Zongshen – Page 7 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

The Canton Fair

The Canton Fair: I’d heard of it many times, and it has been billed as the world’s largest motorcycle trade show. I don’t know if that latter statement is true, but the Canton Fair is certainly China’s largest motorcycle trade show, and China is one of the world’s dominant motorcycle producers. Biggest or not, I had an opportunity to attend the Canton Fair in 2017, and who could say no to something like that?

So, after a midnight departure from Los Angeles International and 15 hours in a center seat on a Boeing 777, I arrived in Guangzhou at around 8:30 p.m. either that day, the next day, or the day before (I can never get the time change thing right). Those 15 hours in the big Boeing flew by (literally and figuratively) quickly, clearing Chinese Customs and Immigration in Guangzhou was efficient, finding a cab was easy, and before I knew it, my Chinese Mario Andretti cab driver was shepherding me through the rain-slicked streets of late night Guangzhou. I’ve spent a lot of time in China and it felt good to be back. A lot of folks hate China these days. I’m not one of them. I’ve had too many good times and I have too many good friends in China.

Receptionists at the Paco Hotel somewhere in Guangzhou.

I stayed at the Paco Hotel, only a couple of miles from the Canton Fair. A hotel right next to the Fair was a cool $1000 a night, so that was a nonstarter. The Paco had what I thought was a good buffet and I ate heartily on all but my last day in Guangzhou. On that last day, a cockroach the size of a small bird ran across a tray of noodles just as I was reaching in, and that killed my appetite for the Paco buffet. I guess I’m lucky it happened on the last day.

Here’s a shot taken while I was on the bridge crossing the Pearl River. The oval building on the left bank is part of the Canton Fair complex. That tower you can barely see in the distant haze is Guangzhou’s radio tower, which is a cool quarter of a mile high. For a few years, it held the title of the world’s tallest structure.

The next morning, my first full day in China, it was off to the Canton Fair. I had no idea what was in store for me. Think big, think big crowds, and think “I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going but I’m following the crowd,” and you’ll start to get a feel for what getting into the Canton Fair was like for me that first day. My leg was killing me (an old motorcycle injury), it was hot and humid (hey, it’s China) and it took a good two hours from the time I left the hotel until I was actually inside seeing new motorcycles. There’s the Guangzhou traffic. It’s normally heavy, but as we got closer to the fair (after crossing the Pearl River, which bisects Guangzhou), things really got thick. And there were the crowds.

The crowd entering the Canton Fair. There were a lot of people.

There was a press of humanity trying to get into the fair once I was off the bus. I walked along with a heavy crowd for a good mile, with my sciatic nerve on fire every inch of the way. Getting into the fair was a process, and it started with guessing which crowd to follow. I got lucky; I guessed right. I had to buy a pass, and I opted to get the 100 RMB buyer’s badge. 100 RMB is about $16, and that allowed me to enter the Canton Fair all week (as opposed to paying 30 RMB for a spectator’s pass every day). But I couldn’t just buy the badge. Lines, lines, and more lines. And for every one of them, I had to guess at which one to follow. I had to go through a metal detector after standing in one long line. Then I had to stand in another long line to fill out an admission application form. Then it was another long line for a photo. Then it was another long line to take the photos to the folks who made the badges. Then it was another long line to pay for the badge. Then it was another long line to get the badge. And while all this was going on, the crowds were deep and pushy. But they were friendly.

Oddly, I didn’t bump into anybody from the United States. I met several interesting people from other countries. One guy pushed up into me and asked where I was from. When I told him, he told me he was from Iran. Wow. Iran. An American, and an Iranian, literally pushed into each other. He asked me what I thought about what Mr. Trump had done in Syria a few days ago (The Donald had lobbed a missile in). Hmmmm. This could get interesting, I thought. “You know, Don doesn’t call me as often as he used to,” I told my new friend, “and even if he had called this weekend, I was on a 15-hour flight to get here, so I would have missed the call.” My new buddy stared at me for a couple of seconds and then he started laughing. I did, too. He took a selfie of the two of us. Me. Working for world peace, one Iranian at a time. My photo is probably in the ayatollah’s database now, but hey, you do what you gotta do.

Badges? We don’t need no stinking badges!

Things were moving along. I had my photo, I had my badge, and there was one last line: The line to get inside and actually start seeing motorcycles. And then it started raining. On us. Standing in line. Outside. Hey, if it was easy, everybody would be doing it.

Inside, much to my surprise, I still wasn’t in the motorcycle part of the Canton Fair. The complex is immense, and I had to ask around a bit to find my way to the motorcycle area. I finally made it, though, and the Zongshen booth was the first one I saw. It was one of many and I knew several of the guys from Zongshen, so we visited a bit.

The Zongshen booth. Recognize that bike?

Zongshen, as one of the Big 4 Chinese motorcycle manufacturers, has a lot going on and they have a lot of interesting products. They make motorcycles, they make workhorse trikes, and they make a lot more.

Zongshen’s 500cc diesel trike. Gresh fell in love with these when we saw one in Zongshen’s R&D area in Chongqing.

There were a lot of motorcycle manufacturers showing their new products at the Canton Fair. I enjoyed seeing them all.

Tien Ma. Never heard of them, like most of the manufacturers I saw displaying motorcycles at the Canton Fair. Lifan (the booth behind this one) is one of China’s Big 4 motorcycle manufacturers.

XGJao, another one I never heard of. One of their sales guys was named Elvis.

My buyer’s badge gave me status. There are motorcycle parts suppliers at the Canton Fair, and when they see a buyer’s badge, they’re on it. They all wanted my business card and they all wanted me to have theirs. That’s another bunch of databases I wormed my way into, I guess. I still get four or five emails every day from manufacturers trying to sell me stuff. I could have made a killing on N95 masks. And I can buy digital watches for 88 cents each if I buy a thousand or more. Who knew? And the exhibitors? They all seemed to hire attractive young women who wanted me to buy their motorcycle stuff.

Motorcycle component supplier booths at the Canton Fair.

A young lady selling motorcycle batteries.

More than a few of the bikes and trikes were interesting. Some had names that were funny as hell. And some were styled to fit regional preferences. Take a look.

Now, I ask you: Who wouldn’t want a Yamasaki? It might go nicely with your Kawazuki.

Monkey bikes, miniature versions of the real thing.

Behold: The mighty Zarang. Check out this CG-engined trike cargo hauler sold in Afghanistan. If I was marketing this thing, the music would be Zarang Me, sung to the tune of Johnny Cash’s Hang Me. “Zarang me, Zarang me, they ought to take a rope and hang me…”

The Zarang’s lighting and hornage. Think about that poor alternator!

The Canton Fair has a restaurant row that must have 100 restaurants, ranging from exotic Middle Eastern foods to all kinds of Chinese food to Papa John’s pizza. I had Chinese food every day (it’s a “when in Rome” kind of thing for me). The beef dumpling soup was a whopping 25 RMB (that’s $3.96 in US dollars), and it was delicious.

There are people here from the Middle East, Australia, South America, Africa, and other places. Yesterday while I was enjoying my now-standard lunch of beef-and-onion dumplings, an older fellow asked if he could sit at my table (the seating is very crowded because there are so many people here). “Sure,” I said. His English was a little rough, but he reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of flatbread. He broke it in two and offered half to me. Not wanting to be rude, I accepted it. I asked my new friend where he was from and his business. He was a construction guy from Lebanon. My guess is that piece of flatbread was from Lebanon. Imagine that…a guy from California at a motorcycle show breaking bread (literally) with a construction guy from Lebanon. A small world indeed, and I was living it, one flatbread bite at a time.

Beef dumpling soup, best paid for with true money.

I had another interesting experience one day at lunch when I attempted to pay. I peeled off some the Chinese currency I had and the young lady at the cash register examined it closely. “Not true money,” she exclaimed, in English, and loudly. Other folks around the cash registers looked at me. “Not true money,” she said again, the volume up another notch or two. And then, just in case I was hard of hearing: “NOT TRUE MONEY!!!”

So there I was, attempting to pass counterfeit currency in the Canton Fair, with what seemed like fifty thousand Asian faces taking in the drama unfolding before them: An American (me) trying to pay for his soup with counterfeit money. I had visions of rotting in a Chinese prison. Maybe worse (they have capital punishment over there, you know). I fished out more bills and handed them to Miss NOT TRUE MONEY, and her focus immediately shifted from prosecution to sorting. She studied each bill, giving some back to me and keeping others. The line behind me continued to grow. Weirdly, nobody seemed to mind my attempted criminal behavior or the delay it had induced.

Miss NOT TRUE MONEY was finally satisfied with the cash she selected, and the soup, as always, was delicious. When I left the restaurant area, there was a young guy selling ice cream outside. I found an ice cream bar that looked good and paid him, using some of the bills Miss NOT TRUE MONEY had rejected. He looked at each one suspiciously, but he ultimately accepted them. That ice cream was delicious, too. I admit: It was kind of a rush, committing a felony in a foreign land. I’m only writing about it now because I think the statute of limitations ran out.

When I returned to the hotel, I hit the ATM around the corner to get more (and hopefully, more true) cash. When I reached into the ATM hood, my hand started burning. Something either stung or bit me. I had an immediate and big welt on the back of my hand that hurt like hell, and within an hour, the entire back of my hand turned black. Maybe it was a murder hornet before they gained fame here in the US. My Mom would have told me it was God punishing me for passing that counterfeit money. Whatever it was, it sure hurt. It was gone by the next day, but wow, my experience with all things related to Chinese currency was not pleasant.

I had been sticking to the motorcycle exhibits during my time at the Canton Fair, but I took a different entrance one morning. Silly me: I thought the Canton Fair was only motorcycles. Nope, it’s everything. There are a lot of exhibits marketing to the construction industry. China was still building furiously, and they evidently supply construction materials to a lot of the world. I imagine Lowe’s and Home Depot have been here more than a few times. Here are a few shots as I walked through these areas.

Surprisingly, I didn’t meet a single US person in the motorcycle area during my several days at the Canton Fair. There were lots of folks from Asia, and more than a few from the Middle East, South America, and Europe. But no Americans (other than me). Go figure.

The Canton Fair was canceled this year due to the Covid 19 pandemic, but it’s going to be back. If you ever have a chance to roll through Guangzhou in April, the Canton Fair needs to be on your bucket list. It’s a cool thing to see.

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Stranded in Baja, Hearst Castle, and more…

Every once in a while we do a blog that covers a bunch of topics, and this is one of those times.

Good buddy Mike Huber and his friend Bobbie motorcycled Mexico (Baja, to be specific, almost another country all by itself), and he most recently published an excellent story about being stranded down there by the Covid 19 pandemic. It’s not often that we recommend another blog, but hey, Mike’s writing is outstanding and it’s a great story. Take a look; it’s very good.

My favorite motorcycle magazine (that would be Motorcycle Classics) sends out marketing emails on a regular basis, and in those emails they include links to past (and sometimes recent) articles. I write for MC, and the most recent email that slipped into my inbox included a link to my Destinations piece on Hearst Castle. You might want to read that story; I love Hearst Castle. It’s closed for the pandemic, but the pandemic won’t last forever. Hearst Castle will be there when it’s over.

We’re having a heat wave (both here in the Peoples Republik of Kalifornia and at Tinfiny Ranch). That prompted us to start a piece on riding in extreme heat. My first recommendation would be: Don’t. But things don’t always work out the way you want them to. I once rode the length of Baja on a Mustang replicas with several friends, and due to a lack of research on my part we did the ride in Baja’s hottest month (and that’s September). You can read about the 150cc Baja ride through Hell here. Do you have any advice for riding in high temperatures? Please share them with us (info@exhaustnotes.us) and we’ll include your recommendations here on the blog.

We have more motorcycle, gun and other stuff coming up, including info on Ruger’s new Custom Shop and their Super GP100 .357 Mag revolver, favored loads in the Henry .45 70 Single Shot, a piece on Turnbull’s iconic color case hardening and restoration services, a stunning (and tack-driving) Kimber with exhibition grade French walnut, the wrap-up of our ride through the Andes Mountains in Colombia, the Canton Fair, and for you fans of The Ten Commandments, making bricks without hay and mortar. And a whole lot more.

Stay tuned, folks.

Day 7: Volcan Nevado del Ruiz

On my 8th day in Colombia and 7th day on the road, we left the town of Honda and rode to the top of Volcan Nevado del Ruiz, which took us up to about 14,000 feet. It was the highest I’d ever ridden and I was surprised at how well the RS3 (the carbureted version of the RX3) was doing. But I’m getting ahead of myself…let’s get into the blog I wrote for CSC Motorcycles at the end of that fine day.

Posted on December 21, 2015

A delightful hotel, sweltering heat, more mountain twisties, freezing cold, fog that cut visibility down to 30 feet, dirt roads, riding at 13,576 feet, hot sulfur baths, and a burbling volcano that killed 23,000 people in 1985…all in a day’s ride for us.

The hotel first…it was the Epoque, a great little boutique hotel in Honda that was one of the coolest places (in one of the hottest cities) I’ve ever parked a motorcycle. It was arranged in a square around a small pool (which we enjoyed immensely the previous night). Here are a few shots of the courtyard, Juan and Carlos having breakfast, and an antique record player in the dining room…

From there, it was another trials ride following the boys from Medellin as we twisted, turned, climbed, and descended cobbleboulder streets in Honda. Juan took us to the first bridge to ever span the Magdalena River, where I grabbed this shot of a Colombian woman taking in the humid morning air of Honda…

Here’s the bridge. It has planks across the bottom as the road surface. It’s real Indiana Jones stuff….

We saw the Magdalena River museum, and stopped in to check it out. Folks, it was hot. I was soaking wet by now, drenched in sweat.

The museum was interesting and it had some bizarre art. This guy reminds me of a boss I had a couple of decades ago…

The Colombians used steamships on the Magdalena, just like we did on the Mississippi River.

We left Honda and started to climb. The temperatures dropped mercifully. We stopped in Fresno. Yep, Colombia has a Fresno, too.

That’s me in the town square. I’m the guy on the right.

Two young ladies in a small store in Fresno.

As we were sipping energy drinks, Juan pointed out our destination for that evening, the Volcan Nevado del Ruiz. It was showing a little steam, and I stuck an arrow in this picture so you could see it.

We continued our climb. The roads were magnificent.

The photo below shows my front tire, with chicken strips that are about as small as I’ve ever been able to make them. I was getting better at keeping up with the Colombian motorcycle community.

Our riding positions are Juan, me, and Carlos. Juan is amazing. I’m struggling to keep up in the twisties, and I know he’s dialed it back for me. He’ll ride through the corners (and the roads are all corners, folks) standing on the pegs. At one point, we were taking a set of curves at speeds way above those at which I would normally ride, with the bikes leaned over at an unimaginable angle, when I looked ahead and saw Juan. He was standing on the pegs, similarly leaned over, and while all this was going on, he was reaching back to check the latch on one of his saddlebags as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. The guy is an incredible rider.

As we continued to climb, we entered the clouds. Literally. We left the pavement and got on a dirt road headed up to the volcano.

4,138 meters! That’s 13,576 feet, and it’s as high as you can go on a motorcycle anywhere in Colombia. Juan told me he once did this ride on a Yamaha DT100, carrying a passenger on the back!

That’s not dirt on my RX3, folks. It’s volcanic ash. This was not your typical motorcycle ride.

Yours truly, posing with Carlos, on the top of the world, on top of a volcano with indigestion. Wow. This volcano is the very same one that blew in 1985 and wiped out an entire community. It was like Pompeii, as the guys explained it to me. 23,000 people lost their lives in that event. And here we were, riding in conditions where I could barely see Juan’s tail light in front of me, on dirt roads, in bitter cold. Wow.

Here are a couple of shots showing my helmet and my jacket, dusted with Volcan Nevado del Ruiz ash.

We left the volcano, rode another 20 kilometers on this dirt road, and found our hotel in the middle of nowhere.

The hotel had hot springs, and they were awesome. I had a good soak, we had dinner, and that was the end of Day 7 on this epic journey.

Today is our last day. We’re finishing our great circumnavigation and headed back to Medellin. Much of our ride today will be on dirt. I’ll take a few shots and post about it tomorrow.

Later, my friends.

You can read the earlier blogs from this great trip, and a few other moto adventures, here on our Epic Rides page!

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Day 6: Honda

The Colombia motoventure continues! This is Day 6 of my epic ride through Colombia’s Andes Mountains with good buddies Juan and Carlos, two great guys with whom I’ve stayed in contact ever since our Andean adventure. Without further ado, here we go!

Originally posted on December 20, 2015

Let me see if I can get this right: I’m a guy from California riding a Chinese motorcycle in Colombia headed to a town called Honda. Yep, that was yesterday’s ticket.

We left Villa de Leyva early in the morning, climbed higher into the Andes, and wow, was it ever cold. Juan Carlos stopped so we could grab a few photos..

As I was taking in the scenery, this Colombian SUV rolled into the scene…

We next stopped at the point where Colombia was born. The last battle of the Colombian war of independence (against Spain) occurred right here at this bridge in Boyaga…

The Colombian rebels defeated the Spanish regulars here, and at that point, Colombia was born. There are a lot of parallels between how Colombia came into being and our Revolutionary War.

Boyaga is actually pronounced “boy-jogga.” In Colombian Spanish, a y is pronounced like a j. So is a double l (as in ll). A montallanta (a tire repair place) is called a “monta-jonta.” Interesting.

Following Juan through these small towns was fascinating and taxing. We’re up in the Andes, and everything is steep. Juan is incredible…we climb these steep cobblestone streets, cut across some guy’s front lawn, grab a dirt road, pick up a new street, every once in a while (while still riding) he pulls up alongside a guy on horse or a tractor to confirm directions (Juan’s GPS, as he calls it), and we cut across the Colombian countryside. It’s amazing. Here’s a sampling of what it looks like, both in the dirt (and there is a lot of dirt riding) and through the small towns…

We hit a last stretch of twisties (a 50-mile stretch) and then we pulled over for a photo of the Magdalena River valley. Our destination (the town of Honda) is down there somewhere…

Honda is a another steep town. This street (that’s our hotel, the Epoque, on the left) is a typical super steep Colombian town road. The road is a one way road…I tried parking the bike facing down hill, but it was too steep. I thought I could just leave the bike in first gear and kill the ignition, but the street was so steep it pulled the bike through the compression stroke. That’s why the bikes are facing uphill. These are unusual riding conditions for me, but totally normal to the Colombians.

Today we’re headed to Santa Rosa de Cabal. You can read all about it in the next installment in this series!

You can read the earlier blogs in this series from Colombia here!

A TT250 Ride

I woke up last Friday with but one thought: I have got to get out on my motorcycle today.

Well, I did, and I had a glorious ride up through the Cajon Pass in southern California. That’s the pass that cuts between the San Gabriel Mountains and the San Bernardino Mountains. Most folks would just take Interstate 15 from So Cal to the High Desert through the Cajon, but to me riding a motorcycle on the freeway is a bit of a crime against nature. There are surface streets that get you through most of the Cajon Pass, and if you know where to look, there are dirt roads that do the same. Those roads are way more fun, but it’s like I said…you have to know where to look.

Me? I know where to look.

On old Route 66 through the Cajon Pass. Yep, it’s still there, and it was a perfect photo op with my black CSC TT250 on a cloudy June morning.

Big freight trains slog through the Cajon Pass on a regular basis, and there’s a dirt road that runs along the tracks for several miles. It was a perfect road for the TT250. I was out there on my own, having a good old time when I stopped to grab a photo, and that’s when I heard it. The rails, that is. They started singing. They do that when there’s a train downrange. You can actually hear the metallic buzz the rails emit miles before the train comes into view. Time to switch the cell phone camera to the video mode. I didn’t see anything for a couple of minutes, and then way down the hill in the distance I could just make out a headlight. Then that one orange orb became three blurry headlights, the signature of the first of several freight locomotives. They were working hard. It takes a lot of power to pull a train up a mountain pass. The lights grew in size, the indistinct three orange dots came into focus, and there it was:

The train was a monster. I finished the video, I took several stills, and then I mounted up and rode at a sedate pace in the opposite direction for a good five minutes before I saw the end of that train. I’ll bet it was three miles long. Maybe more. There were four locomotives pulling and there was a fifth on the tail end. It’s hard to imagine the weight and the energy of a freight train like the one I saw that morning. And it was doing it all going uphill, charging through the Cajon Pass from the Pomona Valley up to the High Desert. It was impressive.

That train just kept coming, and coming, and coming.

I had a hell of a ride that morning. A bit of freeway (but not too much), a fair amount of dirt, a stream crossing that was deeper than I thought it would be (and damn, there was no one to video me standing on the pegs with water splashing all over my boots and jeans), a train, Old Route 66, and nice, cool weather. It was grand.

It was about 5 years ago that I was sitting in Zongshen’s marketing offices in Chongqing discussing this, that, and the other thing on the RX3 for CSC Motorcycles. All the while, I kept stealing peeks at a 150cc dual sport bike the Zongshen wizards had mounted on a display pedestal in their conference area. Finally, I asked…what’s the deal on that motorcycle? Can it be had with a 250cc engine?

My good friend Chongqing Fan smiled. I could read that guy like a book, and what I was reading was this: He knew, and he knew I knew: The guys at Zongshen, China’s largest motorcycle manufacturer, they can do anything. A few quick digital pics back to CSC, a recommendation, a quick decision from a CEO who’s not afraid to make decisions (that would be Azusa Steve), and the CSC TT250 was born. I own one of the very first to arrive in America, and it’s been a hoot. We’ve even done Baja on the TT250s (talk about brand loyalty…half the guys on that ride also own an RX3). CSC can barely keep TT250 motorcycles in stock; they sell as soon as they arrive. Most of the time, they’re sold before the ship gets here.

I selected black for my TT250 (one of three or four colors available in 2016) because I thought it would photograph well, and I was right. It does a lot more than just sit there and look pretty, though. The TT250 is a great motorcycle. It’s simple, torquey, easy to maintain, great handling, reliable, comfortable, and inexpensive. Plus, I know the factory and the people who make and import this motorcycle. Good buddy Gerry and I wrote the shop manual for this motorcycle, and I know the bike’s innards. You might say I know it inside and out. I think the fact that I know most everyone involved in creating and importing this motorcycle makes it even more of a hoot to ride.

TT250s on the production line in Chongqing. Mine was in there somewhere.

The TT250 is about as simple as a motorcycle gets, and it has what has to be one of the most ubiquitous and reliable motorcycle engines on the planet. You see these motors in various versions (ranging from 125cc to 250cc) everywhere. They’re bulletproof. They’re designed to be rode hard and put away wet, and that’s what folks in South America, Central America, Asia, and the Middle East do. It’s no accident that my good buddies at Janus Motorcycles chose the same engine to power their amazing 250cc motorcycles. I’m going to ride my TT250 until the wheels fall off. Then I’ll buy replacement parts for probably something like $9 and repeat the process.

The TT250 is a light bike. It’s easy to ride and easy to keep vertical (they tell me it’s easy to pick up if you drop it, but I’ve never dropped mine). The TT250 weighs 309 pounds wet and in an age of overweight, bloated, and expensive monster motorcycles, riding it is fun. It’s not an ego statement. It’s a motorcycle. It’s what a motorcycle should be. I feel like a kid every time I get on it (and in six months, I’ll be 70 years old). I started riding motorcycles on a Honda Super 90 (a 90cc single) when Lyndon Johnson was in the White House. Riding a simple single makes me a hooligan again, braapping the mean streets of rural New Jersey before I was old enough to have a license and loving every second of it.

I have the 49T rear sprocket on my TT250 (one down from the stock 50T), and that’s about perfect for me. My bike tops out at about 66 mph indicated, and after my hundred mile ride through the Cajon Pass that morning I topped off and checked my fuel economy. 62.5 mpg. Just a little better than I usually get. Your mileage, as they say, may vary.

I have the Wolfman bags on my TT. They’re light, they don’t get in the way, they’ve held up well, and they’re handy if I want to carry stuff. That’s usually a few tools (just in case, but I’ve never needed them on the road), a bottle of Aleve, a change of underwear, and I’m good for a couple of weeks in Baja.

Speaking of Baja, good buddy Baja John is another guy with the same affliction as me: He owns both an RX3 and a TT250. And a .44 Magnum or two, but that’s a story for another blog. Baja John keeps his TT250 at a beachfront home in Baja, and as soon as this Covid 19 business is in the rearview mirror, I’m headed down there. I want to photograph one or two of the more remote missions, John knows the trails, and the TT250 is the motorcycle to get us there.

More good times are on the horizon, folks. Stay tuned.

Epic rides reside here!

Good buddies and a great ride…

When the phone rings and it’s good buddy Duane wanting to head into the San Bernardino Mountains for a motorcycle ride, I know it’s time to hop to. That’s what I did last week and it was an awesome ride. East on the 210, up Waterman to Hwy 18 into the mountains, and then down the 138 on the other side to ride home through the Cajon Pass. Good times, and this trip was made all the more special because of two more good friends we connected with on the ride.

Duane and his magnificent Indian up in the San Bernardino Mountains. It was a glorious day.

Geezers. Motorcycle geezers. CSC Mustang and RX3 geezers. Former Army motorcycle-riding geezers. Former Army motorcycle-riding gun nut geezers. Whatcha gonna do? Great minds work alike.

It was a grand ride through one of the greatest motorcycle playgrounds on the planet. The weather was perfect and the bikes were running like Chinese 250s (I was going to say like Swiss watches, but I have Swiss watches and I have Chinese 250s, and the Chinese 250s run better). Both the Indians were running great. My Indian is an Enfield made in India. Duane’s bike is an Indian made in America. It’s very confusing, I know.

A grand day for a grand ride. No polarizers or saturation sliders needed.

So we turned onto the 138 somewhere in one of the little mountaintop towns and we had a fun slalom down through the twisties. As we approached Silverwood Lake, I wanted to stop to get a photo of the bikes. There’s this huge parking lot and it was completely empty, so I thought we would park there and I could angle my shot for the best photo.

So we’re rolling to a stop and I noticed this silver SUV pulling in behind us, and wouldn’t you know it, the guy parks right next to us. I was thinking that would completely screw up my photo. You know the drill…a parking lot the size of Texas and the guy, this, this, this interloper parks right next to me. I was all set to dip into my not-such-a-nice-guy routine when Mr. Silver SUV stepped out of his car with a giant grin.

Twin Peaks Steve!

Wow, we were ever surprised and happy. Duane and I have a lot in common, as alluded to in one of the photo captions above, and Twin Peaks Steve is right there with both of us in every regard.

We had a real nice visit overlooking Silverwood Lake and caught up on things. Steve’s beautiful wife Rosemary was there, too, and we had a wonderful chat with her. I can’t tell you how great it was bumping into these two. Steve told me he recognized us when we rode by and he and Rosemary followed us down hoping to have a chance to connect. I’m glad he did. We all met back in the CSC Mustang days about 10 years ago, when Steve was the very first guy to order a custom CSC Bobber. It was one of the prettiest bikes we ever built at CSC.

Steve’s custom CSC 150 Bobber. It was a real show stopper…a visually arresting, gorgeous little jewel of a motorcycle.

Twin Peaks Steve rode with Duane and me on a bunch of CSC rides, and the more we learned about him back in those days, the more impressed we were. How about ultra-lights as a hobby? Yep, Steve did that, too.

Ah, for the love of adventure. Twin Peaks Steve has done it all!

Then CSC went into the ADV motorcycle business by importing the RX3. Steve and Duane both bought bikes from the very first RX3 shipment to arrive in America, and we rode together (Duane, Twin Peaks Steve, and yours truly) on a bunch more rides.

Steve is a serious rider and camper, and he outfitted his RX3 with all the good stuff for disappearing into the boonies. He did a lot of trips up and down the 395 (one of the prettiest highways in America), and the motormaestro even did a guest blog or two about his adventures when I was writing the CSC blog. If you poke around on the CSC blog and search on “Twin Peaks Steve” you’ll find he’s a regular there!

Steve’s RX3 somewhere up along Highway 395. Steve is the real deal; he’s done some amazing trips on his RX3.

What a ride and what a day!

So, how about you? Are you getting out on your motorcycle? Do me and yourself a favor and live large, like Steve, Duane, and the rest of us. Get off your computer, get your riding gear, and get on the road!

More great rides are right here!

Guilt trips…

I haven’t been riding the new Enfield all that much since I bought it, which was exactly one week before the virus hit our shores. You know, Covid 19, the lockdown, autonomous zone crises, and all that. And as a consequence, I’ve come under heavy criticism from two good buddies for my failure to accumulate miles on the Taj Mahal (as I sometimes refer to my orange Interceptor).

“I can’t believe you’re not riding that new Enfield all the time,” said Joe Gresh. Guilt. The guy reminds me of my Mom. You should try riding across China with him.

And then after I published that bit about getting out on the RX3, good buddy Rob had to weigh in: “Take the Enfield on the same road,” he said. “It will be a completely different ride.” Guilt again. If you don’t believe me, read the comments on the RX3 blog a few entries down. Rob, a guy who rode with us on the Western America Adventure Ride. He was waiting for us on a lawn chair by the side of the road early in the morning when we first met, already suited up, just before we crossed into Idaho. Rob’s RX3 was parked right alongside, both man and motorcycle ready to roll as soon as we approached so we wouldn’t have to wait. He seemed like such a nice guy back then.

Well, it worked, guys. Your guilt tripping got me out on the Enfield two days later, and it was awesome. I didn’t do the Glendora Ridge Road ride, but I was up in the San Gabriels. The very eastern end of that range, actually, riding deep into those glorious So Cal mountains through the little town of Lytle Creek. I went right past the West End Gun Club without stopping to send lead downrange, and that doesn’t happen too often. Not stopping in, that is.

So this is another one of those blogs where I’ll let the photos do the talking. Here we go, folks.

The first time I ever put gas in the new Enfield, and it returned 58 mpg and change. That’s consistent with what I saw on the first tankful on the Enfield I rode in Baja. By the end of that trip (nearly 1500 miles later), the bike was consistently getting between 70 and 72 mpg. Not too shabby for a 650 twin.

This is a good-looking motorcycle. My good buddy Art over at Douglas Motorcycles gave me a hell of a deal on it.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I take a good photo. I look better in a full face helmet, people tell me.

Not today, but I had to stop for the photo op. Top gun. That’s what I want to be.

You could interpret that sign to mean it’s okay to shoot at my street legal vehicle. Time to move along.

Ah, the great San Gabriels, just west of the little town of Lytle Creek. The road dead ends a few miles further.

A man, a motorcycle, America, and a mirror. Gets me every time.

Time to open her up a bit. But not too much. I’m still breaking in the Royal Enfield.

Editors hate these “motorcycle by the side of the road” shots. I kind of like them, especially when the road is in the San Gabriels.

And finally, re-entering the burbs. Lawrence of Suburbia, as Gresh sometimes calls me. Look at those donuts. There’s probably 20,000 miles of tire wear there; the guy who did it probably owns stock in a tire company. I used to have tire company shares when I worked for GenCorp, the corporation that owns General Tire, but that’s a story for another blog.

Wanna know a secret? The ride above occurred several days ago. I went for another ride this past Friday with good buddy Duane. Duane was on his Indian, a motorcycle made in America. I was on my Enfield, formerly a British motorcycle but now made in India. As you can see above, the Enfield is a glorious orange and that’s the fastest color…just ask my good buddy Orlando (about the orange thing, that is). Duane and I had a hell of a ride, and along the way we bumped into good buddies Steve and Rosemary by Silverwood. But that, too, is a story for another blog. Stay tuned!

Want to read about the Royal Enfield ride in Baja? Just click here! Want to know more about the CSC RX3 I mentioned above? The skinny is just a click away. Are you interested in a killer deal on a Triumph or a Royal Enfield? Check out Douglas Motorcycles in San Bernardino!

Want to read a story about another beautiful motorcycle? Motorcycle Classics recently published my piece about good buddy Steve’s stunning and brilliantly bright red ’82 Yamaha Seca. You can read it here.

Time for a ride…

My RX3, one of the very first bikes in the US. Numerous Baja trips, a ride through the American Southwest and Pacific Northwest, and more. That little 250 is always good for an attitude adjustment.

Not a lot of writing today, my friends. I fired up the old RX3 and rode into the mountains to clear my mind and create my own reality. It was long past time to shed the shackles of a world gone mad. No left or right wing news media (that’s all there is any more), no Covid 19, no protests, no riots, no police brutality, no defunding police departments, no masks, no shelter in place, no stupid stuff on Facebook (now there’s a redundant expression), no ridiculously bad choices in the next election (damned if you do and damned even more if you don’t), and no one telling me how to think about this, that, or the other thing. No thank you, I can think for myself, and today I thought I would go for a motorcycle ride. Other than captions, I’ll keep the words down and let the pictures do the talking.

That headlight grille and the spotlamps were gifts from Enrique Vargas, AKT Motos General Manager (and a genuine nice guy) in Medellin, Colombia.

Steve Seidner, CEO of CSC Motorcycles, created decals for each of our multi-day company rides back in the good old days. I ran out of campaign ribbon real estate on my fuel tank.

Glendora Ridge Road, my happy place. That’s Mt. Baldy and Mt. San Antonio dead ahead.

Glendora Ridge Road is one of the best wildflower spots in the country. I’ve been up there when there are red, orange, yellow, and purple wildflowers blooming at the same time.

I’ve done Mexico, California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington, and Oregon on my 250. The most beautiful state? That’s easy: **Utah**, hands down. But they are all pretty if you know where to ride (and I do). The best riding and the best times? That’s another easy call: **Baja**. I’ve ridden Colombia and I’ve ridden China on RX3 motorcycles. Once, when I was in Turkey, a young Turk let me ride his RX3. This is a bike with long legs, folks.

So there you have it. I’m back, it was a great ride, and I had a good time. You might consider doing the same.

Epic rides reside here!

Colombia Day 5: Villa de Leyva

We’re up to Day 5 in Colombia from my December 2015 circumnavigation of the Andes Mountains. The riding was incredible, the scenery even more so. Juan and Carlos were amazing riders, as was every person I saw on a motorcycle in Colombia. Ah, enough of a prelude…here’s what I posted for CSC Motorcycles on December 19, 2015.

Actually, it’s pronounced “Via Da Layba.” I’m learning how to be a Colombian and how to speak like one. Colombian Spanish is different than Mexican Spanish. Much to my regret, I don’t speak either one. Someday.

Juan Carlos and Carlos told me they’re making me an honorary C0lombian because my riding has progressed significantly in the last few days. Folks, these two guys are the best riders I’ve ever ridden with, and for them to tell me that was quite a compliment. Every rider I know in the U.S. would be subpar compared to your typical Colombian motorcyclist. The way they carve corners and carve through heavy traffic on these mountain roads is a thing a beauty. They are the best riders I’ve ever seen, and the two guys I’m riding with are beyond incredible. But I digress…more on that later. The focus of this blog entry is Day 5, which was yesterday for me.

As you know from reading the blog, we stayed in Barichara. It’s an awesome little town and we stayed in an awesome little hotel. Getting there was an experience. We passed through a bunch of small towns up here in the Andes Mountains. In these small towns, everything is either uphill or downhill. The roads are either cobblestone or dirt. And when I say cobblestone, I’m not talking about little rocks. These are 6 to 12 inch boulders that are basically mashed together to form a street. The cobblestones (actually, cobbleboulders) throw the bike left and right and up and down, and this is all going on while riding up or down extremely steep hills. The RX3 is the perfect bike for this. I couldn’t imagine doing it on anything bigger or heavier.

We stayed at the Artepolis Hotel, and it was an experience. The guy in the room next to me was an Austrian photographer who came here just to photograph the place. It’s that stunning. Here’s the hotel the next morning (it was dark when we arrived the preceding evening, and we had to ride up a rough dirt road to get to the hotel).

The next morning Juan and Carlos wanted to ride a bit and get some photos. They took me to the edge of a cliff and we got some great shots…here’s one of Carlos I especially like:

And here are a couple more:

We continued on a paved road to a little town called Guane, and along the way I spotted a couple of Colombian vultures perched in a tree not far from the road. I always wanted to get a decent shot of a vulture during my Baja travels, but my results have always been mediocre. I’m carrying my 70-300 Nikon lens on this trip, and I thought I would try for that vulture photo I’ve been wanting for years. The lighting was perfect and I think I did okay…

After photographing the vultures, I grabbed a couple of shots from the saddle on our way to Guane.

Guane is a beautiful little town with a magnificent church…I was working the little Nikon D3300 and its 18-55 lens as best I could. That camera is really doing a great job on this trip. I bought it because I wanted something light and small. You folks who are planning to ride to Baja with us in March might want to give the D3300 a look if you don’t already have a camera. It really adds a lot to the adventure if you can capture stuff like this.

In many Colombian towns, the taxi services use tuk-tuks. Tuk-tuks are little three wheel things that have two wheels in the back and one wheel up front. I’d seen them in Thailand, but encountering them again in Colombia was something I had not expected. The ones in Colombia are made by Bajaj, an Indian manufacturer (as in India, not Indian motorcycles). They’re powered by a little 200cc single, and I was surprised at it’s ability to haul Carlos, Juan, and me up and down the hills in Barichara (we took one to go to dinner in Barichara). Juan told me he tested one at Bajaj’s request a year or so ago and he was impressed with it.

The tuk-tuks are often customized with really cool paintwork, and so are some of the other commercial vehicles. Here’s the artwork on one such vehicle in Guane that caught my eye:

After our brief exploration of Guane, we rode back to Barichara. The guys had been telling me I had to see the cemetery, and they were right. It seemed weird to visit a cemetery for the artistry, but it was impressive…

After that we were back on the road, headed for Villa de Leyva. I had mentioned to Juan that I wanted to get photos of the police motorcycles in Colombia, and when he spotted a few motor officers in one of the many small towns we rode through, I checked another photo op off the list.

This first photo shows one of the more common Colombian police bikes, the Suzuki 200 single.

Here’s another bike the Colombian police use…the Suzuki V-Strom 650…

There’s a lot more to tell you about the Colombian police motorcycles, but that will come later. I’m seeing and learning so much I just can’t get it all into the blog. I’m thinking maybe another book is in order. We’ll see.

Juan found our hotel just outside of Villa de Leyva, we checked in, and then we rode into town. This is the town square…it’s the largest in all of Colombia.

If you’re really impressed with that last shot, so am I. I wish I could take credit for it. It was a photo for sale in one of the Villa de Leyva stores, and I shot a photo of that photo before they told me I couldn’t.

It was a good day. The next one would be even better.

And one last thing, folks. On that day in Barichara before we left, I did a video in their beautiful cemetery. This wasn’t in the original blog, but I thought I’d add it here.

One more thing…if you’d like to read the first several blogs from Colombia, you can do so here.

Day 4: Barichara!

Continuing the Colombia adventure, this was my post for the CSC blog on the 18th of December in 2016. We were having a hell of a time and very nearly everywhere we went good buddies Juan and Carlos explained to me that we could not have ridden these roads just a few years ago due to the narcos and FARC instability in Colombia. It was an amazing trip and I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

More riding, another Andean crossing, a bit of rain, and we arrived in Barichara!

Barichara is an artist’s town, and it’s one of the most exclusive places in all of Colombia. It was another glorious day of mountain riding. I did not take too many photos on the ride to Barichara, mostly because of the rain, our late arrival, and I was enjoying our dinner too much that evening in Barichara to break out the Nikon. But I did get a few photos.

My lunch at a restaurant along the Chicamocha River…

One of my “from the saddle” shots of a hydroelectric dam on the Chicamocha River…

A couple of shots chasing Juan Carlos through a massive tunnel in the Andes Mountains…

A fine feathered friend at a fuel stop…

And finally, a shot after the rain ended of the Chicamocha valley…

I’m enjoying the AKT Moto RX3. It’s different in a few minor ways than the CSC bike, and they are both fantastic motorcycles. I’ll do a blog after I return home describing the differences.

I’m calling it a night, folks. More to follow…as always, stay tuned!

I’ll post a few more photos and another video or two from Barichara in the next installment of our Colombian trip travelogue. I wrote this blog before we went out that night, and I grabbed a lot more with my Nikon on our night out in Barichara. It was an impressive town. I’ve got to get back there one of these days.

More of the Colombia adventure and other epic rides are here!