The ExhaustNotes Blog

Córdoba, Spain

By Joe Berk

Until this summer, if anyone had mentioned Cordoba to me my first thoughts would have been of Fernando Llamas and fine Corinthian leather. Men and women of a certain age will remember the Chrysler commercials of the ’70s and ’80s:

But I digress. This blog is about the real Córdoba. The one in Spain. I haven’t finished telling the story about our visit to Spain (I still have three or four blogs to go). This blog continues the journey, and our enfoque del día (focus of the day) is Córdoba. We traveled to Córdoba after our visit to Portugal.

Córdoba lies along the Guadalquivir, Spain’s second longest river. The Guadalquivir used to be navigable along most of its length; that is no longer the case.

Córdoba is in southern Spain (in the Andalucia Province) along the Guadalquivir River. The photo at the top of this blog is where we walked across the Guadalquivir River into the center of the old city. The bridge across the Guadalquivir was built by the Romans and for 2000 years it was the only bridge into the city. As we walked across the bridge and entered Córdoba, I noticed a couple posing for wedding photos in the now dry moat.

Ah, the wonders of a decent camera (my Nikon D3300), an inexpensive lens (the Nikon 18-55 that came with the camera), and PhotoShop. I cropped this photo and adjusted its curves and levels to get the image below.

Córdoba is a World Heritage site with an impressive history and stunning architecture. The city was part of the Roman Empire, then it was conquered by the Visigoths, then the Muslims (when it became part of the Caliphate of Córdoba), and finally, the Christians when they conquered it in 1236. When the Muslims were the landlords, Córdoba became one of the world’s centers of knowledge and education.

One of Córdoba’s principal attractions is the Mezquita-Catedral. It began life as a mosque in 784 – 786 AD when Abd al-Rahman I built it. I took the following photos using the fisheye 8mm Rokinon lens I’ve written about before. Using that lens requires doing everything manually (focus, shutter speed, ISO, and f/stop). I’ll usually have to take a few shots to get the camera dialed in using the onboard histogram. I set the ISO high (12,800) to get the speed (i.e., the camera’s light sensitivity) high enough for the dimly-lit mosque interior. That induces a lot of noise into the photo, but the noise mostly disappears when the photos are resized from their native 6000 x 4000 pixel size (at 300 dots per inch, or dpi) down to a 600 x 400 pixel, 72 dpi size for the blog.

Inside the mosque interior with the 8mm Rokinon lens. These interior photos were shot at a very high ISO, which adds a lot of noise to the photos that is not too visible in these reduced size images.

A cropped portion of the original photo above. The high ISO noise mentioned above is quite visible in this “actual pixels” viewing size.

Another option for these kinds of shots would be to shoot at a much lower ISO speed (say, 200 or 400 ISO) with the camera on a stable tripod. That would get rid of the noise, but exposure times would have gone up dramatically. I didn’t want to carry a tripod for a lot of reasons, so that approach was out. You might be wondering about using flash, but that’s a nonstarter, too. Most of these places don’t allow flash photography, and even if they did, the flash is only good for a few feet. Available light, no tripod, and high ISO is the way to go here.

This area goes back about 1200 years. The Muslims built it when ruled Cordoba.

Our local tour guide explaining more about the mosque.

Another indoor photo where the lighting was a bit better.

Islamic art and architecture inside the mosque.

When the Christians conquered Córdoba in 1236 the mosque became a church. There are a lot of churches in Spain that started life as mosques. Sometimes several such switches in ownership and religious affiliations occurred in other parts of Europe that had been ruled by the Moors. We’ve been in one that started as a mosque, became a church, and then reverted to a mosque as different factions occupied conquered lands (the one I’m thinking of is San Sofia in Istanbul, which I may get around to writing about one of these days).

So the mosque became a church as the Christians “converted” or executed all who were not Christians. While the artwork and architecture are beautiful, the history is not. During the Spanish Inquisition, the Jews of Córdoba had a choice: Convert to Christianity or die (with death preceded by horrific torture). The church is now referred to as the Mezquita-Catedral, the Great Mosque of Córdoba. The photos below show more of the Mezquita-Catedral.

The f bell tower dominates Córdoba. It was built over the mosque’s dome.

An interior photo of the Mezquita-Catedral.

A sculpture inside the Mezquita-Catedral.

Ferdinand and Isabella lived in Córdoba for a while when they used it as a base of operations to drive the Moors from Spain. It’s also where the Spanish Inquisition took root. Prior to The Inquisition, Cordoba had three synagogues and a sizable Jewish population. Today, only one synagogue remains and it is essentially a tourist attraction. My research indicates no Jews live in Córdoba today.

A doorway to the Mezquita-Catedral, as seen by the 8mm Rokinon lens.

What used to be the Jewish quarter retains the streets of medieval Córdoba outside the Mezquita-Catedral, and today the area is largely a tourist center. Although the streets are not laid out in a grid pattern, the Mezquita-Catedral tower dominates the town and is visible from all directions. It would be difficult to get lost in Córdoba.

The Mezquita-Catedral bell tower dominates the tourist area.

A door handle in Córdoba’s tourist area.

A knocker. If you look through our other posts from Spain and Portugal (I’ll provide a set of links below) you’ll see quite a few similar photos.

There are many restaurants in Córdoba, and we enjoyed lunch at one. Most of the restaurants have tables in front on the narrow cobblestone streets, and virtually all meals are preceded by complimentary tapas. After having lunch, we wandered around a bit more. There are about a dozen churches in Córdoba, and most go back to medieval times. I watched a family entering one for a wedding.

This woman was outside a church prior to a wedding. I’m guessing she’s either the bride or groom’s mother. I caught a pretty dour expression when I snapped this photo, but immediately after she broke into a huge smile. I don’t know why I didn’t hit the shutter again.

After Córdoba, it was on to Madrid. We traveled on Spain’s high-speed rail, running at speeds of around 220 mph. That was really cool.

A high-speed Spanish train. Their rail network is impressive.

So there you have it: Córdoba. I didn’t see Fernando Llamas nor did I encounter any fine Corinthian leather. But it was still fun, the city’s dark and inhumane history notwithstanding.

Our other Spain and Portugal posts are here:

Spain and Portugal
A Portuguese Norton
Lisbon
Coimbra, Portugal
Granada and the Alhambra
A Spanish Olive Oil Plantation
The Sportster of Seville
Évora

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Rev’d Up Coffee in Claremont, California

By Joe Berk

Wow, did I get lucky with this…a coffee and motorcycle spot just a few miles from home. It used to be that I had to ride all the way up Angeles Crest Highway to Newcomb’s so I could hang out at a motorcycle destination where like-minded people stopped for something to eat and to admire other motorcycles. Then Newcomb’s closed, a victim of the down economy and the pandemic. There was another cool spot Gresh and I spent an evening at in Chongqing, but the chances of me riding the Enfield across the Pacific to get there are slim. And then, I noticed Rev’d Up Coffee and Classics in Claremont. Claremont is the next town over from where I live. I’d seen Rev’d Up before, but I figured it was just another Gen X or Millennial (or whatever they’re calling themselves these day) Starbucks refugee trying to cash in on the coffee craze with a little moto mystique thrown in as sort of an artificial sweetener. Boy, was I ever wrong; there’s nothing artificial about Rev’d Up or its owner.

Steve Solis, motorcyclist and Rev’d Up proprietor, taking a break from Bike Night cooking duties.

Steve Solis is the guy who owns and runs Rev’d Up. He’s a good guy, a lifelong area resident, and a rider. Steve’s personal ride, a Sportster, is usually parked inside the restaurant seating area during normal business hours, but he brings it outside during bike night.

Steve’s personal ride – a Harley Sportster with an extended front end and apehangers.

The theme of Rev’d Up is bikes, classic cars, and hot rods. Steve has a couple of vintage bikes on display in the restaurant windows, and there are cool moto things throughout the dining and coffee sipping area.

A Honda Dream on display in one of the Rev’d Up windows.

Another vintage Honda on display at Rev’d Up.

Older motorcycle helmets. I wore one of the Peter Fonda Captain America helmets in the ’70s.

In keeping with the Rev’d Up theme, the menus are displayed on car hoods suspended from the ceiling. One is from a Camaro, the other is from a Datsun.

The breakfast and lunch menu. On Bike Nights, Steve is out front making Philadelphia cheesesteak sandwiches. They sure smelled good.

The coffee and other specialty drink menu. I have to try the Easy Rider.

I asked Steve what the best kept secret was. His answer? The Easy Rider espresso. He said it was his favorite drink. Next time I’ll try it.

The best part of any of these gatherings is always wandering around in the parking lot, taking in the bikes, and talking to the riders. There’s no set theme regarding the bikes. Harleys, choppers, Ducatis, KTMs, BMWs, Triumphs, and more. They were all there.

Check out the SU carb and the velocity stack on this Shovelhead chopper. Where does the rider’s leg go?

The Harley Panhead engine, one of the two best-looking Harley engines ever made. The other one is the EVO motor. Those Panhead valve covers are impressive.

Bike night is not all about choppers. The colors on this helmet and motorcycle stood out.

Another classic and beautiful motorcycle. The 748 was a later version of Ducati’s 916. They look good.

There are no better colors for a classic BMW boxer twin than gloss black with white pinstripes.

As we were leaving, this Triumph pulled into the parking lot. All marques are welcome at Rev’d Up. It’s a cool place.

Rev’d Up Coffee and Classics is located at 212 West Foothill Boulevard (that’s Route 66) in Claremont, California. It’s definitely worth a stop, and I’d say it’s a worthwhile place to take a ride. Maybe I’ll see you there. Look for the orange Enfield in the parking lot; if it’s there, I will be, too.

ExNotes Product Review: Waymo Self-Driving Cars

By Joe Gresh

There is a megacity out in the Arizona desert. It runs for miles and miles, ever expanding into the scrublands. Phoenix, Chandler, Tempe, Scottsdale and other towns have merged into one, giant, golf course subdivision splattered with Wal-Marts, drug stores and tilt-up warehouse mattress vendors. It’s hot, dry and thirsty. I don’t understand why so many people willingly bake in the sun. Waymo, the self-driving taxicab company has found a way to eliminate a few of those people.

ExNotes tested the Waymo’s plying the streets of downtown Tempe. Laid out in a grid pattern with tall buildings blocking radio signals Tempe would be a tough test for Waymo. How the system works is you download an app and enter your information. Next you order a car telling Waymo where you are and where you want to go. How long you wait for a car depends on traffic or rider loads. CT and I took Waymo rides three times and the usual wait was 5 or 10 minutes. The Waymo cars we rode in at Tempe are made by Jaguar and look like any generic, white SUV-ish car, except the Waymo’s bristle with cameras and sensors on all four corners and the roof.

Let me cut to the chase and tell you the actual driverless-car part worked great. You can sit in the front seat or rear seat, once inside with your seatbelt on you push the start field on the dash display. The Waymo will watch for traffic and pull out onto the street just like a person is driving. The car still has a steering wheel that spins around as the car makes corners. The Waymo doesn’t pussyfoot around, either. It accelerates right up to speed and takes curves with a bit of hustle. It stopped at stop signs, circled roundabouts and waited patiently at traffic lights.

I felt totally comfortable sitting in the passenger seat letting the computer drive. I suspect that’s because I’ve been installing autopilots in boats for 50 years. From the first Metal Marine Pilot to the latest digital units tied into GPS and radars. I’m used to sitting at the helm with the boat steering on its own. Of course there are a lot less things to run into on the water compared to downtown city streets, but I saw the Waymo as just a fancier version of electronic stuff I’ve dealt with for years.

As there is no driver, there is no need to tip. The short Waymo rides we took cost around $4 each and the money is charged through the app. You get in, arrive at your destination and get out. Oddly enough, the technology of the self-driving car wasn’t where Waymo fell down on the job.

Our problems came during the pick up process. Waymo’s app will tell you to walk 700 feet this way or head 350 feet south on Fifth Street feet while you’re waiting for the car. You can watch the car’s progress on the app and judge arrival time. After following the apps instructions we found it best to ignore the app and stay in one spot and wait until we could see the Waymo, and then walk towards it. Pick up was usually fairly close but one time the car waited for us about a block and a half away.

We were walking all over trying to find the thing. Waymo’s app has a toot horn feature and we used this to echolocate the car. Upon our arrival the car decided it had waited long enough and drove off. We were 15 feet away. It’s kind of dumb because Waymo knows your location via the phone app. It knows how far away you are and can see you moving towards the car. Also, Waymo needs a “Pick me up where you dropped me off” feature to cut down on walking time. As the software is configured now Waymo might drop you at the front door of your destination but when you call for a pickup the car might be down by the river.

Long time ExNotes readers will know I’m not the sort of guy known for embracing the future. But being a motorcyclist I can see the advantages of ever-vigilant computers replacing the brain-dead car drivers that kill us so often. I’d rather ride in a megacity full of Waymos than the usual collection of phone texters, blind drunks and road ragers.

It’s still early times in the self-driving car business and the road driving part is already amazingly good. I could tell no difference between the Waymo and a human driver. The weather was perfect in Tempe so I can’t speak to how the car would perform in a snowstorm or on icy roads. Maybe it defaults to park? I can see personal self-driving cars becoming popular if we can figure out all the legal ramifications and who gets the blame in an accident. But it’s not like we don’t have accidents now. I say bring on the future.

ExNotes Product Review: Harbor Freight Double Cut Saw

By Joe Gresh

Harbor Freight’s economy brand, Chicago Electric, has been much improved over the years. Back in the 1990s you were lucky to get a few months use out of a CE tool before it burned up. Of course, what did you expect from a 10-inch circular saw that cost 15 dollars? They were sort of one-use tools, bought for a particular job then tossed in the trash after the job was done. This early crappiness has tainted the Chicago Electric brand and there might still be a few dud CE products out there.

I’ve had pretty good luck with more recent Chicago Electric stuff. Their paddle-switch 4-inch grinder has lasted 10 years for me and is still going strong. I have a Chicago Electric sawsall that is pretty old and it has held up well. You no longer get smoke pouring out of a Chicago Electric tool the first time you plug it in.

This Chicago Electric Double Cut saw is marked down on clearance at 44 dollars. In Harbor Freight land a clearance item usually means the tool is being discontinued and when they are out they are out. I had to get my local HF technician go into the back of the store and rummage around to find one. You may have to visit several stores to find one. Clearance tools are usually superseded by a similar tool with a possible upgrade in quality or just bold new graphics so if you can’t find a Double Cut saw just wait a bit and another one with a different part number will appear. Although, it won’t be $44.

I’m impressed with the improved quality of the CE Double Cut saw. The castings, both metal and plastic look well made and finished nicely. This saw has a bit of heft so at least there is some copper and steel in the thing. The saw comes mostly assembled, you only need to put the grab handle on and feed a lube stick into the nifty feed hole provided. Like most CE power tools the cord is stiff and plasticky I guess it’s better than the SO type of cord with the easily damaged jacket. The saw comes with a nice little wrench for changing the two (included, carbide-tipped) blades.

Ergonomically, The saw has some issues for me. The power switch is an odd, push down and forward, deal that takes some getting used to. You have to hold the switch on, this puts your hand close to the front of the saw and your other hand is holding the grip nearby. I would move the switch aft on the tool to give better hand separation and thus more steering control. By necessity, the saw blades are almost completely shielded which makes seeing your cut line impossible. There is a V- notch in the front of the blade housing that gives an Idea of where the cut will be. If you want a precision cut you’ll need to rig up a fence. By the way, don’t even think of removing the shields as the Double Cut puts out metal particles when it plows through steel. Wear safety goggles!

What makes the Double Cut somewhat unique is the two, counter-rotating blades. This arraignment cancels out any kickback or climbing out of the cut. Cutting round stock is a breeze, as the material doesn’t try to spin when the blade makes contact. The saw feels wonderfully neutral in action and not the least bit scary cutting steel. The saw is useable on most any material: steel, aluminum, and wood. There is a blade lube feature for use on stickier metals like aluminum or sappy woods. I bought the saw for metal.

I’ve used the saw on 1/8” mild steel and it cut like a hot knife through I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. Again, there’s a fine mist of metal particles generated while cutting so wear those goggles. The finished cut is clean with no sharp flashing like with a 4-inch abrasive cut off wheel. On sheet metal roofing the saw cuts as fast as you can push leaving a clean, square edge to slice your finger on when you hoist the panel onto the roof. If you do metal roofs you need this saw.

I probably should take the saw apart and grease the internals but the thing might fly apart on disassembly so I’ll use it as is for the foreseeable future. The depth of cut is only 1-1/4’ but really, if you tried cutting steel that thick you’d probably burn up the saw. Blade depth adjustment is in your hands as there is no hinged foot to set the blade. I don’t know how long the blades will last cutting steel and if the saw is truly discontinued you might want to stock up on replacement blades available at your local Harbor Freight store.

The verdict is in and I pronounce the Double Cut a fine deal at only 44 dollars. If you work with thin-ish metals, say 1/8” to sheet metal this could be your saw. For complex cuts I still use the 4” grinder with an abrasive, metal cutting blade because the line of sight is better, you can see exactly where the blade is. Harbor Freight isn’t the only company that makes this type of saw. Other brands are available, here’s one online at Amazon and the saw looks about the same.

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part II

By Bobbie Surber

Welcome back to the next chapter of my solo motorcycle journey from my hometown of Sedona, Arizona, to the captivating landscapes of Canada. In Part One, I shared the exhilarating start of my adventure, from Sedona to the awe-inspiring beauty of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing Zion National Park. Now, as I continue northward on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi, join me in experiencing the next leg of this epic ride.

As I left the captivating beauty of Zion National Park behind, I couldn’t help but marvel at the magic of solo travel. The open road stretched out before me, promising new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in ways that only solo exploration allows. My heart swelled with anticipation as I headed north into Utah, a state known for its stunning natural landscapes.

A Return to Bryce Canyon

My next destination was my beloved Bryce Canyon National Park. The ride to Bryce Canyon was a scenic marvel in itself. Utah’s highway 89 to Route 12 made its way through crimson canyons, past towering rock formations, and into high-altitude forests. Every twist and turn of the road revealed a new panorama of breathtaking beauty.

Arriving at Bryce Canyon, I was greeted by a surreal landscape of hoodoos—towering, otherworldly rock spires that seemed to defy gravity. I hiked once again the trails that wound through the park, taking in the views from vantage points like Sunrise Point and Inspiration Point. Wall Street trail was closed for repairs, but trusty old favorites satisfied my need for a day of hiking. My camp spot at Sunset Campground gave me the chance at an early morning sunrise the next morning. A predawn wakeup found me walking to the rims edge to watch the sun slowly rise below the horizon, the hoodoos took on a fiery glow, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the amphitheater-like terrain. Bryce Canyon’s mystical allure left an indelible mark on my soul, reminding me why I embarked on this journey in the first place. After a second night at Bryce, I was ready to tackle another epic day of riding Route 12 through Escalante to the sweetest underrated Capital Reef National Park.

Exploring Route 12 and Capitol Reef

Continuing my adventure, the following morning, I eagerly resumed my route on Highway 12, heading towards my favorite section of the road, high above the captivating Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. This expansive and remote region boasts rugged canyons, vibrant cliffs, and extraordinary geological formations. The landscape, with its impossible rock formations, treated me to endless twisties, creating a sense of otherworldliness. My Tiger 900 was as happy as I was as I relaxed into the ride and allowed her to remind me again what her three cylinders can do. Both of us were in sync as we leaned into curve after curve as we blasted down to the bottom of the canyon.

As I reluctantly approached the tiny town of Boulder, Utah, I realized I had made short order through the endless twisties of this section of Route 12. However, I was unexpectedly greeted by an old-school cattle round-up, complete with cowgirls and boys herding a large herd down Highway 12! After a brief turnaround, I found solace in my favorite restaurant, the Burr Trail Grill. Their farm-fresh ingredients delighted my taste buds, whether it was their fresh arugula salad topped with local goat cheese or their beastly-sized burgers that proved a challenge to conquer.

Resuming my journey on Highway 12, I found myself in an unexpected predicament. The cattle herd’s progress was slow, and I crawled along, clutching endlessly as I felt my left hand about to begin a serious complaint! Amidst the frustration, two memorable moments emerged. Firstly, a passerby exclaimed, “Dude, you have the sweetest bike and setup!” We shared a laugh as he realized I was indeed “dudeless.” Secondly, after navigating my way to the front of the line, I convinced the lead cowboy to move the herd slightly to the right, allowing me to pass. Maneuvering my bike through the cows became a comical adventure, with prayers that the sound of my motor wouldn’t startle them. Experiencing this traditional cattle drive in 2023 felt like a slice of Americana and added yet another reason to love Utah.

Leaving the cattle behind, I ascended Boulder Mountain, where endless views revealed the backside of Capitol Reef on the right and scenic meadows with clusters of aspen, fir, and spruce trees on the left. Surprisingly, the mountain still boasted more snow than expected for June. Camping, fishing, and wildlife viewing opportunities abound in this mountainous region, with numerous campgrounds and dispersed campsites available. I’ve personally spent nights here, savoring the breathtaking vista overlooking Capitol Reef and the sprawling valley floor. Soon enough I was descending Boulder Mountain and into the small town of Torrey, UT, and just a short few miles away from Capitol Reef National Park for two more nights of camping. A quick setup of my camp, and I was off to town for a much-needed shower and a cold beer! Later that day, a lovely couple I met in Zion joined me at my campsite and I was treated to a homecooked Korean chicken dinner, which was a far cry from the instant ramen I was planning for dinner. A lovely couple who reminded me that the gift of travel is the unexpected friends we make along the way.

The next morning found me out on the trail a hump up to the top of the mesa for a panoramic view of the park. The air was crisp with hints of the heat to follow. The trail descends into a slot canyon then an arroyo wash to the other side of the park and beyond. Reluctantly heading back, I got on Tippi and explored the nearby petroglyphs. All in all, my short stay was a rewarding two nights and now headed to the not-so-famous outside of crazy riders who seek out remote roads Highway 50, billed as the loneliest highway in America!

Highway 50: The Loneliest Highway with a Detour to Great Basin National Park

I made a short order of breaking camp, and in no time Tippi and I were on highway 24 with the goal of making it to my 5th National Park, Great Basin. Following Route 24 goes through a rural farming section of the state with many small Mormon communities and opportunity for a breaks, food, and gas. I was eager to blow through this well-familiar route to get to Highway 50 and cut my teeth on a section of road I had been warned NOT to ride.

As I picked up Highway 50 off Interstate 15, I soon hit the famous first road sign and stopped to document my ride on her with a pic. With once again threatening storms, I glanced at the mountain ahead and thought how bad could it be? It was bad, I was wrong once again guessing the threat of a storm. A short very wet ride later, I left behind Highway 50 for a few days to visit the park. As a first timer to Great Basin NP, I was truly blown away! You enter the tiny town of Baker on the desert floor then 20 minutes later you are in the mountains with thick forest and views overlooking the high desert plains that seem to go on forever. Not to be missed is a guided tour of Lehman Caves. Truly the highlight of my stay. I selected one of the higher small campgrounds and was rewarded with a huge site surrounded by trees and brush with the river roaring behind me.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to Baker, I rejoined Highway 50, heading towards my next destination, South Lake Tahoe. Contrary to the dire warnings of scarce gas stations, I discovered that this notion was unfounded. Approximately 70 miles down the road, I arrived at Ely, another small mining town with plenty of services. After a quick refuel, I resumed my journey, realizing that the otherwise flat stretches of road were intermittently punctuated by mountain passes exceeding 7000 feet in elevation. These segments offered breathtaking vistas and enough twists and turns to satisfy both Tippi and me.

My first mountain pass, before descending into Ely, Nevada, presented an exhilarating ordeal with rain, lightning, and a brief ten-minute ride through hail. Eighty miles further, I found myself in the town of Eureka, where the threatening skies curtailed my exploration time. Nevertheless, I managed to visit a few must-see attractions, including the Opera House, built in 1879, the still-functional Courthouse of the same vintage, and a brief excursion to the town’s cemetery, where a variety of burial sites represented different social organizations, religious groups, and ethnicities. This walk-through history provided a fascinating glimpse into the town’s past.

Continuing on Highway 50, with the ominous skies in my rearview mirrors, I was reminded of the urgency to press on towards my next stop—Austin, Nevada. This old mining camp retains its rustic charm and has evolved into a haven for camping, hiking, and mountain biking, thanks to its proximity to the towering Toiyabe Mountains. During a pit stop, I encountered a large group of riders following the Pony Express Trail, who praised my adventure, while I vowed to return in the near future to explore that historic route.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to this enchanting mountain town, I embarked on another 112-mile stretch to Fallon, Nevada. This promised a well-deserved lunch break and refueling opportunity before the final leg of my journey to Lake Tahoe. As hunger pangs intensified, I hurriedly pulled into the first gas station I encountered. Curiously, the ground appeared slanted, making it impossible to safely park my bike with its kickstand without an extreme lean. Oddly, as my kickstand tends to be a bit high, I often worry about Tippi toppling over. Trying another station, I realized that my kickstand was not misaligned but broken—a sudden and unfortunate realization. With every ounce of strength, I fought to prevent Tippi’s full weight from pinning me between the gas pump curb and the engine crash bar. As I cried out for help, a kind soul named Caleb rushed to my aid, assisting me in righting Tippi. Examining the kickstand, I conceded that my lunch break was a lost cause. I refueled while seated on my bike and came to terms with the fact that I would have to ride the rest of the way without lunch and with a dangling kickstand, just inches off the ground.

Continuing Towards Lake Tahoe

Arriving in Lake Tahoe was like reaching an oasis after a day filled with challenges and stunning scenery. The sight of the crystal-clear waters surrounded by towering pine trees was simply breathtaking. I met up with Mike Huber, a fellow adventure rider, as we eagerly exchanged stories of our respective journeys over drinks and pizza. Mike is a seasoned rider with an incredible collection of travel stories and insights, and this blog, which is a treasure trove of motorcycle adventures.

We decided to make the most of our time in Lake Tahoe by exploring the area together and spending time with our dear friend Yvette who had left Sedona for the mountains and lakes surrounding Tahoe. Two up on Tippi, our first stop was a visit to Emerald Bay State Park, a gem nestled on the lake’s southwest shore. A short hike up a roadside trail took us to a stunning vista overlooking Emerald Bay below. The clear blue waters and Fannette Island in the middle of the bay made for a postcard-perfect scene. At sunset we were even rewarded with a surprise pop up of a brown bear who a few feet away provided us with a pose straight up worthy of National Geographic!

Lake Tahoe, with its stunning shoreline, pristine waters, and surrounding mountains, offers many outdoor activities. We decided to spend the next afternoon cruising around the lake, taking in the panoramic views and stopping at scenic overlooks. Riding around Lake Tahoe was a highlight of my journey, and I couldn’t have asked for better company.

Conclusions

As I reflect on the second part of my solo motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada, I’m filled with deep gratitude for the experiences and sights that have unfolded before me. From the awe-inspiring beauty of Bryce Canyon to the challenging twisties of Route 12, from the serene landscapes of Great Basin, this adventure has been a testament to the power of the open road and the indomitable spirit of solo travel.

Every mile has been a lesson in self-discovery, a reminder of the world’s beauty, and a celebration of the freedom that comes with embracing the unknown. The road has been my companion, and the landscapes have been my muse. And as I continue to ride north into Canada, I know the journey is far from over. There are more roads to explore, adventures to embrace, and stories to tell.

Stay tuned for the next chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road beckons, and I’m eager to see where it will lead me on this journey of a lifetime.

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Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 4 (It’s Probably Time to Head Back)

By Mike Huber

Balancing life is rarely easy. It seems there is something almost always out of sync, be it work, health, or a loved one in need of help. Peru is one of those rare times in my life where I and everything surrounding me seemed to be in perfect harmony. I was coming up on six weeks living in Cusco and the adventures seemed endless from my home base there. I was making a ton of new friends, but with Cusco being so much more of a tourist town these new connections were always short lived. Surely now it’s different with so many Westerners living abroad and working remotely, but being a pioneer of this lifestyle in 2012, missing a community began to set in. Not so much on the weekends as I was too busy, but during the weekdays a void began to drain me.

The decision to make the long journey back to the United States was not an easy one. It took so long to get to where I was and had built connections for my next planned move to La Paz, Bolivia. I was running very low on vacation time and everything I wanted to see in Bolivia was a multiple day bus ride. Buffering in unknowns (such as a bus breaking down in the middle of nowhere) was necessary. I would be city bound in La Paz, and I don’t think they had as many baby llamas to pet, so Bolivia just didn’t feel right on any level.

The last week in Peru was a much deeper experience (I didn’t even know it could get deeper than where I had been). Every moment I was out felt much more special knowing that time was short in this magical place. There was a lot to do in my Cusco backyard that hadn’t been explored. My focus had been on visiting remote areas such as Lake Titicaca (I had to say it again), rather than exploring the wonders closer to my home.

My final week in Peru was filled with exploring local points of interest such as the San Pedro market where there were all kinds of foods, drinks, and potions that most Westerners will never see or smell (be thankful you are missing the smell part). The market consisted of endless types of foods. Many of these foods seemed to be pulled straight out of an Indiana Jones movie. It wasn’t strange to see Guinea pig’s necks being snapped, and then the animal being tossed into a boiling pot, gutted, and grilled. Other items included horse heads, pig heads, and snakes in water jars. This market was a plethora of sensory overload. Normally I would just visit it to pick up a bag of coca leaves for about 30 cents and some of my “special” tea mix.

Somehow, I still managed to find time to do silly things with downtime during the weekdays. The last Sunday I was there it poured, and being bored, I was searching the apartment for something to eat while watching TV. I found in the back of the refrigerator a beer pitcher that I had filled with coca leaves a week or so prior and added a bottle of white wine. Well, it seems the wine had absorbed the coca leaves and turned the wine into a dark yellow. Being that this chapter was coming to an end I thought it would be the perfect day to partake in this concoction. Who knows, maybe it would have similar effects to the coca beer. I drank the entire pitcher. The coca-infused wine just had this bitter earthy taste that I really enjoyed. Like the coca beer it provided a jolt of energy with a nice light buzz that assisted me in packing and wrapping up my life in the Andean city of Cusco.

With the coca wine buzzing inside my head, a bigger question emerged: Where was I to live upon returning to the United States? My Boston condo was rented for another five months, so that option was out. I was not sure if it was the wine or the fact that this change may not be as simple as I had anticipated. Throughout my travels around Central and South America, it always seemed that if things went south, I could just return to the United States. Being so preoccupied in the moment during my travels, however, I never designed a fallback plan aside from boarding a return flight.

As the week came to an end, I was now boarding that flight. I was not, however, in too big a rush. It felt right to instead return to Nicaragua for a couple weeks and ease my way north and see my dogs. While I was there, Hurricane Sandy hit and knocked out power throughout the Northeast. That morning as I watched the news, I had a decision to make: Do I power up the laptop and be the only person in the Northeast who showed up for work, or do I continue with the “I am in Boston” charade?

I chose Option A, deciding that I was on my way back and had been outperforming most my peers for six months in five countries. Owning my choices and riding it in felt like the correct decision. My coworkers immediately questioned how I had internet, and my answer was simply “I saw there was a hurricane, so being remote I chose to go south to avoid it.” Not a lie, but not totally forthcoming. If I had replied with “I am working in the jungles of Nicaragua” no one would have believed me (this came up months later and no one did).

After the two weeks it was time to fully return to Boston to regroup. It was a rainy November day when I touched down at Logan. I weighed 30 pounds less and mentally I was even lighter. I still had no plan regarding what to do once I left the aircraft in Logan. My car was at a friend’s house. My Ducati was at my parent’s home in Maine. Before I had even cleared through Customs and Immigration, though, I knew this was no longer the place that called to me. The reentry shock into the United States was too much. I was swelling up with tears knowing It was now time to make the hard decision to leave New England, but where would I go as winter was just beginning?

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ExNotes Book Review: Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto

By Joe Gresh

If you’re looking for the rare children’s book that features a motorcycle as the prime mover, Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto is the book for you. Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto is made of sturdy paper and the covers are thick cardboard so the thing should hold up well to repeated reading by destructive little hands.

Warning: Spoilers ahead!

Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto is written by Isabel Quintero in Spanish so your target child will learn a few Spanish words along the way, unless they already speak Spanish. Who knows, maybe reading Mi Papi will generate a life-long interest of languages in your spawn. With my very basic Spanish skills I was able to figure out most of the text and any words I didn’t know I looked up on the Internet. Even if you don’t understand a single syllable of Spanish the beautiful illustrations by Zeke Pena tell the story in an exciting and colorful way.

The book begins with a young girl’s father coming home from his job as a carpenter and the two go for an afternoon motorcycle ride. During the ride the have various little adventures. They visit folks picking lemons; they are chased by dogs; Papi stops and chats with some fellow workers. There’s even a fantasy sequence involving old style racecars on a circuit through town (maybe it wasn’t fantasy, my Spanish comprehension is not so good).

These micro adventures really remind me of why I like to ride a motorcycle. Simple acts seem more vital: making a turn, waving to a bored kid staring out a car window or just feeling the breeze. Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto’s motorcycle trip ends like all of them should: at the snow cone vendor for a sweet treat.

If you’re an ATGATT Nazi you probably shouldn’t get Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto. They wear helmets but the hot weather finds them in shorts and light clothing. Spare me the clichés: “Dress for the slide not the ride.” “Gear is cheaper than skin grafts.” You make your choices and the riders in Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto made theirs.

I’ve only shown a few of Zeke Pena’s fabulous artworks in the book and just looking at the stuff made me want to go for a ride. It’s that exciting. Amazon has the book in hard cover for $17 and that’s the only way you should buy the thing. You need to feel the solid way the cover opens and the smooth, cool pages. Kids get enough content with their phones, give them a real world, tactile experience that will create a lifetime memory. I think there is an English version but reading Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto in the original Spanish makes it seem more like a secret world that only your kid can access. At least I felt special decoding the thing page by page.

Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto reminds us that we don’t need to do heroic, epic rides every time we swing a leg over our motorcycles. We don’t need the latest electronic buffoonery to enjoy the simple act of riding and interacting with our environs. I highly recommend Mi Papi Tiene Una Moto for both kids and adults who are not yet dead inside.

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part I

By Bobbie Surber

As a passionate female solo rider, I often find myself facing a barrage of incredulous looks and questions from both strangers and friends. They ask the usual list of queries: “Is it safe?” “Where will you stay?” “What if your bike drops?” It’s become almost customary to respond by sharing my blog or articles that capture the essence of the joy I find in solo travel, whether by foot or by bike. This brings me to my latest and most epic solo adventure – a motorcycle journey from my home in the enchanting town of Sedona, Arizona, all the way up to the stunning landscapes of Canada. Covering over 6,700 miles of magical terrain, this journey was a test of my spirit and a celebration of my love for long distance motorcycle travel.

It all began last fall when the idea of a ride to Canada took hold of me. I knew that this was the journey I was meant to embark upon. I was determined to take my time, to savor the journey, and to visit as many National Parks as possible along the way. My plan was simple yet liberating: I would make up my route no more than a week in advance, pack light, and camp as much as possible off my trusty motorcycle, a three-cylinder Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi.

On the crisp morning of June 2nd, with the sun just beginning to warm the high desert of Sedona, I geared up for my adventure little did I know then that I would be gone for 11 plus weeks. The air carried an unusual coolness, a welcome departure from the scorching desert temperatures. My first stop was an obligatory one – Flagstaff, Arizona, just a short 30-mile ride from Sedona. The journey up Oak Creek Canyon was a visual feast, with Red Rock views and sinuous twists and turns that are a motorcyclist’s dream. I found myself at a Starbucks in Flagstaff, sipping on a well-deserved Americano, wondering what the day had in store for me as I charted my course towards North Grand Canyon National Park.

Leaving the comfort of Flagstaff behind, I embarked on Highway 89-A, leaving the tall pines of the city in my rearview mirror. The road led me to Lees Ferry, a spot where I could steal a quick moment with the majestic Colorado River. Riding through this part of Arizona on 89A felt like transitioning to another world. The landscape shifted from rugged mountains to a breathtaking desert expanse. Sandy plains, cacti, and the awe-inspiring sight of the Colorado River slicing through towering cliffs and canyons greeted me. Every time I ride through this area, I feel like I’m letting go of the worries of the world and immersing myself in the raw beauty of nature.

Arriving at Lee’s Ferry, I gazed in wonder at the grandeur of the Colorado River. Red Rock bluffs reached skyward, casting their reflections onto the water’s surface. A few photos captured the essence of the moment, and then I was back on the road, with Tippi carrying me across the vastness of the desert landscape with mountains looming in the distance with turbulent looking skies, laden with the threat of rain seemingly daring me to press onward.

Press on I did, and by the time I arrived at Jacob Lake, I was soaked to the bone. The reward, though, was immediate and satisfying. The general store at Jacob Lake had the antidote to my damp spirits – a hot cup of coffee and the most heavenly homemade cookies I’ve ever tasted in Arizona. While I warmed up and indulged my taste buds, I chatted with fellow riders who regaled me with tales of epic early June snowstorms they’d encountered that day while riding back from the Grand Canyon. It’s moments like these, swapping stories with fellow riders, that make a solo journey so enriching.

A swift pit stop at Jacob Lake was followed by the task of setting up my tent, which proved to be a bit of a challenge in the rain. But that’s the essence of adventure riding, isn’t it? You adapt, you overcome, and you keep moving forward. With my campsite established, I wasted no time and headed to North Grand Canyon. Fortunately, I was spared the snow, but a wicked hailstorm tested my resolve as I carefully made my way further up the rim.

By the time I reached the park, the weather gods seemed to have taken pity on me. Dry weather prevailed, and I was treated to the most dramatic skies one could hope for when visiting the North Grand Canyon. As I stood there, gazing out into the vast expanse of this natural wonder, I couldn’t help but feel humbled by the forces of nature and the grandeur of the world we live in. It was a moment of pure serenity amidst the chaos of my journey.

The following morning, I bid farewell to North Grand Canyon, heading down into Kanab for a quick gas and coffee break before completing the remainder of my ride on Highway 89A, with Zion National Park as my next destination. With two days and one night to immerse myself in the beauty of Zion, I was eager to experience the park in all its glory.

Entering Zion National Park on a motorcycle is a unique adventure. The winding roads and the freedom to embrace the open road add an extra layer of exhilaration to the journey. Plus, if you time it right, like I did, arriving early can help you avoid the epic traffic jams that can plague this popular destination.

Setting up camp as quickly as possible, I wasted no time in hopping onto a shuttle ride to the park’s lodge. From there, I embarked on a day of hiking, exploring several of Zion’s shorter trails. I couldn’t resist attempting to secure a permit for Angel’s Landing, a trail known for its breathtaking, albeit nerve-wracking, vistas. Alas, the permit eluded me, but that didn’t dampen my spirits. Zion offered me an array of other trails and sights to explore, and I reveled in every step I took.

Zion’s rugged beauty is a testament to the power of nature’s sculpting hand. Towering sandstone cliffs, cascading waterfalls, and the vibrant colors of the Virgin River create a landscape that feels otherworldly. With my camera in hand, I captured every nuance of this remarkable place. Hiking a portion of the Narrows, with water rushing around me, was a highlight I’ll carry with me forever. Zion National Park, with its mesmerizing mix of desert and oasis, and once again confirming why I love this park so much.

As I lay in my tent that night, listening to the sounds of the wilderness around me, I couldn’t help but reflect on the incredible journey I’d embarked upon. From the stunning landscapes of my hometown of Sedona to the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing beauty of Zion, my solo motorcycle ride to Canada had already been a whirlwind of experiences. And this was just the beginning.

My journey would continue northward, taking me through more National Parks, enchanting towns, and breathtaking vistas, mountains, desolate beaches, and new friends I’d yet to meet. Each twist and turn of the road held the promise of new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in a way that only solo travel can offer. The open road called me, and I was more than ready to answer its invitation.

In the world of solo travel, there’s a unique freedom and self-discovery. It is a chance to test your limits, embrace the unknown, and find solace in the beauty of the world. My motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada was not just a ride; it was a pilgrimage of the soul, an exploration of the heart, and a celebration of the indomitable spirit of the open road. As I drifted into sleep under the starry Utah sky, I couldn’t wait to see where the road would lead me next on this remarkable adventure.

My fellow adventurers, I invite you to stay tuned for the next captivating chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road stretches before us, brimming with the promise of extraordinary experiences and inspiring tales yet to be written. With each twist of the throttle I embrace the unknown, and I can’t wait to share the unfolding journey of a lifetime with you.

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Running with the Big Dogs

By Rob Morel

Joe Gresh’s recent story of high-mile motorcycle rides reminded me of my 1,000-mile ride several years ago. I rode my Zongshen RX3 250cc motorcycle on an Iron Butt 1000 back in 2016. That ride was 1,000 miles in under 24 hours. It required documenting start and stop times, and providing all my fuel receipts to prove I actually did it.

The 1000 miles took just under 20 hours to complete. I made 11 gas stops, burned through 23.1 gallons of gas in 1,055 miles, and achieved an average of 45.65 mpg. My total fuel expenditures were $57.90. I ran the lowest grade of gasoline for the first 500 miles, and then I switched to mid-grade fuel. That resulted in an extra 2 to 3 mph on the top end, and more power to get over the hills. I didn’t need to downshift as much. I used 20W-50 premium synthetic oil.

What amazed me was the flogging the little 250cc motor took. I literally rode it at full throttle (at 65-70 mph on the GPS for 70-80% of the trip) going up and down interstate hills where the speed limit was 70 and 80 mph in Oregon and Idaho. The motor seemed to take it all in a stride.

I made judicious use of the gearbox to keep the engine above 6,500 rpm, which I had to do to get over mountain passes and curvy hills (usually in 4th or 5th gear). I never had to run the engine above 8000 rpm. On one long downhill stretch I held the throttle wide open to gain speed to get up the next hill; that sprint showed 75 mph on the GPS. Usually, though, I ran at 65 to 70 mph on the GPS with 80 mph cars passing me like flies on the way to the milk barn.

I really didn’t make any changes to the bike. The gearing on my motorcycle was up two teeth from standard on the rear sprocket. Stock gearing would have been fine. I had a nice gel seat. I was okay until higher temperatures arrived. Then it became an uncomfortable ride.

The bike never once gave me trouble or left me wondering if I would make it home. In fact, it impressed the Harley, Indian, and Victory guys I rode with. They soon left me with their higher top speeds, so I was riding solo for most of the 20 hours it took to complete the 1,000 miles. I made it to the last refueling stop maybe 15 minutes after they finished.

While not the best choice for Iron Butt riding, that little 250cc Zongshen motorcycle showed that it can run with the big dogs and finish what it started.

Evans Brasfield

By Joe Gresh

I have conflicting emotions writing about Evans Brasfield. He was killed on a motorcycle recently and he was my editor for a brief time at the website Motorcycle.com. The thing that bothers me as a writer is: Am I doing this out of respect or will people think I’m somehow using Evans’ death to fill space in this web site? If you write a lot of stories like we do here on ExhaustNotes.us there is an endless search for topics. I hope I’m not doing that but Evans would totally understand my quandary and I hope approve. Lots of people knew Brasfield much better than I did. I should probably shut up and let them tell his story. Still, I want to write about this man I never met in person and only emailed with or spoke on the phone.

After I was booted from the paper motorcycle magazine I was writing for I tried a few other venues to publish my stuff. The pay was ridiculously low compared to the magazine and I stopped writing altogether as it didn’t seem worth my time. Most writers are a mix of hubris and insecurity; you need to think highly of yourself to suppose someone would want to read what you write. At the same time, deep down inside you need to be told you don’t suck at the job.

After a hiatus I pitched a story to Evans and he liked it. He told me he liked it, which was like crack cocaine to me. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t washed up. I followed up the first story with several others. The pay wasn’t horrible and Brasfield made big of my efforts, swelling my ego to no end. In the comment section after my oddball stories Brasfield would write how fortunate he was that I submitted stories. When Brasfield said you were good enough you were damn well good enough. The guy was an absolute sweetheart and I felt like valued contributor.

Covid hit revenue for all businesses and overnight the economy collapsed like the house of cards it was. The Internet motorcycle websites were no different than the rest of the world. Brasfield told me in an email that they were dropping freelancers and going with mostly staff-written content. I didn’t like the news but at least he told me where I stood and we parted friends.

Hearing that Evans was killed in a motorcycle accident shocked me more than usual because he was such a vital presence online. I followed his Facebook page and we frequently exchanged comments. He was like a real life friend in that way. Everything I’ve read about Brasfield was positive and his own postings were typically positive. He loved his beautiful family and life must have been damn near perfect for him.

Motorcyclists live in denial. If we ever thought about what we were doing, putting a fragile bag of water atop a speeding, two-wheeled machine with next to nothing for protection, we wouldn’t do it. My feelings of “It could never happen to me” are gone now. If a good man and skilled rider like Brasfield can die in a motorcycle accident, any of us can. Hug your loved ones and enjoy the moment. Feel the warm sun and the cold rain. Look out at nature and marvel in your sentience. There are no promises in life and I wish I had known Evans Brasfield better.