During the summer of 2016, your blogmeisters (Arjiu and Dajiu) rode RX3 motorcycles 6000 miles across China. Tracy was our translator and he was funny as hell.
Our good friend Tracy is an up and comer in the Zongshen organization. He sent an email to us recently, along with the above photo. Tracy is being reassigned to the Zongshen team in Mexico, and Gresh and I may take a ride down there once Tracy is in country. You can bet the beer will flow freely when that happens!
Hey, buy two or three…they make great gifts!
If you’d like to read the story of our ride across China, you can do so here. It was a great ride and an amazing adventure.
If I were forced to live in a large city I probably wouldn’t ride motorcycles. Connected technology has brought us all closer together, so close that none of us really like what we see from our fellow man. This ubiquitous-connectedness has created a disconnect in a huge quantity of automobile drivers. Proximity sensors that auto-apply braking and lane-holding algorithms are responses to a driving populace that grows ever more disinterested in what is happening on the other side of the windshield. Self driving cars can’t get here soon enough for me.
Public roads are dangerous for motorcycles, no two ways about it, but there is a better place to ride. It’s a place where youthful hijinks don’t end in an expensive traffic citations or death by obliviousness. This place can be found everywhere, mere inches below the civilized world. This place is called The Dirt.
The Dirt. It’s awesome. There are no drivers on their cell phones.
The Dirt is the true and holy Mother Road, unlike The Street, which relies completely on and has to be built on top of The Dirt. The Dirt stands on its own merits needing neither creation nor sustenance. Dirt will still be here long after the last human on Earth has crashed the last Volvo on Earth into the last telephone pole on Earth while sending the last text ever sent…on Earth.
The Dirt encompasses a wide variety of surfaces from graded county roads to nearly impassable paths more suitable to mountain goats. And you can ride a motorcycle over all of it. True, it’s getting harder to find places to ride near population centers. So pull up stakes and move to the less tony parts of the USA where there are miles and miles of dirt roads to explore.
A better place to ride.
Motorcyclists who start out in the dirt are simply better riders than those that don’t. Finding the limit on pavement is risky, expensive and painful. Those same limits can be exceeded and re-exceeded many times while riding in the dirt, sometimes without any input from the rider. Hell, sometimes the rider is tangled in a bush with a sprained thumb while the motorcycle explores the limits on its own. Crashing in The Dirt is less damaging to both body and bike. I’m not saying you can’t get killed dirt riding but it takes a determined effort to accomplish on your own what a drunken car driver will do for free.
The most interesting, less-picked-over sites are accessible only by dirt roads. Fencing and authorities are few and far between. If you see an abandoned mine shaft that needs falling into or a rusty car that needs a few more bullet holes you can fall or shoot with complete freedom.
Listen, don’t let street riding scares put you off motorcycles. Pick up an old dual purpose bike for a thousand or two and start finding your groove out where it’s safe to do the things you like to do.
I liked that Dream Bike piece Gresh did over the weekend about his fantasy bike, the Kawasaki 350cc Avenger. I like the concept: Articles on the ones that got away.
And as is always the case, if Gresh wrote it, I like it.
Can I say that on this blog? You know, Gresh and I do most of the writing, so am I allowed to say that about his stuff? Hey, I don’t care.
I’m guessing if you’re reading this, you have a dream bike. You know, one you didn’t buy but wish you had. We’d like to hear about it. Do a short piece on it with a photo or two and we’ll publish it here.
In the meantime, and because I like “the one that got away” concept so much, I’m going to do a short bit on my dream bike. One of them, anyway. It’s the 1983 Harley XR1000. Yeah, I know, I’m a guy who made his bones writing about small bikes (the CSC RX3, in particular), and the XR1000 is anything but small. But I like it.
The 1983 Harley XR1000. Check out the massive Dellortos and the K&N air filters. All business. I like it.A view from the other side. I’m not a guy who normally leans left or listens to folks who do, but the XR1000’s asymmetry and leftist tendencies are oddly appealing.
The magazines of the era all panned the XR1000, and every once in a while one of them does a retrospective (and they still don’t like it). You know what? I don’t give a rat’s rear end about some magazine weenie’s opinion. I like the look, the concept, and the sound of the XR1000, and one of my few regrets in life is that I didn’t buy one new in ’83.
Not that I didn’t have good reason back then. I had bought a Harley Electra-Glide Classic, new, in 1979. It was the worst vehicle of any type I’d ever owned, and I swore I’d never buy another Harley. That was the principal thing that kept me from pulling the trigger on a new XR1000 in ’83 (I sold the Electra-Glide in ‘82, and the reliability reputation injuries it left hadn’t healed yet). But time heals all wounds (I wish I had that Electra-Glide now), and if I could find a clean XR1000 I’d be on it in a New York minute.
The magazines said the XR1000 vibrated (they actually paid folks to point that out on a Harley?), you could burn your left leg on the exhaust (duh), and the twin Dellortos hit your knee on the right side of the bike (seriously?). Not content with stating the obvious, one of the magazines actually wrote the bike had a predilection for turning left. A bike based on a flat tracker? A predilection for turning left? And folks wonder why the motorcycle magazine business fell on hard times.
Everything the magazines hated about the XR1000 made me want one more. It was a raw, muscular, asymmetric, no passenger, no compromises, in-your-face motorcycle. I still want one.
The stuff dreams are made of…in this case, a Kawi 350cc Avenger!
Kawasaki’s A7 is high on my motorcycle lust-list. The styling of the Gen 2 models is as perfect as a motorcycle can be. Decals and graphics, a Kawasaki strong suit in the 1970’s, gave the bike a speedy, eager look that shouts, “Let the good times roll!” And roll they did, Big Daddy: long before the Yamaha RD series, Kawasaki was hazing the streets and smoking tires with its 350cc, twin-cylinder, disc-valve two-stroke.
I don’t believe the manufacturer-claimed 42 horsepower, but then I’ve never ridden one so maybe it does crank out that much. Large displacement (over 125cc) twin-cylinder, disc-valve motors have always been relatively rare in the motorcycle world. That’s probably due to the excessive crankcase width mandated by two carburetors sticking out past the ends of the crankshaft-mounted, induction timing discs. Crankcase width aside and freed from the symmetrical intake timing of a piston-port engine, a disc valver usually makes more and better power (I’ve been told).
The Avenger, along with its less-attractive, low-pipe sister was also a pioneer in electronic ignition. It was a great system when it worked, but 50-years-on may not be so hot. The addition of oil injection made the Avenger about as maintenance-free as a 1970’s bike could get. The package as a whole looks 50 years ahead of the British and American offerings from the same era.
Prices on A7’s haven’t reached silly RD350 heights yet. The bike in these photos that I stole from Smart Cycle Guide is listed at $3600, the high end of the range. Here’s the link: www.smartcycleguide/L49224558. If you spend a few minutes you can find clean, running examples for $1500 on the Internet.
For me, the only knock on the A7 is that it may be too well made. I’m at the stage in my life where I don’t need a reliable motorcycle. New bikes are darn near perfect and perfection is boring. I search for the ever-elusive soul ride: Motorcycles that drip. The best motorcycles are the ones that leave you stranded; they turn any ride into a grand adventure. Besides, quirky flaws and secret handshakes appeal to my need to be special.
The thing with dreams is that you don’t want to over-analyze them. I can’t say why I like the A7 so much. I’ve never seen one running. I guess it’s the optimism of the design. The A7 is from an era when anything was possible and the future was a burning arrow pointing straight into the sky. If I ever hit the lottery I’ll have one, along with a bunch of other motorcycles to be discussed later here on the ExNotes blog.
I remember hot summer days mixing concrete with my father. I remember the two-holed hoe oozing mud like Play-Doh through a Fun Factory press. Back and forth you shoved the concrete with each hard pass plasticizing a frustratingly minor amount. The demand never ceased, more concrete was required all the time until the sun and the humidity and the sweat burning your eyes (combined with the resistance of the aggregate) lulled your body into a Zen state of denial. The only way to push on was to pretend it wasn’t happening. “I am not really here,” I’d tell myself.
“More mud!” Dumping another 80-pound bag of concrete into the wheel-buggy I quietly promised that I would never, ever, under any circumstances, become a concrete finisher.
Harbor Freight. Cement mixers. Life is good.
With the $180 purchase of Harbor Freight’s 3-1/2 cubic foot concrete mixer I broke that promise made so long ago. I got mine at one of Harbor Freight’s closeouts. Or maybe it was a parking lot sale. Come to think of it, could it have been one of the 4357 tool disposals that brought my attention to the mixer? These events are held almost daily at Harbor Freight and if you ever pay full price at that store you’re no friend of mine. The mixer came out of the box in a million pieces and it took the better part of three hours to assemble the thing because I am not genetically disposed to look at directions.
I mixed about 400, 50-pound bags of concrete before the key in the larger of the two pulleys fell out. The parts landed inside the motor box so I stuck the key back onto the pinion shaft and swabbed a bit of lock tight onto the screw holding the key. I’ve since mixed another 800 bags with no further problems. In total, about 15 cubic yards of concrete have been run through the little mixer to date.
Gears. Lube. Like the innards of a Rolex, but on a grander scale…Industrial grade. Good stuff, Harbor Freight is.
Maintenance on the HF mixer consists of lubing the drum pivots, greasing the large stamped ring gear and oiling the sealed drum bearing with whatever dregs of slippery stuff I have laying about the shed. I do all these things before each use whether I’m mixing 3 bags or 100.
The drum is sized for 150 pounds of concrete mix. Any more and the tilt angle becomes too vertical and the mixing action slows to a crawl. Depending on which size bag of pre-mix concrete is cheapest, I have mixed as high as 180 pounds in the thing but mixing performance suffered with each additional pound. These are nitpicks. I spent less than a week’s rental to own the HF mixer. I give it high marks.
High tech tilt angle control. Who needs instructions?Warnings? I don’t need no stinkin’ warnings!
It’s funny how life works out. I enjoy mixing and finishing concrete now. I love the smells and textures and the sound of a steel trowel scraping across a smooth burnished surface. These are simple motions that bring back sweet muscle-memories of working with my father and those hot summers when I was young and strong.
Tough gear for tough jobs…the Duluth Flex Fire pants are great!
I didn’t know about Duluth’s cargo work pants 40 years ago. That’s how long I have crawled around in the bilges of boats and after many thousands of patella-miles my knees are shot. Towards the end it got so I’d have to work on my side, putting weight on my hips because my knees hurt pretty much all the time.
Sure, I tried kneepads. Every brand or style of pad cut the circulation to my legs or if they didn’t restrict blood flow they’d fall to my ankles as soon as I stood up. The best solution I could come up with was a chunk of packing foam and I kneeled on that sucker whenever I could remember to drag it into the bowels of the boat I was working on. Unfortunately, memory was the second thing to go in the boat-fixing business.
Kneepad inserts…a fabulous idea.
Duluth makes many styles of pants but the ones that caught my eye are the Ultimate Cargo Work Pants with kneepad inserts. By the simple act of sewing on a hook-and-loop-pocket large enough to hold a foam pad Duluth solved both the sore knee and the blood circulation problems in one fell stoop. The pants run $59 and you’ll need the pads (Not included? Why the hell not?) at $10. 70 bucks was a lot of money 20 years ago. Today, it’s the going rate for any heavy-duty work pants.
The things aren’t perfect. The pad pocket may slide off to one side or the other when you kneel down but it’s not a problem to re-situate them. The material is a stretchy, hot blend that will have you sweating in temps over 75 degrees. Still, it was a revelation to kneel down without pain. The pants put a spring in my knee and I had a newfound confidence in my ability to connect with floors and low-slung mechanical contraptions on a deeper, more meaningful level.
Duluth Flex Fire work pants…good for work and good for riding.
The Duluth pants would work great as knock-about motorcycle riding wear and I plan on using them for just that purpose as soon as it gets a bit cooler. If you are a tradesman or tradeswoman that must work from your knees don’t wait 40 years like I did. Let Duluth’s built-in pads cushion (and save) your knees and extend your career. If I had used these pants from the get-go I could have been one of the lucky ones who kept working on boats until their backs gave out.
As our generation ages off this mortal coil there seems to be a strong conservative trend among motorcyclists. By conservative I don’t mean politically, although most of my rowdy friends have settled on the putative conservative party. I mean in their actions and words.
Post a video of kids popping wheelies or burning up motorcycles and the comment section rapidly fills with sour, tsk-tsk and rote complaints about using proper riding gear, safe riding practices or endangering others. Quite a few commenters will wish death upon anyone not head-to-toe in safety gear. Organ Donors, an insult once used by straight citizens to describe motorcyclists in general, has been co-opted by ourselves and liberally used to describe riders not wearing hi-vis green, stifling gloves, helmets, boots and one of those silver blood-type/medication allergy bracelets sold in high schools throughout the mid-1970’s.
Realizing that the depressing safety-crats were doing the exact same wheelies when they were under 100 years old you have to wonder what changed. Responsibility to the group, to all road users or the prospect of injuring an innocent bystander is regularly trotted out by safety mongers. They sound like lower case communists instead of riders living free like it says on their belt buckles and t-shirts.
So is it fear or wisdom? With death imminent, I suspect fear. Our motorcycles are becoming sodden with anti-lock braking systems, rev limiters (God forbid we blow an engine!), traction control and power management systems. The price we are willing to pay for a motorcycle less inclined to kill us is in the tens of thousands of dollars. If we are so concerned about staying alive to drag down future economies with our failing bodies why not forgo motorcycles and drive a truck?
Our generation believes, as have previous generations, that we know best for the next guys. A do-as-I-say, not-as-I-did type of thing that must drive the young ones insane. We think a motorcycle with less than 100 horsepower is unrideable yet we expect others tap into maybe 50% of that power. If they actually twist the throttle then they become the irresponsible ones.
We are, in a nutshell, full of baloney. We rode without helmets, we rode in shorts and t-shirts, we popped wheelies on public roads, we drank and took drugs and then got on our motorcycles and crashed. We died and we were injured. We cost society money way beyond our true dollar value. And now like bit players in the song “Cats in the Cradle,” we sit behind our screens scolding others for being just like we were.
Here’s the last of three videos we made during our recent visit to Tinfiny Ranch a couple of weeks ago. Joe and I have been on several epic motorcycle rides, including the ride across China. It was awesome. When I watch those earlier videos, I’m reminded of how fit we were (we both lost weight on the China ride). Watching this one, I’m reminded that I need to spend more time at the gym (a lot more time).
Me? I’m headed out on a bicycle ride later this morning. I’ll hit the gym later. I love riding my Bianchi. I just need to do more of it.
We’ll have more on the blog later this weekend, and the focus will be on what you need to bring with you on a trip into Baja.
A 1975 Z900 Kawi, a future Joe Gresh project that sort of came with Tinfiny Ranch…
One of the coolest parts of visiting Tinfiny Ranch was seeing Joe Gresh’s motorcycles. He sure has interesting toys and great project work lined up. My favorites are his 360 Yamaha and the Z900 Kawi. Joe tells the story better than I can, so here you go…
Photo ops abound in New Mexico. They have at least four different license plate themes. It’s cool.
Wow, we are enjoying our travels here in the Land of Enchantment. Every where we’ve been, the roads have been awesome and the photo ops have been amazing.
Yesterday we were up near the Colorado border in the little town of Aztec, New Mexico, and we came across a National Park Service Native American ruins site. I never heard of Aztec, I certainly never heard of the ruins there, and the roads were amazing. We stopped for a few photos, and then it was on to Colorado.
A kiva, a large multipurpose room. It was cool.A storm on the horizon…As we viewed the ruins, thunder boomed. It added to the mood. It was a great stop. Sometimes the unplanned ones are the best.The view through an ancient Native American door.
Mesa Verde is coming up next, but that’s a topic for another blog.
More cool stuff…it seems my friend Dan the K is planning a trip to the northwest territories on his 250cc RX3, I invited myself along, and Dan told me that’s great. It looks like Gresh may ride with us for at least part of the run, too. All adventure motorcycle tours are great; I believe the ones on 250cc bikes are even more so. We’ll include you in the planning for this ride, and you’ll be able to read all about it on the ExhaustNotes.us blog.
For me, the only knock on the A7 is that it may be too well made. I’m at the stage in my life where I don’t need a reliable motorcycle. New bikes are darn near perfect and perfection is boring. I search for the ever-elusive soul ride: Motorcycles that drip. The best motorcycles are the ones that leave you stranded; they turn any ride into a grand adventure. Besides, quirky flaws and secret handshakes appeal to my need to be special.
