A draining experience…

I wrote a City Slicker press release for CSC Motorcycles last week and it lit up the Internet (you can read it here).  The word is out and a lot of people are asking a lot of good questions.  One is: How far will this thing go on a battery charge?

I had a lot of fun this morning getting the answer to that question. I was able to play engineer again. More on that in a bit.

Zongshen quotes two figures for the City Slicker’s range: One is a claimed 62 miles in the Eco mode at 20 mph, and the other is a claimed 37 miles at 37 mph in the Power mode. In the ebike world, range drops dramatically as speed increases. Go faster, don’t go as far. Go slower, go further. Hence the two figures.

Today was Phase I of my testing, and it focused on the City Slicker’s Eco mode.

Eco vs Power mode is controlled from a right-handlebar switch.

Bottom line first: In the Eco mode, I was able to get 55 miles out of the battery, with the dashboard charge indicator showing 6% charge remaining when the bike shut itself off. I think that’s pretty damn good, even though it didn’t meet the Zongshen claim of 62 miles. I’ll explain why in a bit, but first let me tell you how I ran the test, and before I get to that, let me tell you a bit about charging this puppy.

The City Slicker charger.

The bike comes with a charger. It’s a big dude, it plugs into a standard 110 VAC outlet, and it takes about 6 to 8 hours to fully charge the battery.

You can plug the charger into the bike on the bike’s battery access cover…
Or, you can open the access cover and plug the charger directly into the battery.

I guess at this point I should tell you that 6 to 8 hours is the right number for a full battery charge.  There are folks quoting some clown who said it only took 4 hours to charge the battery (uh, that clown would be me, when I stupidly accepted what someone told me without verifying it myself).   My bike’s been on the charger for a little over 3 1/2 hours since I ran the battery all the way down earlier today, and it’s only up to 63%.  6 to 8 hours is the correct answer to this question, folks.

The City Slicker charger has a couple of LEDs on it. One tells you it’s charging and the other tells you the state of the battery charge. If the battery’s not fully charged, that second LED stays red. When it’s fully charged, it turns green.

The green LED means the bike is fully charged.

When you disconnect the charger when the full charge LED light turns green, the bike will indicate a 100% charge on the dash, and it stays that way for a day or two before it starts to drop (if you don’t use the bike). If you leave the charger connected after the LED turns green, it shuts off but it doesn’t keep the battery at 100% until the charger turns itself on again. I think the thing allows the battery to drop to something below 99% before it starts charging again.

I had planned to start my test with a 100% fully charged battery, but it was at 99% on the dash indicator this morning. It was already getting hot here in So Cal and I didn’t want to wait for the battery to get back up to 100%. I started riding with the battery at 99%. Like we used to say in the bomb business: Close enough for government work.

The dashboard battery charge indicator. The red plug is lit when the bike is being charged by the external charger. It will start flashing when the charge level gets down to 30% while you are riding the motorcycle.

On to the test: I recorded miles traveled at each 1% decrease on the battery charge dash indicator. I wanted to simulate a real world City Slicker scenario, and the course I ran was a 2.8 mile loop around my home. Part of it is slightly downhill, parts of it are steep climbs, and there are 6 stop signs. It’s uphill and downhill, with lots of stop and go in the process. I tried to stick to 20 mph the entire time. It was a good city riding simulation, I think.

My fancy data logging system, scotch-taped to the top of the City Slicker luggage compartment. I dropped my pen twice during my 3-hour ride this morning.

When I finished the run (it took a good 3 hours in 100-degree weather), I then plotted the data.  Here’s what it looks like:

City Slicker range test results.  Slick, huh?

My observations and comments follow.

Power consumption as a function of distance traveled was very repeatable. On the uphill portions of the test course, the bike got about 0.4 miles for each 1% of battery charge; on the downhill portions it got about 0.9 to 1.0 miles for each 1% of battery charge.  This was very consistent; after a few laps I could predict when the bike would drop a percent on the charge indicator by house number.

I tried to hold my speed at 20 mph, consistent with the Zongshen prediction for the City Slicker’s range in the Eco mode (62 miles at 20 mph). I had a tendency to speed, though, and I was above 20 mph more than I wanted to be.

When the battery charge indicator (on the bike’s dash) hit 30%, the charge plug indicator (on the dash) started flashing red. The concept is similar to the low fuel light on an internal combustion engine motorcycle. It’s telling you that it’s time to start thinking about topping off.

The bike felt like it had normal power levels until the battery charge indicator hit 20%. Below that point, the bike felt like it needed more “throttle” to maintain 20 mph.

At 16% battery charge, things changed. Responsiveness diminished perceptibly. It was in a “limp home” mode, and it would not go much above 15 mph.

The bike became more efficient in the limp home mode. It was going a little further with each 1% battery charge decrease than it had before.   Thinking about it now, that’s not surprising, but it surprised me when it occurred.

At 6% indicated charge, the motorcycle had traveled 52.3 miles. It then traveled another 2.7 miles to reach a total of 55.0 miles, where the bike shut down completely. The battery charge indicator was still showing a 6% charge level prior to shutdown. I was thinking maybe I’d get to use that last 6%, but somewhere in that 6% indicated charge level range, it was lights out. Zip. Nada. Nothing left.

My earlier GPS speedometer accuracy testing showed that Slick’s speedometer is about 7% to 10% optimistic (the bike’s speedometer shows the speed to be higher than the GPS showed, which is something I’ve also observed on Zongshen’s internal-combustion-engined motorcycles).

I found the opposite to be true for the odometer. I have a measured mile by my house, and when I covered that distance on the City Slicker, the odometer showed 0.9 miles. I traveled approximately another 250 feet after the end of that measured mile before the odo clicked over to 1.0 miles, so I’m estimating the odometer reading to be about 5% low.

Based on all of the above, I was impressed with the City Slicker’s performance. Zongshen claims a 62 mile range in the Eco mode; I was able to ride 55.0 miles before the battery called it a day.  There were several reasons I was slightly under the Zongshen estimated range:

I started with a 99% charge. If I had been at 100%, I would have picked up another 0.4 to 1.0 miles.

As explained above, the odometer registers less than actual mileage. Applying a 5% correction factor, I actually traveled 57.75 miles.

My course had 6 stop signs every 2.8 miles, and I stopped at every one. Accelerating to 20 mph from a dead stop uses more energy than simply riding a constant 20 mph. I stopped and accelerated from 0 to 20 mph 117 times during this test.  If the stops signs hadn’t been there, I would have gone further.

My course was uphill and downhill. I’m guessing that this adversely affected power consumption. If I was on a perfectly flat course, I would have gone further.

I’m a full-figured 198 lbs. With my motorcycle gear on, I’m probably pushing 210 to 215. I’ve been to the Mount (that’s Zongshen, in Chongqing) and I’ve seen the Zongshen test riders; they weigh maybe 130 lbs soaking wet. Fat guys soak up the go juice more quickly. With a lighter rider, Slick would have a longer range.

On the other hand, I didn’t have the bike’s lights on. When we get our US-configuration Slickers, the LED running lights on either side of the headlight will be on all the time. That will drop the range a bit. How much is TBD, but when I find out, I’ll let you know.

My next test will be in the Power mode. I guess I’ll be a Power Commander. Stay tuned.

I’m having fun and I’m learning a lot more about electric bikes.  You might think riding in circles for three hours would be kind of boring, but I enjoyed it.  Folks who saw the bike knew it was something different, which is what I’m getting a lot of every time I ride the City Slicker.  The silent riding experience is kind of cool, too.  It’s a different kind of riding, and it’s fun.  I like the bike.  A lot.

If you have questions about the City Slicker, please post them in the Comments section here on the ExhaustNotes blog.  I’ll do my best to get answers for you.

Pit Noir

The Start, preceded by a lot of action. I helped.

It’s March in central Florida, cool and clear. I get the call from Ed in the late afternoon. A couple of his California friends are racing motorcycles in the 600cc class. He wants me to help them out. The sun is setting low over Lake Schimmerhorn, the sky a blood-orange deepening to cobalt blue high overhead. White, high-persistence contrails cross the sky in an Atlanta-Orlando direction. The scene outside the Love Shack looks like a flag from The Republic of Kodachrome. “Yeah” I say, gently pulling the wrapper of a grape Jolly Rancher. The candy rotates clockwise between my fingers. “I’ll go.”

“Cool, you met Jeff and Beaver at the retirement party held after the anniversary party,” Ed said. “Remember Torrance?” In the background I hear a machine scraping metal: another of Ed’s big-block Moto-Guzzis. The man can’t leave motorcycles alone.

“Torrance?  Yeah, I remember, my wife said Jeff seemed kind of depressed. Happily married, good corporate job; didn’t he give up racing?”

“He did, then he didn’t,” said Ed. “Look for the Baby Appleseed pits. Get there early tomorrow, I told them you’re coming.”

It’s 38 degrees in the morning. My Italian-era Husqvarna 510 stumbles and stalls, then lights off on the fourth push of the button. I rev the engine and slip the clutch on the Husky’s tall first gear. A sloppy, brapp-brapp snarls out of the pipe and ricochets from aluminum singlewide trailers to sway-backed modular homes. I turn right onto Highway 40. Open the throttle and the Husky’s tachometer rips past 9000 rpm, front wheel climbing on the surge. Two, three, four, five, six, shift as fast as you can, man.

I’ve got to keep the front down. It’s dark. Highway 40 is damp with morning dew. The headlamp flickers intermittently between low beam and parking light, low beam and parking light. It’s a random problem and one I can’t solve. Oncoming cars dip their headlights, thinking I’m flashing them. I wish I could stop and explain Italian motorcycle electrical systems but there’s no time. It’s cold. My hands hurt.

At the very end of Pit Row the black, the white and red Baby Appleseed logo is splashed across two huge gazebo tents. I guess with Ed involved I expected one rusty Craftsman toolbox and a mid-eighties Moto-Guzzi Alfresco. I’d find Jeff and Beaver slumped over, gently sobbing. Beaver’s greasy jeans would have holes in both knees.

Pit row, Daytona.

“What’s the problem, boys?” My confident tone would instantly buck them up. “The bike has a high rpm miss, Gresh, we’ve been trouble shooting the damn thing for days.” I’d get in there and clean the fuel filter, maybe straighten a bent metering needle and the bike would run perfect, you know, save the day.

Baby Appleseed’s pit has two mechanics, electric tire warmers and a second rider, Neils, owner of the high-end baby furniture company sponsoring the team. There’re computers to track lap times, 120 volt AC generators and air compressors.

Both Appleseed motorcycles are decked out in Baby Appleseed racing colors. Back in the dry pits there’s a motorhome with a full-body Baby Appleseed wrap parked in front of a dual-axle Baby Appleseed trailer stocked with Baby Appleseed race parts. The mechanics wear Baby Appleseed logoed race shirts. Jeff has qualified in the front row for race one. To the untrained observer it appears they’re doing ok without me.

“My wife was worried about you.” I tell Jeff, “At that party in Torrance she said you seemed unhappy, settling for security.”

Jeff looks at me, grins, “I’m down to 140 pounds, I’ve been training every day, running. You’ve got to be light to keep up with these kids.”

“She’s sort of an Empath.” I explain, “Like Deanna Troy on Star Trek. When I told her you were racing again she got a little teary-eyed.” Jeff nods, unsure of the protocol. I better close it out. “Anyway, people tell her everything, man. I mean, people she’s never met spill their life story within two minutes.”

“Um,” Jeff says, “Tell her I’m ok. Tell her I’m happy.”

We’re watching the race feed one of the pit monitors. Jeff’s dicing for the lead, the crew is wound up tight. Two laps in, the front tire pushes and Jeff wads the Baby Appleseed bike, a hundred mile per hour get-off. Mostly we see a cloud of dust as the bike tumbles through the infield. It’s hard to tell what’s going on with the monitor. There’s Jeff walking away. Collective relief: “That’s all right then, we can fix the bike.” I think that was Neils’ dad.

By the time I get to the dry pits the bodywork on Jeff’s bike is already gone. Every part that sticks out is either broken, bent, or ground off. One mechanic is removing forks, the other removes the mangled sub-frame then goes back to pit row. Neils is still racing. Jeff surveys the damaged bike, “Damn. We don’t need this extra work.” The bike has to be fixed by 7 PM, when the dry pits close. I better help sort things out.

The bike is down to the frame and motor. “Can I do anything to help?”

The mechanic stops wrenching on the triple clamps, thinks three beats. “Uh, yeah, drain the gas from the wrecked tank.” I grab the tank, “What do you want me to put it into?”

The mechanic looks up again, “What?”

I hold the tank up, “The gas. Where you want it?”

He looks around the pits, “ Um, I don’t know, see if you can find an empty can in the trailer.” He goes back to the triple clamps. Jeff is sweeping the work area, picking up small bits of motorcycle. The mechanics dodge around us to work on the bike.

The trailer is locked. I go back to the pits. “Sorry to bug you again, man, the trailer is locked. Do you have a key?” Water runs from a radiator hose into a plastic, 5 gallon bucket.

“The key? It’s locked?” Hands dripping, “Lemme see if it’s in here.” He searches the top tray of his rollaway toolbox. “Damn, it was here.” He scans the pit area, “I don’t know where it went. Listen, I got to get this radiator off.”

I find Neils, still in his leathers. He just pulled in after a solid race, finishing 20-something out of 60 bikes. I ask him if he has a key to the trailer.

“What?” Sweat runs down his face, “Find my dad, I think he has one.” I wander past the trailer. The door is open. Beaver is inside. There’s an assortment of cans.

“Which can should I use to drain the gas from the smashed tank?” I ask.

“What?” Beaver replies, putting down two replacement wheels.

“I need to drain the gas from the old tank.”

“Oh, um…take this one.” Beaver hands me a can.

“You got a funnel?” The other mechanic is back. He’s sliding a new fork leg into new a new set of triple clamps.

“What?” He stops sliding the leg.

“A funnel, to pour the gas into this can.” I hold up the can Beaver gave me.

“Don’t use that can. Use the one under that pile of bodywork. I don’t want it mixed up.” I move a broken plastic tailpiece and there’s a can underneath. The fill opening is one inch wide.

“Man, I hate to bug you, I need a funnel.”

The mechanic stops working on the forks and gives a hunted look around the pit area, “Jeff, find this guy a funnel.”

“Look in that box on the rolling tray.” Jeff says. I find three big, red funnels. I fit the funnel and begin to pour the gas from the bent tank into the can.

“Hey! Put a sock on that funnel!” The first mechanic yells at me, putting down the handle bar he was about to install.

“A sock?” I have no idea what he is talking about. Jeff hands me a cloth filter with a sewn-in elastic edge to stretch over the wide end of the funnel. I fit the filter and pour the gas.

“Watch what you’re doing!” There’s a puddle of gas on the floor. I’m so intent on not missing the funnel mouth I don’t notice that the tank’s internal vent tube is pissing gas. It’s a like a frigging geyser, man. Tipping the tank upright increases the flow, broadcasting a liberal dose of high-octane race fuel around the pit area. Both mechanics drop their tools and run over with rags. They start mopping up the spill.

“We got to clean this up! If the AMA guys see this they’ll freak out, you can’t have pools of gas laying around in here!”

Beaver appears beside me and guides me by the elbow away from the spill. “Can you give me a hand moving the gear from pit row?” We walk out to the Baby Appleseed tents on pit row, a distance of some 300 yards. Beaver hands me two cartons of water, I walk back to the trailer. Next trip Beaver hands me three tires to carry, I take them back to the trailer, then a big stack of sprockets.

There’s one of those folding carts parked at the tents. Beaver hands me the portable generator. The damn thing is heavy. “Can I use that cart?”

“No.” Beaver says, “It’s easier to carry the stuff.” I move gear back and forth from pit row to the trailer. Late in the afternoon I glance over at the pits, Jeff’s bike is rebuilt and has passed tech inspection.

The next day Jeff’s rebuilt bike runs near the front all day long and in a photo finish misses the podium by inches. I call my wife with the results. She’s happy, she tells me Jeff is doing what he’s supposed to be doing. The sky turns blood-orange deepening into cobalt-blue high overhead. The Baby Appleseed team is upbeat, they’ve got an entire racing season ahead of them. I only hope they can do as well when I’m not around.

Baja Cuisine: Rosarito to Ensenada

One of the best parts of the Baja riding experience is the cuisine. Yep, there are great roads, the scenery is breathtaking, there’s whale watching like no place else in the world, the ancient missions and cave paintings are amazing, and the people are wonderful.   But what might be the best-kept Baja secret is the cuisine. In fact, if you need an excuse to head south (not that anyone ever needs an excuse for a motorcycle ride), you might want to ride Baja just to sample the food. It’s that good.

One of the things Baja has going for it is that no matter where you are, you’ll never be more than a few miles from the sea. That means great seafood, and lots of it. Fish tacos are a Baja staple, but there’s more. Lots more. We thought it might be fun to share with you a few of our favorite Baja restaurants in a series of blogs organized by area. This first one will be the Rosarito Beach-Ensenada corridor. With that as an intro, here we go…

Rosarito Beach

Located about 35 miles or so south of the border, Rosarito Beach is a tourist town, but that doesn’t mean it’s all refrigerator magnets and velour Elvis portraits.  There are two spots in this town that we love: The Rosarito Beach Hotel, and Susanna’s.

You can spot the Rosarito Beach Hotel from the cuota (the toll road heading to Ensenada).  It’s one of the tallest buildings to your right.

Not your typical tourist trap, the Rosarito Beach Hotel has a great restaurant.
The Rosarito Beach Hotel’s stained glass lobby window.
A typical breakfast at the Rosarito Beach Hotel.

If you’re thinking that hotel restaurants are both overpriced and mediocre, you’d be correct most of the time, but the Rosarito Beach Hotel is the exception. If you stay at the Rosarito Beach Hotel you get one meal free (they’re smart, you may not want to go anywhere else after that first one) and if you’re there on a Sunday, you don’t want to miss the brunch. It’s awesome.  If you stop on the way south just for a meal, there’s ample protected parking and the hotel is biker-friendly.

Another best kept secret in Rosarito Beach is Susanna’s. It’s literally a 5-star restaurant tucked away in a small group of boutique shops at 4356 Benito Juarez Boulevard.    Folks, trust me on this:  Susanna’s is one of the best high end restaurants in the world.  I’ve been all over the world.  I know what I’m talking about here.

Ah, Susanna’s…the dining is as elegant as the owner!

I always make it a point to have at least one dinner at Susanna’s whenever I’m passing through Rosarito Beach, and there have been more than a few times when I made Rosarito Beach a stop just to eat here.  It’s that good, and Susanna is an absolutely gracious proprietor.

Shrimp, steak, and more. You cannot have a bad dining experience at Susanna’s.

Ensenada

As one of Baja’s larger cities, Ensenada has many dining choices. My favorites are any of the street taco stands (I love Baja street tacos), Los Veleros for breakfast, and a family-style place I just learned about called Birrieria La Guadalajara for either lunch or dinner (it’s on Macheros Street a little off the edge of the tourist area).

Good times ahead: Susie and I starting our trek south at Los Veleros in Ensenada!

Los Veleros Restaurante is next to the Hotel Corona on Lázaro Cárdenas (it’s on the right as you head south, just a few blocks past where the cruise ships dock). Los Veleros has the best breakfasts in town, confirmed by the local business folks who regularly dine there. Breakfasts start with a plate of pastries that, all by themselves, are worth the trip to Baja (I’ll say that a lot about my favorite dining spots in Baja, and I’ll mean it every time).

Pastries at Los Veleros, the start of every breakfast. They taste as good as they look, maybe even better!
An awesome Los Veleros spinach and mushroom omelet.
Chilequiles, a wonderful Mexican specialty.

My preference for street tacos in Ensenada is any taco stand along the waterfront.  Even though many folks who have never been to Mexico might be hesitant to try these, I haven’t found a bad one yet.   Head toward the embarcadero if you’re in the tourist area, and take your choice.  You can’t go wrong.

Street tacos near the docks in Ensenada. They sell the sizzle and the steak!
Fish tacos, a Baja specialty, in Ensenada.  Watch for our upcoming Baja dining blogs; we’ll have a lot to say on this magnificent Baja treat!

For either lunch or dinner, there are many choices in Ensenada.  I’ve tried many of them and they are all good.   Here’s the hot ticket:  The family-style dining at Birrieria La Guadalajara.

A veritable feast at Birrieria La Guadalajara in Ensenada. Tim, I owe you for taking me to this wonderful restaurant!

A meal at the Birrieria La Guadalajara is a treat not to be missed. I’m embarrassed to admit I only found out about this magnificent restaurant on my most recent trip to Baja (and I have my good friend Tim to thank for that).  Bring your group and bring an appetite, make your own tacos or burritos, and try the goat (you can thank me later).  It’s the best meal in Ensenada!

That’s it for our first installment on Baja’s gastronomical delights.  If you know of a great place to eat in the Rosarito-to-Ensenada corridor that we haven’t mentioned, by all means please leave a comment and let us know about it.  And watch the Exhaust Notes blog; we’ll be adding to this series with a focus on each Baja area of interest.   So what’s up next?  Hey, our next set of dining delights will be in the stretch south of Ensenada all the way to El Rosario!

Slick, two up…

A mid-summer night’s dream, as the saying goes…

So what’s it like riding the new City Slicker?

For starters, you can’t be shy. The bike is a conversation starter. Even people who aren’t into motorcycles recognize it’s something different. Stop at a light and people crossing the street look, then they look again, and then they realize: It’s silent.

“Is that electric?” is always the next question, followed by my affirmative answer, followed by their response:

“Cool!”

Sue and I took the bike out for a ride around the neighborhood. Surprisingly, even at its welterweight 216 lbs, Slick rides well two up. I think the battery life might be marginally shortened a bit two up (the bike is hauling more weight), but I haven’t done anything quantitative yet to confirm that.

Another surprise from our after-hours ride: The headlight does a good job. In fact, I think it does a better job than my RX3. I switched it on and off, accelerating under both scenarios, to see if I could feel a difference in the bike’s response, and I couldn’t.

I’m finding the riding experience is different. The handling is considerably crisper, a natural result of the City Slicker’s light weight and its crisper 12-inch wheels (I’ll write more about the 12-inch wheels and the resulting crisper handling in a future blog). I found I had to concentrate when stopping. The brakes are great, but there’s no brake pedal for the rear wheel (the rear brake is activated by the left handlebar lever).  At more than a few stops, I found my right foot dabbing into thin air, and I chirped the rear tire twice attempting to pull in the “clutch” when rolling to a stop sign. And I found my left foot similarly dabbing up and down at stop signs, trying to find neutral, and then I would remember: There is no neutral, because there is no gearbox. You simply use the brakes to stop, and the “throttle” to go. Scooter lovers will feel right at home on a City Slicker because the controls are identical.

And then there’s this: I found myself frequently looking at the tripmeter and the battery charge indicator, thinking about how much of the charge we had used, how many miles we covered, and then doing the mental math to project the range. There’s more to follow on that, too, folks.

One more nice touch…our dinner stop even had reserved parking.

Stay tuned.

No valet necessary…

Canon vs Nikon: Gresh weighs in!

I admit, I went full geek on camera gear for a few years. I spent thousands of dollars securing professional-level gear and studied photography online with the fervor of a Bit Coin disciple. I bought lenses, flashguns, radio-controlled shutter releases, more flashguns that communicated with each other via optical signals. I bought tripods, then heavier tripods, then sexto-pods with so many legs it was like wrestling an octopus trying to set the things up.

My gear kept getting bigger and bigger, like modern adventure bikes. Cameras got so large and unwieldy I stopped carrying them. I can make a good picture now but it takes 50 pounds of gear and forty-five minutes to set up the shot. I wasn’t enjoying events because I was lugging camera junk around and photographing stuff instead of seeing stuff. I need to experience a thing to write about it and camera gear was adding a wooly layer of techno-neediness over my senses.

I’ve since downsized to a Canon Rebel XS with an 18-200mm zoom lens and nothing else. If I can’t get the shot with that setup I’ll take a picture of something else. Taking great pictures is not important to me anymore. I need photos that help tell a story but not become the story. I run Canon gear because it’s cheap (relatively) and plentiful on the used market. Owning a Canon is like driving a Chevy Malibu; it’ll get you there but no one will be thrilled to see you pull up in the thing. All the pros use Canon gear. I imagine it’s because they always have, not due to any inherent superiority of function.

A camera is a tool, like a hammer but not as sturdy. If you can’t hit a nail the best hammer in the world will not help your aim. Nikon vs Canon? Until those guys start making phones I’ll choose an Iphone. The thing fits in my pocket and is nearly indestructible. It takes pictures that would be considered unbelievably good twenty-five years ago. It shoots decent video and if it’s not windy the audio isn’t half-bad, a must in today’s multi-media, everything-all-the-time landscape.

Is print dead?

…and another motorcycle publication print version bites the dust.  CityBike, a San Francisco moto periodical, announced this morning that they are going to a digital-only format.   We’re doing a bit on the state of the motorcycle magazine industry in the near future, so I was naturally interested in the CityBike announcement.

I’ve spoken with Surj Gish (the main man at CityBike) a few times during my days with CSC, and he was always a straight shooter with me.  We wish these guys good luck with this change in their approach to market.

The Nethercutt!

Whatever you’re doing, stop.

Get off your computer, quit playing with your cell phone, and get on your motorcycle. Your destination needs be the Nethercutt. It’s nestled away in an industrial park here in So Cal (in Sylmar, about 30 miles north of Los Angeles) and it’s magnificent.

I’ve been to a lot of museums. None compare to the Nethercutt. It’s that good. I’d like to think I could tell the story well, but hey, I know when I’m outclassed. Listen to Kyle Irwin (the Curator and Master Technician of this incredible place) as he welcomed us on our recent tour just this past weekend…

The Nethercutt has amazing vintage cars (and lots of them, more than 250, actually), trains, musical instruments, and more.   And they’re all stunning. Drop dead gorgeous. Visually arresting. But don’t take my word for it. Take a peek at the photos below. Better yet, go there yourself. Call ahead and tell them you want the ExhaustNotes discount for both the auto collection and the guided tour. Tell them Dajiu sent you. Who knows…you might just get in for free.

You can sign up for a Nethercutt tour if you call ahead (trust me, you need to do this).  The automobile collection is amazing.  The music room is even more so.  The Nethercutt has a fully-restored theatre organ with 5000 pipes, and you don’t just see the organ…you enter it.   What you see below is the console…but it’s only where the guy plays the thing.  The real action is occurring within the walls, surrounding the grand hall in which the organ resides.  In the silent movie days, this would have been a theater, and the music would be all around the people watching the movie.  It must have been a grand time and a grand way to spend an evening.

Here’s what a few of the organ pipes look like behind one of the walls…

There are a lot of musical instruments in the Nethercutt Collection, including a Bosendorfer concert grand piano.  It’s been modified by Mr. Irwin and his team team into a player piano (its plays itself). It’s an incredible treat to see and hear…

The visit to the Nethercutt was one of the best days I’ve ever had. It’s that good.  You need to go.  Seriously.  Get off your computer and visit this place.  We’ll be here when you get back.  I promise.

Make Time

A double rainbow over the Sacramento Mountains.

The sun has already risen over the Sacramento Mountains. It’s 7:30 in the morning. High strung and coltish, the 500cc Husqvarna spins freely at a hair-trigger 5900 rpms. I shouldn’t be doing this. I have no time and way too many projects that are more important. Part of the problem is that we’ve moved house three times in the last couple of years. Everything we own is in cardboard boxes or blue plastic tubs. We seem to be homeless more than at home.

Ahead of me lies the north/south flat of the Tularosa Valley. On my right are dark, sun shadowed foothills and each rising mountain range to the east grows lighter in color until the last and final one, Sierra Blanca, cuts an almost imperceptible line across the sky. Or is that actually the sky?

Every time we move into a rental place the damn thing sells out from under us. It’s happened twice by the same annoying real estate agent. It’s like she’s stalking us, waiting to pounce only after we settle in and start to unpack the 1000-count bed sheets and the good dinnerware. When we finally realized that this one particular Devil Agent was devoting all her waking hours to selling any house we moved into we caved and bought a cheap wreck of a place high in the hills overlooking the Tularosa Valley.

When I say wreck of a place I really mean it. The place was a shambles. Our first plan was to burn the joint down but that turned out to be more trouble than fixing it. Our remodel schedule has sped up due to Devil-Agent and it’s been 24-7 for the better part of a month. You wouldn’t think 500 square feet could absorb so much remodeling. I was cussing a blue streak and throwing expensive tools when my wife told me I had to go on a ride. “You’re no good to me like this. Get out.”

The air is crisp and cool through Corona and I swing onto Highway 3 to cut the Vaughn corner. I’m heading towards Santa Fe to see the Motorado vintage bike show. It’s an annual event open to all motorcycle brands and free to the public.

Look for Godzilla at this year’s Motorado. It’ll be the rattiest RT1B Yamaha in the parking lot.

Highway 3 intersects Highway 285, a four-laner, where I turn left and wick the Husky up to 73 mph. Right in the strongest part of the powerband, the slightest throttle movement causes the motorcycle to leap forward. A lightweight, powerful motorcycle ripping down the road: I’d be lying if I said I felt the least bit guilty about leaving my wife with a dripping paint brush in her hand.

Pulling into the parking lot at Motorado is beautiful. Old motorcycles are everywhere. I tippy-toe the Husqvarna under a tree and run my cable lock through my jacket sleeve and helmet chin bar before attaching it to the luggage rack. I wander worry-free, man.

A Sprite GT.
A magnificent Ossa.

There are Maicos and Montesas, Yamahas and Suzukis. As usual at these shows I see at least one bike I’ve never heard of, a British/Husqvarna mash up called a Sprite GT. A sweet ’75 RD350 rests in the far southwest corner. Very cool. The turn out is good, maybe 75 vintage bikes and the crowd is impressive. I’ve got to ride Godzilla up here next year. Time to go.

Traveling south through Moriarty the temperature rises into the 100’s. Damn it’s hot. Approaching the 300-mile mark my living arrangements and chore list melt away as the Husky’s narrow seat becomes the epicenter of my world. Shifting my butt from side to side, it takes all the will I have to keep riding.

Four hundred miles on a Husqvarna SMR510 is like 2000 miles in Indian Chief years. I’m tired and sore but it hurts so good. You know, there are many good reasons to blow off a ride: it’s all too easy to cop out and fix the faucet or build that pump house. If it’s not chores it’s work or family commitments. If you get too busy you’ll soon forget that you enjoy the simple act of riding a motorcycle. Don’t let that happen. Get out there and make some time before all of yours runs out.

You’ll get a charge outta this…

The only City Slicker in America residing in somebody’s garage…

No clutch. No noise. No gears. Best of all, no gas. Basically, no worries. If you can work an iPhone and ride a bicycle, you’re there.

“Whoooeeeeee!” I thought. This is going to be fun.

I’m the only guy in America who has a new CSC City Slicker in his garage.

I’d like to be able to say I have a lot to learn about electric motorcycles, but there’s not a lot to learn.  There’s close to zero maintenance (ooh, did I actually use that word?).  One of my shooting buddies who owns a dealership in a large left-leaning California city (there’s a redundant expression if ever there was one) is dropping his line of electric bikes because there’s no follow-on maintenance.   Follow-on maintenance is an important income stream for a dealership.

“Maybe we sell a tire once in a while,” he said, “but that’s it. Electric bikes just don’t need maintenance.”

So I rode a City Slicker home today. I stopped for a coffee on the way, because Slick was telling me he wanted to be a GS.  “We’ll stop,” I said, echoing Lloyd Bentsen, “but you’re no GS.”

It was cool. I almost wished I had a job again, just so I could make a daily commute. I’ll bet I passed 30 or 40 gas stations on my 17-mile commute, and I was smiling the entire time. Four bucks a gallon? Who cares?

One more time: This is going to be fun.

Like Arjiu and I always say, check back often.

Buffaloed in Baja!

Well, sort of. On the last CSC Baja run back in March of this year, as the guys were signing up to register for the ride I had one fellow send in an email with the name “Buffalo.”

“What’s your real name?” I asked.

“Buffalo.”

Well, it turns out that “Buffalo” really was his name. But wait, there’s more.  Buffalo is  a world-famous artist. We can’t make this stuff up, folks.  Check out this video and you’ll see…

Anyway, the first guy who signed up for the CSC ride was Tim. Buffalo is Tim’s cousin, and both gentlemen rode with us in Baja on the CSC ride.  When they returned, Tim’s daughter bought the same motorcycle Buffalo and Tim rode in Baja: A CSC RX3. And then, not having had enough of a good thing, Buffalo, Tim, and Tim’s daughter rolled south in Baja again. Wowee!

I asked this intrepid trio if they would consider sending a story and a few photos to us, and they did. Here’s the story…

Two cousins, and one’s 18 year old daughter, ride their CSC RX3 250cc adventure bikes on a 5 day adventure in Baja, Mexico.

Day 1 – We rode from Burbank through San Diego, crossed the border at San Isidro, and took the cuota (toll road) along the coast to Ensenada. We rode a little bit farther from the tourist zone than usual to find our Air B&B for the night. We were almost there when a detour was required to get around a barrier in the middle of the cross street. Instead, we embraced Mexico-style and found a section of broken curb that allowed us to get some air as we moto-crossed our way to the other side. We took a perilous walk down an open-hole/rebar minefield sidewalk to Guadalajara Birrieria for some tasty stewed goat meat tacos and margaritas with locals enjoying live mariachi music.

Day 2 – We rode a really great winding mountain road southwest out of Ensenada on Hwy 3 to a high plateau and the little town of Lázaro Cárdenas. We filled up with gas and met a couple of retirees on quads who, after taking a minute to find their hearing aids, showed us lots of paper maps and advised us to change our planned route south past Mike’s Sky Rancho due to the road being in very poor shape. Instead we took 42 epic off-road miles west towards San Vicente. The dirt road was alternately sandy, hard packed, rocky, and ridged, along mountains and valleys, curves and slopes. Several times a nice section of hard pack tempted us to pick up the speed before patches of deep sand would suddenly grab our front tires, throwing the bikes unexpectedly. Each of us took at least one spill, but we were wearing full ATGATT so we only had some bruises to show for it, though our trusty RX3s required some roadside bending and bungee strapping. It was awesome. We popped out on Hwy 1 some hours later and headed south for some roadside fish tacos before finding our funky partially-finished concrete and rebar hotel resort (La Cueva del Pirata) on the beach at the end of a bit more dirt road in Camalu.

Day 3 – We rode south along a beautiful coastal section of Hwy 1 before a short but fun mountain pass, a military checkpoint, and then into El Rosario, where we decided to take the 16km (10 mile) dirt/gravel road out to Punta Baja, which is just a little fishing village with a dozen or so buildings. We asked some fisherman and found a little collection of picnic tables on a dirt floor under a building, where a lovely woman named Betty made us some abalone soup and fish tacos, and we met a lawyer from Texas with a dual sport and a surf board that was staying in one of the rooms upstairs and still hadn’t figured out how to work the toilets. The ride back to the highway was fast and fun, now that we knew the road and where the dogs would make chase. Next we rode up up up and into the desert of giant boulders and giant Saguaro cactus on our way to our turn-around point of Cataviña, where we stayed at the nice but pricey Hotel Mission Cataviña, with its delicious Micheladas and iffy electricity.

Day 4 – Since there are no gas stations, we began our ride back northwest by buying three plastic jugs of gasoline from some guys on the side of the road with our last twenty dollars cash, and had a lovely early morning ride through the desert before the day got too hot. Coming back to El Rosario, we had a fantastic mid-morning breakfast at the famous Mama Espinosa’s (cash only, try the ABD Supermarket), and headed north again. Back in Ensenada we cranked the Mexico-style adventure to eleven and got matching tattoos before having some tasty street tacos and cervezas.

Day 5 – Taking Hwy 3 just north of Ensenada, we finally passed a stinky truck likely carrying fish guts and rode the beautiful La Ruta del Vino (wine route) through the Guadalupe Valley and the mountains towards Tecate. We jumped on our last chance for some authentic Mexican street tacos at Tacos el Guero, and then we rode up Presidente Rubio Street and popped out right at a gap in the traffic barriers to meet the front of the line to cross the border. We were waved in by a nice man in a Mexican-plated pickup truck. Total time to cross: about 4 minutes. The hill country ride up Hwy 94 was a pleasant re-acclimation to driving in the U.S., and soon we were splitting lanes on the 15 North back to the LA area.

That’s an awesome adventure, guys, and thanks very much for sharing it with us.   Great riding and great photos, and we sure appreciate seeing both! Baja is indeed a great place.  Matching tattoos?  Now there’s an interesting touch to a Baja tale!   You’ve got to send us photos of those!