Motorcycle Adventure Ride – Page 2 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Returning to Vietnam – Ha Giang Loop: Part 2

By Mike Huber

I awoke in Ha Giang prepared for an early start. This would be my first day on the Ha Giang Loop. After a quick breakfast (see the photo above) and some coffee, I was packed and ready to ride.

I knew the roads could get busy, so I made it a point to have everything packed up. This would allow me to wrap up riding by 3:00 p.m., so I could explore whatever city or village I would be staying in that afternoon. Tigit Rental had printed out the route they preferred and my plan was to stick to it.

My kickstand was up just after 07:30 and I was off. It was about 07:40 when my kickstand went back down. I had been pulled over by the Vietnamese police. I wasn’t speeding (I never am, right?). It was a routine license check. I quickly pulled out my IDP (International Driving Permit) and handed it to them. Tigit Rental had warned me that my IDP was not valid in Vietnam. It literally goes back to some clause Vietnam refused to sign in 1949.

Tigit Rental had also warned me to keep a certain amount of currency separate to pay the “fee” to the police. That was where my ADD kicked in and I had forgotten the amount. Utilizing Google Translate and handing my phone back and forth, I now had three officers around me. One officer said it was 8 million Dong (about 256USD). I didn’t have that amount with me. I explained that to them and that a trip to an ATM was required and I would return with the payment for the “fee.” I was forced to either surrender my passport (which was not happening) or leave my bag.

As I ran the money conversion in my head, I realized the amount was not good. What’s worse is it took visits to three banks to find one that took my card (and that would allow that amount to be withdrawn). I also had forgotten to pay myself that month, so my bank account was now pretty close to zero after my previous numerous withdrawals. I was getting a bit flustered as I finally got all 8 million Dong and was ready to head back to the checkpoint, pay them, get my backpack, and depart. That was when I realized I had forgotten where the checkpoint even was located. I had been turned around so many ways in hunting down banks I was fully disoriented. The only thing I could think of doing was returning to the starting point, my hotel, and just re-riding my path from that morning.

That worked out and I finally made my way back to the checkpoint. The officer than asked why it took me so long and I know I typed something to the effect “I’m not that smart” into the translator. He then ushered me over to a van and in the passenger front seat opened a briefcase full of cash.

Looking back, this entire experience is a “what NOT to do” outline for these types of situations. I get it, and I fully deserve any bashing I get because I was beyond dumb here. I managed to get ever more stupid.

I thought taking my phone out to take a photo of the briefcase full of cash would be a great addition to this story, which I knew I would write eventually. As I angled my phone, another officer behind me grabbed it. This was not good. He spent five minutes reviewing every piece of data and photo in my phone searching for the photo that I never managed to take, and all the while I kept repeating “no photo.” He finally returned my phone.

I unknowingly overpaid the Vietnamese police about 150USD ((2 to 3 million Dong is the going rate; I had paid 8 million). I was almost arrested due to my own stupidity. There was just one final step to take before I could go on my way: A photo of myself and my motorcycle. This photo was uploaded to what I will describe as a massive group text chat for future altercations with the police that would prove I had paid my “entry fee.”

It was now close to 10:00 a.m. My early start was shot. I threw my leg over the Honda and fired it up. Feeling relieved I wasn’t going to jail, there was still plenty of daylight to salvage my slow and difficult start. Sadly, that relief was short lived. In just under 30 minutes, I found myself sitting in front of a judge and more police.

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Scenic Byway 163 (Arizona to Utah): Part 2

By Mike Huber

As I left the gas station in Mexican Hat the sky was looking extremely menacing. I knew that camping in a lower elevation in the Valley of the Gods may not have been the best idea, due to possible flooding. The roads can get really slick with rain. There was a great state park just a few miles away. In fact, it is such a great place to camp I was hesitant to name it here, but it is Gooseneck State Park. There are about 20 campsites there which are on the edge of a 1,000 foot drop into what looks exactly like Horseshoe Bend. This park would suffice for my home for the evening, although in hindsight I should have gotten a hotel. But then there wouldn’t be a story.

I pulled into Gooseneck State Park and set my tent up. The sky was black. It really looked menacing, and I was quite sure it wouldn’t be a dry night. After setting up my tent I did my usual walk around the park and talked with other campers. I began chatting up some other riders and invited them over for a beer and to share my fire. Within five minutes of talking to them one replied to me as he pointed to the sky. “Yeah, you may need all those beers for yourself, and there is no way we are having a fire. Good luck.”

A few minutes later I found myself in my tent alone drinking my beers as the sky opened up. This was not good. As the rains continued to pelt down the winds picked up. Within two beers the ground became so soaked that my tent stakes had uprooted in the now mud puddle I was camped in. The tent was being blown all over just making loud cracking noises like a whip. Fortunately, I had brought my panniers inside and positioned them at diagonal corners of the tent in an attempt to keep the tent somewhat grounded. Unfortunately, the winds had grown so strong that my entrance zipper was ripped apart.

I felt like this was as bad as it would get. Sadly, I was mistaken as a strong gust got under the tent and threw my pannier across the tent and in doing so the floor of my tent was ripped apart. I managed to get a little bit of sleep that evening but not much. In the morning as I awoke at 5:00 a.m., I noticed my tent had a couple inches of water in it. It resembled a kiddie pool. Everything I owned was soaked.

By 05:30 I had everything packed up and I was ready to find a coffee shop to dry out in. My plan for that day was to meet one of my 82^nd Airborne friends in Cortez, Colorado for lunch. Even though I had an early start I showed up late, due to trying to dry my gear out. When asked why I was late I simply replied I had to hit a hardware store for duct tape. He then looked me up and down as I was covered in mud and even my 82^nd Airborne hat was destroyed from the previous night. “What the fuck happened to you?” he asked as he took in my appearance. I ordered a beer and began to tell him of my adventure. Even though I had a rough night, Scenic Byway 163 is still one of the greatest roads in the United States.

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Scenic Byway 163 (Arizona to Utah): Part 1

By Mike Huber

Arizona Highway 163 is one of the most iconic roads in the United States. This is the road through Monument Valley. From Easy Rider to Forest Gump to numerous westerns, when you ride this road you are in a magical place (especially on a motorcycle). It’s a big reason why I chose it as the cover for my book (and that’s cheap plug for A Trip Into The Moment). I’ve ridden Highway 163 many times on my BMW GS1200. Most times it was uneventful, but as with most things in life, as soon as you relax and feel comfortable Mother Nature will find a way to remind you exactly how small you are.

One of my last trips on Highway 163, I stopped in Kayenta to fuel up and reload on water. It was late September, and the weather was perfect. I had a 45-mile drive to Mexican Hat, where I would grab firewood and camp in the Valley of the Gods. I never listen to music but felt The Band’s song, The Weight, was warranted to just set the tone and add more color to this final stretch. I was the Easy Rider!

As I tore out of Kayenta everything was just coming together perfectly. This was to be the coolest ride I’d ever done. With the music screaming throughout my helmet I eased into the moment and just embraced it. That was until I looked to the left and saw a sheet of brown coming at me. It was a sandstorm. Without missing a beat I pulled in my clutch, clicked down two gears and took off. I had about 30 miles to go and felt confident I could make it to safety in Mexican Hat. Safety would only be a gas station awning, but that would be enough to protect me from the stinging sands.

I made it as the sandstorm changed direction and went due south; however, I wasn’t out of the woods yet as a downpour began. I loaded up on a few snacks and water, and was waiting the storm out when a Harley rumbled up to join me under the awning. The two-up Harley riders had just come down Moki Dugway and were soaked and shaken. Fair enough. Even on my BMW GS1200 I would not want to attempt that, especially going down those hairpin dirt roads with no guardrails and nothing but a sheer vertical drop if you were to slide. It’s very unforgiving.

We chatted for the better part of an hour on our riding experience as the rain came down around us. When asked how long I was out riding, the guy almost fell off his bike with my reply: I think I have been out for four years or so. As the rain let up, we said our farewells. They went south and I went west toward Valley of the Gods to set up camp.

I think the best part about this story is a year later learning how small the world actually is. I had been helping a friend who I didn’t know too well navigate working remotely. I gave him a lot of ideas and tips and offered to assist if he needed anything else. I hadn’t heard from him for almost two years when I received an email. He had been hiking in Colorado and sat on an overlook to take in the views when a couple joined him and they began chatting about life and travel (the usual overlook conversations). The conversation then turned to people they had met and the couple mentioned this long-haired guy on a BMW with a stuffed animal they had met on Highway 163. My friend replied that he knew me; he had helped me get off the ground working remotely. They all had a good laugh and continued their hikes. These coincidences in meeting others who had met me probably could be its own blog, but I felt this story fits nicely here.

Returning now to that beautiful September day: Upon leaving the gas station in Mexican Hat the sky began to darken yet again. A new adjustment had to be made to avoid another storm. This one looked worse than both the sandstorm and the thunderstorm I had dodged. I was pretty confident my luck had run out in terms of staying dry at this point. Being familiar with the area there I knew there was one alternative that could protect me from the storm, but would I make it before the sky opened up?

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The Road to Pai, Thailand

By Mike Huber

After spending a couple months freezing in Nepal I was more than ready for a restful month (or three, as it turned out). I was craving warmth, a steak, and some scuba diving, and southern Thailand quenched my thirst for all three.

After a month or two in southern Thailand spending the days scuba diving and embracing the sun it was time to head north. The previous year when I was in Chaing Mai I got sick off eating elephant poop, not intentionally but it had me leashed to a toilet for four or five days and ruined my entire itinerary. It was now time to return to Chaing Mai and steer clear of the elephants.

Everywhere in Thailand there are a ton of Temples to visit and northern Thailand was no different. After a few tours and meeting a ton of new friends the road to Pai kept coming up as one of the best roads to motorcycle in Asia. I located a rental shop in Chaing Mai and rented a bike for seven days. This was a rather long time as the road to Pai roundtrip only took two or three days. I figured with the added days I may do a layover day somewhere and just blast around the northern tip of Thailand to some less frequented parts of the country and have some shorter days on the bike.

My trip to Pai ended up being delayed two days as there was a massive monsoon that blew through and needless to say it wasn’t good riding weather. Once the storm cleared I left on a Honda 500cc motorcycle ready to tear these roads up. Although it rained usually once a day at one time or another it was tolerable and outside some wet roads my first few days were going well. The roads were incredible and it was quite similar to motorcycling in Vermont, outside of driving on the left hand side of the road. There were beautiful twisties and colorful canopies of vegetation that provided a kaleidoscope of colors when the sun made it through the foliage.

As I stated most the times the roads were wet and I adjusted my speed with the ever-changing road conditions. What I didn’t factor in was an oil spill on one of the corners as I approached Pai. All I remember is “boy that slid out from under me really smoothly” and the next moment I was floating through the air. Prior to being a paratrooper is I am very proficient at playing patty cake with the earth. I executed the perfect PLF (parachute landing fall) and as I slid down the road after that execution I couldn’t stop laughing as the bike was spinning like a 600-pound fidget spinner and went off the road and settled into the grass.

As I stood up I performed a self-assessment of the damage to myself. I was very fortunate. Just a few scrapes and bruises. My shirt and pants were pretty tore up I noticed a very sharp pain in my ribs. I definitely cracked, broke, or fractured a rib. I picked up the bike and noticed one mirror was destroyed and my right foot peg was snapped off. Also my front brake handle outside of a 2-inch piece was snapped off. I had about four days left with the motorcycle so I would just use one finger on the front brake and move my leg from the rear peg to tap the rear brake as needed for the remainder of my trip. My tourism layover days were now replaced with staying in bed to nurse my injuries with Chang beers.

I ended up completing all the roads I had planned on and it was now time to return the motorcycle to Chang Mai and continue to rest the cracked rib. I am certain if this accident had happened in the United States the bill to the damaged motorcycle would have been over 1,000USD, but in Thailand it was under 100USD and I threw in a few Chang beers for a tip. The road to Pai is really one of the better roads I have ridden on, outside of the oil slick of course. Still, it was a great way to explore northern Thailand.

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Minnesota’s Split Rock Lighthouse

By Joe Berk

When driving around Lake Superior (and all the Great Lakes), the waters appear to be calm. At least they do to me, and it feels kind of odd, because each of the Great Lakes are so big you can’t see the other side. In other words, from the shore they appear to be as big as the ocean, except there are no waves. But that’s not always the case. In stormy weather, the Great Lakes can get rough. In 1905, just one storm damaged 29 vessels. You might wonder: Is there that much shipping on the Great Lakes? The short answer is yes, and in particular, a lot of iron ore mined in Minnesota went by ship to Wisconsin and other locations. U.S. Steel alone had 112 ore-carrying ships in 1901.

Split Rock’s location along Lake Superior. We rode there from Duluth.

The U.S. Steel president lobbied Washington for a lighthouse along Minnesota’s rocky shoreline, and in 1907 Congress allocated $75,000 to build one. It became known as the Split Rock Lighthouse because the huge rock upon which it sits has a large vertical cleave.

A view of the Lake Superior shoreline from atop Split Rock.

Construction started in 1907 and finished in 1910, when the lighthouse was commissioned. The U.S. Lighthouse Service operated it until 1939, when all U.S. lighthouses came under U.S. Coast Guard. The Coast Guard is responsible for all lighthouses, but that no longer includes Split Rock. Split Rock shut down as a navigational aid in 1969. Other navigation systems such as Long Range Navigation (LORAN) and the Global Positioning System (GPS) now meet that role. Only five staffed U.S. lighthouses remain in service today; all others have been decommissioned or operate under automated control.

Looking up at the lighthouse tower from its base. I was armed only with my D3300 Nikon and a 35mm 1.8 prime lens. It’s a system you zoom with your feet (i.e., moving closer to or away from the subject). Sometimes there’s not enough room to move around.

Foghorns atop the foghorn building. When they were operational, they sounded a 2-second blast every 18 seconds. They went out of service in the 1960s. The horns are activated once a year now.

The foghorns were initially powered by two compressors driven by internal combustion engines. Cooling water for the engines was drawn from Lake Superior.

The site transferred to the State of Minnesota in 1971, and in 1976 control shifted to the Minnesota Historical Society. In 2011, it was designated a National Historic Landmark.

Susie had Betty’s fish and chips; I opted for the caribou chicken pasty. Both were excellent.

We split a slice of Betty’s toffee cream pie for dessert. It was awesome.

The ride out to the lighthouse from Duluth (where we stayed for a couple of days) was beautiful. We followed Minnesota 61 north for 47 miles. It was a beautiful ride along the Lake Superior shoreline. On the trip north, we notice Betty’s Pies (a restaurant), and we stopped there for dinner on the way back. There was an hour wait to get in, but it was worth it.

After our dinner, there was a young couple parked next to us on a pair of sports bikes. The gal was on a nondescript Japanese bike; the guy was on a Triumph Speed Triple (and that definitely caught my attention). We followed them back along Minnesota Highway 61, and after a few miles they veered left on Scenic Drive (which follows the Lake Superior shoreline much more closely). That is an appropriate name. Scenic Drive took us directly into Duluth and our hotel. It was a fun day.

Looking for a great place to ride? Hey, that’s our specialty. I write about great Destinations regularly for Motorcycle Classics magazine. You can read about my favorites here:

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Phavorite Photos: Utah Highway 12

By Joe Berk

When good buddy Baja John and yours truly ran the mother of all publicity stunts (the CSC Motorcycles Western America Adventure Ride) through the western United States, I had the easy part. I simply rode at the head of the formation of our dozen or so Chinese, Colombian, and US riders. Baja John did all the heavy lifting: Selecting our routes, mapping out the course, and handling all the hotel reservations. John did a hell of a job, finding roads that were scenic, twisty, and representative of the best riding America has to offer. Of all the roads we rode, one in particular stands out: Utah’s Highway 12.

Utah Highway 12 runs from just east of Bryce Canyon National Park to Capitol Reef National Park, and it something out of a psychedelic mapmaker’s mind with the vibrance turned up. Way up. The road winds its way through by bright pink and white sandstone cliffs, with its black tarmac and yellow lines piercing a path through a dramatic landscape. It is fine motorcycling; the stuff of dreams and brilliant memories. If you’ve never ridden Utah, trust me on this: You need to.

I enjoyed that stretch of Utah so much that a year or two later Susie and I repeated the trip, and it was along Utah Highway 12 that I stopped and grabbed the photo you see above. Sometimes these photos are a little tricky to capture while standing in the road, focusing on composition, angling the polarizer for the best saturation and reflection elimination, holding the camera steady, and grabbing the best possible photograph, all the while listening intently for any traffic barreling up the road behind me. The trick is to not get run over while seeking the perfect picture. So far, I’ve been lucky.

I used my Old Faithful combo (my Nikon D810 camera and 24-120 lens) for the above photo. I used to think prime lenses (i.e., lenses of the non-zoom variety) provided the sharpest images, but the Nikon 24-120 lens changed my mind. It’s as sharp a lens as any of the several I’ve used. I did not use a tripod. The Nikon 24-120 has a built-in vibration reduction feature, so on a bright and sunny day there’s really no need for a tripod. Hand-held is good enough.

There’s a bit more to the story, and that’s another story. I pitched this stretch of road as a “Destinations” piece for Motorcycle Classics magazine, and they bought it. You can read that article here, and you can read a few of my other destinations pieces here. If you are not a Motorcycle Classics subscriber, you should be. It’s one of the few remaining motorcycle print publications, and it has always been one of the best. And if you want to read more about our trek across the western US, get yourself a copy of 5000 Miles at 8000 RPM.

Earlier Phavorite Photos? You bet! Click on each to get their story.

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Magnificent Motoliterature!

By Joe Berk

It had to happen: Good buddy and frequent ExNotes blogger Mike Huber wrote a book! Mike’s book is A Trip Into The Moment, published by Native Book Publishing. You should buy it now from Amazon. Here’s the back cover blurb:

We are a literary bunch, us ExNotes writers. Joe Gresh and I published a collection of our favorite stories not too long ago, and I’ve penned (or keyboarded) a few myself. Here’s a link to the Gresh and yours truly book, A Cup O’ Joes:

Want to lose weight, ride faster, and impress your friends? Add our books to your library and drop a Huber, Gresh, or Berk quote from time to time. Better yet, buy a copy of each of our books and post this blog’s link on your social media (it will help with sales)!

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Yuma Territorial Prison State Park

By Joe Berk

There were four territorial prisons in the early western United States: Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Yuma. I’ve been to two of them. Sue and I visited the Old Idaho State Penitentiary last year (it was awesome), and most recently, the Yuma Territorial Prison tucked away in the southwestern corner of Arizona. Years ago, I’d been to the Yuma Territorial Prison on a motorcycle ride with good buddy Dick Scott. It was way more primitive then; it wasn’t much more than a few remains of the original prison with not much identified. That’s not the case today.

After catching up with John at dinner over fish tacos the night before, we had a nice breakfast the next day at the Yuma Denny’s (don’t laugh, it’s my favorite place for breakfast when I’m on the road). After that, it was on to the Yuma prison.

On this trip, Sue and I were on our way home after visiting the Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum in Phoenix (it was awesome) and we decided to divert down to Yuma to visit with my motorcycle riding and hunting buddy, Baja John. It was a good visit.

Yuma often sees temperatures over 110 degrees, and sometimes 120 degrees, during the summer months. It must have been brutal being incarcerated there.

Bleak. Desolate. Dehumanizing. I see nothing wrong here.

If you were an inmate, you’d be home now…

Six to a cell. Impressive. High density housing.

The Yuma Prison apparently had some interesting houseguests.

As soon as you enter the Yuma Territorial Prison State Park, there’s a very nice museum. One of the displays that immediately caught my eye was a Gatling Gun.

I like Gatling guns. You should, too, and as I always say, don’t way for the movie. Buy the book…

As mentioned above, Yuma is located in the southwestern corner of Arizona directly across the Colorado River from California. It was an interesting and vital stop for many ’49ers who entered California seeking gold. There are scenic overlooks that allow a clear Colorado River view.

That’s the Colorado River, and just across it lies California, the home of high gas prices and left-wing lunacy.

We had a good time at the Yuma Prison State Park. John is still there, hoping to get out soon based on good behavior. We’ll see.

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The Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum

By Joe Berk

The alarm rang early last week, and Sue and I were on the road at 5:00 a.m., pointed east on the 210 for the 5 1/2 hour trek to Phoenix and the Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum. It was worth the drive out there.

There are more than a few dealers who have a handful of bikes tucked into a corner of their showrooms they call a museum. Not so with the Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum in Phoenix, Arizona. It’s the largest motorcycle museum in the American Southwest, and it’s one of the best motorcycle museums of the many I’ve visited over the last 30 or 40 years. I don’t say that lightly. This place is spectacular.

Many marques are well represented. This colors on this early ’60 Noron twin work for me.

Sue and I visited the Buddy Stubbs Museum recently for an upcoming issue of Motorcycle Classics magazine, and I sure was glad we did. The Museum has 137 bikes (with 124 on display). You might think they’d all be Harleys, but you’d be wrong. All the cool stuff is there, and it’s all vintage. Harleys, Triumphs, BSAs, Vincents, BMWs, Excelsiors, Indians, and a bunch more. It seems like every motorcycle in the Museum has a story.

The 1913 Indian Buddy commuted on between dealership locations.

One of the stories is about the 1913 Indian in its original unrestored glory. You might recall that about 25 years ago Harley made their dealers build new and modern showrooms. Buddy Stubbs was one of those dealerships, and while the new location was under construction, Buddy rode between the old and new locations daily on that 1913 Indian. That’s cool.

Buddy’s Cannonball Excelsior. All the spares rode in the sidecar and there was no chase vehicle.

Another bike with a story is the 1915 Excelsior, with sidecar, that Buddy rode in the 2010 cross country Cannonball Run. Okay, you might be thinking a lot of guys did that. Yeah, but…and the “yeah, but” in his case is that a 70-year old Buddy Stubbs made the ride with no chase vehicle. He carried all the parts he thought he might need in the sidecar. Wow.

Yes, it’s the actual Electra-Glide in Blue. The real one that we all saw in the movie.

Remember the 1973 Electra-Glide in Blue movie? Buddy taught Robert Blake how to ride a motorcycle for that movie, and the motorcycle that Blake’s felonious motor officer buddy bought with stolen money (in the movie, not in real life) currently sits in the Buddy Stubbs showroom. Blake went on to a successful TV series (Baretta), and then he fell from grace when he murdered his wife (which he got away with in the criminal trial, although he was later found financially liable in a subsequent civil case). It’s tough to convict a movie star here in the Golden State.

The black T-Bird (second from right) was The Wild Ones backup bike.

Speaking of motorcycle movies, the grand-daddy of them all has to be Marlon Brando’s The Wild One. You will recall that Brando rode a Triumph Thunderbird in that movie. The producers kept a spare Triumph Thunderbird on set during the production. You know, just in case. That spare T-Bird is in the Buddy Stubbs Museum.

A four-cylinder Nimbus. It might have made it into our ¿Quantos Pistones? series had I seen it sooner.

There’s a whole section here on ExNotes focused on our dream bikes. Satisfyingly, several of those are in the Buddy Stubbs Museum, including lots of Triumph Bonnevilles, Harley Cafe Racers, and the Harley XR1000.

By any measure, Buddy Stubbs (who at age 85 is still with us) is an amazing man. You can even buy a book about Mr. Stubbs, which I did while visiting the dealership. I have a signed copy.

Hey, one more thing that I’d be remiss to not mention in this blog. Stop for lunch at the Tamale Factory, which is just 8/10ths of a mile up North Cave Creek Road from the dealership. I had the chile relleno tamale and Sue had the chicken version. Both were fantastic.

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¿Quantos Pistones? (The Fours)

By Joe Berk

Fours? I’ve owned a few, and Lord knows I’ve sure seen a bunch of them. For starters, there’s the 1931 Excelsior-Henderson at the top of this blog (a photo that graces every one of our ¿Quantos Pistones? blogs). It’s not mine and I didn’t ride it. I was so interested in photographing that motorcycle, I didn’t realize I was standing next to Jay Leno until he took his helmet off. I’ve written about that encounter before.

Honda CB 750

When the Honda CB 750 Four came on the scene in 1969, it turned the motorcycle world upside down. I thought the bike was interesting before I saw one, but I also thought I was a 650 twin kind of guy (you know, Triumphs and BSAs). The first 750 Four I ever saw accelerated past my house when I was way younger. It was a gloriously visceral and symphonic four. To a guy used to lopey Harleys and throaty Triumphs, the CB 750 sounded like an Indy Offenhauser. When I heard that high performance four-cylinder yowl, it was like walking through the jungle on a moonless night and having an unseen leopard suddenly scream a short distance away. It reached deep, took hold, and shook me mightily. I remember it like it happened yesterday. At that instant, I knew I would own a 750 Four someday soon. And I did.

Yours truly in the 1970s. Hard to believe it was more than 50 years ago. I loved that motorcycle.

Our family bought our motorcycles from Cooper’s Cycle Ranch in Hamilton, New Jersey. The CB 750 was $1539 out the door (I can’t remember what I had for lunch earlier today, but I remember that number), and my 750 was the color I wanted. Honda offered the 750 Four in four colors in 1971 (brown, green, gold, and candy apple red). I wanted a red one, and Sherm Cooper made it happen. It was a glorious bike. I rode it to Canada with a fellow Rutgers student (Keith Hediger, who had a white Kawasaki 500cc triple). That was my first international motorcycle trip. I rode it a lot of other places, too. It was a wonderful motorcycle. I wish I still had it.

Honda CB 500

I owned two Honda CB 500 Fours. I bought one from good buddy John who was a high school and college classmate. I only put a few miles on before putting it on my front lawn with a for sale sign. It sold quickly. I liked the bike (it was very smooth), but I needed the cash for something else (I can’t remember what).

Good buddy John and the CB 500 I bought from him.

A similar opportunity popped up decades later when a guy at work had a metalflake orange CB500 for sale at Sargent Fletcher (an aerospace plant I ran in the 1990s). Metalflake orange was a factory color on the CB 500 Honda. At $500, I figured I could take a chance. I bought it, rode it a little bit, never registered the bike, and sold it with a Cycle Trade ad a couple of weeks later.

Suzuki Katana

This was a bike way ahead of its time. Wow, was it ever fast. In 1982, the performance was incredible. It would probably be tame by today’s hyperbikes, but back in the early ’80s, it was something else.

Me and my Katana. I still had some hair in the 1980s. Not much, but some.

Take a good look at that photo. The ’82 Katana you see above is the only vehicle (car or motorcycle) for which I ever paid over list price. When it first came out, it was pure unobtanium. Suzuki only made 500 initially. I think mine was No. 241. I paid $5500 for it, which was way over list price in 1982, and I had to go all the way to Victorville to find one.

I thought I had something special, but that only lasted a month or two. After the initial limited release, Suzuki made another 500, bringing the total number to 1,000. I found that troubling, and I felt cheated. Those sold quickly, too, so Suzuki went ahead and produced yet another 500. Those last 500 didn’t sell well at all (Suzuki had reached all the fools like me by then and the market for a bike like the Katana had been saturated). Suzuki had to discount the remaining bikes heavily to move them. That really pissed me off. It would be another 15 years before I would buy another Suzuki (that was my ’97 TL1000S). The way I was buying and selling bikes in those days, that was a long time.

The Katana was my first ever superbike. It was scary fast in 1982, and it would probably still be scary fast today. Thanks to Joan Claybrook and Jiminy Carter (remember those two?), the speedo maxed out at 85 mph (as if that would somehow slow anyone down).

The pipes were one of the coolest things on the Katana. They were what Suzuki called black chrome and they looked great. The instrument pod was cool, too. The tach and speedo needles moved in opposite directions, which made it seemed like the two needles were unwinding as you rowed through the gears. This was my first ever bike with low bars. I didn’t like them, but the rest of the bike was very, very cool. I sold the Katana when my first daughter was born. A fat lady knocked it over in a shopping mall pulling her car out of its parking space. I took that as an omen. Time to step away from riding for a bit. I wish I still had that motorcycle.

Suzuki went on to use the Katana name (a Katana is a Japanese Samurai sword) on other models, but they were never the same at that first 1982 Katana.

Triumph 1200 Daytona

This was a fun machine. I bought when it was still brand new (but already 7 years old) on Ebay, thanks to an alert from my buddy Marty. It was $7,000. As soon as I won the auction, the next highest bidder contacted me and offered to buy it, but I turned it down.

The Locomotive. This was one of the best motorcycles I ever owned.

I’ve written about the Daytona before, and rather than reinvent the wheel, I invite you to read the more complete Daytona story here.

Honda Gold Wing

Back in the day, the initial Honda Gold Wing was a four, as they continued to be for several years. I thought I wanted one when the Gold Wing was first introduced (I was in Korea at the time and I saw the new Gold Wing in a Cycle World magazine). But I never acted on the urge to buy one and that was a good thing. I rode a friend’s a few years later and the bike had no soul whatsoever. It was boring beyond belief; I would not have thought any motorcycle could be that boring. But it was and it made me glad I never bought one.

Somewhere in Arizona on a road trip in the ’90s. That’s my CBX (to be covered in a later ¿Quantos Pistones? blog), my buddy Louis V (who went into the witness protection program), and Louis’s Honda Gold Wing (the most boring motorcycle I ever rode). All the gear, all the time was definitely not Lou’s motto.

Guys who have Gold Wings seem to love them. Emilio Scotto rode one around the world and wrote a great book about it. Today, of course, Gold Wings are sixes. I’ve read that the handling on the new ones is great for a big bike. But they’re not my cup of tea. You may feel different about Wings, and that’s okay.

So there you go: My experiences with four-cylinder motorcycles. The configuration makes sense from a lot of perspectives. They can be powerful and they are an almost universal configuration on Japanese motorcycles. But they’ve grown too big for my liking. I know there have been smaller fours out there (the Honda CB350 Four comes to mind), but as I’ve matured (read: become a geezer), I like smaller bikes better. As always, your mileage may vary.

Missed our earlier ¿Quantos Pistones? stories on the Singles, the Twins, and the Triples? Hey, no problemo! Here they are:

¿Quantos Pistones? (The Triples)
¿Quantos Pistones? (The Twins)
¿Quantos Pistones? (The Singles)

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