Motorcycle Adventure Ride – Page 21

Seven Favorite Baja Destinations

Baja is a motorcycling paradise and I have a bunch of favorite destinations there. Seven of them, to be precise, although truth be told, I like everything in Baja except for Tijuana and maybe La Paz and Loreto. That said, my favorites are:

- - Tecate
  - San Quintin
  - Cataviña
  - Guerrero Negro
  - San Ignacio
  - Santa Rosalia
  - Concepcion Bay

Here’s where they are on a map:

So what’s so great about these places? Read on, my friends.

Tecate

Tecate is the gateway to the middle of northern Baja, and it’s the easiest point of entry. Both Tijuana and Mexicali are too big and too complicated, and the Mexican Customs guys are too official in those bigger cities. Tecate is a friendly place. The last time I picked up a tourist visa in Tecate, the Customs officer tried to sell me salsa he and his family made as a side gig. That’s what the place is like. I love it.

If you’re into fine dining (not as in expensive dining, but just great food), it’s hard to go wrong anywhere in Baja. Tecate has some of the best, from street taco vendors to Malinalli’s to Amore’s. I could spend a week just in Tecate. It’s that good.

Uncle Joe Gresh with street tacos in Tecate. Wow, were they ever good.

The buffet at Malinalli’s is regional, awesome, and inexpensive. It’s a hidden treasure.

Dos Joes’ motos on an Enfield expedition that took us through Tecate.

The Tecate brewery dominate the Tecate skyline and is visible from just about anywhere in town. A can of ice cold Tecate with sea salt around the rim and a bit of lime juice…life doesn’t get any better.

San Quintin

San Quintin is 186.4 miles south of the border on Baja’s Pacific coast. It’s usually a quiet ag town that has a lot of things going for it, including interesting hotels, good food, and Bahia San Quintin. The Old Mill hotel and its associated restaurant, Eucalipto, is my personal favorite. The hotel is about 4 miles west of the Transpeninsular Highway, and what used to be a harrowing soft sand ride to it is now easy peasy…the road is paved and riding there is no longer a test of your soft sand riding skills. The Eucalipto restaurant is second to none.

What could be better than an ice cold Tecate overlooking Bahia San Quintin after a day’s riding in Baja? We once saw a California gray whale from this very spot.

A man, a motorcycle, and Mexico….the sign on the Transpenisular Highway pointing toward Bahia San Quintin and the Old Mill Hotel. The bike? That’s the 650cc Royal Enfield, perfect for riding Baja. But then just about any motorcycle is perfect for riding Baja.

Bahia San Quintin at dawn. It’s an awesome spot.

Uncle Joe enjoying breakfast in the Old Mill’s Eucalipto. It is an exquisite restaurant.

You’ll notice at the top of my scribblings about San Quintin I said it is usually a quiet town. The one exception for us was when there was a labor riot and we were caught in it. The Mexican infantryman about 80 miles north of San Quintin told me the road was closed, but his English matched my Spanish (neither are worth a caca), and without me understanding what I was riding into, he let me proceed. It’s not an experience I would care to repeat. But it’s the only event of its type I ever experienced in Old Mexico, and I’d go back in a heartbeat.

The Cataviña Boulder Fields

Ah, Cataviña. Rolling down the Transpeninsular Highway, about 15 miles before you hit the wide spot in the road that is Cataviña you enter the boulder fields. Other-worldly is not too strong a description, and if the place wasn’t so far south of the border it would probably be used more often by Hollywood in visits to other planets. The boulders are nearly white, they are huge, and the juxtaposition of their bulk with the bright blue sky punctuated by Cardon cactus.

Pastel geology. The area really is as beautiful as the photos depict it to be.

I get a funny feeling every time I enter this part of Baja. Not funny as in bad, but funny as in I feel like I’m where I belong. I once rolled through this region in the early morning hours with my daughter and she told me “you know, it’s weird, Dad. I feel like I’m home.” She understood (as in completely understood) the magic that is Baja.

I like the area and its stark scenery so much that one of my photos became the cover of Moto Baja! I grabbed that shot from the saddle at about 30 mph on a CSC 150 Mustang replica, which I subsequently rode all the way down to Cabo San Lucas (that story is here).

You should buy a copy or three. They make great gifts.

Every time I roll through Cataviña with other riders, the dinner conversation invariably turns to how the boulders formed. When I was teaching at Cal Poly Pomona, I asked one of my colleagues in the Geology Department. He know the area as soon as I mentioned it. The answer? Wind erosion.

Guerrero Negro

The Black Warrior. The town is named after a ship that went down just off its coast. It’s a salt mining town exactly halfway down the peninsula, and it’s your ticket in for whale watching and the best fish tacos in Baja (and that’s saying something). I’ve had a lot of great times in Guerrero Negro. It’s about 500 miles south of the border. You can see the giant steel eagle marking the 28th Parallel (the line separating Baja from Baja Sur) a good 20 miles out, and from there, it’s a right turn for the three mile ride west into town. Malarrimo’s is the best known hotel and whale watching tour, but there are several are they are all equally good. It you can’t get a room at Malarrimo’s, try the Hotel Don Gus.

CSC RX3 motorcycles at the Hotel Don Gus. We used to do annual Baja tours with CSC…those were fun times and great trips, and introduced a lot of folks to the beauty of Baja.

What it’s all about…getting up close and personal with the California gray whales. They are in town from January through March.

Tony, taco chef extraordinaire. You might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not.

It’s worth the 500-miles trek to Guerrero Negro just to savor Tony’s fish tacos. You might think I’m exaggerating. But like I said above…I’m not.

Man does not live by fish tacos alone, so for breakfast or dinner, it’s either the restaurant at Malaririmo’s or the San Remedio, a block north of the main drag into town. You won’t be disappointed at either.

Sue’s photo of a Guerrero Negro osprey enjoying some sushi.

After you leave Guerrero Negro and continue south, the Transpeninsular Highway turns southeast to take you diagonally across the Baja peninsula. About 70 miles down the road (which is about half the distance to the eastern shores of Baja and the Sea of Cortez along Mexico Highway 1) you’ll see the turn for San Ignacio. It’s another one of Baja’s gems.

San Ignacio

San Ignacio is an oasis in the middle of the desert that forms much of Baja. The Jesuits introduced date farming to the region hundreds of years ago, and it’s still here in a big way. Leave Guerrero Negro, head southeast on Mexico Highway 1, and 70 miles later you run into a Mexican Army checkpoint, a series of switchbacks through a lava field, and when you see the date palms, turn right.

The San Ignacio church, built as a mission in the 1700s, dominates the center of San Ignacio. It’s a beautiful spot, one of the most photogenic in all of Baja.

Another photo of the San Ignacio Mission. You’ll want to grab some photos in San Ignacio.

Dates? Nope, not on that trip, but dates are one of the things San Ignacio is known for. I’ll bet they are delicious.

San Ignacio has a town square that’s right out of central casting, there’s a little restaurant that serves the best chile rellenos in all of Mexico (I’m not exaggerating), and the place just has a laid back, relaxing feel about it.

Santa Rosalia

You know, this town is another one of Baja’s best kept secrets. As you travel south on Highway 1, San Ignacio is the first town you encounter after traveling diagonally across the peninsula. Folks dismiss it because it’s an industrial town, but they do so in ignorance. There’s a lot of cool stuff in this place.

One of the things that’s unique about Santa Rosalia is the all-wooden architecture. The town was originally built by a French mining company (Boleo) and they built it they way they did in France. Like the Hotel Frances, which sits high on a mesa overlooking the town and the Sea of Cortez. I love staying there.

The Hotel Frances. It used to be a brothel.

There’s a cool mining musuem a block or two away from the Frances, and it’s worth a visit, too.

There are many cool things in Santa Rosalia, and one of the best is the Georg Eiffel church. It was designed by the same guy guy who did the Eiffel town.

Santa Rosalia’s church. It’s an unexpected delight. And I’m not even Catholic.

Inside Santa Rosalia’s Georg Eiffel church.

Stained glass. Photos ops abound in Santa Rosalia.

I’ve heard people dismiss Santa Rosalia as a gritty, industrial place not worth a stop. Trust me on this: They’re wrong. It’s one of my favorite Baja spots.

Bahía Concepción

Concepción Bay is easily the most scenic spot in Baja. It’s just south of Mulege (another delightful little town, and the subject of an upcoming ExNotes blog). Bahía Concepción runs for maybe 20 miles along the eastern edge of the Baja peninsula. I’ve seen whales from the highway while riding along its edge, the beaches are magnificent, and the photo ops just don’t stop. The contrast between the mountains and Cardon cactus on one side and the pelicans diving into bright green water is view from the saddle you won’t soon forget.

World-famous novelist and motorcycle adventurer Simon Gandolfi andn yours truly on 150cc scooters. We were on our way back from Cabo San Lucas when we stopped for this Bahía Concepción photo. Hardtail 150cc scooters. Up and down the length of Baja. I think about that ride every time I see a GS parked at a Starbuck’s.

So there you have it: My take on seven favorite spots in Baja? How about you? Do you have any favorite Baja destinations? Let us know here in the comments sction!

Ferrari versus…Jeep?

You’ve probably seen the movie Ferrari versus Ford a few years ago about Enzo Ferrari, Henry Ford II, Carrol Shelby, and the 24 hours of Le Mans. As flicks go, it was decent show. Ford GTs are cool and so are Ferraris, made even more so by their stint in the police show a few years ago where a Ferrari Testarossa shared top billing with the two actors who played the good guys. That show had one of the greatest intro scenes ever:

I didn’t know why that show and the Miami Vice sound track was playing in my mind repeatedly for the last day or so, and then it hit me: Joe Gresh posted an old passport photo on Facebook. Take a look and tell me what you think:

Gresh is a Jeep man, though, through and through. Like me, I think he’d have a hard time even getting into a Ferrari. Hence the title of this blog.

A bit about the Ferraris on Miami Vice. It’s shades of Long Way Around all over again, you know, when those two dilettantes who call themselves adventure riders wanted to borrow a couple of KTMs and do a show about going around the world on motorcycles. KTM wouldn’t cough up the bikes, so BMW stepped in with their GS ADV bikes, and Starbuck’s parking lots haven’t been the same since.

Something similar happened on Miami Vice. Its producer asked Ferrari to give them two Testarossas and the answer was no. So they had two kit cars made up using Corvettes as the base car and Enzo went nuts. He sued the kit car company, but in the end, he coughed up the two real Ferraris so Don Johnson could be authentic. Not as authentic as Joe Gresh in a Jeep, but more than he would have been otherwise.

One more thing about Miami Vice: A lot of big name actors got their start on that show. Take a look:

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Newcomb’s Goes On The Block

All good things must come to an end, I suppose, and Newcomb’s may be one of those things. I just read that this iconic roadhouse on what may be the most famous moto road in So Cal is on the block. The article also said that Newcomb’s has been shut down for months…another casualty of the pandemic. Ah, let’s hope the right somebody buys it and brings it back to its former splendor.

Truth be told, it was the ride, and not the Newcomb’s restaurant that made Angeles Crest Highway something special. The food was okay and the service was always outstanding, but the real attraction was the Newcomb’s parking lot and the ride to get there. Ferraris, MV Augustas, vintage bikes, Jay Leno…you just never knew what you’d see out there. That was always worth the ride.

I wrote a Destinations piece for Motorcycle Classics magazine on the Angeles Crest Highway and Newcomb’s Ranch a few years ago. I’ve ridden the Crest many times, and I don’t think I’ve ever ridden by Newcomb’s without stopping.

You can approach Newcomb’s from either end of the Angeles Crest Highway. The Crest, or California Highway 2, can be picked up off the 210 freeway just north of Glendale (which is just north of Los Angeles), or you can get on it in Wrightwood at the northeastern end on the other side of the San Gabriel Mountains. It’s a delightful ride.

I have a lot of stories about rides on the Crest. I led a bunch of CSC Motorcycles company rides up there, I’ve ridden it a lot with my geezer moto buddies, I’ve seen more than a few crashes (by others) up there, and I even went ice racing up there on a Triumph Daytona once. Good buddy Bryan (who is fast approaching geezerdom) and I started out from the Wrightwood end one winter day and we soon noticed we were the only two people on the road. Then it got cold. Then it started snowing. Then we realized the bikes were moving around a bit more than usual. We were riding on ice. And we faced that age-old question: Do we admit defeat and turn around, or press ahead in the belief warmer weather lies ahead and things will get better?

Being redblooded American engineers (read that any way you want), Bryan and yours truly pressed ahead. We stopped at Newcomb’s, and we were the only ones in the parking. We went inside to warm up and the folks who worked there were astonished. How did you get here? On our motorcycles, we said. But the road’s closed, they said. Wow.

Newcomb’s. An American and So Cal icon. Let’s hope it comes back to life soon.

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Ankara!

Sleepless in Seattle? Nah. How about awake in Ankara?

I’ve had a few secret missions to Turkey and I love the place. When I fly in to Ankara, I usually arrive at 2:30 a.m. over there. That would be 4:30 p.m. back in So Cal, so I’m still usually wide awake after flying through the night (it’s 12 hours to Istanbul, and another hour to the capital). Hence the title of this blog.

Maybe I was a Turk in a prior life. But then I’ve sort of always felt I was Mexican in a prior life, too. I love Mexico (especially Baja), but here’s something you probably didn’t know: I love Turkey, too. And it’s weird…as far as I know, there’s nobody in the Berk family tree from Turkey. But my last name, with it’s unusual spelling (B-E-R-K) is a common last name in Turkey. When I’m over there and I pay with a credit card, folks frequently ask if I’m a Turk. Berk the Turk. Go figure.

Ankara is one of my favorite cities in Turkey, and like the rest of the country, it’s a photography Nirvana. I’ll share a few of my favorite Ankara spots in upcoming blogs, and I thought to get the ball rolling I’d share a few from the airport ride into downtown.

I’ll have a few more in future blogs…the Ataturk Museum, Old Ankara, the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, and more.

Turkey would be my dream ride. They sell Zongshens over there, and the 250cc RX3 would be perfect for a ride across Turkey, I think. Someday.

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Phavorite Photos: Wenchuan Woman

There are photogenic people in Wenchuan. One is the Wenchuan man I described in a previous Phavorite Photos blog, and another is the young lady shown in the large photo above. For lack of a better name, I’ll call her Apple Annie. Some of you folks my age or older might remember the 1961 feel-good film A Pocketful of Miracles, in which Bette Davis played a character named Apple Annie.

Bette Davis has nothing on our Wenchuan Apple Annie. After Gresh and I got out of the Wenchuan police station (we had to register as foreigners), we were walking along a main street through Wenchuan. Apple Annie was selling fruits and vegetables on the sidewalk, and somehow her bushel full of apples tipped over. Before you could say “Oh, no!” in Mandarin, apples literally rolled into four lanes of busy Wenchuan traffic. That’s when our pocketful of miracles occurred: Traffic absolutely stopped, Gresh hopped into the street before Annie or I realized what had happened, and then we jumped in, too, along with a bunch of other Chinese good Samaritans. As traffic patiently waited (not one horn honked), we recovered every one of Annie’s apples. She gave Gresh and I one as a small thank you, along with the beautiful smile you see above.

In 2008, Wenchuan had one of the largest earthquakes in recorded history (a magnitude 8.0 quake), and between 65,000 to 80,000 people died. Something like 80% of the buildings in Wenchuan collapsed.

Some of the damaged buildings were left standing as a tribute to Wenchuan’s victims. We saw those. People are resilient, perhaps even more so in Wenchuan. You can read more about what we saw in Wenchuan and elsewhere in China in Riding China.

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

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Grand Canyon National Park

Arizona’s Grand Canyon National Park is another bucket list destination. As As was the case described in our recent blog on Devils Tower, a movie inspired my first visit. A contemporay review of the 1991 Grand Canyon movie said it was about “random events affecting a diverse group of people exploring the race- and class-imposed chasms which separate members of the same community.” That’s an artsy-fartsy tinsel-town mouthful. Grand Canyon was pretty good and it had some big name actors in it. But we’re not here to talk about the movie.

On to Grand Canyon National Park. The name sounds majestic, and the Grand Canyon surely is. I’ve been to the Grand Canyon many times (it’s only a day’s ride from home) and I would not pass on an opportunity to see it again. It’s a great ride in a car or on a motorcycle. I’ve done full-family car trips and I’ve done a number of motorcycle trips. Interestingly, some of the best rides were on the 250cc CSC RX3 motorcycles with guys from China, Colombia, and the US (you can read more about the RX3 trip in 5000 Miles At 8000 RPM).

A Grand Canyon photo from the 5000-mile Western America Adventure Ride.

There are two places to see the Grand Canyon National Park, the North Rim and the South Rim. The South Rim is by far the most heavily visited area and offers the best views, but the North Rim is a better ride, especially the last 50 miles or so along Arizona Route 67 (also known as the North Rim Parkway). Getting to the South Rim involves riding through a spectacular desert to get to Grand Canyon National Park, at which point you enter a beautiful pine forest. And when you visit the South Rim, you can continue on in the direction you were traveling when you leave — you don’t have to backtrack. The North Rim is different: There’s one way in, and one way out. It takes longer to get to the North Rim along heavily-forested Route 67 (and that road shuts down when it snows), but wow, what a ride!

My first Grand Canyon visit brought me and a riding buddy to the North Rim on a couple of Harleys nearly 30 years ago. It rained all the way in, we were thoroughly soaked and chilled, and I still remember how much fun I had. The Grand Canyon Lodge is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It’s a magnificent place to stay or you can just have lunch there. The view is awesome, but I think the views from the South Rim are even better (and there are more vantage points).

Ah, the South Rim. That’s where I took the big photo at the top of this blog and it shows none other than world-famous concrete consultant and moto-journalist Joe Gresh. It almost looks fake, like I had a cutout of Gresh and pasted it into the photo, but it’s not. He’s just a very photogenic guy.

You can approach the South Rim from either the east or the west via state Route 64 running along the canyon’s southern edge. On my last trip, we came in from the eastern end, paid our fees to enter the park, and a helpful Ranger explained that there were a series of viewpoints along the way. We hit every one and each was beyond stunning. It’s hard to believe what you see when viewing this magnificent region, and it’s easy to understand why the early Spanish explorers concluded it was impossible to reach the Colorado River a mile below. You can see all the way to the North Rim (10 miles away as the hawk flies, but a full day on a motorcycle). On a clear day you can see 100 miles.

The Tower at the eastern edge of the South Rim.

There’s an ancient tower of sorts on the easternmost viewing spot along the South Rim and we had an interesting experience there on the CSC Destinations Deal tour. Our good buddy Orlando left his gloves on this new RX3 while we were taking in the view, and when we returned, we caught a thief red-handed trying to steal them. Or rather, I should say red-beaked. It was a big old crow (a bird, not the whiskey) and he was trying to make off with one of Orlando’s gloves. We all started screaming at that big old blackbird, and it dropped the glove and flew away. That was a good thing. It was super cold that morning and Orlando would have had a tough time continuing the ride without both gloves.

Good buddy Rob giving a Grand Canyon elk a drink on the CSC Destinations Deal ride. Don’t try this at home, kids.

The earliest known Grand Canyon habitation occurred during the Paleo-Indian period nearly 12,000 years ago, but the emphasis here is on “known.” Archeologists are still discovering ancient stuff down there. Geologically, the Grand Canyon started about 20 million years ago. The Colorado River, flooding, ice, wind and seismic shifts worked their magic to create the 277-mile-long, 15-mile-wide, and mile-deep Grand Canyon.

Fine dining in Williams’ Red Raven restaurant, right on Old Route 66. That’s me and good buddy Paul after a wild boar hunt.

Hey, here’s one more thought: If you’re doing the South Rim, it’s something that you can take in in a day. Most folks stay in Grand Canyon Junction just outside the entrance to the South Rim, but that’s a real touristy area and if you don’t like McDonald’s or pizza, your dining choices are limited. My advice is to stay in Williams, about one hour south. It’s just off I-40. Williams is a bit touristy, too, but the hotels and restaurants are a cut above what’s in Grand Canyon Junction. It’s a nice ride north to the South Rim early the next morning. Trust me on this; you can thank me later.

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Cannibalize, mayhem, and other mototerms

Gee, I was gonna buy the RX3 and then I heard they were coming out with the RX4. Then I was gonna buy the RX4 and I heard they were coming out with a 400cc twin. Then I was gonna buy the 400cc twin and I heard they were coming out with a 650cc twin. Then I was gonna buy the 650 and I heard about this new 850cc Zongshen adventure bike.

I’m going to guess the above is a thought that has trickled through more than a few minds. It’s what I’m guessing occurs everytime Zongshen announces or leaks (I’m not sure what the appropriate word should be) that they have something newer, bigger, and better coming down the pike (like the RX850 you see above). Webster defines mayhem as “needless or willful damage or violence” (in a criminal context it’s the intentional mutilation or disfigurement of another human being) and Dictionary.com defines cannibalize as “to cut into; cause to become reduced; diminish.” Both words (i.e., cannibalize and mayhem) somehow seem relevant to Zongshen’s marketing practice of announcing new models just as (and sometimes even before) the preceding displacement model enters the marketplace. You’d think it would cannibalize sales of the models currently in showrooms, especially given our brainwashed belief that more displacement is always a good thing.

But what do I know? I sell one or two used motorcycles every decade or so, while Zongshen sells something like a million new motorcycles every year. I suspect companies selling Zongs both here and in other countries sell every bike they get (I know that’s the case with CSC, and I’ve seen it to be the case in Colombia). I once had a guy write to me who wanted to buy two RX3s so he and his wife could tour Colombia, but he couldn’t find a dealer in Colombia who wasn’t sold out. He wrote to me after reading Moto Colombia to ask if I could intervene with the AKT Motos general manager (I did, good buddy Enrique obliged, and that couple’s ride through magical Colombia went well).

My advice? Buy what you can get now. The 650 Zongshen hasn’t even hit the streets yet, so don’t wait for it or the RX850 you see above. If you want to have a lot of fun for a little money, any of the available Zongs will serve you well. I put a lot of miles on my RX3 and I got good money when I sold it 5 years later.

Oh, one more word I wanted to address, and it’s an adjective: Dormant. Webster defines it as being asleep or inactive. It is a word that is not in Zongshen’s dictionary.

Epic motorcycle rides on Zongshens, Harleys, KLRs, Enfields, and more? It’s all right here!

Firecrackers and Fall Colors

When I was a kid growing up in New Jersey (a very rural New Jersey in those days), it was a local challenge to take off your shoes and socks and walk across the dam at the Old Mill. The Old Mill is one of those cool places that attracts kids (even old ones, like me). Remote, interesting, a hint of times past, and plenty of ways to get in trouble. There had been a water-powered mill there decades ago (a common approach to factory power in our early history); now, only the dam and the lake it formed remains. We called the area the Old Mill.

The upper arrow points to the Old Mill dam. The lower arrow points to an island (the scene of the goose attack, as will be explained below). The lake formed by the dam stretches upstream for a good distance.

The Old Mill dam. We used to wade across the top when we were kids. I wouldn’t attempt it today.

Those were fun times. The Old Mill was a little over a mile from my house and the big adventure when we were kids was to ride our Schwinns there (I wish I still had that bike). Walking across the top in your bare feet was the double dare. The water was about 4 inches deep as it rushed over the top, the dam was coated with algae, and it was slick. And 4 inches of rushing water carried a lot of power. Taking that challenge marked you as a kid of substance (it was sort of a kid’s Combat Infantryman’s Badge). Pauly, Zeb, Verny, my cousin Bobby, me…those were grand times, riding our bikes and pretending they were motorcycles, coasting down Riva Avenue to the Old Mill, and looking for new ways to get into trouble. My Schwinn had chrome fenders and I used to imagine it was a BSA 650 Lightning. Fun times. It’s hard to believe it was 60 years ago.

So, I need to go tangential for a second to give some context to this Old Mill story. When we were kids, my Dad had one cardinal rule I probably heard the day I was born and at least weekly thereafter. It was simple: Never mess with firecrackers. Dad lost two fingers when he was a kid fooling around with firecrackers cutting them up to pour the contents into a pipe to make a bigger firecracker. You know the nutty things kids do. If kids did that today they would be called terrorists. In those days it was just kids doing what kids do. But the results were not good…there was a spontaneous ignition and when it was over, my Dad had two fewer fingers. Hence, the constant Dad drumbeat: Don’t mess with firecrackers.

Well, you might guess where this story is going. I couldn’t wait to mess with firecrackers. My cousin Bobby was 6 years younger than me back then (he still is) and we were thick as thieves when we were kids. One day Bobby, my friend Verny, and I rode our bikes to the Old Mill. Verny had a bunch of firecrackers in his saddlebag. Wow. The forbidden fruit. He even bought matches. Boy oh boy, we were having fun…lighting the things and throwing them out over the water. Bam! Bang! Pow! It was like being in a Batman TV show. Awesome fun. I was playing with firecrackers. It was better than running with scissors.

Boys will be boys, and Bobby was the youngest. It wasn’t too long before Verny and I were lighting the things and throwing them at Bobby. We were all laughing and having a good time. Even Bobby. He thought it was fun, too. Right up until the time one of the firecrackers landed in his collar behind his neck. To this day, I can still see it in slow motion…the little inch-and-a-half Black Cat tumbling through the air, its fuse sparkling, and then lodging in Bobby’s collar. And then…BOOM!

All laughter stopped at that point. Bobby froze, not making a sound after the detonation. The firecracker literally blew all the hair off the back of his head, which suddenly looked like an orangutan’s butt…bright red and bald. Bobby came through it okay. Me, not so much. I knew what would happen when my Dad saw this. It was a death sentence. Verny knew, too. Everybody knew about my Dad and firecrackers. Wow, were we ever in trouble.

Being Jersey boys, we came up with a plan. Maybe if we gave Bobby a haircut, it wouldn’t look so bad. Yeah, that’s the ticket. A quick trim and no one would notice. Ah, if only stupidity were money…I’d be the richest man in the world. We rode our bikes over to Verny’s house, found a couple of scissors, and went to work. After a few minutes, we realized what a sorry state we were in. Instead of just looking like a kid who had all the hair blown off the back of his head, Bobby now looked like…well, a kid who had all the hair blown off the back of his head and a really bad haircut. We were cooked.

All three of us rode to Bobby’s house, where my Uncle Herman (my Dad’s brother) took everything in with a single look. Herman had been there when Dad lost his fingers (which, when I think about it, would have been about 90 years ago now). Uncle Herman knew what the outcome would be if my father ever found out what we had done…I wouldn’t have made it to adulthood, and you wouldn’t be reading this blog. So he did me a whale of a favor…he and Bobby stayed away from our house until Bobby’s hair grew back. Uncle Herman, you’ve been gone for more than half a century now, but trust me on this…I’m still grateful!

Susie and I were in New Jersey a couple of weeks ago and we did what we always do when we’re back there: We visited the Old Mill. The leaves were turning colors and it was spectacular. Visiting the place always brings back memories…especially the ones above.

The Old Mill lake, as recently captured by my Nikon.

The Old Mill was built by the Davidson family (a nearby road is called Davidson’s Mill Road). I have no idea what they milled and I couldn’t find anything about it on the Internet. There was a another mill a few miles downstream that processed snuff (a major industry in this area a hundred years ago), so maybe it was a snuff. Whatever. The mill is long gone, but the dam remains and the area is a county park today.

As I was snapping photos, I noticed a blue-gray speck in front of the little island near the dam (there’s an Uncle Herman story about that island, too, and I’ll get to it in a second). I zoomed in, and it was a blue heron. I’d seen them here before. I wished I could have gotten closer, but my 120mm lens and Nikon’s vibration reduction technology did the trick for me.

A blue heron looking for lunch at the Old Mill.

Once when I was a kid, I rowed my little aluminum boat here all the way from my house. The creek behind my place (Lawrence Brook) flowed to the Old Mill and beyond. Uncle Herman, Bobby, my cousin Marsha, and I were having a good time as I rowed toward that island when we suddenly heard a god-awful hissing. A goose was flying straight at us, low over the water, with what appeared to be a 10-foot wingspan (it probably wasn’t that big, but the overall effect was one of sheer terror and if that goose was trying to intimidate us, it succeeded). The goose had a nest on that island, and we were where the goose didn’t want us.

When I visited the Old Mill earlier this year, the water snakes were out in full force and I photographed a large one below the dam. You can read more about that in the blog I did a few months ago. There are a lot of cool critters in these waters, including frogs, several species of turtles, pickerel, sunfish, and snakes. Good times for kids. It was a good place to grow up.

A very large water snake sunning itself in New Jersey.

On this most recent visit, we were in New Jersey just as the leaves were turning colors. This last photo is one I stitched together in PhotoShop. A click will enlarge it, and then click on it again to see it full size.

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The 2021 Rubber Chicken Ride

If you had asked me a week ago what the Rubber Chicken Ride is about I would have replied, “I have no clue, Bubba.” Held annually in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico the 2021 Rubber Chicken Ride resisted any defining characteristics and after three days participating I still have no clue what it was about.

There’s an entry fee, $50, that goes to the New Mexico Off Highway Vehicle Association, (NMOHVA). I guess it’s a like a fundraiser except a motorcycle ride breaks out while passing the collection plate.

I met up with the near legendary dirt-riding group, The Carrizozo Mud Chuckers at the Truth or Consequences Travel Lodge motel. The Travel Lodge is one of the few remaining old school types where the room doors open out directly onto the parking lot. I like this layout as you can hang out as a group tinkering with the bikes. It fosters community spirit and you can lock your bike to the uprights supporting the overhang. At the motel we met six other Rubber Chicken Riders none of who had any idea what was going on and all pushing 70 years old. That’s like 3 years older than the Chuckers.

This year’s Chicken was stripped to the bare bones due to Covid. No group dinners, no Show Us Your Scars competition, no organizing at all: just show up and ride. Part of the confusion was due to my not bothering to download the GPX files from the Rubber Chicken thread on ADVrider, which I knew nothing about until I was at the event. I probably couldn’t have figured out how to migrate the files to my GPS anyway. It annoys me that those old codgers can download files into their displays and I’m still using paper maps. I think of my GPS is kind of a last resort deal; I use it when I’m not sure how to get home.

That first day we tried to find the Rubber Chicken sign up area at Healing Waters Plaza, a place no one in Truth or Consequences seems to have heard of. Everyone we asked sent us to a different Healing Waters but they were hot springs, not the sign up staging area. The town was named Hot Springs in the past and has quite a few still around. Luckily, my Garmin knew about the palm-lined plaza and after riding past it several times we were able to find the pocket park along with a couple other Rubber Chicken Riders. Oddly, there was no water in sight.

The other riders we met at Healing Waters were as clueless as we were so we sat around and talked bikes for a while then the Chuckers and I decided to ride out to nearby Elephant Butte Dam to check out the scenery. After the dam tour we hit up the local Denny’s. You know how they say landing and take off are the most dangerous parts of flying, that’s how it is for me getting on or off the tall Husky 510. The Husky’s kickstand is so designed that once you’re on the bike you can’t tip it over far enough to retract the stand. This means I have to get on or off the bike with the kickstand up. Not a problem on a normal motorcycle, with the Husky it takes Baryshnikov-level flexibility to toss a leg over the high seat and rear luggage stores. I’m no Baryshnikov.

I got half way off the bike but my boot hung for a life-altering moment, still on one leg the bike started to topple over the far side. I pulled the bike back towards me but pulled a little too much. With my stubby, grounded-leg near the centerline of the wheel track the bike toppled over onto the near side taking me out in the process. In the Denny’s parking lot. In front of everyone.

Back at the Travel Lodge we grilled the other riders. They resisted at first but stopped struggling as soon as they were evenly browned on both sides. The way it was supposed to work is you download route files and load them in your GPS before arriving, then at the plaza meet up with like-minded riders and off you go, a merry band of riders. It’s a great way to meet new riding buddies. There’s no NMOHVA sanctioned rides. This is the loosest possible group ride you can imagine. One of the riders had an old, Rubber Chicken event T-shirt. In a testimony to how damaged things have become since Covid all we got this year was a tiny NMOHVA sticker with a rubber chicken on it.

The second day there was a sign up table at the Healing Waters Plaza. Maybe 15 riders had gathered and we had a good gabfest with the boys and one girl. By now we pretty much had the event figured out so the Chuckers and I headed out to Chloride, an occupied-ghost town for one of the routes: the Chloride canyon loop. We didn’t have GPX files but the Chuckers had paper maps.

At the end of the road in Chloride the road turns hard left and becomes unpaved. It’s sort of rough and rocky being a dry streambed at the bottom of a steep canyon. After about a mile of this abuse we stopped to reassess our riding skills and time left in the day. For a route that 6 guys on dirt bikes had done just a day before there were no tire tracks except the ones we were making. I dreaded turning on the Garmin because I’ve never read the owner’s manual, it always leads to a bunch of button pushing and frustration instead of riding. The Garmin said the road went for 5.6 more miles then dead-ended.

We started doubting our direction. Maybe we are on the wrong route, those 70 year-old guys couldn’t have gone this way. None of us liked the idea of riding this rocky trail 5 miles and then turning around and riding it back. We chose an alternate route. Seeing as there were no official routes anyway we felt we could take liberties with the Rubber Chicken.

Our alternate route was a long, 60-mile stretch of fairly easy dirt bookended between 80 miles of pavement on either side. The route seemed to go on forever. We went over the continental divide twice, once on paved Highway 59, once on Dirt Road 150. The later it got the faster we went. Highway 152 was a marvelous twisty road that we could use as much of the side-tread of our knobbies as we dared. We arrived back at the Travel Lodge at 7 pm; 9 hours of riding over widely varying terrain made for excellent sleeping.

On the third day of the Rubber Chicken Ride, a Sunday, the other riders at the Travel Lodge had loaded up their bikes and gone home. The Mud Chuckers and I decided to leave the Rio Grande Valley and work our way one valley east to Tularosa Valley, our home turf. In retrospect, we didn’t get much for our $50 but it got us away from our usual dirt-riding spots and it supported the NMOHVA so it was money well spent. While I was telling this story to my wife, CT, it must have sounded like I was complaining. Maybe I did bitch a little. She said that volunteer organizations always need help and that maybe next year we should print a few maps, plan a Rubber Chicken route and set up a ride instead of waiting for others to do the hard work for us. That sounded an awful lot like a gauntlet being thrown down to me.

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InnBuffalo and Niagara Falls

Niagara Falls, New York: It’s been a bucket list destination all my life and I’d never made it there (until last week, that is). Susie and I flew back east, picked up my sister Eileen, and headed west again. Niagara Falls is the largest waterfall in the United States, with more than 6 million cubic feet of water going over the edge every minute. But I’ll get to Niagara Falls in a minute. First, I’d like to tell you about the B&B in nearby Buffalo. The InnBuffalo is where we stayed and we thoroughly enjoyed it.

Originally built in 1898 by Herbert Hewitt (a wealthy industrialist), the InnBuffalo is impressive. Good buddy Joe Lettieri and his wife Ellen bought the place a few years ago and converted it to a B&B. Joe and Ellen kept things as original as possible, with awesome original interior decor and a comfort level that is off the charts. Take a look at these photos:

The InnBuffalo’s front porch. We sat here every night and enjoyed hot tea.

The first floor hallway. The InnBuffalo has several fireplaces.

Looking out at the front porch from the parlor.

Niagara Falls is a short 17 miles from the InnBuffalo. As we approached the area, my sister pointed out the rising mist in the distance. She correctly identified it as coming from the Falls, but I thought it was just steam escaping from a factory. Nope, my sister had it right. The mist is visible for quite a distance. It was a hint of what was ahead.

You can view the Falls from either the New York or the Canadian side. Folks say the view is more spectacular from Canada, but with the Covid restrictions in place we didn’t want to screw around with medical tests and crossing an international border. Our visit was on the US side and it was great.

Niagara Falls. That’s Canada on the right.

We took the Maid of the Mist boat tour to the bottom of the falls, and with 6 million gallons per minute cascading down (the highest flow rate of any falls in North America), we experienced the obligatory soaking. Even the tour boats are interesting…they are electric and fully recharge in 7 minutes between each tour. If you make it up here, the boat tour is something you ought to do.

We were on one of tour boats and it was a cool experience.

The Maid of the Mist. All electric, all the time.

The Niagara Falls State Park area is interesting, too. There’s no admission fee, although there is a fee for the boat tour to the bottom of the Falls. Within the Park, you can get very close to the Niagara River water rushing by (you can see how close in the big photo at the top of this blog). That part was a little unnerving, you know, seeing all that energy rushing by. You wouldn’t want to fall in…it’s not likely you could get out before going over.

Di Camilla’s Bakery is a good spot to stop for lunch (my sister knew about it and she was right…it’s wonderful). Di Camilla’s is located in the town of Niagara Falls just a couple of minutes from the Falls. Try the broccoli pizza (it was exquisite).

Even though we visited in mid-October, the weather was comfortably in the mid-70s. Joe Lettieri explained that temperatures are milder in the Buffalo area than they are further south, which suprised me. I wouldn’t plan a motorcycle ride through the region in the winter, but Buffalo wasn’t the icebox I anticipated.

The roads in and around upstate New York are impressive. There are several roads in the Buffalo and Niagara Falls areas worthy of exploration. On the Canadian side, there’s the Niagara Parkway (also known as River Road), which parallels the Niagara River both before and after the Falls. On the US side, there’s the West River Parkway. And then there’s upstate New York and its plentiful two lane roads. You could take the interstates into Buffalo and then Niagara Falls, but you’d be missing the best parts of New York and the northeastern United States. Folks think of New York as New York City and its massive traffic. Get out of the city, though, and New York is amazingly bucolic, rustic, and all the other favorable adjectives that apply to this area. The great challenge is arriving late enough in the year to take in the changing autumn leaves and their reds, oranges, yellows, and browns, but not so late that you run into winter snow and ice.

One more thing…while you’re in Buffalo, don’t make fun of the Buffalo Bills. I told an old joke about how the Bills got their name (“Boy I like to lose”) and I somehow managed to escape with all my teeth. But it was close. These folks take their football seriously.

More reviews on interesting parks? They are right here!

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