides of the engine have beautiful cases. Gresh commented that the engine’s left side cases were fashioned to make it look like the bike had separate engine and transmission cases, as Enfield had in days of yore. The Enfield guys got it right. I am impressed.

A magnificent exhaust system. The curvature of the pipes and the upswept cans are perfect.

If we had any, Gresh and I could comb our hair in those engine cases.

Gresh mentioned in an earlier blog that he reached 115 mph in 5th gear and 110 mph in 6th, confirming that 6th is really an overdrive. I never took the bike over 80; it would do it, I just didn’t want to. I found the bike stable at any speed. Fuel economy is outstanding. When we took delivery of the bike, it had 847 miles on the odometer and Joe measured 60 mpg on the first tank. On our last tank, with another 1300 miles on the bike, it returned 70 mpg. It never used any oil on our trip.

The headlight is a big chrome affair, just like Triumph (and basically all the British manufacturers) used to do. The beam was good, too. It lit up the street nicely.

The bike has a single disk in front and another in the rear. Both are ABS equipped. There’s no provision that we could see to turn the ABS off. Joe slammed the rear brake on a dirt road, and you could see where the ABS activated on and off in the bike’s track. The brakes are good. I never used them hard enough to activate the ABS feature, and that was okay by me.

The fuel tank is nicely contoured with a teardrop shape (it looks like a motorcycle gas tank should). Fuel capacity is 13.7 liters (that converts to 3.6 gallons). The tank emblems are gorgeous, although there was a very slight curvature mismatch where the leading edge of the emblem interfaced with the tank. That’s my inner motojournalist kicking in. I had to find something negative to say about the bike, and folks, this is one of very few nits I had with the bike. Yeah, I’m being picky. The gas cap is of the locking variety (it unlocks with the ignition key), and the cap is not hinged on the tank. You take it completely off when refilling. The bike ran equally well on regular or premium, and we mostly ran on regular because that’s all we could get once we went further into Baja.

The badging is magnificent. No funky cheap decals here.

Picky, picky, picky…there’s a slight curvature mismatch at the front of the tank emblems. It was consistent on both sides of the tank.

Here’s another nit: Joe and I both felt the left side of the bike is crowded around the footpeg. The gearshift is a little too close (I guess it could be adjusted upward, and I’d like the lever to be a little longer). The extensions for the kickstand and the centerstand extend far enough outside the bike and they are close enough to the footpeg that putting your foot down is a bit challenging. I didn’t like that all of that stuff (the gearshift, the footpeg, the kickstand extension, and the centerstand extension) stuck as far out as they did, and I had to think about where I put my foot down more than I do on other motorcycles. On the plus side, shifting was slick and effortless, there was no clunking, and the bike almost changed gears telepathically (it was that smooth). Getting the kickstand down was easy with the long extension, and pulling the bike up on the centerstand was also easy. Enfield provides a nice handhold on the left side of the bike for that purpose.

Things are crowded on the left side of the bike, and I had to be careful putting my left foot down.

The shift lever was a little too low and a little too close to the left footpeg.

I’d call the instrumentation perfect (ah, there’s that word again). As I mentioned in one of the first blogs we did on the Interceptor, Enfield captured the essence of the big old Smiths instruments that used to adorn British bikes back in the ’60s. The bike has a digital, bar-based fuel gage in the left pod, an analog speedo and tach, high beam and turn signal indicators, an ABS light, and an odometer and two tripmeters. Stated differently, it has all the good stuff you need and none of the stuff you don’t. The tripmeter reset was a pushbutton between the speedo and tach. I found the tripmeter reset a little hard to actuate, but I haven’t been hitting the gym lately.

Perfect instrumentation, in my opinion. The chrome crossbar is a little cheesy.

The horn on this bike is loud. It sounds like a European automobile horn. I liked that.

On the bodywork, everything looks great. The tank, as mentioned above, is is nicely shaped and the metalflake tangerine color is stunning. The Interceptor’s fenders are nicely shaped, a bit abbreviated (which I like), silver in color, and plastic, all of which is fine by me. The bike has a deep gloss black tubular double downtube frame, and that answers the mail nicely for a refined and classic Britbike look. The seat is long, not overly cushy, flat, and comfortable (it has a cable-actuated release accessible under the right body panel). The side covers work, too. I like that they are black. It fits the overall look nicely.

The handlebar switchgear is the same as the Bullet, which is the same as the CSC motorcycles, which is the same as 90% of the motorcycles sold today. Somewhere, there’s a single factory making handlebar switchgear for everyone. My guess is that factory has a Chongqing zip code. It all works nicely. The turn signals are not self-cancelling. The clutch and front brake levers (forgive me, Joe Gresh) fell easily to hand and were light to operate. One more minor nit: Joe noticed that the front brake left was shaped such that it had a minor drag against the right handlebar switchgear housing, and that this slight drag prevented the brake lever from returning all the way to the forward position (you could touch the front brake lever with your fingers to make it go all the forward). We probably could have adjusted that interference out by repositioning the front brake lever on the handlebar, but we did not. It’s a nit that will almost certainly be gone when the bikes go into production for the US market. Joe liked the handlebar crossbar; I thought it was the only thing on the bike that looked cheap. I think it would have been better if it was an integral part of the handlebar, as Janus does on their Gryffin model and CSC does on the TT250.

Standard switchgear on the left handlebar.

Standard switchgear on the right handlebar, too.

There was a slight bit of interference between the switchgear housing and the front brake lever in the area denoted by the yellow arrow.

The front suspension is not adjustable, and if you have been following the ExNotes Enfield Baja blog, you know that’s okay by me. The rear suspension is adjustable for preload. As delivered to us, the rear shocks were set to a medium position. Our bike, being a preproduction prototype, did not have a tool kit, so there was no spanner to make any rear shock adjustments. You can see from some of our photos that we had the Interceptor loaded heavily with our gear and soft luggage, and I managed to bottom out the rear suspension a couple of times. No big deal. Suspension travel is about what’s needed on a street bike. The wheels are 18-inchers front and rear.

Silver fenders, unpainted wire wheels, and Pirelli tires. It all came together for a crisp, responsive, good-looking motorcycle.

The rear carries 130/70-18 tires. The bike rides and handles well.

Our Enfield benefactor told us that officially the bike is to be known as the 650 INT, as the Interceptor name had some issues. I’m guessing that’s because a certain other motorcycle uses that name today (hint: that motorcycle is usually red). Ah, whatever. It seems to me that Enfield of yore (in the UK Enfield days) used the Interceptor name long before you met those nicest people on a…well, you know. And then, of course, there was the Ford Interceptor, the name the Blue Oval guys stuck on their police cruisers. So I thought I might help Enfield by suggesting a few other names. My first idea was that maybe they could call this bike the Kool Long Range 650 to honor our 1300-mile Baja adventure and the bike’s displacement, but that would abbreviate to KLR 650, and…well, you know. Another idea was that because the bike has electric starting and it is such a smooth ride, we could call it the Electra-Glide, but…well, you know. And then, because it is so well balanced and tractable with its torquey motor, we might call it the Go Slow, but that becomes GS, and I think someone is already using those initials. The tank badges are kind of gold in color and shaped like a wing, so maybe Gold Wing would work (is that already taken?). Maybe, because of where the bike is manufactured, we could just call it the Indian. What’s that? That name is already taken, too? It’s tough, I guess, naming a new bike.

Overall, I am extremely impressed with the new Royal Enfield 650 Interceptor. So much so, that I’m going to buy one if (as I mentioned in an earlier blog) I can convince the dealer that I’m not stupid and I’m not subsidizing their freight and setup fantasies. At first blush, one of the dealers told me freight and setup on this bike would be $1200. Uh huh. Look, I know that you can ship a bike anywhere in the lower 48 states for something around $350 (and that’s a max number; if you’re shipping it to a closer state it’s a lot less, and if you’re shipping several, the rates drop even more). Setup on this bike probably involves installing the mirrors, maybe the handlebars, and the front wheel, and all that should take under an hour. I don’t know why the dealers persist in this gouge-the-customer-for-freight-and-setup larceny. Well, I take that back. I do know. I just don’t like it, and I won’t pay it. A realistic freight and setup cost (to the dealer) is most likely below $350, and with a reasonable profit that number would go a little higher. But not $1200. No way, no how.

Okay, off the soapbox and back to the bike. I think the Enfield 650 is one of the best motorcycles I’ve ever ridden. It’s light, it’s smooth, it’s fast, it handles well, it gets good fuel economy, and the fit and finish are world class. It’s almost too good, in that maybe it doesn’t have the character or personality of the Bullet, or a 1965 Triumph Bonneville. But that’s a trade I’d make. Enfield hit a home run with the Interceptor. I think it’s perfect.

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