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.

The Matawan Creek Man-Eater

By Joe Berk

Jaws.  Nearly everyone has seen that movie.  Many of us read Jaws, the book that preceded the movie.  It’s been said that Peter Benchley based it on Moby Dick, another novel about a big white fish and a man obsessed with killing it.  But people in the know…well, they know that Jaws had a different source of inspiration.   It was the Matawan Creek maneater, a Great White shark that swam 11 miles upstream, in fresh water, and ate a bunch of people in and around Matawan, New Jersey.  It all happened in 1916.

The New Jersey beachside resorts were having a tough year in 1916.  It started on July 1 when Charles Vansant, a 28-year-old man from Philadelphia, went for a swim in the Atlantic Ocean along the Beach Haven, New Jersey shoreline.  Vansant took his dog in the water with him. The dog suddenly disappeared, and then Vansant was attacked.  Other swimmers heard Vansant screaming and went to his aid.  A gigantic Great White shark followed them as they desperately pulled Vansant to shore.  Vansant bled to death a short while later.

Fast forward five days to Spring Lake (another New Jersey resort), and 27-year-old Chris Bruder was attacked while swimming in the Atlantic.  Lifeguards in a boat pulled him from the water, but Bruder bled to death before they reached the shore.

Shoot up the Jersey coast another 30 miles to Matawan.   A few days after Bruder died, Thomas Cattrell (a retired fishing boat captain) was walking home and while crossing a bridge over freshwater Matawan Creek (which flowed into the Atlantic), Cattrell saw a large shark in the water below.   He warned swimmers, but no one took him seriously (Matawan Creek was, after all, a freshwater creek).  The next day, on July 12, 11-year-old Lester Stillwell went for a Matawan Creek dip; he became the shark’s next victim.  Two of Stillwell’s friends swimming with him watched as he was pulled under and the water turned red.  The boys ran into town for help, 24-year old Stanley Fischer accompanied them back to the creek, and he entered the water to search for Stillwell.   It was Fischer’s bad luck that the shark was still eating Stillwell.  Fischer tried to free Stillwell from the shark; the shark had a better idea and took a few bites out of Fischer.  Fischer died a few hours later in a local hospital.

After attacking Fischer, the shark left the area and headed back toward the Atlantic Ocean.   While swimming toward the ocean and still in freshwater Matawan Creek, the shark attacked 12-year old Joseph Dunn.   Dunn survived, minus a leg.  Dunn was the shark’s fifth victim.

If you’ve ever watched even a single episode of The Sopranos, you know you don’t mess with people from New Jersey.  The Jersey coastal communities went into high gear, and after harvesting hundreds of sharks, they found the one responsible for the attacks.   It was an 8½-foot Great White, and when the Joisey boys cut it open, various parts of the aforementioned people (and one dog) spilled out.  The Matawan Creek (and surrounding community) attacks are believed to be Peter Benchley’s inspiration for Jaws.

So…about that photo at the top of this blog.  The bridge is a Jersey Central railroad bridge that crosses Matawan Creek only 100 yards away from where Fischer and Stillwell were attacked.  Amazingly, the open-mouthed shark painting was accomplished in under 35 minutes, in complete darkness, by an artist who goes by the name Tattoo Bob.  I don’t know his last name or even if Tattoo Bob is his real name; he wishes to remain anonymous for obvious reasons.

All of this hit home for me.  I’ve been in Matawan many times, and it’s not that far from where I grew up.  When I was a kid, we used to swim in the freshwater creeks in New Jersey (they all ultimately flow into the Atlantic).  A big day was to go down the shore and swim in the ocean.   Jaws didn’t get published until 1975 (I read it when I was in the Army in Korea, when the novel was first published).   It’s a good thing, I guess, that I didn’t know any of the above about Matawan Creek back in my youth. If I had, there would have been no way I’d enter the water, and even today, I won’t swim in the ocean.  I’ll stick with much safer things, like jumping out of an airplane or riding a motorcycle.

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Wayback Machine: British Motorcycle Gear Adventure Pants

By Joe Gresh

As any loyal reader of ExhaustNotes.us knows, I recently got all new riding gear from British Motorcycle Gear. In this blog we tackle BMG’s Adventure pants, a lighter weight alternative to BMG’s Pioneer pants. When I say lighter weight I don’t want to mislead you; the Adventure pants are still heavier than denim jeans.

The Adventures have two zippered vents on the front side that let in a lot of air when you stand up on the pegs like a real adventure rider is prone to doing whenever there is a camera around. Sitting down like a lazy chopper rider, the vent flow is less powerful but you can still feel it. There is a mesh liner that combined with the 500 denier shell gives a good compromise between protection and sweating.

One feature that stands out for me is the heat resistant, Nomex inner-calf panels. The high-mount, left-side Husqvarna exhaust system has burned a hole through several of my rain pants and street slacks. So far I haven’t been able to melt the Adventure pants.

Another feature I like on the Adventure pants are the three belt loops. I’d like to have a few more loops but three loops beat none because I wear a belt. You’d have to have a misshapen body like mine to appreciate the extra security a belt gives you in big-air situations. There’s nothing more embarrassing than getting pantsed by gravity.

On the sides of the Adventure pants are waist adjusters. These are handy for postprandial riding when your belly is bloated from too many carbohydrates. My odd combination of fat waist and short legs make finding motorcycle pants to fit a real challenge. I’ve been riding motorcycles for 50 years and the BMG Adventure pants come the closest to fitting in all those years. The 29-inch legs could be a 1/2 –inch shorter but as long as I have my belt it’s not a problem.

My Adventure pants came without armor, which is fine with me. I also have the much heavier-duty, armored BMG Pioneer pants to test but that will have to wait for cooler weather. The Adventures have long leg zippers but I didn’t need them to enter or egress the pant. If you are a weirdo who puts their boots on first, then your pants you will find the zippers handy. There is a short piece of zipper on the backside that can connect to BMG’s line of jackets. I never use those back zippers but I bet they stop drafts pretty well. The back zipper will also keep your jacket from riding up in a crash and possibly save a few square feet of road rash. Hmmm…maybe I should start using that zipper!

I’ve worn the Adventure pants down to 40 degrees with only a thin thermal underwear layer and was warm and comfortable. For my personal thermostat 40 to 80 degrees F was right in the Adventure pant wheelhouse. Above 90 and into the 100’s the Adventure pants are a bit too warm for my taste. Really, for motorcycle riding above 100 degrees shorts and flip-flops are the only way to go. Just kidding.

For New Mexico use the BMG Adventure pants are a great 3-season bit of riding kit. If you live where it rarely gets to 90 degrees or above then you can call them 4-season pants. I feel safer wearing them on a motorcycle than I do in plain old dungarees. The retail price is not out of this world when you consider the price of Levis jeans or cigarettes. Just punch in the code BMGJOES when checking out, and you’ll get an 11% discount on everything (except gear that’s already on sale, and Halcyon mirrors and goggles).  Check out the British Motorcycle Gear website; I know you’ll enjoy it.

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Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 3 (Lake Titicaca)

By Mike Huber

No trip to Peru can be complete without a journey to Lake Titicaca.  It is the largest alpine lake on the planet at an elevation of 12,500 feet, and the lifestyle of those who live on the lake is beyond fascinating.  This huge lake is nestled in a giant basin between two of the Andean mountain ranges and extends across the border to Bolivia.   And yes, it has a funny name. There was no way I was going to miss this place even though it was quite a distance from my home base in Cusco.

Having planned to use all my vacation time while in Peru, it wasn’t too difficult to load up on my work early in the week and take a four-day weekend to knock out Lake Titicaca (did I mention it has a funny name?).  Allowing four days would provide me with enough time to take a leisurely tour bus to this region of Peru, get some hikes and tourist attractions in along the way, and then return on an overnight bus on Sunday.  This would assure (hopefully) that I would make it to work on time Monday morning.  Instilling project management principles usually results in a successful outcome.  To me the planning of a project or a vacation followed the same rigid processes.  Of course, the vacation ones always had a few surprises along the way that I would have to adjust to, but that’s part of the fun.

The bus ride was filled with incredible beauty with stops at local markets and panoramic mountain views that had me saying to myself “wow, I am in the Andes!” over and over again.  Out of all the bus rides I’d been on, this was by far the most pleasant.  I was used to the altitude, there were no Kirk Cameron movies, and I had made a special tea to enhance the ride (PM me for details on that, but it will probably bleed into another article). The entire ride was an extremely joyful 8 hours where I had an opportunity to meet two wonderful girls from Japan (we are still friends to this day).

Feeling beyond happy but tired, we finally pulled into the lakeside city of Pulmo, Peru.  This first day here would be relaxing and adjusting to the world I had just entered.  There was a giant golden condor statue on a steep hill above the city, which provided a sense of calm. There was a large market that made for great people watching while having some coca tea and even a coca beer.  The beer was like a prehistoric provided a buzz and amp at the same time.  It almost reminded me of my Jager bomb days in Boston.  Thankfully for the people of Pulmo I didn’t take it that far.

The next day I joined a boat tour that took us to many of the man-made islands.  These islands were floating and made of dried totora, a type of papyrus the local population harvested from the lake marshes.  The people are known as the Ura.  The islands are fairly large, some of them over an acre or more in size.  There were stores, restaurants, and cafes on some of the islands.

The islands were surprisingly stable and didn’t rock as we stepped onto them.  When talking to one of the Ura (and speaking as well as I could in Spanish), I asked how they made the islands once they gathered the papyrus.  It was a constant cycle of drying the papyrus, bundling them, and tying them to the upper part of the island.  He showed me a hole cut into the center of one of the islands. It looked like a hole you would ice fish through and it was about 3 feet wide.  The hole was large enough to see the bottom reeds starting to decay and back into the water.  It was a constant process to keep their “land” from being swallowed by the lake.  Many of the Ura, not much more than a mile offshore, hardly ever returned to the mainland shores of Pulmo.  They much preferred their isolated yet tightly knit community on the lake where life was simple.

The city of Pulmo was so different from both the Amazon jungle and where I lived in Cusco.  The more I explored Peru the more diverse and mystical it became.  Sunday was a relaxing day with more coca beer and local foods with my new Japanese friends.

As the sun began to set it was time to find my way back to the bus depot and board the redeye that would return me to Cusco.  It didn’t take too long for me to peacefully fall asleep on the bus.  I didn’t wake up until the bus entered Cusco.  It was a short taxi ride to my home and just in time to lead my first conference call of the day.  Still bleary-eyed and having a buzz from the weekend (and the coca beer) my workday progressed as though the trip was just a dream.  It was an adventure I wanted to share with my co-workers, but they wouldn’t understand as they were still under the assumption I was living in my condo in Boston. Throughout the day I wondered if and when I would ever return to Boston.

ExNotes Product Review: Yamaha RD350 Kveldwulf Top End Replacement Set

By Joe Gresh

Parts for Yamaha’s RD350 are fairly easy to get but that didn’t stop me from hoarding a new top end set from eBay for the low, low price of $190. For that paltry sum you get two brand new cylinders, two brand new pistons, two brand new ring sets and two brand new wristpins with keepers. My buddy Bodden tried to warn me off the kit saying that the Teutonic name was a ruse and that Yamaha parts are far superior and I believe him. Still, $190 for an entire new top end? I had to bite.

First, there’s nothing wrong with my RD350; it runs great. I bought the Kveldwulf kit more as a spare and hedge against future scarcity. The kit is made in China; you know how international relations are going. We could be cut off at any moment. Unlike many people I don’t have a kneejerk reaction to Chinese products. I give them a chance to see if they are any good. In retrospect I probably should have bought an American made replacement RD350 top end kit (and I will if a company in the USA ever decides to manufacture one).

This particular top end kit has its problems. The biggest problem is that the right side piston won’t actually fit through the right side bore. The piston slides in about halfway and stops. Of course I could force it but the bike would only run a few minutes before it seized up. The left side is better but still feels a bit tight to me. What this means is I’ll have to have the cylinders bored to suit the piston size, a process that will probably cost more than the whole Kveldwulf kit.

The ports on the kit cylinders are sharp edged and dirty looking. I think I’ll need to chamfer the port edges before using the cylinders or the thing will probably snag a ring. It wouldn’t hurt to run a burr through the ports to knock down some of the roughness either. When I unpacked the box there were quite a few loose bits of aluminum sprinkled throughout.  A thorough cleaning is in order before bolting these parts onto my RD350. So the kit is not at a plug and play type deal.

The Kveldwulf pistons come with a Teflon-looking coating. I usually don’t like any of these new-fangled coatings and prefer plain old aluminum. I don’t have my RD350 apart so I can’t check the cut-away skirt and windows to see if the stock piston is the same. I’d also like to compare the ports to a stock cylinder to see how close the new stuff comes to original.

My best translation of Kveldwulf is “night wolf” and the prospects are indeed dim for this dog of an RD350 top end kit. I haven’t decided if I’m going to send it back and put up with that hassle or keep the kit and spend the time and money to remedy all its faults. I suppose if you had a RD350 that was missing its top end or it was severely corroded with broken fins the Kveldwulf kit would move you closer to the goal of a running motorcycle. You’ll have some sweat equity in the thing for sure.

If you have a stock RD350 and want to experiment with altering the ports but don’t want to mess up the original stuff this kit would be a cheap way to learn about two-stroke power bands without risking a ton of money. Then again, maybe I just got a dud. I’ll try to contact the eBay seller; they might take this top end set back and send me another one that is machined correctly. As delivered, I would only use the Kveldwulf kit as a last resort if my top end were totally wiped out, which is a hard thing to do with all the oversize pistons available. I’ll keep you updated whatever happens.

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The Long Haul: Riding a Motorcycle All The Way

By Joe Gresh

In these Covid-aware times being a long hauler means suffering from the effects of contracting the virus that caused so many problems a few years ago. But “long hauler” used to have a different meaning in the motorcycle community. It meant a rider that rode long distances over relatively short periods of time. The Iron Butt group sprang up to create a framework of recognition and certification for the tough riders that did 1000 miles in 24 hours and the challenges escalated from there.

I’ve never felt the desire to ride 1000 miles in 24 hours although I would have loved to run that pace the time I raced the Baja 1000. No, I usually go a few hundred miles if I’m bopping around near the ranch on a day ride. If I’m traveling long distances I’ll shoot for 400 miles a day or a little more depending on the time of year. On motorcycle trips I try to take it easy and enjoy the countryside. I’ll stop often to read historical markers or pull off the road to sip a little piping hot Dancing Goats coffee from my Thermos. I might see a stream and wander over to look for gold nuggets or stick my feet in the cold water. To me, motorcycle rides should be fun, not an endurance test.

Sometimes I end up pushing it a bit like on the ride to Laguna Seca. I clocked 590 miles from Grand Junction, Colorado, to Tonopah, Nevada. I was riding the ZRX1100, it was hot, and I had plenty of daylight, so I just kept riding. I wasn’t in any great pain and there aren’t many places to get a motel room in the wilds of Nevada. That 590-mile run may not seem like much to an Iron Butt rider but I’ve done some other long distance rides on much less capable motorcycles.

The longest single-day ride I did on my 1971 Yamaha RT1-B, 360cc Enduro was from Cross City, Florida to Big Pine Key, Florida, a distance of 530 miles. The old two-stroke, single-cylinder dirt bike is a fairly comfortable place to sit and it will happily cruise along at 60-65 miles per hour so it’s not like I was doing something all that special. At the time a hurricane had blown through Big Pine and our house was a mess, so I was hustling to get back home and start cleaning up.

Another long day in the saddle was back in the 1970s riding my 1973 BMW R75/5. I was returning from a 41-state tour around America and the last leg was Cashiers, North Carolina to Miami, Florida. I racked up 750 miles in one, national-55-mph speed limited day. Back then you had to keep your eyes glued to the speedometer because it was nearly impossible to ride a 750cc motorcycle on a wide-open highway at 55 mph. You tended to creep up and all of a sudden you’re doing 70. The 55 mph speed limits stuck around a long time because it was a huge moneymaker for the Highway Patrol and local police forces.

I rode my Husqvarna 510cc Super Motard 500 miles from Window Rock, Arizona to Caliente, Nevada in one agonizing stint. This run was the most physically demanding and it demanded it all from my butt. The Husky’s seat is narrow for ease of mobility in the dirt. It has almost zero padding towards the rear and the front area was no wider than a pack of cigarettes. I did a lot of stand up riding and crossed leg riding that day.

The closest I got to an Iron butt ride was on a 1968 Sportster. This motorcycle is another poor choice for long distance riding. At least the seat wasn’t 4 inches wide on the Sporty. I started out from Van Horn, Texas. It was late March, so it was still pretty chilly in the pre-dawn hours. I rode all the way to Point Loma, California and it took around 18 hours. Of course, with an old Harley all that time wasn’t spent riding. You have to twirl wrenches a bit.

The Sportster’s charging system failed because the mechanical, coil and point type voltage regulator shook itself to pieces. Running a total loss ignition system I had to stop at gas statins and charge the battery every so often, kind of like a modern EV car. As the voltage would drop the bike would start missing due to the plugs whiskering.

Motorcycle plug whiskering isn’t common with today’s high powered ignitions and alternators but back then it was not out of the realm of possible failure modes. It happened when the plug shorted out from a tiny piece of metal stuck between the electrode and the body of the plug. The remedy was fairly easy: you had to remove the plug and clear off the bit of metal that was causing the short, then put the plug back in. Don’t ask me where the tiny pieces of metal came from; it’s best not to think about it.

At some point on the ride, I found a voltage regulator wire broken from vibration and figured out how to make the old, brush-type Harley-Davidson generator charge its battery. I made the last 200 miles at night without having to stop for a charge.  All in, I rode the Sportster 854 miles and man, were my arms tired. It’s kind of funny that the long haul effects of Covid (foggy brain, tired feeling and dizziness) were the same symptoms I felt after riding that Sportster 854 miles.

I don’t think I’ll ever do a thousand miles in 24 hours. It’s just not important to me and defeats the purpose of riding a motorcycle in the first place. I guess if it was an emergency and I had to do it I could ride the Kawasaki ZRX a thousand miles in a day, but honestly, if that situation arose, I’d rather take the Toyota truck.

What about you? Are you a long hauler? How far have you ridden in a day? Does racking up mileage for mileage’s sake mean anything to you?

Another mileage story?  You bet!

Hanford National Historic Park

By Rob Morel

Joe Gresh’s Oppenheimer review reminded me of going to the Hanford National Historic Park up here in Washington along the Columbia River in the years before Covid.  A lot of things have changed with Covid, and the tours offered by the US Park Service at the Hanford site.  This article is about the Hanford site, the tours Hanford offered before Covid, the tours currently being offered, and the photos I collected during previous visits.

Hanford is a place with a story.   Hanford was the world’s first nuclear production facility, it was designed to produce plutonium for use in nuclear weapons, and it did.  Plutonium produced here was used for testing at the Trinity Site in New Mexico during World War II and in the Fat Man bomb dropped on Nagasaki.  The Hanford plant was built along the Columbia River because the reactors used Columbia River water for cooling.  I’ve been told that Hanford was the biggest and most expensive construction site in the US.  The place covers just under 600 acres.

The air-conditioned bus that Hanford provides for getting around the site.

Hanford produced plutonium for several years after World War II.   The result was a set of serious issues with radioactive waste and contamination.  Cleanup efforts are still ongoing, and are part of the Hanford tour.

Before Covid, there were three tours available during the summer.  Today, there are two.  It’s best to check with the Hanford site before visiting to find out what is available for any planned visit.

Tour 1:  The Full Meal Deal

A tour Hanford used to offer included everything (that’s why I call it the Full Meal Deal).  This tour required registering online in advance, and I found I had to do so as soon the registration page started accepting reservations.  The tour slots filled up quickly for the entire summer.  When I last signed up, the government ran a background check on me ahead of time to make sure I was not a bad guy.

The Full Meal Deal tour started in the morning and went most of the day.  It included seeing the B Reactor (where the Nagasaki bomb plutonium was created), cleanup work that involved filtering underground water, and the vitrification plant being built to turn the highly radioactive sludge in the 1940s storage tanks into glass.   The vitrification process involves melting sand and mixing it with the radioactive waste to make it into a solid form.   This solid form can then be buried without fear of it leaching out into the water table.

The Full Meal Deal tour includes a visit to the environmental restoration disposal waste facility.  It is a covered, city-block-sized dump pit used for low level radioactive building materials, equipment, machinery, and other nasty stuff.  The pit is lined with a barrier clay that absorbs radiation.  Pumps remove any rain water that seeps into the covered materials.  Hanford buries a level of radiated items across the bottom of the pit and then they cover it.  That’s followed by burying more on top of the previous layer and covering that.  This will continue until they fill the pits. When the pits approach their capacity, Hanford plans to take any equipment used to haul the debris and bury it, too. When the pit is completely full, Hanford will to cover it.  It will look like the surrounding desert when they are done.

Tour 2:  The B Reactor Tour

The B reactor tour includes (as the name implies) the B reactor, and I believe this tour is still offered. It provides a close up look at the reactor that made the Nagasaki bomb plutonium.  As the name implies, it only includes the B Reactor.  You can stay longer at the B Reactor than the Full Meal Deal tour above allowed, and Hanford opens up more of the building to explore.  There are some places in the building you cannot go.   The off-limits area includes where the fuel rods were pushed out of the back of the reactor (after which they fell into a water tank, cooled, and were then transported by rail to a building that processed them into plutonium).

There were nine reactors built at Hanford.   Of these, seven were cocooned in concrete to contain radioactivity and cool to safe levels. By 1987 they were all shut down.  None are operational today.

I didn’t get any photos other than the B Reactor. If I remember right, there were no cell phones or cameras allowed on the Full Meal Deal tour for security purposes.  But I took photos of the B Reactor, as you can see below.

Hanford’s historic B Reactor. This reactor produced the plutonium used at Nagasaki.
Entering the belly of the beast: The Hanford B Reactor where spent nuclear fuel cells provided plutonium for the Nagasaki bomb.
A model of the nuclear reactor showing the cooling and beryllium rods used to control the reaction.
The actual reactor, with cooling pipes on each side that used Columbia River water to cool the core.
The water plumbing. Some valves are taken apart. That satisfies the Russians that the Reactor is non-operational. This is a part of the nuclear arms agreement. The Russians actually inspect the reactor to verify it is shut down. We do the same for their reactors.
A signature. Was this a previous worker at Hanford?
A clock that shows when the plant was shut down.
A control center for watching core power and temperature.
There were no computers in Hanford back in the 1940s.
More open valves.
Another view of some of the reactor controls and monitors.
The train used to transport highly radioactive highly radioactive depleted fuel rods for further processing into plutonium.
Beryllium balls used for controlling the nuclear reaction.
Massive amounts of air were needed for ventilation.
Personal Protective Equipment. Hanford was not a typical office job.
Tour 3:  The Old Hanford Town Site Pre-War Tour

In my opinion, there’s not much to see on this tour.  There’s a farming area where the previous inhabitants were told to leave at the start of the Manhattan Project. There is what’s left of the old concrete high school.  The tour guide explained that someday Hanford hopes to restore it.  You can see the old roads that went through the town and where the ferry crossed.  The history the guide presented made it worthwhile.

Another Option

You can go to www.vtours.hanford.gov and take a virtual tour if you’re not able to go in person.

The Bottom Line

Look online (Hanford  National Historic Park) for more info. I don’t think they are doing the Full Meal Deal tours since Covid (other than online virtual tours).  Hanford is offering the B Reactor and Old Hanford tours the last time I checked (on a first come, first served basis).

I recommend a visit to the Hanford site, either in person or the virtual tour.  The Hanford National Historic Park reveals a world that few of us have ever seen.  It is an important part of our history.

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