Category: Motorcycle Adventure Ride

Riding the Dark Side: My Switch to Scooters

By Rob Morel

So at 66½ years old my health is not what it used to be. I’ve sold all my “nice” bikes and now ride two scooters, a 1985 Honda CH150 Elite around town and I just bought a 2008 Suzuki Burgman 400 for distance travel.

I had a hip replacement 2 years ago. That’s working really good now. Bone spurs on lower back made it very painful swinging a leg over to get on and off a regular motorcycle, plus just riding on a bike all day was not fun anymore with the dagger like pain in my neck and back, which I’ve had for years. I could just roll with it in younger days.  I can’t do that anymore.  I’ve had immense fun going on motorcycle camping trips in the Pacific Northwest, Canada, Baja, several National Parks, and more places with the two Joes (Gresh and Berk). All great memories.

A few months ago, a friend had a scooter he wanted to sell. The price was something I couldn’t walk away from. My friend told me $100 and you can come get it. The short story was it was stolen years ago, recovered, and then sat outside for years. The people that stole it tried to paint it black over the nice original red color. Being left out in the weather resulted in a lot of rust, and it gummed up every control that needed to be able to move. Leafcutter bees made homes in every nook and cranny. Under the plastic I found hordes of dead bugs and cobwebs. The brakes were not working due to the bugs and water had entered the drums and rusted them.

I figured if I could get it running without too much effort it would be worth tackling the other issues. I took the carb apart and cleaned it by soaking it in ultra sonic cleaner, and I poked little wires through the jets that were plugged solid with old gas. I added a new air cleaner and battery. To my surprise, it started and idled okay. Then I replaced the old tires with new ones, oiled the cables, took the switches apart and blew out the dead critters, and lubed them. The fuel tank looked like it came off the Exxon Valdez. It was all rusty inside. So I rinsed it several times and got chunks of rust to come out as well as the gas that had turned to turpentine. Just to make sure, I installed two inline fuel filters on the gas line. I also added a new fuel vacuum petcock. Basically, I just gave it the tender loving care it needed from years of neglect. Five hundred bucks later, I rode it around and got all the lights working. I next took the constant velocity transmission apart and cleaned it, lubed it, installed a new belt, and Bob’s your Uncle. It’s a fun little scoot that gets up to 55 mph.

After riding the scooter around I noticed my back wasn’t hurting like it used to. I think the sitting position and not having to spread my legs apart like on a regular motorcycle relieved the pain. Or maybe it was the potholes my city is famous for pounding on my spine that did the trick. I’m hoping the the scooter will carry me into my goldener years and I can keep riding.

I’m now familiar with the term “Rat Rod.” I named my scooter “Tetanus Shot.” Every time I look at it, I feel like I need a tetanus shot. So does everyone else, especially the Harley guys I park next to at our coffee shop. I park next to them on purpose.

With the comfort and fun of riding Tetanus Shot around, I figured that if I could sell my 2009 BMW F650GS (a great bike) and my little Chinese 400 thumper road bike, I would have the money to buy a maxi scooter. After the customary searching and reading all about the big boy scooters, I decided that a Suzuki Burgman 400 would be a good long distance scooter. I found one an hour away with 5200 miles. It was a 2008. I rode it and thought it would do all this old geezer needed. $3600 later, I rode it home.

It didn’t take long to get familiar with the Suzuki’s handling and power, which surprised me when I left the seller’s gravel driveway and the rear end broke loose from too much throttle on the gravel lane.

Accessories I installed to make comfier included heated grips, a 3D-printed throttle lock, a rear trunk for added storage, a cell phone holder, a GPS mount, and handlebar shields to keep bugs and stones from hitting my hands and cold weather riding. I added wiring for my heated jacket, a wind screen extension, and a Roto-Pak mount on the trunk for extended gas range. I took the rider’s seat back rest and made it taller to support my back better.

A few weeks ago, I wanted to take one more 4-5 day trip before the weather turned wet and cold. I loaded clothes, tools, extra gas, and the various other assorted things I take on bike trips, and pointed the Burgy towards Seattle.

1250 miles later I can say I really enjoyed riding the big Suzuki scooter. I had no problem running 75 to 80mph on Interstate 5 through Seattle’s rush hour traffic. Vibration was very minimal. Wind protection was good. I noticed the large wind screen would really wobble at speed and when cross winds hit it. The seating position was very comfortable and I could move and stretch my legs more than on a motorcycle.

One thing not as good as my motorcycles was not being able to stand up while going down the road to stretch my legs and cool the nether regions when it was hot. I could do it, but it was a very different sensation than a motorcycle.

My back was pain free while riding all day. My back would hurt and remind me after I stopped, but it is what it is .

My Suzuki’s fuel consumption was 55-65 mpg, which surprised me because at 70 mph the engine was turning around 7000 rpm. The Burgy’s 3.4-gallon fuel tank provides a 150 to 180 mile range, which is just right for a needed rest. My 1-gallon Roto-Pak for extended range was emptied several times.

The route was Walla Walla to Yakima, over Snoqualmie Pass into Seattle. I rode up Interstate 5 to Burlington to visit my best customer. Then it was north to Bellingham to see the Grizzly Machine tool store. Then we turned down to Seattle. I spent a night with a friend. I rode down Interstate 5 to Kelso, crossed the Columbia River, I next headed west to Astoria, and then it was down Oregon 101 to Lincoln City for the night. The next day I rode down to Newport, east to Albany, Oregon, then up Interstate 5 to the Columbia River Gorge, where I spent the night in a motel in Cascade Locks, Washington. In the morning I ran east on Highway 14 to Mary Hill Stonehedge, then over to Goldendale for lunch, then east to Bickleton and the Tri-Cities, and then back home to Walla Walla.  I enjoyed riding the Burgy. The scooter did everything I expected it to do. I’m hoping for many rides into the sunset on this scooter.

After being self-annoyed for 34+ years, I finally got my “walking papers.” I am shutting down my machine shop and plastic injection molding business. My best customer sent all the work I used to do for them to China and the shop I’ve rented since 1995 is up for sale, so I’m scooting on out of here.

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Bangkok Part 5: The Jim Thompson House and Museum

By Joe Berk

Today was another exciting day, and we visited another one of Bangkok’s best kept secrets.  Sue and I took a tuk tuk ride to the train station and we made our way on Bangkok’s elevated inner city railway system to our destination du jour:   The Jim Thompson House and Museum, located inside the city along a remote canal.  Tucked away, you might say.  And that’s entirely appropriate.  Read on and you’ll understand why.

Thai transport, tuk tuk style.
The view from the passenger compartment.
Getting around on Bangkok’s elevated railway was surprisingly easy. And that’s Mo Chit.
Waiting for our ride.
Inside the train.

The destination of our tuk tuk and train travel was the aforementioned Jim Thompson House and Museum.  You might wonder:  Who was Jim Thompson?

Jim Thompson, before he disappeared in the jungle forever.

Okay, here goes, and when I’m done giving you the Reader’s Digest version of this amazing tale, you tell me if isn’t something that might be the story line of the next Indiana Jones or James Bond adventure.

Jim Thompson was a young east coast guy born into wealth who went to Princeton University and became an architect.   He joined the Army just prior to World War II, he jumped out of airplanes while he was in the Army (I like this guy already), and he ended up in the Office of Strategic Services during the war (the OSS was the forerunner of the CIA).   Toward the end of the war, Thompson was stationed in Thailand where he found interesting and previously unknown (unknown outside of Thailand, that is) artisans doing amazing things with silk.  To make a long story a little less long, Thompson is the man who made Thai silk famous.  Seriously.   He designed silk clothing for royalty, elites all over the world, and folks in Hollywood (including the costumes used in the movie, The King and I).

Along the way and with his background as an architect, Mr. Thompson starting collecting classic Thai teak homes and Asian artifacts (like I said above, the guy had money).  He built a compound comprised of six teak homes he moved from ancient Thai cities to Bangkok, and there he built a compound that he made his home.  The big photo at the top of this blog is part of it.  It’s in Bangkok now, but when Thompson built it, it was well outside the city.  Bangkok expanded around it.

Then, to make this story even more interesting, in 1967 Jim Thompson disappeared in the Malaysian jungle without a trace.  I know, it sounds like a story line from a movie or one of those adventure novels you buy in an airport bookstore, but folks, no one can make up stuff this good.  A former US Army paratrooper/OSS officer/CIA agent turned wealthy silk magnate, complete with an ancient Thai compound on a canal in Bangkok who goes missing deep in the jungles of Malaysia.  What was it?  A tiger attack?  An assassination when former enemies finally caught up with him?   Or something else?   No one knows.  At least, no one who’s talking.

With that as the backdrop, here are a few more photos of the Jim Thompson House and Museum.

One of the exterior shots. The really good stuff was inside. I thought about trying to sneak a few photos, but then I remembered Thompson’s background and thought better of it.
Our guide, in an area where photos were allowed.
Hallway artifacts.
More stuff outside.
One last photo inside the Jim Thompson compound.

This was an amazing visit.   I would have liked to have taken more photos of the inside of the home and the amazing ancient Thai artifacts it held, but as I mentioned above, no photography was allowed inside. You’ll just have to take my word for it. This is one amazing place and one amazing story.  If you ever find yourself in Bangkok, seek out the Jim Thompson House and Museum.  Most people have never heard of it.  It’s one of the more fascinating places I’ve ever visited.

I took one more photo that day as Sue and I walked back to the train station.  It was a convex mirror at a tight street intersection, you know, the kind that lets drivers approaching from either way see what’s around the corner.  It called out for a selfie, and we answered that call.

Trust me on this: If you ever find yourself in Bangkok, the Jim Thompson House is a place that has to be on your “must see” list.

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Police Business: IACP 2023

By Joe Berk

The International Association of Chiefs of Police…it’s an organization most folks have never heard of, but it’s been around for 130 years.  My good buddy Mike is a member and he invited me along as his guest to the 2023 IACP convention (Mike and I have known each other since the 7th grade, and that means we’ve been friends for more than 60 years).  It’s the third or fourth time I’ve attended the IACP show, and it’s always great.  The IACP convention was in San Diego this year, and any time I have an opportunity to visit that beautiful town, I’m in.  Susie and I rolled south in the Subie; Mike had already flown in.  All kinds of companies have exhibits at the IACP convention, and many federal and state law enforcement agencies have displays.  The United States Secret Service was there and they had one of the presidential limos on display.  The photo at the top of this blog is yours truly reflected in the presidential limo’s deep black paint.

So who exhibits at the IACP?  All kinds of government organizations and all kinds of businesses.  Many of the exhibitors were software companies (including Microsoft) specializing in data base and other police applications.  There were several outfits advertising armor plating for people, automobiles, war wagons, and more.

Body armor in your choice of colors. I’d wear it, but it would make me look fat.
Impressive.  Bullet proof glass may become an optional accessory for civilians here in the Peoples Republik of Kalifornia.
Another bullet proof barrier supplier. Check out the photos below.
Here’s another bulletproof barrier company, with several of the cartridges its material can stop displayed.
A close-up photo of one of the cartridges.
The above door interior. None of the bullets made it through.

As you might expect, gun companies also display at the IACP convention.  The ones I saw this year included Glock (with the largest display), SIG Sauer, Beretta, and a few different AR manufacturers.  Surprisingly, Smith and Wesson wasn’t there (if they were, I missed them), nor was Colt (not many police departments carry Colt handguns these days).

Glock’s booth at the IACP convention. These guys had a lot of visitors. Glocks are popular and they are relatively inexpensive.

The Beretta and SIG booths were quiet.   There was a lot of activity at the Glock exhibit.  I spent some time at the Glock booth talking to one of their reps, and he was informative when I asked about using cast bullets in a Glock.  I’d previously heard that Glock advises against using cast bullets in their pistols, and I asked if that was true.  Glocks have barrels with polygonal rifling, and as such, there are no lands and grooves (there are just raised and lowered areas that twist along the barrel’s length).  The Glock rep explained to me that they do indeed recommend not using cast bullets, as the lead has nowhere to go when it accumulates in the bore.  When the barrels experiencing leading, it constricts the bore, and this raises pressures higher than what would be experienced in a conventionally-rifled pistol barrel.  He said if you clean the barrel often enough (so that leading does not accumulate), shooting cast lead bullets would probably be okay, but how many shots can be fired before this becomes a problem is too dicey a proposition for Glock to provide a number.  I also asked about copper plated (as opposed to jacketed) bullets, and the Glock rep told me that they advise against using those as well.   To me, it’s not a big deal, as I don’t own a Glock, I always clean my guns, and virtually every firearm manufacturer advises against shooting reloaded ammo anyway.  Eh, what do they know?  The only time I ever shoot factory (i.e., non-reloaded) ammo in my handguns is when I have to requalify for my concealed carry permit.

Glock pistols. I don’t follow Glock, so I don’t know what their different models are. The red and the blue guns are training guns.
SIG Sauer’s 226 X-5. This is an impressive handgun.

I saw the new SIG target model (the 226 X5) and I fell in love with it. Unfortunately, the X5 is not available to us here in the Peoples Republik of Kalifornia (it’s not on the California Department of Justice roster of approved handguns). The SIG X5 is expensive at $2219, but I’d buy one in a heartbeat if it was sold here. It fits like my hand like a glove and the trigger is superb. The grips are nice, too. The X5 has all steel construction, so it’s heavier than the standard 226 (which has an aluminum frame).  I sure wish it was available here.  On the plus side, SIG’s M18 is now available in California. It’s the Army’s new sidearm. It has a striker firing mechanism (there’s no hammer), so the trigger pull is not what I would call good (as is the case, in my opinion, with all striker-fired handguns). The M18 is about $700 and I am tempted.  I like SIG handguns.

There were taser manufacturers and firearms training simulator manufacturers at IACP, too.   The photos below show a taser virtual reality simulator.  You wear a headset that covers your eyes and hold a taser gun.  I think the company was Axon.  They had about 20 stations for people to try it.  The rep explained that you have to fire twice…once in a noncritical area and then again in another non-critical area.  When you do that on the simulated bad guy in the virtual reality headset, the bad guy goes down.  Sometimes you have to fire more than two times because your suspected felon doesn’t cooperate and keel over immediately.  You get about 15 runs against assorted bad guys, and I toasted every one of them.  Then there’s an officer needs assistance call where you roll up on a police officer having difficulty subduing a bad guy.  I fried that bad guy, too.  It was fun.

Virtual reality and a taser. It was awesome.
Me, in my VR world.

Another company, Sim Lab, had a target gallery with moving silhouette targets and your choice of either a SIG or a Glock (I went with the SIG).  I did pretty good on that one, too, and after I had toasted their bad guys the Sim Lab rep said I was a good shot.  That made this IACP convention one of the best ever for me.

The Sim Lab setup. I opted for the SIG M18. I may get a real M18 one of these days.

After I shot the Sim Lab course, the rep asked if I wanted a video.  Hey, does a man in the desert want water?  Does a California resident want gas prices below $5 a gallon.  “You bet,” I answered, and I fired the course again.  It was fun.  (Pro Tip:  The video looks better if you expand it to full screen.)

There were a couple of first aid equipment manufacturers at IACP 2023, and the exhibits were surprisingly lifelike.  And gruesome.  You couldn’t walk by their exhibits without looking (and taking a photo or two).

This young lady is having a bad day. She lost a leg, she lost a hand, and someone slit her throat.

There were several vehicles on display.  One was the Riverside County Sheriff’s command center.  It was awesome.  There were also armored vehicles.   They were really cool. And there were police motorcycles.

The Riverside County Sheriff’s Mobile Command Post. It is impressive.
An armored vehicle with a battering ram. Check out the gun port on the right door.
Good buddy Mike peeking through the gunport.

Harley and BMW were the only two police motorcycle suppliers in attendance (which is probably fitting, as they are the only two gasoline-powered motorcycle manufacturers selling to US police departments).  Mike and I both sat on the Harley.  Its weight (840 pounds) could only be described as oppressive.  I guess I’ve grown weaker in my old age.  I could barely get the thing off the side stand.   I’ve owned a couple of Harley full dressers.  No more, though.  For a lot of reasons, my Harley days are in the rearview mirror.

Mike on the police Harley. We both agreed: It’s a porker.

The Kawasaki KZ1000P, an iconic police motor if ever there was one, went out of production at least 20 years ago.   But there was a pristine one on display.  It was in a booth advertising communications equipment, and that company used it to showcase the early police comm equipment they used to manufacture.  The Kawasaki (although it was 20 years old) was immaculate, as it should be.  The odometer showed only 5 miles.  Mike and I were both impressed.  I would like to own this bike.

Yours truly with the no-longer-manufactured KZ1000P Kawasaki.
The real deal, with just 5.3 miles on the odometer.

There was a company displaying an artistic Lucite arrangement lit up.  It was interesting.  I can’t remember who the company was, so I guessed it bombed as an advertisement, but it was cool.  In the photo below, it shows Federal Signal.  I’m not sure what they do.  But if I ever needed a Lucite car bit of artwork, they would be my guys.

A Lucite car.

The United States Secret Service had what was probably the most interesting exhibit.  It was one of the President’s Chevy Suburbans, complete with the presidential insignia and flag.  I sat in the rear seat.  There were real Secret Service agents there and they were nice guys.  We joked with them a bit about taking care of Old Joe, because we sure didn’t want Kamala in the White House.  They tried not to laugh, but I sensed strong agreement.

Hail to the Chief! The window glass on this SUV is at least an inch thick.

Boston Dynamics was there with a couple of their robotic dogs.  You might have heard of Boston Dynamics.   They were featured on 60 Minutes (the television show) a couple of years ago.  The robotic dogs were cool.  There was a real police dog there, too.  It was not sure what to make of the robots.

One of the exhibits had a large table full of counterfeit $100 bill bundles.  This was another cool exhibit that I have no idea what they were selling.  But it was cool and it made for a couple of cool photos.

Money money money. I’m not sure what these guys were selling.
Thumbing through a stack of hundred dollar bills.

One of the great things about these kinds of conventions are the goodies.  Many of the exhibitors had bags (mine was from Blauer), and nearly all the booths had goodies.  I was a grownup playing trick or treat, and I didn’t even need to wear a costume.  Ordinarily, I don’t pick up much in the way of goodies at trade shows, but I have four grandchildren now and I was scooping it all up for them.  At least that’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.  I will tell you I won’t need to buy another pen for probably another 50 years.

The goodies bag. It was heavy by the end of the day. The grandkids will be pleased.

Mike and I had a super time wandering around in the IACP convention.  So much so, in fact, that we reached the end of the day without eating lunch (and for me, that’s unusual).  That was okay, because it made us look forward to dinner as we left the convention.  As always, the dining in San Diego was superior.  Whenever Sue and I visit another city, we don’t go to the touristy restaurants; we always search for the local favorites (and Sue does a stellar job in finding these).  Valero’s got the nod our first night in town; it’s a small, family run Italian restaurant, and it was excellent.  I had eggplant parmigiana, Sue had angel hair pasta with pesto sauce and mushrooms, and Mike had the pasta puttanesco.  I’d never heard of that last one and when Mike translated the name to English I didn’t believe him initially, but he was right.  I’ll have to try that one on our next visit.  And there will be a next visit.  Valero’s was outstanding.

Eggplant parmigiana that tasted as good as it looks.
Angel hair with pesto sauce and mushrooms. It was awesome, too.
Pasta puttanesca. It’s on the list for the next visit. Mike enjoyed it.

Our second night in town brought us to the Havana Grill, a Cuban restaurant not far from Old Town San Diego.  It, too, was a local favorite and it was excellent.

Picadillo, which is beef seasoned with onions, peppers, garlic, olives, and raisins. I had it for dinner and it was fantastic.

So there you have it:  A great visit with good buddy Mike, a super time at the International Association of Chiefs of Police Convention, and a great couple of days in San Diego.

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Bangkok Part 4: The floating market, good eats, and good friends

By Joe Berk

It was to be a busy day in Thailand starting with a long ride south out of Bangkok to the famous floating market, an awesome shrimp lunch after that visit, then back to Bangkok, and then dinner at a fabulous Italian restaurant with a couple of good friends (I know people everywhere).  Imagine that: Italian food in Bangkok (and it was good, too).

About the floating market near Bangkok: I’d first sort of heard of it way back in the early 1970s when I saw a James Bond movie and its chase scenes with those narrow Thai boats.  The Bond flick was The Man With The Golden Gun (if you’re reading this blog, my guess is you’ve seen all the Bond movies).  The movie showed the boats in Bangkok, not the floating market, but it planted a seed 50 years ago and I when I heard about the floating market on this visit, I wanted to see it.  Here’s that scene I remembered showing James Bond doing his secret agent stuff (with an appearance by Sheriff J.W. Pepper, ably played by the late Clifton James) on Bangkok’s waterways:

The floating market is about 100 miles south of Bangkok.  The concept is that there are shops on the canals in the delta where the Chao Phraya River meets the sea. The idea is you are on these long narrow boats and you float along, visiting shops.  In some places the vendors paddle out to visit you.   Every turn in the floating market was a photo op, and for me, the photo ops were the best part of our visit.   I took close to 400 photos in the space of a couple of hours.  All were with my D3300 Nikon and its 18-55mm kit lens.  That combo is a stellar travel photography approach.  The 18-55mm lens is not as sharp as a good prime lens, but it does a good job and it is versatile.

A typical scene in the floating market. It was very tranquil. In some places, it was also very crowded.
A happy coconut vendor.
Need a python? I have one. You can read about it here.
One of the long boat captains.
Imitation, the sincerest form of flattery.  Here, this young lady is imitating me photographing her.
Mango. It looked good.
Some folks make amazing photo subjects.
Some animals do, too. If you’re wondering what this guy is…it’s a pygmy slow loris, rare primates that live in bamboo forests in Southeast Asia.  They look friendly.

On the way back to Bangkok, our driver took us to a nondescript restaurant that didn’t look like much from the outside, but our driver knew where the good spots were.  We had shrimp fried rice for lunch, and it was delicious.  The freshness, the aroma, the taste…it was marvelous.   It was easily the best shrimp plate I’d ever had, and I’ve had some good ones.  I’m not supposed to eat rice and I’m not supposed to eat shrimp, but I’m glad I broke the rules for this meal.

A hidden gem…a Thai shrimp plate. I knew when I was enjoying it I’d probably never find this restaurant again. Maybe that added to the experience.

We returned to downtown Bangkok and I wandered around grabbing a few more photos.  I promised something related to motorcycles in every Bangkok blog.  Promises made; promises kept:

The Bangkok Moto GP. It’s at the head of every traffic line at every traffic stop.

Our plans for that evening included having dinner with our good friends Kevin and Nan at Rosseno’s Italian Cucina.  It was another five-star dining experience, a world-class Italian restaurant in the middle of downtown Bangkok.  It was only a couple of blocks from our hotel, so Sue and I walked there.

Rosseno’s Italian Cucina. It was superb. I had lasagna.
From left to right, it’s Nan, Kevin, Susie, and me.

During dinner, it started raining.  After dinner it was pouring.  It does that a lot in Bangkok.   Kevin and Nan had arrived on one of Kevin’s motorcycles.  I would have been concerned about the rain, but as folks who live in Bangkok, Kevin and Nan were not.  To them it was no big deal.

Nan put on her rain gear (Kevin did not) and they rode off into Bangkok traffic.

Bangkok is one of the world’s great cities.  It’s about the size of New York, and like most major cities in the world, it pretty much has everything you can imagine (including great Italian food).

Tomorrow’s adventure is going to be another Bangkok hidden treasure:  The Jim Thompson house.  Stay tuned.  You’ll enjoy it.

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Bangkok Part 3: Soi Cowboy

By Joe Berk

Another day, another Bangkok blog, and another famous Thai locale…Soi Cowboy.   Soi means street in Thai, so Soi Cowboy is Cowboy Street. It played a role in the movie Hangover II.   It’s amazing how many famous spots there are in this amazing town.  The guys in orange vests you see in the big photo above are motorcycle taxi dudes.  They take folks (mostly women) around Bangkok on the back of their bikes carving paths through traffic as if it wasn’t there.  It’s an amazing thing to see.

Soi Cowboy is a street that is pretty dead during the day.  When the sun sets, though, Soi Cowboy comes alive.   There are street vendors selling food from their carts.   The clubs come to life.  And the B-girls start doing their thing.  As an older married guy, it all seems pretty silly.  Sue was mortified.  But it is what it is, and I’m going to show you just a little bit of it here.

One of the many food carts on the street in front of the clubs on Soi Cowboy.
Another food cart.  I had the Nikon on its “auto ISO” setting, which basically means it runs the ISO up as high as it thinks it needs to be to get a good shot.  Some of these photos were at ISO 12,800.
More Thai food. I didn’t work up enough courage to try eating off these street vendors, but I’ll bet the food was good.

The clubs are bars with entertainment.  Most of the entertainers are young Thai women.  Most of the entertainees are older western guys.  It’s pretty sad, actually, and I imagine it’s a pretty rough life for the girls.

A snap shot in front of one of the clubs.
Another club shot.

As always, motorcycles and motor scooters were everywhere.

Bikes lined up just off Soi Cowboy last night.
And finally, a look down Asoke (that’s the street name) from a pedestrian overpass.

So that’s it for this post from Thailand.   Watch for scenes from the floating market tomorrow.

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Bangkok Part 2: The Wat Pho Temple

By Joe Berk

On our next day in Bangkok, Sue and I visited the Wat Pho Buddhist Temple.  There are numerous Buddhist temples in this fine city, and on this (my third trip to Bangkok), the nod went to Wat Pho.  The colors and the views were stunning, and my 8mm inexpensive Rokinon wide angle manual everything lens earned its pay yet again.  I think it would be hard to find a Buddhist temple in Bangkok that was not impressive.

Wat Pho is one of Bangkok’s oldest temples, and it is one of six temples considered to be of the highest grade Buddhist temples in Bangkok.  It is a royal temple.

Wat Pho has the famous reclining Buddha, which is 15 meters high and 46 meters long. It is one of the largest statues of Buddha in Thailand.
Colors abound at Wat Pho. It is a photographer’s delight.
Buddha images inside the temple.
A colorful tapestry inside the Wat Pho temple.

We later walked around town a bit, including a visit to the infamous Soi Cowboy area (it’s right around the corner from our hotel).  I will post a few evening Soi Cowboy photos in a later blog.

Thailand is two-wheeler territory.  Motorcycles and scooters are everywhere.   There’s more to come on this topic, so stay tuned.

I said I would try to get something motorcycle-related in each of these blogs, and here’s the photo for this one: A Sukhumvit Street stoplight at night, with all the motorcycles and scooters filtered to the head of the line.

Later, folks.  Ride safe.

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Adventures on Borrowed Time

By Joe Berk

I guess a good way to start a blog is to grab the reader’s attention, and I can do that here:  How many people do you know who ride a Panther?

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog about Nick Adams, an interesting man, fellow motojournalist, and author.  Nick is about the same age as me and he enjoys exploring the world on his different motorcycles.  In other words, he is our kind of guy.

Nick Adams and his trusty Moto Guzzi.

In my prior blog about Mr. Adams, I mentioned that I planned to purchase one of his books.  I did, and a few days after ordering Adventures on Borrowed Time, it arrived.

Adventures on Borrowed Time is well written and well organized.  It’s 191 pages long and it has lots of pictures.  Nick’s writing style is conversational and easy to follow (it feels more like listening to a good friend’s stories than reading).   The first chapter is about Nick’s ’72 Guzzi Eldorado (the one you see in the photos above).  The following chapters take you through Canada, mostly on gravel roads, in good weather and bad.  There are instances in which Nick’s Guzzi didn’t feel like starting, and Nick takes us through the steps he took to coax the old V-twin back to life.  There are parts where Nick switches to his ’86 Suzuki Cavalcade (Suzuki’s attempt to cash in the Gold Wing craze), that monster of a bike’s surprisingly good handling, and the repairs Nick made to it.  Parts of Adventures on Borrowed Time describe exploring Canada on Nick’s 650cc Suzuki Burgman scooter.   And then, returning to my attention grabber at the start of this blog, Adventures on Borrowed Time describes Nick riding Canada on his 62-year-old Panther.

Never heard of the Panther?  Don’t feel bad.  The Panther is a 600cc single English bike made from 1900 to 1968, and most folks have never heard of it.  They are fairly primitive, I think.  I say “I think” because I’ve never even seen a Panther.  And here’s Nick, describing what it’s like to take major trips through Canada on one.  A long-distance moto adventure ride through the Canadian wilderness on a 62-year-old British motorcycle…what could go wrong?

The writing is superb, the photos are great, and the character development all make Adventures on Borrowed Time a book you need to read (the characters being Nick, his wife, the people he meets, and the bikes).   You can purchase your copy of Adventures on Borrowed Time here.  Trust me on this:  You’ll enjoy it.  You can thank me later.

My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part IV

By Bobbie Surber

A quick recap: In Part One, I kicked off this solo motorcycle journey on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly christened Tippi. As I bid farewell to Sedona, the road promised a majestic odyssey. From the winding bends of the Colorado River to the breathtaking grandeur of Lees Ferry, Marble Canyon, Jacobs Lake, North Grand Canyon National Park, and Zion National Park, each mile etched indelible memories on my soul.   Part Two unveiled the treasures of Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Great Basin National Parks, along with the legendary Loneliest Highway in America, Highway 50. The roads led me to Lake Tahoe, where I encountered unique wonders and overcame challenges that enriched my adventure.  In Part Three, I entered the landscapes of Yosemite, Kings Canyon, Sequoia, and Lassen Volcanic National Parks. I visited the town of Bigfoot and the Lost Coast. Amidst these joys, there was a bittersweet encounter with my boyfriend, Mike, marking the end of a significant chapter in my life.  Now, let’s continue the ride through northern California and the Oregon coast.

In the embrace of an early summer morning, I stood alone, a solitary figure beside my trusted motorcycle, Tippi. The sun painted the horizon in hues of gold and pink, casting a spell of serenity. This was the moment of bidding farewell to Greg, a friend whose hospitality touched my soul.  The road stretched before me, an endless promise. As I eased Tippi out of Greg’s driveway, it felt as if the entire world held its breath, echoing the emotions that propelled me into this adventure. This journey, forged from the ashes of heartbreak and kindled by an insatiable wanderlust, was poised to unfold a voyage of self-discovery and emotional renewal.

Just the night before, I had embraced a decision steeped in emotional turbulence — a poignant farewell to my boyfriend, Mike. It was a decision marinated in profound sadness and the weight of loss. Despite the heaviness in my heart, I clung to the belief that the open road cradled an undiscovered trove of experiences, encounters, and life lessons. Each mile seemed to hold the promise of a fresh beginning, and as I departed McKinleyville, California on that Sunday morning, the marine mist hung in the air like a wispy veil.  It created a backdrop to my reflections on the past and the enigma of the future. The chill in the air mirrored the swirling mix of emotions within me, signifying the dawn of a new chapter in my solitary adventure.

Surrounded by towering redwoods and glimpsing fleeting vistas of the boundless Pacific Ocean as the last remnants of marine fog dissipated, the morning unfurled in all the splendor I yearned for. We journeyed up the coast, passing through the awe-inspiring realm of Redwood National Park. This marked my tenth rendezvous with a national park in just a month of travel. Each park visit hammered home the vital importance of preserving our public lands, and standing amidst these colossal arboreal titans served as a perpetual reminder of their awe-inspiring grandeur.

Reluctantly, I bid adieu to the towering redwoods as Highway 101 gently steered me slightly inland, ushering me towards Elk Meadow. Here, nature unfolded a spectacle that stole my breath — an assembly of elk, the largest gathering I had ever witnessed. I yielded to the irresistible urge to halt and pay homage to their beauty, immortalizing the moment through the lens of my camera.

After our parting with the majestic elk, I made a brief sojourn in Crescent City, a pause to refuel Tippi and replenish my spirits with a cup of coffee. It was in this picturesque spot that I stumbled upon kindred spirits — two gentlemen on Ducati motorcycles. We shared a common destiny: Canada. While a twinge of envy for their sleek machines grazed my heart, I cherished the chance to engage in a brief yet warm-hearted conversation with fellow travelers.

With renewed zeal, Tippi and I resumed our journey on Highway 101, eager to cross into Oregon, the fifth state to embrace our adventure. We traversed familiar terrain, including the enchanting Harris Beach State Park and Whaleshead Beach in Brookings. While my original goal was Bandon, the unyielding coastal winds encouraged me to pursue the unknown paths that Oregon had hidden.

Coos Bay welcomed us with an uproarious windstorm, a tempestuous force of nature that consistently left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. After a hasty search on Rec.gov, I secured a campsite on the north side of Coos Bay. However, our path to the campground presented a challenge—an encounter with a bridge at the northern edge. Anxiety surged within me as a flashing warning sign taunted me with its “High Wind Alert” and “Overturned Vehicle” messages.

I wish I could recount the crossing of that bridge with calm and composure, but the truth was far from it. My grip on the handlebars was vice-like, my white knuckles bearing testimony to my sheer terror. My aversion to fierce winds reached its zenith, and adrenaline coursed through my veins as I navigated to the other side. Upon reaching the campground, my heart sank as I discovered an RV occupying the very spot I had reserved. The encounter with the RV owner left me frustrated and disheartened, an unfortunate epilogue to the nerve-wracking bridge escapade.

Thankfully, a benevolent camp host emerged as my savior, guiding me to an alternative sanctuary shielded from the relentless wind. After a modest dinner, I indulged in a generous pour of Irish whiskey, surrendering to the soothing embrace of slumber, grateful for the tranquility of the night.

As the sun greeted me with a gentle caress, I found myself back in the saddle on Tippi. An early morning ride past Florence unfolded, each curve of the road a thrilling waltz with the remnants of marine fog. This was my sanctuary — a joyful communion with the open road and splendid vistas without a hint of traffic. All too soon, Tippi beckoned me onwards, leading to Yachats, Oregon, a captivating seaside village promising both coffee and a well-deserved breakfast.

On a whim, I reached out to an old friend from Sedona, Elaine, her presence a comforting tether to the past. Hoping she and her gracious husband could join me for an impromptu cup of coffee, I was delighted when they not only accepted my invitation but also extended a generous offer for me to spend the night. It was the 4th of July, and their cottage, adorned with breathtaking views of the bay, surpassed all expectations.

I soon found myself immersed in the heartwarming tapestry of small-town America, a 4th of July parade, and savoring dinner with their friends by the bay (a diverse ensemble of souls who graciously embraced me). The day culminated in a spectacular sunset and an awe-inspiring fireworks extravaganza over the ocean (as you can see in the photo at the top of this blog).

Early the following morning, as I reassured my friends of my competence on a substantial bike, I negotiated their lengthy gravel driveway. But I inadvertently tipped Tippi over. My pride was slightly bruised, but with concerted effort, we righted Tippi, and my journey continued. The weather was perfect as the road led me along the rest of the Oregon coast, passing through my beloved coastal havens like Cannon Beach and Surf Pines before culminating in Astoria.

My journey reached a momentous juncture as I approached the Astoria-Megler Bridge, an imposing truss bridge spanning an astonishing 4.6 miles, suspended 192 feet above the majestic Columbia River. This crossing marked my entry into Washington State, and contrary to the daunting tales of ferocious winds, I was pleasantly greeted by a smooth and rewarding journey. I took a moment to document my arrival in my sixth state in just over five weeks on the road. With newfound enthusiasm, I revved up Tippi and continued my pilgrimage to the charming village of Westport, Washington, where my family eagerly awaited my arrival.

What an extraordinary adventure it has been, with the promise of even more to come. Along the way, I have cast aside heartache, embraced the highs and lows of the road, and found solace in the arms of independence, the kind of independence that comes from conquering challenges that nudge us beyond our comfort zones. I wholeheartedly embrace my addiction to solo motorcycle travel, cherishing the serendipitous encounters with strangers who become cherished friends, and savoring the freedom of the open road.

Stay tuned for the forthcoming chapter, where I will unveil my family adventures in Washington and the epic odyssey through Canada. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to you for joining me on this narrative journey. Your comments, suggestions, and unwavering support are a source of immense inspiration. Until then, whether you embark on a bike, in a car, on a bicycle, or simply with your own two feet, I implore you to heed the call of your own epic adventure. Safe travels, fellow adventurers!

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part III

By Bobbie Surber

My solo motorcycle journey of joy from Sedona, Arizona, to Canada continues.  This is an epic journey and it holds a special place in my heart. I can revisit fleeting moments of pure joy, rekindle the emotions, and extract lessons learned along the way. As a woman riding solo, I am part of a remarkable and tight-knit sisterhood that inspires me, challenges me, and provides me with extraordinary kinship. With their spirit in mind, I’m excited to dive into the next chapter of my unforgettable summer ride.

In Part I, I embarked on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, affectionately named Tippi, leaving Sedona behind. Our journey took us through landscapes of the Colorado River, Lees Ferry, Marble Canyon, Jacobs Lake, North Grand Canyon National Park, and Zion National Park. It was a breathtaking start to an indelible adventure.

Part II chronicled our exploration of Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Great Basin as well as Highway 50 (the Loneliest Highway in America) and our arrival in Lake Tahoe. Each destination brought its own magic and challenges, enriching the tapestry of this incredible journey.  Leaving Lake Tahoe after a full week of exploration was bittersweet. I savored every moment but the open road called, promising new horizons and cherished old favorites. This part of my journey led me to Roseville, California, where I had to part ways with Tippi temporarily for a well-deserved tune-up and a new chain. Joining forces with a fellow rider and friend Mike (whose BMW was waiting for a harness from Germany), we hatched a plan over drinks and a shared meal. Our first destination: Majestic Yosemite National Park.

We took a brief detour to pick up another adventurous soul, Dan, who would follow us as we made our way to a campsite outside the park. While the campsite may not have been the most scenic, the camaraderie more than compensated for it.  We enjoyed a hearty campfire dinner, and Dan and Mike one-upped each other with travel tales of daring escapades. It was a night filled with laughter.

The following morning marked our entry into Yosemite National Park. For me, it held a special significance. It was here that I had embarked on my solo hike along the John Muir Trail, starting from this very valley floor. The memories flooded back, stirring emotions and a sense of longing that I can’t put into words.

We secured a campsite within the park and spent two days immersing ourselves in Yosemite. We hiked amidst the awe-inspiring vistas, capturing the record-breaking snow melt that transformed the waterfalls into powerful cascades painted by breathtaking sunsets. As if retracing my steps, I followed a small section of the John Muir Trail, a nostalgic journey that filled me with joy. Those two magical days, spent with my riding buddies, nourished my soul and dispelled the occasional loneliness that accompanies solo motorcycle adventures. The camaraderie and shared experiences reminded me of the beauty of both solitary and shared journeys.

With a fond farewell to our friend Dan, we resumed our journey, eager to immerse ourselves in the natural wonders of Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. Nestled within the Sierra Nevada, this region is a testament to Mother Nature’s diversity—flaunting thickly forested mountains in the north and the awe-inspiring austerity of the south, adorned with numerous 12-thousand-plus-foot granite passes. Each pass unveiled mesmerizing views of ancient tarns and the vast valley floor, a breathtaking vista to behold.

Walking among the giant Sequoias shrouded in mist left an indelible mark on our souls. It was a humbling and awe-inspiring, a stark reminder of the profound importance of our National Parks. They are not merely places of natural beauty; they are sacred sanctuaries that merit steadfast dedication and protection.

Leaving the majestic Sierras behind, we set our course for Roseville, where I was joyfully reunited with my beloved Tippi. After proper cleaning and the installation of a new chain, I mounted Tippi and instantly felt the familiar embrace of returning home as we navigated through the city. Our next destination was my ninth National Park on this epic journey: Lassen Volcanic National Park, a place I had never explored before.  It’s the photo you see at the top of this blog.

Battling the sweltering heat, I was eager to escape the valley floor and ascend once more into the cool embrace of the mountains. Not even the looming threat of rain could diminish my excitement. Mike, still patiently traveling by car and awaiting his parts from Germany, made the most of vehicle camping.  We embarked on an exploration of this new park, from leisurely walks around the serene lakes to gazing upon the painted desert from the viewpoint of an 800-foot-high cinder mountain. Two days sped by, leaving us reluctantly parting ways as we set our course for Bigfoot Country!

After a long day’s ride, we arrived in Redding, California, and were greeted by the majestic sight of Shasta Lake, with Mount Shasta occasionally revealing her beauty through the clouds. Continuing our journey, we soon reached our night’s destination, Willow Creek. This quaint town is adorned with numerous signs and wood carvings of Bigfoot, famously known for a rare sighting of the mythical creature. Adding to the allure, Highway 299 proved to be an underrated gem, offering exhilarating stretches of mountains and tight, winding roads, although the return of record-breaking temperatures reminded us of the heat.

Despite a warm night of camping, the anticipation of exploration tugged at our hearts, leading us to visit our friend Greg in McKinleyville, California. Leaving the majestic mountains behind for the refreshing embrace of the Pacific Ocean, I was up early and invigorated, eager to hit the beach!

Our long-awaited visit to the Lost Coast was the next thrilling chapter in our journey. Traveling through the towering giants of the redwoods and then navigating the winding, narrow roads flanked by quaint ranches and farms we finally arrived at our destination. Securing one of the thirteen coveted camp spots nestled against the picturesque sand dunes felt like a small victory. The beach, with its wild and rugged beauty, was a sight to behold. Our joy was multiplied when we invited an adventure rider from Croatia who had no place to camp to join us. We met two hikers planning to embark on the famous Lost Coast Trail the following day. With our newfound temporary traveling family, we combined our meager food supplies, beer, and the last of my Irish whiskey to set the mood for another unforgettable night of sharing grand tales beneath the starlit sky.

The following morning, we returned to visit Greg and his girlfriend K, soaking in his warm hospitality and exploring a delightful local wine-tasting room. The lazy Sunday was bathed in the glow of friendship as I leisurely embraced the day. That evening, I bid a heartfelt farewell to Mike for the last time. Our 4.5 years of shared adventures had gifted us with countless stories and unforgettable moments. With a heavy heart I knew I would miss our adventures together. The next morning found me back on Tippi’s saddle; after a fond goodbye to a casual friend who I knew would become a lifelong friend, I pulled out of Greg’s driveway and embarked on the northern coast journey along the famous Hwy 101.

I knew the days ahead would be filled with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean as I ventured into Oregon easing the bittersweetness of a wounded heart, but also an opportunity for reflection, healing, and embracing the boundless possibilities that lie ahead. I was on my bike heading wherever my heart desired and I planned on embracing each moment of my onward solo journey north.

Solo traveling is where my heart finds its purest joy, and venturing forth with my steadfast companion Tippi elevates this experience to unparalleled heights. While the presence of a cherished companion adds a unique dimension to our journey, the profound beauty of solo exploration lies in its ability to unveil the depths of our own capabilities. It’s about embracing the allure of the unknown and relishing the boundless possibilities of tomorrow.

As I eagerly dive into the upcoming chapters of my journey in Part IV, I promise to infuse these tales with the rich tapestry of emotions that solo travel and the open road have given me. I’ll unveil more stories of Oregon and Washington, and who knows, I might even tantalize your sense of adventure with a glimpse of enchanting Canada. The adventure continues, the road beckons, and the world awaits with open arms, ready to share its secrets and wonders with a wandering soul.

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A Clever Cup of Joe, Japanese Style

By Joe Berk

Here at ExNotes, we cover a lot of topics:  Motorcycles, motorcycle touring, product reviews, concrete, guns, reloading, and more.   And coffee.  The thought occurs to me we’ve written a lot about coffee, from the primo Batdorf and Bronson beans provided by good buddy Ren to just about everything else.   About now, you might be wondering:  Where is this blog going?

Well, I was recently in Tokyo.  I gave a class in Singapore and Sue and I thought as long as we had invested the 20+ hours to get there, we might as well stop in Japan on the way home (neither of us had ever visited Japan before). I’ll post a blog or two about the land of the rising sun in the coming days, but for now I wanted to talk about making coffee in our Tokyo hotel room.  On these Asian trips, I’m usually up by 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. (there’s a 16 hour time difference between Japan and LA, and my biological clock doesn’t handle it well).  They don’t serve coffee in the hotel lobbies over here, so you either make coffee in your hotel room or you don’t have coffee.  For me, not having coffee has never been an option.

If you’ve read Riding China, you know that Gresh and I became experts at making coffee at places in China so remote they had to pipe in water and air.  Our coffee was always prepared using instant Nescafe, which is almost a crime against nature for folks who enjoy a good cuppa Joe.  Nescafe reminds me of that old engineering saying:  Halitosis is better than no breath at all.  But when it comes to making coffee in a hotel room, the Japanese had a better idea.   It took me a while to dope it out and I finally had to read the instructions to do so.  When I did, I realized:  Clever people, these Japanese are.  Take a look.

The water heater for making coffee. I thought the coffee bag would to into the white gizmo below the lid. I was trying to find a way to open it up. When I spotted the Phillips head screws securing it to the lid and I thought I needed a screwdriver, I realized I was on the wrong track.  There are no English instructions anywhere on this pot.
The bag of coffee. How the hell does it fit into the coffee pot?
Ah, the flip side. No instructions in English, but there are pictures. I panicked initially when I couldn’t find the holding fixture the pictures show.
Could it be? A cardboard fixture built into the coffee bag?
Ah, these people are very, very clever. You heat the water in the pot, mount the coffee bag with its included cardboard mounting fixture in your cup, and pour the hot water over the coffee.
It’s genius. Pure genius.
And it was a damn fine cup of coffee, too!

Gresh and I sure could have used this when we rode across China.  Next time, I guess, if I can find a place to buy these coffee bags.  And you know what?  As soon as I wrote that last line, I remembered:  Amazon is your friend.  I did a search on drip bag coffee, and wow, here they are!

I couldn’t let a story about coffee get by without a commercial or two…the first one being for our book, A Cup O’ Joes.  Have you picked up a copy yet?

And the second commercial…how about Riding China, from which you can learn all about how two die-hard coffee drinkers struggled across the Gobi Desert, the Tibetan Plateau, and more in China, the land where people don’t drink coffee?

Never let a blog get away: