Another day, another Bangkok blog, and another famous Thai locale…Soi Cowboy. Soi means street in Thai, so Soi Cowboy is Cowboy Street. It played a role in the movie Hangover II. It’s amazing how many famous spots there are in this amazing town. The guys in orange vests you see in the big photo above are motorcycle taxi dudes. They take folks (mostly women) around Bangkok on the back of their bikes carving paths through traffic as if it wasn’t there. It’s an amazing thing to see.
Soi Cowboy is a street that is pretty dead during the day. When the sun sets, though, Soi Cowboy comes alive. There are street vendors selling food from their carts. The clubs come to life. And the B-girls start doing their thing. As an older married guy, it all seems pretty silly. Sue was mortified. But it is what it is, and I’m going to show you just a little bit of it here.
One of the many food carts on the street in front of the clubs on Soi Cowboy.Another food cart. I had the Nikon on its “auto ISO” setting, which basically means it runs the ISO up as high as it thinks it needs to be to get a good shot. Some of these photos were at ISO 12,800.More Thai food. I didn’t work up enough courage to try eating off these street vendors, but I’ll bet the food was good.
The clubs are bars with entertainment. Most of the entertainers are young Thai women. Most of the entertainees are older western guys. It’s pretty sad, actually, and I imagine it’s a pretty rough life for the girls.
A snap shot in front of one of the clubs.Another club shot.
As always, motorcycles and motor scooters were everywhere.
Bikes lined up just off Soi Cowboy last night.And finally, a look down Asoke (that’s the street name) from a pedestrian overpass.
So that’s it for this post from Thailand. Watch for scenes from the floating market tomorrow.
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On our next day in Bangkok, Sue and I visited the Wat Pho Buddhist Temple. There are numerous Buddhist temples in this fine city, and on this (my third trip to Bangkok), the nod went to Wat Pho. The colors and the views were stunning, and my 8mm inexpensive Rokinon wide angle manual everything lens earned its pay yet again. I think it would be hard to find a Buddhist temple in Bangkok that was not impressive.
Wat Pho is one of Bangkok’s oldest temples, and it is one of six temples considered to be of the highest grade Buddhist temples in Bangkok. It is a royal temple.
Wat Pho has the famous reclining Buddha, which is 15 meters high and 46 meters long. It is one of the largest statues of Buddha in Thailand.Colors abound at Wat Pho. It is a photographer’s delight.Buddha images inside the temple.A colorful tapestry inside the Wat Pho temple.
We later walked around town a bit, including a visit to the infamous Soi Cowboy area (it’s right around the corner from our hotel). I will post a few evening Soi Cowboy photos in a later blog.
Thailand is two-wheeler territory. Motorcycles and scooters are everywhere. There’s more to come on this topic, so stay tuned.
I said I would try to get something motorcycle-related in each of these blogs, and here’s the photo for this one: A Sukhumvit Street stoplight at night, with all the motorcycles and scooters filtered to the head of the line.
In October of 2017, Susie and I visited Bangkok. I had a gig in Singapore and we opted to swing by Thailand on the way home. It was an awesome visit and I had a lot of fun taking pictures of Bangkok motorcycles, Thai women, a few Thai guys, food, and more. I thought I would rerun that series (with a few updates) for you here on the ExNotes blog. In as many of these posts as I can, I’ll tell you about the motorcycling scene in Bangkok, too.
Our first morning in Thailand! Sue and I were up with the sun and we walked around the block to get a few photos after a great breakfast in the Grand Pullman Hotel.
Sunrise in Bangkok. When it comes to smog, Bangkok is what California used to be.
The evening before was fun. We arrived at the hotel late at night, and because we had opted to stay on the executive floor, the hotel staff rolled out the red carpet for us. When we went to the check in counter and told the staff our names, they whisked us up to the top floor, brought us into the executive lounge, poured us each a glass of wine, put several kinds of appetizers in front of us, and seated on us on a comfortable sofa. Two young Thais basically interviewed Sue and me, they disappeared for a moment, and then they reappeared with our room keys. It was a pretty cool experience, and it was unlike any hotel check-in we’ve ever had.
That morning we walked around a bit taking in one of the world’s busiest streets in one of the world’s most exotic cities. The number of motorcycles on every street had our attention immediately. Something we had not seen before anywhere else in the world were the motorcycle and motorscooter taxis. People used motorcycles and scooters for taxi duty, as you will see in a few of the photos below.
A Thai motorcycle taxi rider waiting for a fare. Motorcycles are commonly used as taxis in Thailand.Another Thai taxi, this time a rider on a scooter. The orange vests signify that these bikes are for hire. You have to be a daring person, I think, to hail a ride on the back of the Thai two-wheeler.A Thai family on a scooter. And a few other scooters, all waiting at a traffic light on Sukhumvit Road, the main road through Bangkok.The ubiquitous Honda CG clone engine. These power motorcycles made all over Asia. They are probably one of the more reliable engines ever made.ATGATT: All the gear, all the time. Well, some of the gear. Maybe some of the time. Can you imagine what the emergency ward in any Bangkok hospital must look like?Street food, Bangkok style. Thai food was surprisingly good. But we weren’t risk takers…we only ate in restaurants.
The fun was just beginning. I’ve been pretty lucky all of my life and my work has carried me to some pretty exotic locales. I’ve seen a lot of the world and most of it has been on someone else’s dime. That’s what this Thailand adventure was. A client brought me to Singapore to teach a failure analysis course to a group of their defense ministry engineers (I wrote a book about failure analysis a couple of decades ago and it’s been providing adventures like this ever since). The heavy lift on this trip was the airfare to Singapore (which the client covered); swinging by Bangkok and stopping off there on the way home only cost a bit more. It’s a great way to travel. I had my trusty Nikon D3300 with me (I love that camera), and I put it to good use on this trip.
I think I’m going to run this Bangkok series every day starting today and for the next six days to maintain the story’s continuity (there will be seven Bangkok posts in total). If it’s too much, hey, just check back in when it’s convenient for you.
I first started welding when I was around 12 years old. My Pop gave me a few tips and handed me an oxy-acetylene torch. He showed me how to set the mixture with a haze of blue slightly beyond the core blue flame. He told me the filler rod is used to cool the puddle, not to melt into the gap. And he told me to keep moving when laying down a bead or you’ll burn through. With these simple lessons I never learned another thing about welding. When I worked at SWATH Ocean building aluminum boats I did a bit of MIG and TIG welding as needed for my electrical work. I could make a passible bead but I never knew why or how it worked.
At SWATH the real welders would set up the machines so that even an idiot like me could weld without an understanding of welding. We used giant, high-frequency start, Syncrowave machines that crackled all the telephone lines in a 500-foot radius. Orange colored MIG (metal inert gas) spool guns tied to large power supplies were strategically placed throughout the vessel making it super easy to attach brackets or braces as needed. During working hours the air inside the boats sparkled with aluminum dust and smelled astringent from the inert argon gas. We used to joke that cigarette smokers were the healthiest workers at SWATH because they breathed through a filter.
Over the years I’ve lost the muscle memory for welding and my beads are a jumbled mess. My hands are shaky, my near vision is compromised and I can no longer make presentable welds using any process. I’ve decided to educate myself on welding in general and welding processes that didn’t exist 40 years ago. Thanks to the global economy, welding machines (like most electronic products) have dropped dramatically in price. The advent of the small inverter welder for home use has been a giant leap forward.
I purchased this Vevor 130 multi-process machine from Amazon for only $120, shipping included. The Vevor runs off a standard 115-volt wall receptacle. In the past (where I spend most of my time) a machine with this capability would be ten times the price. The “multi” in multi-process refers to the Vevor’s ability to weld with flux core spooled wire, stick weld or TIG weld. The unit came with all the cables and guns needed for each type of welding process. It did not come with a cart, argon bottle or flow meter. The Vevor is meant for welding steel but there are some stick (also called MMA for Manual Metal Arc) rods available that will weld stainless. You might be able to weld stainless with the Vevor TIG (tungsten inert gas) torch but I haven’t tried it yet.
In stick mode the Vevor is a pretty standard welder like the ones that have been around forever. The old buzz boxes put out alternating current unless you bought an expensive AC/DC box. I had a Miller 225 AC/DC unit that suffered from a lightweight transformer and it was a bitch to strike an arc with the thing. As soon as the stick drew current the voltage would drop and weld the stick to your work. My Pop’s old Lincoln AC welder weighed a ton and I could strike an arc easily with that machine. Hysteresis matters when it comes to the old-style arc welders.
The Vevor puts out DC current all the time and being so light it’s hard to get the thing going in MMA/stick but if you scratch around long enough you can get an arc struck. Once burning, the Vevor seems to work like any other arc welder. Rated at a doubtful 130 amps, my Vevor tripped the 15-amp breaker in the shed at around 90 (indicated) amps. You’ll need at least a 20-amp rated receptacle to access all 130 amps, maybe even a 30-amp socket. Like all welding, stick welding is an acquired skill. The rod is continually getting shorter so you have to move your torch hand closer and closer to the work to maintain the correct distance. When your glove starts smoking it’s time to stop and get another rod. You’ll need to practice quite a bit before you make decent looking beads with stick. There is also a bit of splatter with stick.
Flux welding is a lot like stick, except instead of flux-covered rods you use a spool of steel wire with the flux inside. Flux core seems the easiest process to me. Setting up the machine is important but once you’ve got the wire speed and amperage right it’s pull the trigger and go. And go you can because you don’t need to stop and clamp a new rod in the holder to replace the ones you’ve consumed. The welder keeps feeding wire to the gun at a pre-set pace and your hand maintains the same distance the whole way through. Eventually the spool will run out but that’s after many feet of weld beads. Flux core also starts easy, for me anyway.
Flux core also splatters a bit like stick, maybe less. It’s no big deal (you can knock off the slag and balls of spooge afterwards). I am a total rookie at flux welding so I’ll need a lot more trial and error to get things right. Most YouTubers will tell you to buy a better roll of flux wire as the roll supplied with these cheap welders is not so great. After I run out I’ll buy a name brand roll of flux core to see if it makes a difference.
TIG (tungsten inert gas) welding is the coolest process of all. TIG usually uses an argon gas bottle to supply a flow of shielding gas to your weld. The actual process of welding is similar to oxy-acetylene welding except the torch is electric. With argon you don’t need flux but your material needs to be fairly clean. Unlike stick welding, you can’t just plow through rust and contaminated metal. TIG uses a tungsten rod as an electrode, but the rod is super tough and does not get consumed very fast.
My biggest problem with the Vevor in TIG mode (besides the fact that I am a terrible welder) is I forget to turn on the argon gas at the torch handle resulting in a burned mess and contaminated tungsten. More expensive machines do this automatically. The Vevor uses TIG lift, a method to strike an arc that seems to work fairly well most of the time. The expensive machines I mentioned above have a high-frequency start that keeps you from sticking the tungsten into the work and contaminating the rod. The TIG lift system works pretty well, I have no problem getting a TIG arc started with the Vevor.
With TIG you’ll usually need to add in filler rod just like torch welding. This is another hang up for me as my control of the filler rod is shaky. I often stick the rod onto the tungsten then I have to stop and clean the tungsten before going on. Dirty tungsten produces a crazy arc that wanders around or shoots out the side. The melted weld puddle is all over the place. It’s like playing whack-a-mole when this happens.
As I’ve said before, I’m a terrible welder so don’t hold these sample beads against the Vevor 130. A welder who knows what he’s doing will have no problem making decent beads with this machine. I am practicing on thin sheet metal mostly because I have a lot of it I cut out of an old file cabinet, and welding thin metal develops a better feel for heat control. I’m constantly burning through thin stuff. In these sheet metal samples the TIG produced the best-looking welds, although all of them are horrible.
As you can see from the backside, penetration on the thin steel was not an issue. Everything I did was too hot and was on the verge of burning through.
The above samples are on 1/8-inch thick steel. It’s an assortment of stick, TIG and flux core. If you look closely, you’ll see fleeting moments when everything was going well, followed by disaster. I give the $120 Vevor 130 high marks for economy and it really does weld all three processes. I haven’t yet welded long enough to overheat the machine, a common problem with cheap welders. If you want to weld 8-hours a day, you’ll need to spend a few thousand dollars.
I’ve been watching tons of how-to-weld videos and I plan on taking a welding class at NMSU next semester (Go Aggies!), my goal being to sort this mess out and produce some decent welding before I die. Note: All the samples in this story are just running beads. It’s harder to actually stick two pieces of metal together. Hang around ExhaustNotes.us long enough and you’ll see if I ever do become Vulcan.
I guess a good way to start a blog is to grab the reader’s attention, and I can do that here: How many people do you know who ride a Panther?
A few weeks ago I wrote a blog about Nick Adams, an interesting man, fellow motojournalist, and author. Nick is about the same age as me and he enjoys exploring the world on his different motorcycles. In other words, he is our kind of guy.
Nick Adams and his trusty Moto Guzzi.
In my prior blog about Mr. Adams, I mentioned that I planned to purchase one of his books. I did, and a few days after ordering Adventures on Borrowed Time, it arrived.
Adventures on Borrowed Timeis well written and well organized. It’s 191 pages long and it has lots of pictures. Nick’s writing style is conversational and easy to follow (it feels more like listening to a good friend’s stories than reading). The first chapter is about Nick’s ’72 Guzzi Eldorado (the one you see in the photos above). The following chapters take you through Canada, mostly on gravel roads, in good weather and bad. There are instances in which Nick’s Guzzi didn’t feel like starting, and Nick takes us through the steps he took to coax the old V-twin back to life. There are parts where Nick switches to his ’86 Suzuki Cavalcade (Suzuki’s attempt to cash in the Gold Wing craze), that monster of a bike’s surprisingly good handling, and the repairs Nick made to it. Parts of Adventures on Borrowed Timedescribe exploring Canada on Nick’s 650cc Suzuki Burgman scooter. And then, returning to my attention grabber at the start of this blog, Adventures on Borrowed Timedescribes Nick riding Canada on his 62-year-old Panther.
Never heard of the Panther? Don’t feel bad. The Panther is a 600cc single English bike made from 1900 to 1968, and most folks have never heard of it. They are fairly primitive, I think. I say “I think” because I’ve never even seen a Panther. And here’s Nick, describing what it’s like to take major trips through Canada on one. A long-distance moto adventure ride through the Canadian wilderness on a 62-year-old British motorcycle…what could go wrong?
The writing is superb, the photos are great, and the character development all make Adventures on Borrowed Timea book you need to read (the characters being Nick, his wife, the people he meets, and the bikes). You can purchase your copy of Adventures on Borrowed Timehere. Trust me on this: You’ll enjoy it. You can thank me later.
A quick recap: In Part One, I kicked off this solo motorcycle journey on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly christened Tippi. As I bid farewell to Sedona, the road promised a majestic odyssey. From the winding bends of the Colorado River to the breathtaking grandeur of Lees Ferry, Marble Canyon, Jacobs Lake, North Grand Canyon National Park, and Zion National Park, each mile etched indelible memories on my soul. Part Two unveiled the treasures of Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Great Basin National Parks, along with the legendary Loneliest Highway in America, Highway 50. The roads led me to Lake Tahoe, where I encountered unique wonders and overcame challenges that enriched my adventure. In Part Three, I entered the landscapes of Yosemite, Kings Canyon, Sequoia, and Lassen Volcanic National Parks. I visited the town of Bigfoot and the Lost Coast. Amidst these joys, there was a bittersweet encounter with my boyfriend, Mike, marking the end of a significant chapter in my life. Now, let’s continue the ride through northern California and the Oregon coast.
In the embrace of an early summer morning, I stood alone, a solitary figure beside my trusted motorcycle, Tippi. The sun painted the horizon in hues of gold and pink, casting a spell of serenity. This was the moment of bidding farewell to Greg, a friend whose hospitality touched my soul. The road stretched before me, an endless promise. As I eased Tippi out of Greg’s driveway, it felt as if the entire world held its breath, echoing the emotions that propelled me into this adventure. This journey, forged from the ashes of heartbreak and kindled by an insatiable wanderlust, was poised to unfold a voyage of self-discovery and emotional renewal.
Just the night before, I had embraced a decision steeped in emotional turbulence — a poignant farewell to my boyfriend, Mike. It was a decision marinated in profound sadness and the weight of loss. Despite the heaviness in my heart, I clung to the belief that the open road cradled an undiscovered trove of experiences, encounters, and life lessons. Each mile seemed to hold the promise of a fresh beginning, and as I departed McKinleyville, California on that Sunday morning, the marine mist hung in the air like a wispy veil. It created a backdrop to my reflections on the past and the enigma of the future. The chill in the air mirrored the swirling mix of emotions within me, signifying the dawn of a new chapter in my solitary adventure.
Surrounded by towering redwoods and glimpsing fleeting vistas of the boundless Pacific Ocean as the last remnants of marine fog dissipated, the morning unfurled in all the splendor I yearned for. We journeyed up the coast, passing through the awe-inspiring realm of Redwood National Park. This marked my tenth rendezvous with a national park in just a month of travel. Each park visit hammered home the vital importance of preserving our public lands, and standing amidst these colossal arboreal titans served as a perpetual reminder of their awe-inspiring grandeur.
Reluctantly, I bid adieu to the towering redwoods as Highway 101 gently steered me slightly inland, ushering me towards Elk Meadow. Here, nature unfolded a spectacle that stole my breath — an assembly of elk, the largest gathering I had ever witnessed. I yielded to the irresistible urge to halt and pay homage to their beauty, immortalizing the moment through the lens of my camera.
After our parting with the majestic elk, I made a brief sojourn in Crescent City, a pause to refuel Tippi and replenish my spirits with a cup of coffee. It was in this picturesque spot that I stumbled upon kindred spirits — two gentlemen on Ducati motorcycles. We shared a common destiny: Canada. While a twinge of envy for their sleek machines grazed my heart, I cherished the chance to engage in a brief yet warm-hearted conversation with fellow travelers.
With renewed zeal, Tippi and I resumed our journey on Highway 101, eager to cross into Oregon, the fifth state to embrace our adventure. We traversed familiar terrain, including the enchanting Harris Beach State Park and Whaleshead Beach in Brookings. While my original goal was Bandon, the unyielding coastal winds encouraged me to pursue the unknown paths that Oregon had hidden.
Coos Bay welcomed us with an uproarious windstorm, a tempestuous force of nature that consistently left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. After a hasty search on Rec.gov, I secured a campsite on the north side of Coos Bay. However, our path to the campground presented a challenge—an encounter with a bridge at the northern edge. Anxiety surged within me as a flashing warning sign taunted me with its “High Wind Alert” and “Overturned Vehicle” messages.
I wish I could recount the crossing of that bridge with calm and composure, but the truth was far from it. My grip on the handlebars was vice-like, my white knuckles bearing testimony to my sheer terror. My aversion to fierce winds reached its zenith, and adrenaline coursed through my veins as I navigated to the other side. Upon reaching the campground, my heart sank as I discovered an RV occupying the very spot I had reserved. The encounter with the RV owner left me frustrated and disheartened, an unfortunate epilogue to the nerve-wracking bridge escapade.
Thankfully, a benevolent camp host emerged as my savior, guiding me to an alternative sanctuary shielded from the relentless wind. After a modest dinner, I indulged in a generous pour of Irish whiskey, surrendering to the soothing embrace of slumber, grateful for the tranquility of the night.
As the sun greeted me with a gentle caress, I found myself back in the saddle on Tippi. An early morning ride past Florence unfolded, each curve of the road a thrilling waltz with the remnants of marine fog. This was my sanctuary — a joyful communion with the open road and splendid vistas without a hint of traffic. All too soon, Tippi beckoned me onwards, leading to Yachats, Oregon, a captivating seaside village promising both coffee and a well-deserved breakfast.
On a whim, I reached out to an old friend from Sedona, Elaine, her presence a comforting tether to the past. Hoping she and her gracious husband could join me for an impromptu cup of coffee, I was delighted when they not only accepted my invitation but also extended a generous offer for me to spend the night. It was the 4th of July, and their cottage, adorned with breathtaking views of the bay, surpassed all expectations.
I soon found myself immersed in the heartwarming tapestry of small-town America, a 4th of July parade, and savoring dinner with their friends by the bay (a diverse ensemble of souls who graciously embraced me). The day culminated in a spectacular sunset and an awe-inspiring fireworks extravaganza over the ocean (as you can see in the photo at the top of this blog).
Early the following morning, as I reassured my friends of my competence on a substantial bike, I negotiated their lengthy gravel driveway. But I inadvertently tipped Tippi over. My pride was slightly bruised, but with concerted effort, we righted Tippi, and my journey continued. The weather was perfect as the road led me along the rest of the Oregon coast, passing through my beloved coastal havens like Cannon Beach and Surf Pines before culminating in Astoria.
My journey reached a momentous juncture as I approached the Astoria-Megler Bridge, an imposing truss bridge spanning an astonishing 4.6 miles, suspended 192 feet above the majestic Columbia River. This crossing marked my entry into Washington State, and contrary to the daunting tales of ferocious winds, I was pleasantly greeted by a smooth and rewarding journey. I took a moment to document my arrival in my sixth state in just over five weeks on the road. With newfound enthusiasm, I revved up Tippi and continued my pilgrimage to the charming village of Westport, Washington, where my family eagerly awaited my arrival.
What an extraordinary adventure it has been, with the promise of even more to come. Along the way, I have cast aside heartache, embraced the highs and lows of the road, and found solace in the arms of independence, the kind of independence that comes from conquering challenges that nudge us beyond our comfort zones. I wholeheartedly embrace my addiction to solo motorcycle travel, cherishing the serendipitous encounters with strangers who become cherished friends, and savoring the freedom of the open road.
Stay tuned for the forthcoming chapter, where I will unveil my family adventures in Washington and the epic odyssey through Canada. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to you for joining me on this narrative journey. Your comments, suggestions, and unwavering support are a source of immense inspiration. Until then, whether you embark on a bike, in a car, on a bicycle, or simply with your own two feet, I implore you to heed the call of your own epic adventure. Safe travels, fellow adventurers!
I have been following this column ever since it hit the blogosphere, and I noticed that nearly all of our ExNotes writers have written about motorcycles they previously owned. This story is about some of the motorcycles and scooters I’ve had. It’s good to look back and cherish the things that have made life fun, and for me, motorcycles and motor scooters have certainly been a big part of that. Since I was a wee lad out on the farm, motorcycles have been my comfort, sanity and spare time hobby. They kept me out of the drinking and drugs my friends were getting into during high school. I opted instead for racing motocross in the mid 1970s when I was in high school. I was a Suzuki mechanic during high school and I loved it (despite all the teenage hormones interfering with my mind).
My very first bike was a Motobecane moped, which was also known as our barnyard speedway bike. With a little rain on the manure we could slide that baby around like Mert and the boys at the San Jose mile.
My next bike was a 1969 Hodaka Ace 100, and it was my first love. I spent many hours riding this motorcycle around the farm. I learned how to work on bikes on this motorcycle. They were great bikes.
This next one is a 1969 Maico MC125 motocrosser. I never got to ride or race it. A personal shortcoming is that I like to take things apart to see how they work. I took the rotary carb the off the engine to see how it worked. I then put it back together not realizing the rotary valve needed to go on in a certain way to time it with the piston going up and down. It never ran after that and burned up in the chicken house fire. Now, 50 years later, I know how to fix it. They say we get smart too late. This bike, for me, is one of many things that proves it.
This 1974 Suzuki TM125 was my elixir through high school. I raced it at Puyallup International Raceway’s high school challenge.
The 1974 Suzuki TM250 was my other elixir through puberty. In my first race I looped it over backwards and they wouldn’t let me race again at the Starbuck track in Washington.
Here’s my 1976 Suzuki TS250. It was my first adventure travel bike and I loved it. I remember its two-stroke motor smoking down Interstate 5. Yeah, baby!
Then it was a series of bikes for which I have the memories but no photos. I had a Honda MT250 enduro that I traded for a Skidoo snowmobile. I should have kept the bike. Then it was a Suzuki GN400 thumper road bike. It was old school cool. Next up was a 1978 Husqvarna OR250 enduro. I broke a rib on crashing that bike going less than 10 miles an hour and I suppose that makes me lucky (that rib was the only bone I ever broke, and I’ve been riding a lot of years). I next had a GY200 Chinese enduro with a Honda-based engine. That was followed by a 1998 DR650 Suzuki, a nice big thumper. I had a Kinlon 150 road bike prototype that I later donated to the Barbour Museum. They resold it at a Mecum auction a few years ago.
Here’s my 1974 Honda MT125 Elsinore project bike. I rode to the Badrock Reunion at Hodaka Days with it a few years back.
My 1986 Husqvarna WR400 was a wonderful bike, but it was too tall and too hard for me to kick start with a bad hip. I think I was over-compensating for something. But the price was good so I bought it.
I had a 1988 Honda NX250, another one that left me fond memories but no photos. It was a nice little enduro with a water-cooled engine and a 6-speed transmission. It was kind of like a CSC RX3.
This was my 2006 Suzuki DR650. If it’s a yellow motorcycle, I’m a goner.
I had a 2008 Kawasaki Versys 650 (another one with no photos). That was my first long distance traveling big boy bike and I rode it to the Grand Canyon, Bryce, Zion, and Yellowstone. It’s the only bike I’ve ever crashed on the road. I spun out going about 35 mph in Yellowstone on the geyser snot on the road. Who would have thought that was even possible? I smelled like rotten eggs the rest of that day after landing in a ditch filled with geyser water. (Editor’s Note: Better that than crashing the manure-drifting moped you mentioned at the start of this blog!)
I was one of the first to buy the new 2015 CSC RX3 250 and it was a fabulous motorcycle. It’s the motorcycle you I covered 17,500 miles with it and had tons of camping fun on rides to Baja, Hells Canyon, the Grand Canyon, Canada, Death Valley, the ExtraTerrestrial Highway, the Columbia River Gorge, and Moab. I rode an Iron Butt (baby butt) ride on the RX3, and I rode on the original CSC Western America Adventure Ride and the Destinations Deal ride. I called it Donkey Hotey, and mounted a hood ornament on it.
Those RX3s were fabulous motorcycles. It’s hard to believe that they came out 8 years ago.
Other bikes I’ve owned that I don’t have photos of that I owned around this time included a 2008 Yamaha XT250, a 2009 Yamaha XT250, a 2006 GY200 Chinese enduro project R&R motor that I worked on with my son.
Here’s a photo of my 2002 MZ 125SM. It was a cool little water-cooled motard bike. I had a lot of fun on it.
I bought a 1982 Kawasaki KZ440 basket case bike and put a Harbor Freight 312cc motor in it. It had a constant velocity belt drive. I really wanted a Rokon RT340. I got one of those later, and I’ll cover it below. I then had a 1999 Suzuki DS80. That was one I fixed to resell for a neighbor’s kid. I had a 1982 Suzuki PE175Z. I got it running and sold it. It was a very nice enduro motorcycle.
I owned a 2009 BMW F650GS twin. The BMW was a very nice bike for traveling across America. I rode it from Oregon to Alabama and back.
This was my 2009 Aprilia Scarabeo 200 scooter. I bought it to run in the 2020 Scooter Cannonball ride, but Covid canceled that run and I sold it.
Here’s a 1975 Rokon RT340. I had one just like the one in the photo below. It had a Sachs 340 snowmobile motor with a CVT belt drive. I was a twist and go setup that could reach 90 mph. Well, not with me on it, but it could.
I had a 1985 Honda Elite CH150 scooter that had been stolen, recovered, and then sat for years out in the weather. I got it running and it became my daily driver. I affectionately called it “Tetanus Shot,” because I felt like I needed a tetanus shot just by looking at it.
This is my 2008 Suzuki Burgman 400 Maxi scooter that has become my traveling bike now. I guess that makes me a Burg Man, too.
Here’s my 2012 Honda NC700X. I did a 7000-mile Alaska trip on it. It ran like a sewing machine all the way up and all the way back.
Here’s a 2019 Genuine G400c Chinese thumper road bike. I bought it used for a good price. It’s a fun little nostalgic bike that has a 1970s look. The same company that imports Genuine scooters imports this bike from China. It’s made by Shineray (they pronounce it Shin You Way in China). The engine is based on an old Honda design that Shineray picked up, and that engine is used as the basis for the Janus 450cc. Joe Berk rode one of the Genuine motorcycles out of Barry Gwin’s San Francisco Scooter Company about three years ago and he liked it, too.
This blog may be getting too long with all my old bikes and photos, so I will stop for now. Thinking about my former bikes has been fun, though, and if you have a bike you have fond memories of, please leave a comment below and tell us about it. And watch for a future blog about me going over to the dark side and becoming primarily a scooter rider.
My solo motorcycle journey of joy from Sedona, Arizona, to Canada continues. This is an epic journey and it holds a special place in my heart. I can revisit fleeting moments of pure joy, rekindle the emotions, and extract lessons learned along the way. As a woman riding solo, I am part of a remarkable and tight-knit sisterhood that inspires me, challenges me, and provides me with extraordinary kinship. With their spirit in mind, I’m excited to dive into the next chapter of my unforgettable summer ride.
In Part I, I embarked on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, affectionately named Tippi, leaving Sedona behind. Our journey took us through landscapes of the Colorado River, Lees Ferry, Marble Canyon, Jacobs Lake, North Grand Canyon National Park, and Zion National Park. It was a breathtaking start to an indelible adventure.
Part II chronicled our exploration of Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Great Basin as well as Highway 50 (the Loneliest Highway in America) and our arrival in Lake Tahoe. Each destination brought its own magic and challenges, enriching the tapestry of this incredible journey. Leaving Lake Tahoe after a full week of exploration was bittersweet. I savored every moment but the open road called, promising new horizons and cherished old favorites. This part of my journey led me to Roseville, California, where I had to part ways with Tippi temporarily for a well-deserved tune-up and a new chain. Joining forces with a fellow rider and friend Mike (whose BMW was waiting for a harness from Germany), we hatched a plan over drinks and a shared meal. Our first destination: Majestic Yosemite National Park.
We took a brief detour to pick up another adventurous soul, Dan, who would follow us as we made our way to a campsite outside the park. While the campsite may not have been the most scenic, the camaraderie more than compensated for it. We enjoyed a hearty campfire dinner, and Dan and Mike one-upped each other with travel tales of daring escapades. It was a night filled with laughter.
The following morning marked our entry into Yosemite National Park. For me, it held a special significance. It was here that I had embarked on my solo hike along the John Muir Trail, starting from this very valley floor. The memories flooded back, stirring emotions and a sense of longing that I can’t put into words.
We secured a campsite within the park and spent two days immersing ourselves in Yosemite. We hiked amidst the awe-inspiring vistas, capturing the record-breaking snow melt that transformed the waterfalls into powerful cascades painted by breathtaking sunsets. As if retracing my steps, I followed a small section of the John Muir Trail, a nostalgic journey that filled me with joy. Those two magical days, spent with my riding buddies, nourished my soul and dispelled the occasional loneliness that accompanies solo motorcycle adventures. The camaraderie and shared experiences reminded me of the beauty of both solitary and shared journeys.
With a fond farewell to our friend Dan, we resumed our journey, eager to immerse ourselves in the natural wonders of Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. Nestled within the Sierra Nevada, this region is a testament to Mother Nature’s diversity—flaunting thickly forested mountains in the north and the awe-inspiring austerity of the south, adorned with numerous 12-thousand-plus-foot granite passes. Each pass unveiled mesmerizing views of ancient tarns and the vast valley floor, a breathtaking vista to behold.
Walking among the giant Sequoias shrouded in mist left an indelible mark on our souls. It was a humbling and awe-inspiring, a stark reminder of the profound importance of our National Parks. They are not merely places of natural beauty; they are sacred sanctuaries that merit steadfast dedication and protection.
Leaving the majestic Sierras behind, we set our course for Roseville, where I was joyfully reunited with my beloved Tippi. After proper cleaning and the installation of a new chain, I mounted Tippi and instantly felt the familiar embrace of returning home as we navigated through the city. Our next destination was my ninth National Park on this epic journey: Lassen Volcanic National Park, a place I had never explored before. It’s the photo you see at the top of this blog.
Battling the sweltering heat, I was eager to escape the valley floor and ascend once more into the cool embrace of the mountains. Not even the looming threat of rain could diminish my excitement. Mike, still patiently traveling by car and awaiting his parts from Germany, made the most of vehicle camping. We embarked on an exploration of this new park, from leisurely walks around the serene lakes to gazing upon the painted desert from the viewpoint of an 800-foot-high cinder mountain. Two days sped by, leaving us reluctantly parting ways as we set our course for Bigfoot Country!
After a long day’s ride, we arrived in Redding, California, and were greeted by the majestic sight of Shasta Lake, with Mount Shasta occasionally revealing her beauty through the clouds. Continuing our journey, we soon reached our night’s destination, Willow Creek. This quaint town is adorned with numerous signs and wood carvings of Bigfoot, famously known for a rare sighting of the mythical creature. Adding to the allure, Highway 299 proved to be an underrated gem, offering exhilarating stretches of mountains and tight, winding roads, although the return of record-breaking temperatures reminded us of the heat.
Despite a warm night of camping, the anticipation of exploration tugged at our hearts, leading us to visit our friend Greg in McKinleyville, California. Leaving the majestic mountains behind for the refreshing embrace of the Pacific Ocean, I was up early and invigorated, eager to hit the beach!
Our long-awaited visit to the Lost Coast was the next thrilling chapter in our journey. Traveling through the towering giants of the redwoods and then navigating the winding, narrow roads flanked by quaint ranches and farms we finally arrived at our destination. Securing one of the thirteen coveted camp spots nestled against the picturesque sand dunes felt like a small victory. The beach, with its wild and rugged beauty, was a sight to behold. Our joy was multiplied when we invited an adventure rider from Croatia who had no place to camp to join us. We met two hikers planning to embark on the famous Lost Coast Trail the following day. With our newfound temporary traveling family, we combined our meager food supplies, beer, and the last of my Irish whiskey to set the mood for another unforgettable night of sharing grand tales beneath the starlit sky.
The following morning, we returned to visit Greg and his girlfriend K, soaking in his warm hospitality and exploring a delightful local wine-tasting room. The lazy Sunday was bathed in the glow of friendship as I leisurely embraced the day. That evening, I bid a heartfelt farewell to Mike for the last time. Our 4.5 years of shared adventures had gifted us with countless stories and unforgettable moments. With a heavy heart I knew I would miss our adventures together. The next morning found me back on Tippi’s saddle; after a fond goodbye to a casual friend who I knew would become a lifelong friend, I pulled out of Greg’s driveway and embarked on the northern coast journey along the famous Hwy 101.
I knew the days ahead would be filled with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean as I ventured into Oregon easing the bittersweetness of a wounded heart, but also an opportunity for reflection, healing, and embracing the boundless possibilities that lie ahead. I was on my bike heading wherever my heart desired and I planned on embracing each moment of my onward solo journey north.
Solo traveling is where my heart finds its purest joy, and venturing forth with my steadfast companion Tippi elevates this experience to unparalleled heights. While the presence of a cherished companion adds a unique dimension to our journey, the profound beauty of solo exploration lies in its ability to unveil the depths of our own capabilities. It’s about embracing the allure of the unknown and relishing the boundless possibilities of tomorrow.
As I eagerly dive into the upcoming chapters of my journey in Part IV, I promise to infuse these tales with the rich tapestry of emotions that solo travel and the open road have given me. I’ll unveil more stories of Oregon and Washington, and who knows, I might even tantalize your sense of adventure with a glimpse of enchanting Canada. The adventure continues, the road beckons, and the world awaits with open arms, ready to share its secrets and wonders with a wandering soul.
The Benelli B76 is a relatively rare and delightfully different handgun designed and manufactured more than four decades ago. In the 1980s, police departments were making a wholesale switch from .38 Special and .357 Magnum revolvers to 9mm semi-automatic sidearms. Benelli wanted in on this action and they introduced their B76 in an attempt to get on that bandwagon. Commercially, the B76 was a resounding flop. But from quality, technical complexity, and cool factor perspectives, Benelli out-Ducati’d Ducati, and that’s no mean feat. As an engineer, I find my Benelli to be an intriguing firearm. It’s not red and it doesn’t have a clutch that rattles, but it’s still a pretty exciting bit of Italian engineering.
Benelli B76 9mm handgun, viewed from the port side. It is an attractive weapon.
From a collector’s perspective, the B76 was a cool deal. I picked this one up in the 1980s when they were going for cheap and tucked it away in the safe, which is where it sat for the next 40 years. A few weeks ago, I had the urge to shoot it. Benelli only made around 10,000 of the things, and you almost never see them come up for sale anymore (while writing this article, I searched GunBroker.com and GunsAmerica.com and I didn’t find a single one). In the last couple of years, when they came up on the auction sites, well worn examples would sell for around $2K. Three or four years ago, one that was new in the box with all the papers (which is what mine was until a couple of weeks ago) sold for $4K.
The high market value kept me from shooting my unfired B76, and then I realized: I’m not going to sell my Benelli. All I was doing by not shooting it was acting as a warehouse for some guy who would buy it after I’m gone. So I made the only two decisions any responsible gun owner could make: I decided I’m going to live forever, and I’m going to shoot the thing.
Starboard view of the B76. It is an attractive pistol.
The B76 is a very high quality European handgun built like a lot of European weapons were back in the day. It is of all steel construction (except for the walnut grips). The polishing and bluing is deep and exceptional. Like pre-war Mauser rifles, it has matching serial numbers everywhere: The frame, the slide, the barrel, and the receiver (I’m making a distinction between the frame and the receiver, with the receiver being the part into which the fixed barrel is attached). You read the above right: The barrel is fixed (more on that in a second). Because all these parts are serialized, I’m guessing that there was a fair amount of hand fitting at the Benelli factory.
The B76 is both a double action and single action semi-auto, and the innards are complex. The expense associated with the design and the single stack magazine (the B76 holds only 8 rounds; the WonderNines of the 1980s could hold 14 or more cartridges) probably doomed the B76 in the police market.
B76 controls. The top arrow points to the slide release, the lower left arrow points to the magazine release, and the lower rear arrow points to the manual thumb safety (a combined safety/slide lock).Disassembly requires pulling the slide all the way to the rear, and raising the manual thumb safety (right arrow). Note that in this position, the slide is further to the rear than it would be when locked open by the slide release.
The B76’s controls are all in the right places, as you can see above. There’s a trigger (as noted above, both single and double action), a slide release, a combined safety and slide lock (more on this in a second), and a magazine release. Unlike the 1911 and most semi-autos, the magazine release is not pushed into the frame to release the magazine. You have to push it forward. When you do so, the magazine flies out of the frame.
The B76 front sight.The B76 rear sight.
The B76’s fixed sights are a three white posts with no elevation adjustment. The rear sight can be drifted in its dovetail mount to move point of impact left or right. I didn’t need to move the sights on my B76; the windage is perfect (40 years ago, some dude in Italy at the Benelli factory got it right). I held at 6:00 on the orange bullseye on the target at the top of this blog. The B76 shoots a little bit high at 50 feet, but on a man-sized target, it’s close enough for government work.
I don’t really care for the three white posts on the sights, as they make aiming more difficult than it should be. There are two white posts on the rear sight. When aiming, there are gaps between the rear sight’s slot and the front sight (so that’s two more white posts). And then there’s the white post on the front sight. What this means to the shooter is that you have to align five white posts. To my old eyes, that’s way too complicated. I like a simple black post front sight and a simple black slot rear sight on a target gun. On a carry gun, the green and red dots on my Smith and Wesson Shield are about perfect, but in my opinion, that’s about the only thing Smith got right on the Shield.
The B76 magazine. The red arrow points to the magazine follower.
As mentioned earlier, the B76 magazine “only” holds 8 rounds. That’s not an issue for me, as I’m a target shooter and I never load more than 5 rounds at a time. An interesting tidbit: The average number of shots fired in a gun fight is less than 2. I’m okay with a magazine holding 8 rounds.
Front to rear, there’s not a lot of real estate there. Overall cartridge length in this photo is 1.065 inches. Those are my reloads.
I found that I had to reload 9mm ammo to a shorter overall cartridge length for the Benelli. My other 9mm autos like the ammo to be loaded to an overall cartridge length of 1.105 inches (or more) for best accuracy. Loaded at that length, the cartridges won’t fit in the B76 magazines. To load ammo from the top by pushing one round in on top of the other, I have to hold overall cartridge length to 1.065 inches. I can go up to 1.080 inches, but to load cartridges of this length I have to pull the follower down and then slide the cartridges into the magazine. I fired cartridges of both lengths and I could see no difference in accuracy.
One last word on the Benelli B76 magazines: They are scarce. When you see them on Gunbroker.com, they go for $250 or more, and even at that price they don’t sit around long.
B76 disassembly for cleaning is different than a 1911, but still relatively simple. It starts by dropping the magazine from the weapon, pulling the slide all the way to the rear (beyond where it normally is restrained by the slide release lever), and then pushing the safety all the way up to hold the slide in this beyond-fully-retracted position.
Locking pawls in the firing pin retainer and bolt locking support. The locking pawls are in the closed position.
Disassembly continues with the locking pawls on either side of the hammer. In the photo above, with the slide in battery (all the way forward), the locking pawls are shown in the locked position. In the photo below, the slide has been pulled all the way back and locked, and the left pawl has been unlocked. The pawls unlock by rotating them to the rear.
Locking pawl in the open position. The little levers rotate outward.
The next step requires pushing the firing pin in (I used a brass pin so as to not scratch any surfaces) and pulling the firing pin retainer and bolt locking support downward. It will drop out of the slide.
The firing pin in the firing pin retainer and bolt locking support. When the firing pin is pressed in, the firing pin retainer and bolt locking support can be slid down and out of the slide.
Once the firing pin retainer and bolt locking support has been removed from the slide, the slide can be slid forward off the frame (you have to lower the safety to release the slide). At this point, all of the major components are accessible and easily removed from the gun. I took my B76 apart for cleaning after putting several hundred rounds through it, so in the photos below the gun is kind of funky. Mea culpa.
A very dirty B76 taken apart for cleaning. In this photo, you can see the slide, the firing pin, the firing pin spring, the blot, the firing pin retainer and bolt locking support, the bolt, the recoil spring assembly, the receiver, and the magazine. Note that the barrel is fixed to the frame. Theoretically, this should make the B76 more accurate, but I found its accuracy to be about the same as other 9mm handguns.The bolt, with the firing pin removed. The firing pin spring and the toggle lever lock are still in place. The spring is very light and it wants to stay in the bolt; exercise caution when removing it so as to not cause the spring to stretch too far and yield.The firing pin. It has a flat on the forward collar, which has to face up for assembly,The recoil spring assembly. It’s lighter than other semi-auto springs. That’s because the B76 slide is lighter than other slides.The bolt and its extractor. The extractor is also supposed to serve as a loaded chamber indicator, but in that regard it’s useless. It doesn’t protrude very much above the chamber, the red is covered with soot after the first shot, and the red is only visible when in front of the weapon.
So how does the B76 work? It’s complicated. There are a few YouTube videos that attempt to explain the B76 theory of operation and a few other explanations sprinkled around the Internet, and they are all either so superficial as to be useless or just flat wrong.
Larger caliber semi-auto handguns (9mm and up), other than the B76, rely on a design called locked breech recoil. Locked breech recoil systems keep the breech (the rear end of the chamber) locked against the slide until the bullet exits the muzzle, which allows pressure to drop to a safe level before the cartridge case is extracted and ejected. Larger caliber semi-auto pistols like the 1911 (and others) do this by keeping the barrel and the slide locked together initially. One thing to note at this point is that on these other guns, there is no separate bolt (the piece that fits up against the rear of the chamber). On these other guns the entire slide, in effect, is the bolt. It contains the firing pin and butts up against the chamber when the gun is in battery. When these guns fire, the barrel and the slide initially move together. As they move rearward from recoil and after the bullet has exited the barrel (by which time the pressure has dropped to a safe level), the slide keeps moving to the rear and the barrel is pulled downward. The barrel then unlocks from the slide, the slide continues to the rear, and the cartridge case is ejected as the slide’s extractor pulls the case from the chamber.
Going tangential for a second, you might wonder: Why not just let the recoil push the slide back to pull and eject the case from the chamber? Smaller handguns (e.g., 380 autos, .22 autos, etc.) work this way. But simply allowing the fired cartridge to push the slide rearward and eject (also known as blowback operation) is not feasible on the big dogs. There’s too much energy involved with the larger caliber guns, and too much gas pressure would be released near the shooter.
Benelli took a different approach. It’s quite clever and a bit abstract. In the Benelli literature, Benelli calls their system a delayed blowback locking system, but that term can also be applied to the 1911 approach. I’ll call the Benelli approach a lever-locked inertial system. The Benelli, unlike a 1911 or other larger caliber semi-auto handguns, has a separate bolt with a toggle lever lock and a bolt control stud. You can see these parts in the photo below.
The bolt in place in the B76 receiver. The arrow on the left points to the bolt, the center arrow points to the bolt control stud, and the arrow on the right points to the toggle lever lock. It’s dirty, I know. I shot these photos while disassembling the Benelli to clean it.
When the B76 slide is in battery (all the way forward), the firing pin retainer and bolt locking support (that’s a complicated name, but it’s all one part) at the rear of the slide push forward on the toggle lever lock. In this position, the top of the toggle lever lock butts up against the inside of the slide top, which holds the bolt down against the frame. In this position, the chamber is closed and the gun is in battery. When the bolt is in this position, a ramped surface at its rear engages a similar ramp in the frame. Until the hammer drops (and for a brief instant after), everything is locked closed.
Top and bottom views of the toggle lever lock. I’m guessing this is a hardened machined forging. I sure hope this piece never breaks.
When the B76 fires, the entire gun (the slide, the receiver, the whole gun) recoils and starts moving backward. The toggle lever lock is held down by the slide, and the toggle lever lock pushes down on the rear of the bolt, keeping it locked, too. But then a funny thing happens. The shooter’s hand, holding the receiver, slows the gun’s rearward motion (the motion that was induced by recoil). The slide, however, continues moving to the rear due to its inertia (the inertia it picked up when the gun was in recoil and everything was moving to the rear). As soon as the slide starts moving further to the rear than the receiver, the toggle lever lock drops and it no longer forces the bolt down. The bolt is now driven up by the ramp on its bottom that mates to a corresponding ramp in the receiver, and that drives the bolt control stud on top of the bolt into a slot in the underside of the slide. By this time, chamber pressure has been reduced significantly. And by this time, the bullet has cleared the muzzle and is headed downrange. The bolt and slide continue rearward. The bolt extracts and ejects the spent cartridge case.
After all the stuff I describe above occurs, the slide slows to a stop as it reaches the end of its rearward travel. The recoil spring force drives the slide forward again. The slide is still hanging on to the bolt control stud at this point, so the bolt is driven forward, too. As the bolt moves forward, the bolt picks up the next cartridge in the magazine and drives it into the chamber. And as the slide continues its forward motion it pushes the toggle lever link up, the toggle lever link pushes down against the bolt’s rear, the bolt control stud drops out of its slot inside the slide, and the bolt goes back into battery. Clever people, these Italians are (well, except for that desmo valve thing on their Ducatis). But they sure nailed it with this handgun design. Nobody else does it like this.
I love my B76. It is accurate enough, it is a fine handgun, it is extremely reliable, it is made of blue steel and walnut as God intended guns to be, and it is certainly something different. I have never seen another one on the range or in a gun shop, and that means something to me. It’s unique and it’s cool.
Here at ExNotes, we cover a lot of topics: Motorcycles, motorcycle touring, product reviews, concrete, guns, reloading, and more. And coffee. The thought occurs to me we’ve written a lot about coffee, from the primo Batdorf and Bronson beans provided by good buddy Ren to just about everything else. About now, you might be wondering: Where is this blog going?
Well, I was recently in Tokyo. I gave a class in Singapore and Sue and I thought as long as we had invested the 20+ hours to get there, we might as well stop in Japan on the way home (neither of us had ever visited Japan before). I’ll post a blog or two about the land of the rising sun in the coming days, but for now I wanted to talk about making coffee in our Tokyo hotel room. On these Asian trips, I’m usually up by 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. (there’s a 16 hour time difference between Japan and LA, and my biological clock doesn’t handle it well). They don’t serve coffee in the hotel lobbies over here, so you either make coffee in your hotel room or you don’t have coffee. For me, not having coffee has never been an option.
If you’ve read Riding China, you know that Gresh and I became experts at making coffee at places in China so remote they had to pipe in water and air. Our coffee was always prepared using instant Nescafe, which is almost a crime against nature for folks who enjoy a good cuppa Joe. Nescafe reminds me of that old engineering saying: Halitosis is better than no breath at all. But when it comes to making coffee in a hotel room, the Japanese had a better idea. It took me a while to dope it out and I finally had to read the instructions to do so. When I did, I realized: Clever people, these Japanese are. Take a look.
The water heater for making coffee. I thought the coffee bag would to into the white gizmo below the lid. I was trying to find a way to open it up. When I spotted the Phillips head screws securing it to the lid and I thought I needed a screwdriver, I realized I was on the wrong track. There are no English instructions anywhere on this pot.The bag of coffee. How the hell does it fit into the coffee pot?Ah, the flip side. No instructions in English, but there are pictures. I panicked initially when I couldn’t find the holding fixture the pictures show.Could it be? A cardboard fixture built into the coffee bag?Ah, these people are very, very clever. You heat the water in the pot, mount the coffee bag with its included cardboard mounting fixture in your cup, and pour the hot water over the coffee.It’s genius. Pure genius.And it was a damn fine cup of coffee, too!
Gresh and I sure could have used this when we rode across China. Next time, I guess, if I can find a place to buy these coffee bags. And you know what? As soon as I wrote that last line, I remembered: Amazon is your friend. I did a search on drip bag coffee, and wow, here they are!
I couldn’t let a story about coffee get by without a commercial or two…the first one being for our book, A Cup O’ Joes. Have you picked up a copy yet?
And the second commercial…how about Riding China, from which you can learn all about how two die-hard coffee drinkers struggled across the Gobi Desert, the Tibetan Plateau, and more in China, the land where people don’t drink coffee?
Our long-awaited visit to the Lost Coast was the next thrilling chapter in our journey. Traveling through the towering giants of the redwoods and then navigating the winding, narrow roads flanked by quaint ranches and farms we finally arrived at our destination. Securing one of the thirteen coveted camp spots nestled against the picturesque sand dunes felt like a small victory. The beach, with its wild and rugged beauty, was a sight to behold. Our joy was multiplied when we invited an adventure rider from Croatia who had no place to camp to join us. We met two hikers planning to embark on the famous Lost Coast Trail the following day. With our newfound temporary traveling family, we combined our meager food supplies, beer, and the last of my Irish whiskey to set the mood for another unforgettable night of sharing grand tales beneath the starlit sky.
