My third day in India: I had met Iqbal (the motorcycle rental guy) and I bought new motorcycle gear (helmet, jacket, gloves, all for $73 USD). I am not saying this gear was high end Aria or anything, but it was something. In the event of a crash I would hope it would be low speed and I could count on my paratrooper skills to fall properly and not get too banged up. Things were coming together nicely and my confidence and morale was much higher than I had expected. With an extra evening to kill, it turned out one of my offshore developers that worked with me in 2014 lived in Delhi and had invited me over for dinner.
When I was in corporate America I loved hanging out with my team whenever I wasn’t out roaming around the world. Well, when I met this guy he had just gotten off the plane in Seattle and it was his first time in the United States. Knowing this, I directed another one of my team members to pick him up and bring him to Pike Market where we could get a few beers and I could fully christen him to our great country.
Of course, my idea for the full American immersion was to bring him to a proper strip club that was next to Pike Market. Without getting into details, he probably had one of the best nights of his life. We kept in touch over the years and whenever I would walk by the strip club I would send him a photo of the sign, and that is how you maintain high morale on a project team (leadership at its finest).
I arrived at his apartment and met his lovely wife and sister-in-law. After catching up and chatting for an hour they invited me to their parents’ home for dinner. The conversation then turned to birthdays, and they asked when mine was. I pulled out my phone and looked at it intensely. They didn’t know what I was doing as I should know my birthday (which I did). They were surprised to hear my next words: “My birthday is in 3 hours and 42 minutes.”
I don’t know a lot about the Indian culture but within two minutes I had a birthday cake in front of me, so I am guessing they always have a birthday cake in the freezer “just in case.” Either way, it was very sweet and I felt more than welcomed into their country.
After a few pre-birthday whiskeys, it was time to return to my hotel and get a solid night’s sleep. I needed to wash away any remaining jet lag I had as my friends were due to arrive the following day. As I peacefully fell asleep with thoughts of riding the new Royal Enfields, my phone rang. “Huber, I need a place to sleep!” Well, I guess I would be meeting at least one of my new friends sooner than expected as I buzzed the hotel door to let him in. It turned out his hotel had given his room away so we would be roommates until we departed on the motorcycles in two days.
San Diego, Calilfornia. I love that town. One of its best attractions is the USS Midway Museum. I’ve been there three times. The first was a few years ago with Susie, and that visit resulted in a Destinations piece in Motorcycle Classics magazine and a CSC Motorcycles blog article. Another time was when I attended the International Association of Chiefs of Police convention in San Diego with good buddy Mike. The IACP had their big evening party on the Midway’s flight deck, and the keynote speaker was James Comey (the FBI Director; we heard his speech literally days before President Trump fired him).
Bring a camera when you visit the Midway. The photo ops are impressive.
Most recently, I returned to the Midway for a visit with Susie and my sister Eileen. You could say I’m a big fan of the Midway and all she represents, and you’d be 100% correct. If you ever find yourself in San Diego, the USS Midway is a “must see” visit.
In the hangar deck, one deck down. The ship is immense.Susie on the Midway’s 4-acre flight deck.On the flight deck, looking back at the San Diego skyline.The Midway has an impressive collection of Navy helicopters on display.
The Battle of Midway was a turning point in World War II in our fight against the Japanese. Movies have been made about it; one of the best is currently streaming on Netflix. Woody Harrelson portrayed Admiral Nimitz and he did a wonderful job. The two men even resemble each other.
Chester Nimitz and Woody Harrelson. Harrelson is a superb actor; he played the role well.
Construction started on the USS Midway during World War II, but the war ended before the ship was commissioned. The Midway went on to serve in Korea, Vietnam, and the Persian Gulf wars. You may remember new stories about our departure from Vietnam and the helicopters being shoved off the flight deck and into the sea to make room for more refugees. Those film clips were on the Midway. I was in the Army and I didn’t have really anything to do with the Navy (other than later working in companies that designed and manufactured products for the Navy), but if I had been in the Navy, I think I would have liked to have served on a carrier. There’s just something magnificent about these ships. You may recall my piece on Admiral Gordon Smith, one of my best bosses ever. Gordon was a carrier pilot. I admire and miss him greatly.
Aircraft on the Midway flight deck. That’s San Diego in the background.A glorious day, the USS Midway, and a 12-24 wide angle lens with a polarizer…it doesn’t get much better than this!Another view from the fight deck.The Island…we climbed up top to see where air and navigation ops were conducted.
The docents at the USS Midway Museum are all prior service people. They are friendly and gave great talks. When Susie and I were on the flight deck, one of the docents told the two of us about a jet and described it as “my airplane.” Susie said, “Oh, you flew one like this?”
“No,” he answered. “I flew this aircraft.” It just doesn’t get any better than that. Well, maybe it does. When we bought our tickets on our most recent visit, the lady behind the counter asked if any us were former service members. As usual, my mind was in neutral. I kind of just stood there and Susie quickly explained that I had served in the Army. That provided a steep discount and a sticker to put on my pocket designating me as a prior service guy. Every one of the docents asked me about my service as we made our way through the museum. It’s been so long ago (almost 50 years) that I had to stop and think with every question. It was fun. The folks on the Midway made me feel special. You can’t put a price on that.
Up in the island, where the Air Boss and his assistants did their jobs.A view from the Air Boss’s area, looking over the flight deck.An enormous flight deck…we were near the front of the ship for this shot.Back on the dock, looking out under the USS Midway deck across the harbor.
There’s just so much to see and enjoy in San Diego. If you are lucky enough to visit this wonderful town, you might want to stop for dinner or a late lunch after seeing the Midway. One of the best restaurants in town is The Brigantine, just up the road from the Midway along the Embarcadero. The Brigantine’s fish and chips dish is one of the best I’ve ever had. If you like family-run Italian restaurants (they’re at the top of the list for me), try Volare’s (at 3528 Barnett Avenue in San Diego).
On our first visit to the USS Midway, Susie and I drove across to Coronado Island after visiting the Museum. After a fine dinner in Coronado, we took in the San Deigo skyline across the bay at night. It’s one of my favorite photos.
As my flight approached Delhi, India, the thoughts in my head began racing back to 2004 when I experienced culture shock for the first time. Being nervous, I was optimistic as I had a couple things in my favor that I didn’t have 20 years prior. That being technology with our phones and apps, and my experience over the past 20 years traveling to quite a few countries. I took comfort in that as the plane landed and pulled up to the gate.
The last time I exited the Delhi Airport I was instantly mobbed by a crowd of taxi drivers pulling at my luggage and quoting me absurd prices for a ride to the hotel. This time was much different, and although there were Ubers, I chose to hire a taxi from the government taxi stand. Other than a few obvious scams I was not bothered by anyone at all. It was quite a refreshing change, and after a 45-minute ride I was dropped off at my hotel where I could relax and slowly take in Delhi in a way I was not allowed to 20 years ago.
With memories still lingering from my previous experience in this country I knew that the best way to overcome them was to embrace the culture, not shy away from it. For my first day in India I would take a local bus. This would not only force me to get over these haunting feelings from the past but enable me to gain my confidence in the most effective way possible. The bus was crowded, but not too overwhelming. It was a 30-cent ride versus a $3 Uber.
With my renewed confidence in my ability to navigate through this beautiful but chaotic city, the following day I chose to take the subway to Iqbal Motors, the company we were renting our Royal Enfield Himalayans from. The train was a bit more crowded than the bus. To the point when I finally found the correct subway (on my third try, but hey I was learning so I went easy on myself) I really had to squeeze into the subway car. It was a tight fit but not that bad, until the doors opened at the next stop. Not fully paying attention the next thing I knew I was thrown about 15 feet from the train and was well onto the platform before I realized I had to fight crowds to make it back onto the train prior to it leaving. Not wanting that to happen again I fought my way to the center of the car and faced towards the doors that would open for my stop. Now it was my turn. As soon as the doors opened I crouched down into a sort of rugby scrum stance and pushed with all my might in order to exit the car. Success! I was out and just a few blocks from Iqbal Motors.
I was excited to finally meet Iqbal at his shop and check out our new 2025 Royal Enfield Himalayans. The bikes were beautiful and the communication over the previous two months with Iqbal on fine tuning our needs for gear, schedules, and overall itinerary made an otherwise challenging rental easy. I knew we made the right decision as soon as I met him. I cannot say enough good things about Iqbal and his motorcycle rental company.
Upon saddling up on the Himalayan and taking the bike out for a short blast I instantly understood why this was the chosen motorcycle for India. All my apprehensions and anxiety about this trip melted away as I zipped through traffic in Delhi. I was officially excited and ready to spend the next three weeks (or longer) on my new steed. My friends were set to arrive in two days and I was ready to begin this motorcycle adventure through the crowded, yet mystical country of India.
Time has a way of creeping up on you. In looking over my list of Motorcycle Classics “Destinations” articles, I was surprised to see I’ve been pitching and publishing stories for the magazine for 20 years. It all started when a nice young fellow named Landon Hall, MC‘s Associate Editor at the time, saw a few photos I had posted online and asked if I’d be interested in doing a piece for the magazine. Hell, yeah, I would (and I did). I wrote a lot of stories on a lot of fun destinations. I’m not bragging here, folks. I’m just getting old.
A new editorial staff recently came on board at Motorcycle Classics, and my new editor asked if I could focus more on motorcycle museums. As a freelancer, I learned a long time ago that you don’t argue with people who buy ink by the barrel, so I set about finding moto museums. This led me to discover Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum in Pacific Grove, California. I’d never heard of the Jameson before. Come to think of it, I’d never heard of Pacific Grove, either. Both turned out to be pure slices of heaven, as did the ride there and our return home.
Neil Jameson, the man who created Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum.
The story behind the Jameson is a fascinating one, and I heard it firsthand from Staci Jameson Hayes. Neil Jameson was the man who created the Museum (Staci is his daughter). Neil is no longer with us, but while he graced our world, he was one hell of a man. He grew up in Hollister, California, and I found myself wondering if his interest in motorcycles came about as a result of that town’s moto history. Jameson started as a goat farmer, became a firefighter, and along the way, he became a world class businessman, investor, and wheeler dealer (Staci told me he was a horse trader extraordinaire). Neil’s time with us ended in 2021, and during his 82 years on this planet, he was a motorcycle enthusiast, an adventure rider, and a motorcycle collector.
Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum is at 305 Forest Avenue in Pacific Grove, California, directly across the street from the police station and city hall. Neil Jameson bought the building to showcase his collection in 2010; it formerly housed the local newspaper.
The Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum collection is eclectic. Many of the bikes were owned and ridden by Neil (including the ’72 R75 BMW that he rode to the Arctic Circle and back). Some have been restored to original condition; others are in their as-ridden-by-Neil condition. The restorations were performed by Emma Booton, a woman Staci describes as The Restoration Goddess. I’ve been to a lot of museums; the restorations at the Jameson are stunning.
Peering into the Museum through the front door.Another view of the collection through a wide-angle lens. I recently learned that the best photos of a motorcycle are shot at knee height; getting down and back up again to do that is not as easy as it used to be.Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum has several BMWs. Neil Jameson rode the one in the center of this photo to the Arctic Circle.
As mentioned above, the Jameson collection is eclectic. For the most part, the bikes are “everyman” motorcycles, the kind you or I might have owned and ridden. Several of the machines really spoke to me, including a 1982 T140E Triumph Electro. By the early 1980s, the original Triumph motorcycle company was in a death spiral. The Electro, an electric start motorcycle, was an attempt by Triumph to counter Japan’s moto success. It was too little and too late, but it was a valiant and magnificent effort. The Jameson’s Electro is the first I have ever seen.
A Triumph Bonneville Electro, a gorgeous motorcycle.The Electro’s colors are magnificent. Note the timing/cam cover casting, enlarged to accept an electric starter.
Japanese street bikes of the 1970s and 1980s are well represented, including several that showcase the engineering accomplishments and marketing experiments of the era.
The Jameson has stunning Kawasaki two-stroke triples, in both 500cc and 750cc flavors.Let the good times roll: Fiercely fast with acceleration measured on the Richter scale, and handling that could only be described as scary.Before venturing into big-bore four strokes, Suzuki tried a couple of interesting and unconventional concepts. One was their rotary-engined street bike.Just in case you missed the point…Kawasaki had air-cooled big bore two-stroke street bikes; Suzuki chose water cooling for their 750cc two-stroke triple. This bike was affectionately known as the Water Buffalo.Trust me on this: The Suzuki water-cooled two-stroke triple is a mechanical engineering work of art.
Think CHiPs: Back in the day, the California Highway Patrol and many local law enforcement agencies used the Kawasaki KZ1000P police motorcycle. West of the Mississippi River, Kawasaki owned the police motorcycle market (Harley police motors dominated the police market east of the Mississippi). Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum displays a Kawasaki KZ1000P, and the motorcycle didn’t have to travel very far to get into the collection.
The Kawasaki police bikes are beautiful. Their performance was considerably better than Harley’s, with better acceleration, better braking, higher top speed, and run-flat tires.Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum’s police Kawasaki came from the Pacific Grove Police Department, which is directly across the street from the Museum.
There’s a Bonneville Salt Flats bike, too. It’s a 1965 Honda CB-160 streamliner. My father’s first motorcycle was a 1965 Honda CB-160. I’m pretty sure this one is faster than my Dad’s bike.
A small-displacement Honda streamliner.Another view of the Honda LSR bike.
As mentioned above, Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum has a great collection of British motorcycles. BSAs, Bonnevilles, and Nortons were the hot ticket in the 1960s, and all three are well represented in the Museum.
A BSA Firebird Scrambler. BSA had this hot rod; Triumph had the Bonneville. The 1960s were a glorious time for British motorcycles.
My two favorite motorcycles of the many beautiful machines on display in the Jameson are the Triumph Electro described above, and an absolutely stunning Ariel Square Four. Ariel based the Square Four’s engine design on two 500cc twins in series, and the result was a visually-arresting motorcycle dominated by its engine. Finished in a deep maroon livery, the Museum’s Square Four is an amazing specimen.
An Ariel Square Four, a massive and impressive motorcycle.A tighter shot of the Ariel Square Four engine. This is a beautiful machine.
Pacific Grove, California, is a nice little town bordered by the Pacific Ocean, the Del Monte Forest, and the City of Monterey. We rode out to the lighthouse and watched huge waves crashing into the breakers for a bit.
Looking down Forest Avenue, standing in front of Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum. That’s the Pacific Ocean out there.Land’s end on the Monterey peninsula.
We fell in love with Pacific Grove, the coastal community in which Jameson’s Classic Motorcycle Museum is located. Everything about the place and everyone we met made us feel like we belonged there, including Staci and her husband, Russ. The town just feels comfortable and it’s a place we’d like to visit again. We enjoyed a fantastic lunch at Toasties, which was surprisingly reasonably priced (especially considering the area). I’m told that Pepper’s Mexicali Café’s burritos are world class. Both restaurants are within a mile of the Museum (Pepper’s is only a block away). Our ride into Pacific Grove took us past the Naval Postgraduate School and the Defense Language Institute; the ride back home took us along California State Route 68, California State Route 17, and the Chualar River Road through the Salinas Valley. It was all magnificent.
I first went to India in May of 2005. I was about to graduate Boston University after 9 long years (the 9-year part will probably make for another interesting blog) and knew it was time for a well-deserved break. At this point of my life traveling abroad was new to me, and I thought India would make for an excellent adventure with all its beauty and intensity. This trip would also allow me to forego physically going to a boring graduation ceremony (even though it was my own).
I had NO idea what I was doing as it was one of my first trips abroad outside of the Army. Well, the best way to learn is by falling down and skinning your knees, and boy my knees got tore up this trip (I am sure my paratrooper mates will have some smart ass remarks on that line). It was to be a once in a lifetime adventure (well, twice in a lifetime now).
The trip didn’t start smoothly. As we landed in Trivandrum, the southernmost tip of the country, I was exhausted since I had been up for 30+ hours. It was late May and the weather was hot and humid. All I wanted to do was sleep in a hotel with air conditioning. Eventually, I got my wish and found a hotel room. As a foreigner I was required to list my friend who was staying with his family as a reference. The hotel was located in a tiny village that was very remote. My friend pulled me aside as I was checking into the hotel and said he would pick me up in the morning “Don’t do anything stupid” were his parting words that day. Tall order indeed, but I was wiped and figured that behaving wouldn’t be too difficult.
When I awoke after a solid nap I was hungry and thought I would go get some food. I left the hotel still woozy from the long journey but found a street cart with food. As I began eating, next to the food cart I noticed quite a traffic jam building up. It seemed I was causing the traffic jam with all the attention I was drawing. They had never seen a white American before. Cars were stopping to take pictures of me and numerous people approached to have conversations. After about an hour of talking and singing American music with them it was time for me to return to my room for some more rest.
The following morning my friend showed up mad as hell. “I told you not to do anything stupid.” I was perplexed as to what he was referring to. Well, turns out I drew so much attention that an Indian Government Agency (he stated it was the equivalent of the FBI) had called him asking who I was and what I was doing in this remote Indian village. It was more of a health and wellness check than anything, which I could fully appreciate.
After a week I parted ways with my friend and began traveling through northern India on my own. This was when I got my first solid hit of culture shock, and it hit me bigtime. Being alone and traveling through the bustling streets of Delhi, Agra (to see the Taj Ma Hal), and the Himalayan mountain town of Leh would prove to be a wakeup call that was clearly overdue. There were no cell phones or Google maps to navigate by during this trip. Add to that the intensity of Delhi traffic and just the overall controlled chaos that overwhelmed every sense and came from every direction possible (and some directions I didn’t even know existed). It was sensory overload to the point that one day I cancelled all my scheduled tours and stayed in my hotel with the blinds down. It was that level of intensity just outside my hotel room. The mix of culture shock and wandering through these places alone made for anxiety I had never felt before. By the time I was packing to leave I felt as though this country had overwhelmed me so much that I was questioning my confidence in traveling.
Wow, it’s March already. It seems like just a couple of days ago it was February. Seriously, though, the years are flying by. I had a bunch of things I wanted to mention, so this blog may meander a bit. Bear with me.
Baja John on the road to San Felipe back in 2005.
I got a note from Baja John yesterday. He’s down in San Felipe, which is not that big a stretch for him as he leaves down in Baja now. San Felipe celebrated their 100th anniversary this weekend and John wrote to tell me about it. Baja John, good buddy Marty, and I rode down there for San Felipe’s 80th anniversary, and if your Ph.D is in math, you know that means our ride was 20 years ago this past weekend. Those 20 years sure went by in a blur. It feels like that ride was maybe a couple of months ago.
John and yours truly two decades ago. I rode a Harley in those days. John rode a Virago. The BMW belonged to our friend Marty.
Man, I miss those Baja trips.
Speaking of time, I somehow made the Ball Watch email list. Their watches have a unique way of making the hands glow in the dark, which is kind of cool. I usually don’t find their style appealing, but Ball introduced a watch they call the Trainmaster a couple of years ago, and that one is beautiful. But at $2995 it’s not appealing enough (at least to me). I don’t need another watch. It sure is elegant, though.
The Ball Trainmaster. I would love to own one of these. It’s a GMT, too, one of my favorite watch types.
You may recall that several months ago we explained the origins of the expression, “Balls out.” That one means running flat out, and it is nontesticular in nature (it refers instead to a mechanical governor’s centrifugal balls being fully extended). It doesn’t have anything to do with Ball watches, either. But another expression, “on the Ball,” does. The official watch for railroads back in the 1800s was a Ball pocket watch (the same company that now makes the watch you see above), and if a train was running on schedule, it was said to be “on the Ball.”
Two Old Timers for $26 at Walmart! I already accidentally cut myself with the big one.
The pocketknife thing is in full swing. I thought I had just a few laying around in various spots in the house, so I decided to gather them up and put them all in one spot. I was a little bit embarrassed when I finished. I don’t need any more pocketknives. But that may not stop me. I have one more inbound, and I’ll probably stop after that. Or not. We’ll see.
More good stuff: I’ve had an old Savage 99 lever gun (chambered in 250 Savage) stashed away and neglected for several decades. Well, I finally dug it out a couple of months ago, and the neglect was obvious. It was rusty when I got it, but I let it get worse. Most of the rust is now off and it looks good. I bought some new 250-3000 brass cases and a set of Lee dies. I’m surprised I took this long to get around to the Savage, and I’m even more surprised at just how nice a cartridge the .250 Savage is.
A .250 Savage round in a Savage 99 rifle that is one year younger than me.I haven’t finished the dialing in the load or the rifle, and I am already getting these kinds of results at 100 yards. The .250 Savage cartridge is a winner!
Another bit of misadventuring: I had a couple of old laptops that weren’t working and I’ve held off on tossing them for fear there might still be data on the hard drives. How do you wipe a hard drive so that whatever was there can’t be recovered? After a few minutes Googling the topic, it seems that the best way is to pull the hard drive and drill a few holes through the disk. Simply deleting the files or even using programs designed to eliminate whatever’s on there really doesn’t get the job done. I have a power drill, but I had a better idea. How about putting the hard drives behind a target and having at them with a .45?
Two guys getting blown away at the West End Gun Club. There was a laptop hard drive behind the head on each target.ARX .45 ACP bullets meet hard drive. Yep, that worked.Hard drives rendered unusable: Mission accomplished.
One more last item: You remember I told you about good buddy Lance and how well his end shake shims worked in my Model 60 snubbie. His company, TriggerShims.com, also makes bolt shims for .22 rifles I have two sets coming in for two of my .22 rifles, and I’m going to see how well they work.
CZ 452 Varmint and Remington Custom Shop Model 504 22 rifles. I’m going to try Trigger Shims bolt shims in both.
Stay tuned, and you’ll get the full report right here.
So let’s say you’re a rich guy…not little rich from a corporate job where you’re overtitled and overpaid, but big rich as in inheriting a fortune from Dad. Let’s say Dad was George Avery, the guy who founded the label making company of the same name. We’re talking big bucks here, folks. What do you do with all that money?
Dennis Avery was the guy we’re talking about here. He was George Avery’s son and he was a good guy who did good things with his money. He gave away a lot to worthy causes both in the U.S. and overseas. Kids going to school. AIDS clinics. Authors writing interesting books. Kids’ athletic endeavors. And lots, lots more.
An author Dennis helped was George Jefferson (not the one from the TV sitcom The Jeffersons, but instead a guy who studied geology and dinosaurs). Jefferson wanted to write a book about dinosaurs and with Avery’s support, he did. That brings us to a point where Dennis meets Ricardo Breceda.
The 3,000-acre estate Dennis Avery bought is called Galleta Meadows. “Galleta” means cookie or biscuit in Spanish. It also refers to a species of grass (not marijuana, but actual grass) that grows in the area (see below).Galleta grass. It grows up to about two feet tall and it thrives in the desert. The name is probably due to the plant’s seeds, which look like little flattened cookies.
But before we get there, Dennis started buying land in and around Borrego Springs, a small desert town northeast of San Diego. Mr. Avery liked it as is, and didn’t want to see it consumed by development as has happened in so many other parts of California. Score one for the good guys here, folks.
Breceda was a guy who grew up in Mexico, came to the United States, tried a few different business ventures, and ended up owning welding equipment. He wasn’t a welder initially, but he learned how to use the welding gear. Kind of like Joe Gresh. Breceda’s daughter had seen the new hit movie, Jurassic Park, and she wanted a dinosaur for her birthday. Breceda had a welding machine. You can see where this is going. After creating a dino for his daughter, Breceda started making and selling large metal sculptures. You can’t miss them. We’ve seen them in various parts of southern California, including a very large mastodon looking over the 60 freeway near Riverside not too far from where we live.
One day, Dennis Avery is driving by, and he notices the large metal creatures crafted by Breceda. He stops in to talk. See where this is going?
What looks like hair on Breceda’s sculptures is actually tiny strips of sheet metal. We have some cool things out in our California deserts.
To make a long and fascinating story a little less long and a little more fascinating, Avery and Breceda struck up a deal to repopulate Galleta Meadows with creatures from the Plio-Pleistocene age (a period combining the Pliocene and Pleistocene eras that began 5 million years ago and lasted until about 12,000 years ago). The concept took off from there, and the art expanded to include other creatures. One is the 300-foot-long dragon/sea serpent you see in the photos at the top of this blog and in the three photos below.
A sense of scale. The sea serpent dragon is huge. That’s my sister Eileen and my wife Susie taking it all in. You can walk under the coils further back.It’s hard to imagine the labor that went into these sculptures.
We were astounded by the number of sculptures in the immediate area of the sea serpent. It surprised me that we didn’t the others at first; I guess it was because we fixated on the sea serpent sculpture I had programmed into my Waze navigation app.
While we were viewing the sea serpent and taking a bunch of photos, we saw another sculpture almost hidden in the nearby desert. We drove through the area’s dirt pathways to get a better look. Wow. You can walk right up to these things. It was amazing.
Another prehistoric beast, as interpreted by Ricardo Breceda. It almost seems life like.A better shot, with the sun at my back. The old iPhone was getting a workout and it was doing a good job. I was thinking I could get better photos with my Nikon the entire time I was out there in the Anza Borrego desert. Anza Borrego translates into Bighorn sheep. They’re in the area, but we didn’t see any.A closer shot of the beast above showing how Breceda used thin strips of sheet metal to simulate hair. Brilliant work, this is.
Then we spotted another sculpture 50 yards or so away. They were popping out like Easter eggs or seeing the whales in Scammons Lagoon down in Baja. At first you don’t see any. Then they suddenly appear in a manner that makes you wonder why you didn’t see them before. We were enjoying the experience.
Oppossums and other modern animals carry their young like this. The artist is brilliant. This rusty old things actually look alive.Another view of the prehistoric mama and her baby. That dark spot under her tail? It’s another sculpture off in the distance.
After photographing the sculpture above, I looked around and there was yet another one way off in the desert. It was a camel of some sort. This was really cool stuff.
Would you walk a mile for this camel? I would and I will. I’ll be back with better equipment next time.
The entire adventure was sort of an Easter egg hunt, with our spotting yet another sculpture a rifle shot or so away that we hadn’t noticed driving into the area. I think you probably could see them all from the road if you knew where to look for them, but we didn’t know until we were at the sea serpent. I’m glad I didn’t know where to look. I felt like a little kid discovering one more each time I moved on to another. It was great fun.
When I finished taking the iPhone photos you see here, I thought I had captured all the sculptures. Boy, was I wrong. In researching the sculptures, the artist, and the man who sponsored it all, I was astounded to learn that there are actually 130 of these things scattered around the Galleta Meadows Estate. We had seen only a half dozen. You know what that means: Another trip. On the next one, I’ll bring along the Nikon D810 and my tripod, and I’ll get better pictures. That’s going to be really cool.
The obligatory selfie. Maybe I’m a narcissist. It was the middle of February, and it was a comfortable 70 degrees out in the Anza Borrego desert. My wife, my sister, and I had a great time
Getting there was both easy and fun. We started in Escondido and picked up California State Route 78 east. That’s a glorious ride on either a motorcycle or a car, winding through the mountains and then bringing you up to the Anza Borrego desert floor (where the sculptures reside). We stopped in Julian for breakfast and a delicious slice of apple and cherry pie along the way. It was a fun day.
The 70-series roads in southern California are fabulous roads. This is a great ride. If you’re going to see the Breceda sculptures, you can get right next to them in a car; you cannot do so on a motorcycle.
I posted a blog yesterday about Chinese pocketknives and drew a few comments (as I knew I would). One of them mentioned Shaolin martial arts, and that prompted a response from me about the Shaolin Temple in China. Not a lot of folks here in the US have been to the Shaolin Temple. I know of two who rode there on motorcycles (that would be Joe Gresh and yours truly). I covered that visit in Riding China, and I thought it would be good to share a part of that chapter with you today. Who knows…I might even sell a few books by doing so. You know, so you can read the rest of the story about our ride through China.
We continued riding and entered a mountainous region. I liked that a lot. The roads were nice, there wasn’t much traffic, and because we were both moving and climbing, the heat abated a bit. We stopped for a break, and a fellow came along on a 250cc Yamaha that was configured for touring. He stopped and chatted with us and we took turns taking pictures of each other. His bike looked good. We only saw a few other Chinese on our trip who were touring on motorcycles.
A Chinese motorcyclist on a 250cc Yamaha. His luggage is from Lester Peng’s motorcycle luggage company. Lester rode with us last year on the 5000-mile Western America Adventure Ride.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but we were very close to the Shaolin Temple when we stopped to talk to the Yamaha rider. That would be our next destination this day. Another fellow then came by and he had an animated conversation with Sean (our guide). It turns out he was selling, Sean was his mark, and the guy was working Sean hard. This guy owned a restaurant and he wanted us to eat there. He was successful; we did.
We didn’t pause for naps after this lunch, but Sean was soon having another excited conversation with folks outside the restaurant. I didn’t know what they were discussing, but I later realized it was about transportation and how we would get into the Shaolin Temple. The bottom line to this conversation was that we all piled into three small gray minivans that took us about two miles down the road, back the way we had ridden to get to the restaurant.
What I learned later was that there were two ways to get into the Shaolin Temple complex. One was through the main gate, and apparently that cost more. The other was a woodsy trail through the mountains that required a climb over two or three mountains on a slippery muddy trail. If you did that, you could sneak into the Shaolin Temple complex for free. That’s what we did, and that climb was rough. The trail was slippery, and by now the temperature and humidity were up again. Had I known what was going on I would have gladly paid to go in through the front door, but I didn’t realize what we were doing until I was doing my best impersonation of a mountain goat in the hills behind Shaolin.
So here’s the deal on the Shaolin Temple: It’s famous as the home of Chinese Kung Fu. No kidding; it’s both a Buddhist Temple and a world-renown Kung Fu school (the original Kung Fu school, actually). It’s where Bruce Lee learned his craft, and if you’ve ever seen a martial arts movie with scenes that have large numbers of young Chinese guys learning the martial arts, it was almost certainly filmed here.
The Shaolin Temple was beautiful. As we walked along its well-manicured paths, a young guy went into a martial arts routine that was mesmerizing. It was something right out of a movie. The guy was executing all of these snappy martial arts stances (one seemed to flow into the next) in a manner that almost made the display a dance routine. It probably only lasted a minute or two, but when it ended, a large crowd had already gathered and everyone applauded. I enjoyed seeing it, even though I know nothing about any of this stuff.
A martial artist demonstrating his moves at the Shaolin Temple.More moves. I told the guys I could do this, but I don’t think they believed me.
The Buddhist Temple was beautiful, but by then it was so miserably hot and humid we weren’t enjoying anything. We were in a walled courtyard that allowed no airflow, and I couldn’t seem to get my body temperature down. I was still perspiring from climbing over the mountains.
I shot a few photos of some of the figures inside the temple (yet again, the D810 Nikon’s incredible low light level capabilities came through).
A figure inside the Shaolin Temple. It’s likely Bruce Lee saw these things when he studied here.Another huge and menacing figure inside the Shaolin Temple. These statues were about 15 feet tall.
On our walk out (we left through the main gate), it mercifully started raining again. The rain finally helped me cool off. So far, this day was the hottest and most humid day of our ride (and I found I was saying that nearly every day for the last several days).
At dinner that night, I thought I would have a little fun with the guys. One of the dishes that evening had black fungus mixed in with the vegetables, and I loved that stuff. As I mentioned earlier, what the Chinese call black fungus is a mushroom of some sort, and I loved the taste of it. A small speck of one of the mushrooms, a black piece about a quarter of an inch long, was on the edge of my dinner bowl. I managed to pick up that tiny piece of mushroom with my chopsticks in preparation for solidifying my reputation as a chopstick martial arts master.
I told Tracy, who was sitting next to me, that I wanted him translate exactly what I was about to tell the Chinese guys in our group. He said okay, but went back to his meal. “No, Tracy,” I said. “I want you to tell the guys to stop eating and listen to what I have to say.”
Tracy looked at me for second, and then he spoke to the group in Chinese. The others stopped eating, looking at Tracy and then at me.
“We all visited the Shaolin Temple today and we saw the birthplace of Kung Fu,” I began. I paused, nodded at Tracy, and he started speaking to the group in Chinese.
“You may not know this, but like Mr. Bruce Lee, I, too, am a martial arts expert,” I said. Tracy looked at me and translated what I just said. The others stared at me, taken in by my serious demeanor.
“You know that I am an expert with chopsticks, as I demonstrated on our second night in the peanut contest,” I said. Tracy diligently continued to translate. “You may not know that I am a master at using chopsticks in the martial arts. In fact, I created a branch of Kung Fu that relies entirely on chopsticks.” As I said that, I motioned with my left hand as if I was shooing a fly away from the food on our table. It was a motion all of us had used across China at all of our dinners to get rid of the flies.
As Tracy continued to translate, and when I saw everybody look at my left hand shooing the imaginary flies away, I lunged out into the space over our table with my right hand, still holding my chopsticks. As I did so, I emitted a piercing “eeeee yah!” (my best rendition of a martial arts cry, worthy of no less a master than Bruce Lee himself). I held up my chopsticks, which still held that small morsel of black mushroom. No one could have confused that speck of mushroom for anything other than a fly captured in mid-air by a martial arts master (with his chopsticks, of course).
A loud gasp of astonishment and admiration went up from all of the Chinese riders. Before they could get a closer look, I plopped the tiny piece of mushroom into my mouth and exaggeratedly swallowed. There was a second of stunned silence at our table, followed by another gasp and heavy applause. Gresh was the only one who rolled his eyes. A legend was born that evening, my friends, and he be me.
We had a great dinner that night (I know, I’ve been saying that about every meal on this trip). Eeeeeeyah! The fly-impersonating black fungus. The chopsticks. The applause. It was wonderful.
After dinner, all I wanted to do was get back to the hotel, take a cool shower, crank the air conditioner all the way down, and get some sleep. I posted a blog that night, I went to bed, and I probably dreamed about being a chopstick martial artist.
They’re still talking about me over there, you know.
The ride across China was amazing, the adventure of a lifetime. You can read about the adventures of dos Joes on the entire trip here:
On our recent visit to Milwaukee, we visited the Miller brewery. It’s in the center of the city, right on West State Street, nestled in the town’s hills. Those hills will become significant in a moment when I tell you about the caves.
Our tour guide was a very energized guy. I can’t remember his name, but I can tell you he made the tour come alive for us. It was fun.
One of the first things our tour guide covered was the girl. She was present in several stained glass windows and a few other places.
Our guide, that interesting guy a few photos up, explained her history to us. The story goes like this: A.C. Paul, Miller’s advertising guy, got lost in the Wisconsin woods (as in good and lost, at night, in freezing temperatures). He had a vision of the Miller High Life girl you see above, perched on a crescent moon, pointing the way back to civilization. That vision (in various forms) has been in Miller’s advertising and branding pretty much ever since. Is it true? Hey, it’s a good story and it’s got something to do with beer, so who cares?
The Miller company goes back a long way, and in the old days, they used to store newly-made beer in the caves adjacent to the plant in the hills on West State Street. The advent of refrigeration made that unnecessary, but Miller still owns the caves. They’re part of the tour, and if you have an event (a wedding, a party, a Bar Mitzvah, whatever) they make a hell of a venue.
The photos you see here didn’t use any flash. I bumped the ISO up to 800. That, along with my 24-120’s vibration reduction capabilities and a bit of post processing in PhotoShop created the images you see here.
Miller has also has a cool party place (you can also rent this as a venue) in the main building. You can see that in the photo below.
Those glasses you see above were samples provided to us during the tour. The ones you see above were Miller’s Killian Red label. Folks, there were a lot of beer samples on this tour, starting with the very beginning of the tour in the Miller Visitor Center (it’s where I snapped that photo of the custom chopper at the top of this blog). The samples weren’t small, either. If you weren’t watching what you consumed, I imagine you could get a pretty good buzz on this tour. Me, I was watching what I drank, and I didn’t finish any of the samples. They sure were good, though. Miller beer is awesome.
After the stop above, we entered the actual beer factory. Our guide explained that folks are usually amazed when they see this part of the operation. There were hardly any people working in the plant.
I wasn’t surprised at the lack of people; in fact, I would have been surprised if there were people there. Beer production is a process-based industry, and most process-based industries are automated. The days of the LaVerne and Shirley show are long gone in the beer business (that show featured two women who worked in a Milwaukee beer factory).
Back in the LaVerne and Shirley days, they could have been employed by any of several beer companies in Milwaukee. Automation and consolidation changed all that. Today, pretty much all the Milwaukee beer companies are part of the Miller empire. Miller has something like 11 breweries across the country. There’s one not too far from me here in southern California. The regions they cover are divided geographically. Our tour guide told us that the plant we were in covers the Midwest. It produces 10 million barrels of beer annually, and 40% of the beer manufactured in the Milwaukee plant goes to just one city (and that’s Chicago). Those Chicago boys like their beer, I guess.
Having spent 11 months abroad and successfully (I am the one gauging the definition of success, by the way) traveling through 7 countries (some multiple times) returning to my home country of the United States of America was a welcome way to round out 2024. The past month has been filled with catching up with family and friends, as well as catching 3 mice and 12 flying squirrels that seem to have filled my vacancy in my parent’s house in Maine. The break was also filled with replacing some of my gear and clothes that were “gently used” throughout my travels in Oceania and Southeast Asia. Outside the occasional waking up at 3:00 a.m. and freaking out that I am sleeping in my old bedroom at my parents’ house, homeless and unemployed (clearly, that should be my intro if I ever join a dating site), it’s been a really productive month.
With the New Year approaching my plan was to begin traveling through South America for the entire year by motorcycle. In November that plan quickly changed (imagine that) when a fellow rider I had camped with four years ago in Death Valley National Park messaged me and stated that he and another rider were about to embark on a 1-month motorcycle journey through India, Pakistan, Nepal, Bhutan, and Bangladesh in February on Royal Enfield Himalayans. I wasn’t too impressed as I figured it would be some BS tour with a guide and not really count as a motorcycle adventure. He replied stating that was not the case and it was just the two of them. It took me about 15 minutes to reply stating that I was in. He promptly let me know that he wasn’t inviting me and was just discussing the trip with me. At any rate I invited myself and they seemed okay with that. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I am an absolute joy to be around.
This will surely be one of the more challenging adventures for me in quite some time. It really began to hit me while packing my gear in freezing cold Maine. Even though this nomadic lifestyle has been my life for the past eight years, there always is some anxiety that comes when the reality of the adventure begins to sink in. After India, per my usual I have no plan and must mentally prepare to face isolation yet again for an unknown amount of time. Of course, that is until I meet 100 new beautiful friends, which is sure to happen. Another issue I am concerned with is I sold my BMW GS1250 to my friend who was babysitting it and fell in love with the bike (that’s not hard to do as it’s a great motorcycle). Well, he sold it, and with it my helmet, jacket, etc. So, riding these countries with rental gear is something I am apprehensive about. Buying new gear really isn’t an option as once this trip is wrapped up there is still no definitive plan for my next location or activities. As in the past, I place that as a problem for “Future Mike Huber,” and he is pretty good at figuring these things out.
In the meantime, there are still a few weeks to kill prior to motorcycling India. I thought scuba diving Mexico would fill that void. Mexico will also serve as a solid way to ease back into traveling and rebuilding my confidence for what is sure to be an adventurous New Year with plenty of stories to come.
When I was in corporate America I loved hanging out with my team whenever I wasn’t out roaming around the world. Well, when I met this guy he had just gotten off the plane in Seattle and it was his first time in the United States. Knowing this, I directed another one of my team members to pick him up and bring him to Pike Market where we could get a few beers and I could fully christen him to our great country.
With the New Year approaching my plan was to begin traveling through South America for the entire year by motorcycle. In November that plan quickly changed (imagine that) when a fellow rider I had camped with four years ago in Death Valley National Park messaged me and stated that he and another rider were about to embark on a 1-month motorcycle journey through India, Pakistan, Nepal, Bhutan, and Bangladesh in February on Royal Enfield Himalayans. I wasn’t too impressed as I figured it would be some BS tour with a guide and not really count as a motorcycle adventure. He replied stating that was not the case and it was just the two of them. It took me about 15 minutes to reply stating that I was in. He promptly let me know that he wasn’t inviting me and was just discussing the trip with me. At any rate I invited myself and they seemed okay with that. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I am an absolute joy to be around.