The ExhaustNotes Blog

ZRX RX: An ExNotes Resurrextion, Part 6

By Joe Gresh

I probably shouldn’t badmouth them because they seem to have the business model sewn up and are industry giants, but Partzilla sucks. I’ve ordered quite a few ZRX parts from them and several things they do annoy me. First, I get CT to order everything because it just works out better. Next, many parts you take the time to look up on their parts diagrams are not priced unless you go through the hassle of signing in to their website. Comparison shopping is difficult. The worst is when the page shows the part as available and in reality they don’t have it. This happened to me with the reed valve gaskets. The site said available (which is not the same thing as in stock) but I’ve been waiting about 3 weeks. CT emailed Partzilla about the situation and got a semi-snarky email in return. Is it better to lose a sale or lose a customer?

I get my Kawasaki parts from Southwest Suzuki Kawasaki in Alamogordo now. It’s actually faster than Partzilla and they give me a little discount if the part is outrageous (like those float needles). I go see Dave or Taylor at Southwest with part numbers I get off the Internet and the stuff is there within a week. Maybe the massive vertical integration of the ‘Zilla monster has reached an evolutionary dead end. I’m done with them, no matter that they’ve bought the first three pages of results on Google.

Rant over.

My Chinese petcock showed up and it looks exactly like the original Kawasaki petcock and fit perfectly. Unfortunately, when I tried to connect the old fuel line it had a pinhole leak right where the line expands from 5/16-inch to 3/8-inch. I don’t know why Kawasaki went with the oddball molded fuel line. A 5/16-inch line will provide plenty of fuel to the 1100cc Kawasaki engine.

This is horrible but there are reasons why it is horrible. First, the OEM Kawasaki fuel line would need to be ordered and I don’t want to wait for it. Second, The original line connects to a plastic T-fitting between the No. 2 and No. 3 carburetors. Knowing my luck with old plastic fittings, I feared that replacing the hose entirely would lead to a broken T-fitting, which would mean pulling those damn carbs again. Then there’s the wait for a new T-fitting. I decided to let sleeping T-fittings lie and added a 3/8-inch to 5/16-inch hose barb adaptor complete with an ugly pipe connection between the two. Then I ran a new 3/8-inch line to the petcock. I mean to fix this mess later on but it works and doesn’t leak.

I gave up on getting the gaskets for the reed valves and made two block-off plates to seal the air intake to the exhaust ports. Then I spun up a little aluminum plug to seal the hole in the airbox where the reeds connected. I didn’t take photos of this part because I was in a hurry to hear the bike run.

I installed the rest of the radiator plumbing and started to fill the Kawasaki radiator with coolant and found the slippery green stuff running out the bottom as fast as I put it in. The front log manifold was pissing coolant, which was odd because I had replaced the four O-rings with new Kawasaki parts. This log manifold is behind the header pipes and not easy to access. Off came the pipe and the O-rings looked like they were deformed a bit.

My mistake was lubing the O-rings on the pipe manifold. This made them too slippery and when the pipe was pushed into position the rings slid out of the pipe O-ring grooves. I gave the rings a through examination and decided to clean all traces of lube from the pipe and O-rings. I shoved the thing back together, reconnected the hoses and it leaked as much as it did last time.

I pulled the log manifold for the third time and cussing up a storm. I tossed the new Kawasaki O-rings and dug some Harbor Freight O-rings out of an assorted kit I bought years ago. I was so frustrated I managed to cross thread one of the bolts that hold the manifold onto the engine block. Back off comes the manifold. For the fourth time. Remember, I’m doing all this behind the header pipes and I can barely get my fingers between the pipes.

I managed to get a tap started into the cross-threaded hole and using the tip of a finger to hold the tap and needle nose pliers to turn it, I ran the tap into the hole and straightened out the cross-threaded bit. Amazingly, the hole holds tension and I got the manifold back in place and the hoses connected. The manifold didn’t leak.

With the radiator full of coolant I started the bike. It smoked quite a bit but after a few minutes the smoke eased off. I had set the idle screws at 1-1/2 turns out but the bike seemed rich. The idle mixture screws are accessible with the carbs on the bike but you need a special, shorty screwdriver to turn them. I made one out of bits and pieces. Make sure you have some sort of identifier so you can count the turns by feel. I used a small screw as my tactile-pointer and reset the screws to 1 turn out.

I tossed the seat on the bike and went for celebratory tacos at the Alomar Diner in Tularosa. The bike ran fair if a little rich. After I ate the tacos the bike wouldn’t start. What with everything having been messed with in the preceding weeks I wasn’t sure where to begin. So I kept cranking. And Cranking. And cranking.

Then I started smelling gas so I held the throttle wide open and cranked some more. The bike started making sounds like it wanted to start. I kept cranking. The Kawasaki sputtered to life stinking of fuel. I rode the bike home and it was running rich. I calculated my fuel mileage as 36 miles to a gallon. The ZRX1100 fuel tank vent was whistling like a teapot on boil and gave a gush of pressure when I opened the gas cap. This led me to believe there was a problem with venting.

Inside the ZRX gas cap is some sort of check valve assembly. It consists of two little red rubber valves and I couldn’t figure out how tank pressure was supposed to vent out. The ZRX has a vacuum operated petcock and with only a little pressure the shutoff diaphragm can be overridden. It’s a fine line. Naturally, removing the source of the problem is easier than making it work as intended so I removed the check valves and the bike whistled no more.

The bike was running much better and if anything was now lean-ish off idle. I did a 200-mile test loop through the mountains and the old ZRX1100 returned 53 miles to a gallon.

The Rex is running pretty well right now. I hate to do it but I’m going to buy four more Kawasaki O-rings for that coolant manifold and try again. Even though they aren’t leaking I don’t trust the Harbor Freight O-rings for longevity. I’ll order a new OEM fuel hose and I might take a stab at installing it. I also want a new fan switch O-ring for the radiator. I’m also going to set the idle mixture screws to 1-1/4 turns to see if it helps the off-idle lean spot, The ZRX stumbles a bit off the start. Once all this is sorted, watch for a ride report on the ZRX1100 in a future ExNotes blog.

See the earlier ZRX stories (and other Resurrection stories) here.

The Wayback Machine: Romania’s Transfagarasan Highway

By Mike Huber

Throughout my adult life (although, many will argue I have yet to reach mature adulthood) one of my greatest passions is motorcycling. Like many of you, I seek out the most beautiful and exciting roads to experience on two wheels. Whenever possible I try to achieve this on a global level and not limit this quest to just my state, or even my country. This isn’t always the easiest objective to reach. Many roads that are the pinnacle of any rider’s dreams are usually quite far off the beaten path. This can seem like a deterrent to many, but my mindset is to use the distance to reach these places only adds more depth to the adventure and in doing so adds not only miles, but new friends and stories to each road.

Transfagarasan Highway

If you perform a Google search on “best motorcycle roads on Earth” or any similar phrase, what will appear before you in the top images will be a photo of the Transfagarasan Highway. This mind-blowing highway is nestled deep in the Transylvania Mountains of Romania, and for us it was a four-day ride from Krakow, Poland. This is where my girlfriend Bobbie and I rented our Honda motorcycles (she had a CBX500 and I had the CB600F).

We began the day waking up in a yurt at an amazing moto camp in Sibiu, Romania that is hosted by Doru Dobrota. Doru has been running this camp out of his family’s old mountain cabin for years and over that time has meticulously grown the camp to a perfect launching point to the many beautifully challenging roads of Romania. Once we finished breakfast, confirmed the weather would cooperate with us, performed routine maintenance checks on the bikes, and a had chat with some other riders staying at the camp, we were ready to set out for one of the greatest days possible on a motorcycle.

It was a two-hour ride through some remote Romanian villages that we had to remain alert for deer, cattle, horses, and the usual obstacles to dodge around as we traveled from Sibiu to the base of the mountain pass where the roads started really becoming fun. Once the switchbacks began in the lower parts of the pine forests, we quickly twisted the throttle and leaned into the perfectly paved corners as we begin to ascend the highway to where you eventually are at the bottom of what would be like in skiing terms a giant bowl. Looking up I am instantly in awe of what looks like a gigantic matchbox car racetrack thrown recklessly together by a 6-year-old.

After regaining our emotions of what lies before us, we jump on the Hondas and hit the throttles hard. The road has nonstop switchbacks but since its so open it allows you the ability to constantly overtake any vehicle in front of you easily. This enables us to really lean in deep to each corner pushing the red line of these little Hondas, as well as challenging our own riding abilities. We continue to traverse the switchbacks for what seemed like forever and just as we summit the pass, we stop for a quick breather at a waterfall to absorb what we have just completed and imagine what was ahead of us.

We now begin our decent down the south side of the pass. The southern side is less dramatic but nonetheless has spectacular views for miles until we are well below the tree line and back into another tight pine forest with switchbacks. This seemed less dramatic until out of the corner of my left eye I spotted something crawling onto the road. At this point the road has some sand on it, so we were only traveling at about 25 miles per hour. My first thought was a deer, but when I was able to decipher what it was, I had to stop and shake my head. It was a grizzly bear eating a bagel. Now THAT is worth stopping for a photo of. As I am taking the picture, I hear a loud shout through my headset “Go! Go! Go!”

I looked in front of me and there were three more grizzlies. What was so concerning at this point was they consisted of a mother bear and two cubs, fully blocking the road. So, I have one next to me eating a bagel and three in front of me. I hang my head down and reply over the headset with my usual response to when I am in a bad situation “So this is how it ends…” We sat extremely still on the bikes for a few minutes until the bears dispersed in front of us, retreating into the thick pine forest.

As the sunlight retreated into the dense forests, we still were admiring the beauty of the road and what Romania had shined upon us this day. After a fresh fish dinner and the semi comfort of a hostel bed we were able to fully absorb and appreciate the experience for having ridden one of the greatest roads on Earth: The Tranfagarasan Highway.

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We stayed at Motocamp in Romania.

We rented our motorcycles from Motonasezon in Poland.

Packing for a Long-Distance Motorcycle Trip

By Mike Huber

It feels like the perfect time to do a write up on packing for a long-distance motorcycle trip. I left Sedona, Arizona, two weeks ago for a motorcycle journey to British Columbia on my BMW GS1200. I didn’t quite pack everything I own, but close to it. Having recently taken a hiatus from my day job there is no time frame for returning to Arizona other than when the weather changes in the Fall. With this being the case packing had to be tight, yet diverse enough for every possible type of weather that I may encounter.

My philosophy has always been less is better. This holds even more true when you have such minimal storage space on a motorcycle. There is no need to have every centimeter packed to the gills. Having a bit of remaining space allocated is important in the event you need to add gear or choose to pack sloppily after camping in the rain. That buffer space should be held sacred. So, here is everything I am bringing along this journey.

- - Kelty 1-person Tent
  - Enu 2-person hammock (I like a larger hammock so I can wrap up if it’s cold)
  - Big Agnes sleeping bag (15 degree rated)
  - Laptop bag with chargers and backup portable battery
  - Luci Llight
  - Hiking boots
  - Stool
  - Cooking pot, cup, utensil, propane
  - Towel
  - Portable grill (for throwing a steak or freshly caught fish on top of some coals)
  - 25ft of paracord (usually for additional hammock straps as needed)
  - Day pack for hiking
  - Tire repair kit
  - Compressor
  - Fishing gear
  - Jumpmaster knife
  - Hatchet
  - Air mattress
  - Air pillow
  - Raingear (top and bottom)
  - Leatherman
  - SpotGen3 GPS (My Mom likes to know I made it to camp alive)
  - Headlamp
  - 3-liter expandable water blivit
  - Swimsuit
  - 2 pairs of pants
  - 3 pairs of socks
  - 3 pairs of underwear
  - 3 t-shirts
  - 1 pair of shorts
  - Duct tape
  - Electrical tape
  - Sweatshirt
  - Baseball hat
  - Riding jacket
  - Lambykins
  - Military side pack (for all fishing gear)
  - Winter hat (my Mom knitted)

Currently 10 days into this trip with 8 nights of camping in numerous weather conditions and I have remained quite comfortable. Another barometer of success is when someone walks by my campsite as I am laying in my hammock reading a book and they comment “WOW, you fit ALL that on your motorcycle?”

I just smile and reply with a “yup.” I am now in northern California and will start hitting possibly more wet and cold weather so I will see how my gear continues to stack up against the elements as I travel further north with no real itinerary. The main objective of this trip is to slow down, enjoy the moment, be present, and meet up with old and new friends along the ride.

Let me know if there is a piece of gear you feel I am missing or that you hold close during your long-distance motorcycle trips. I am always interested in improving my packing and living conditions while on the motorcycle.

Hey, a quick photo from this trip…there are two Joes, a deer, and two wild turkeys in the picture below.

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Granada and the Alhambra

By Joe Berk

It doesn’t get more Spanish than the Alhambra. Until this visit if anyone had mentioned Alhambra I would have thought of our Alhambra here in California, but this was the real deal: The original Alhambra in Granada, Spain.

Walking the streets in and around the original Alhambra fortress. The red comes from iron in the clay brick construction. The walls aren’t really curved; the curvature here is from my Rokinon 8mm lens. It’s manual everything (f-stop, shutter speed, and focus) when mounted on my Nikon D3300 digital camera.

Alhambra translates from Arabic as “the red fortress.” The Moors controlled the Iberian peninsula from the early 8th to the 15th centuries, and many Spanish words and names include the syllable “al” (Alava, Alvarez, etc.). “Al” in Arabic means “the.” “Al” became “el” in Spanish; “al” remains the first syllable many Spanish words.

The foundations of an earlier structure show the area was first fortified in the 8th century by Visigoths (Germanic people who were part of the Roman Empire). The Arabs arrived next, and they hung around for 800 years. Our visit to the Iberian peninsula was a bit shorter (we were there for 15 days).

A wide angle photo of the Alcazaba (the Citadel) and its interior. This is the oldest part of the Alhambra.

The Alhambra’s ownership changed many times. Moorish rule ended in 1492 when the Emirate of Granada surrendered to King Ferdinand II and Queen Isabella (she financed Christopher Columbus’s expedition to America). Ferdinand II and Isabella only lived in the Alhambra for a tumultuous few months. While there, old Ferdinand and Isabella expelled Spain’s Jews unless they converted to Christianity, and that started the horror known as the Spanish Inquisition. I didn’t know this when we visited the Alhambra; I learned it while writing this blog. I suppose that’s good; I might not have enjoyed the Alhambra as much if I knew this while I was there.

Inside the Palace of Charles V’s courtyard, an Italian-inspired building commissioned in 1527.

We walked the grounds of the Alhambra most of the morning. There were the fortress and palace buildings described above, the inevitable souvenir and trinket shops, and stunning gardens and courtyards.

One of several pools and gardens in the Alhambra. It was almost too much to take in on a single visit. I think I just decided a return is necessary.

A magnicently-framed photo of the Convent of St. Francis, also known as the Palacio del Convento de San Francisco. It was built over a Moorish building. Today, it is a hotel. I shot this photo with the Nikon kit 15-55mm lens, which is not a high end lens. The original photo doesn’t show the rich greens you see here (they were all very dark), but because I shot in RAW, Photoshop’s auto adjustment really made the picture come alive. The is the same structure and vantage point you see in the photo at the top of this blog.

After taking in the courtyards we entered the fortress area. The photo ops were phenomenal.

The view from the Alhambra overlooking Granada.

Another view of Granada from the Alhambra.

There’s a beautiful pathway that leads from the Alhambra to Granada. It has good shade, it was cool, and the walk was all downhill.

Fellow traveler Ibrahim seizing the moment. Ibrahim showed several of his photos to me from this and previous adventures; he is an exceptionally talented photographer.

Walking into Grenada from the Alhambra. The day was magnificent; the weather was perfect.

Granada is located at the base of Spain’s Sierra Nevada Mountains. It’s history and occupations parallel those of the Alhambra. The surrounding area is believed to have been populated since at least 5500 B.C. Nobody is certain what “Granada” means in either Spanish or Arabic. The city is the capital of the Spanish province of Granada.

A Granada sign explaining the Albaicin area, an historic area that retains its medieval look and streets.

One of many photogenic doorways in Granada.

Decorative borders for sale in a Granada shop.

Granada’s city center has a beautiful town square, bordered at one end by the Santa Iglesia Catedral Metropolitana de la Encarnación de Granada. We stopped to take it all in after we enjoyed a lunch in one of Granada’s many sidewalk cafe restaurants. The first hit of empanadas there was free, but our initial empenada serving was a seafood medley with little octopuses (octopi?) we didn’t like. Our waiter picked up on that, took them away, and returned with chicken empanadas. Lunch was great.

Anything for a few likes, I guess. These young gals staged an impromptu belly dance video in front of the *Santa Iglesia Catedral Metropolitana de la Encarnación de Granada*.

As was the case in every city we visited in Spain and Portugal, two-wheeled transportation is part of the culture. Our tour was by bus and high speed rail and it was great, but I missed being on a motorcycle. The traffic didn’t look too crazy and on previous motoadventures I made it through China and Colombia. I think I could handle Spain and Portugal on a motorcycle. Maybe next time.

Granada was great. That evening, we had a wild taxi ride to the top of a mountain to watch the Flamenco dancers. That’s coming up next, so stay tuned.

Watch for our next blog on the Iberian adventure!

Here are links to more Spain and Portugal articles:

Basilippo: A Spanish Olive Plantation
Coimbra
Spain and Portugal
Camino de Santiago: Part 1
The Sportster of Seville
Évora
Lisbon
Gibraltar

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My Favorite Ride in the USA: Utah’s Highway 12

By Bobby Surber

Highway 12, also known as Utah State Route 12, is an awe-inspiring scenic byway in southern Utah that holds the prestigious title of being an “All-American Road.” Stretching approximately 124 miles, this route captivates travelers with its breathtaking landscapes and unforgettable views.

Starting near Panguitch, my journey along Highway 12 began with mounting excitement as the first red arches came into view. I took a short detour off of Route 12 to immerse myself in the famous hoodoos and trails of Bryce Canyon National Park. Lucky enough to secure a campsite at Sunset Campground, I made quick work of setting up my camp and heading out for a long afternoon hike. The next morning I witnessed a magnificent sunrise casting a warm glow over the canyon, illuminating the striking hoodoos and crimson rocks, a memory I won’t forget! A one-night stay in Bryce leaves one unsatisfied and longing for more time to explore her magnificent trails.

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 and its impossible rock formations treated me to endless twisties, creating a sense of otherworldliness. My Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro 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 and blasted down to the bottom of the canyon.

For those with extra time, I highly recommend exploring nearby slot canyons such as Peek-a-Boo and Spooky Gulch, which offer outstanding hiking experiences.

Don’t miss the enchanting Calf Creek Falls nestled at the bottom of a lush canyon. A short hike leads to a captivating waterfall. While leaving Calf Creek be sure to watch for a dirt road on the left with a sign for coffee. Take that turn and savor a cup of Joe with a view that will leave you speechless.

As I reluctantly approached the tiny town of Boulder, Utah, I realized I had made remarkable progress through the twisties. 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. First, a passerby exclaimed, “Dude, you have the sweetest bike and setup!” We shared a laugh as he realized I was indeed “dudeless.” Second, 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 back 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 I expected in June. Camping, fishing, and wildlife viewing opportunities abound in this mountainous region, with numerous sites available. I’ve spent nights here savoring the breathtaking vista overlooking Capitol Reef and the sprawling valley floor.

As I arrived in Torrey, Utah, the end of Highway 12, I couldn’t help but lament the route’s brevity. With just 125 miles of captivating beauty, I yearned to turn around and experience it all over again. However, the call of the canyon beckoned me for a rewarding hike, followed by a well-deserved whisky to bring an end to a truly perfect ride.

Highway 12, Utah—truly a magical journey that captures the heart and leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

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El Condor Comida

By Mike Huber

Pinnacles National Park is the 50^th National Park I visited. I believe there are 63 National Parks total (National Park Service keeps adding them yearly, so…). As with all the parks it is rare to be disappointed with a visit to any of them. In fact, I have visited some of the parks numerous times just to be sure to fully embrace each part of them as many are quite large.

Pinnacles National Park is one of the lesser visited National Parks, which I find refreshing since there are fewer tourists than other National Parks, like Yellowstone and Yosemite where the crowds can be almost overwhelming and detract from the experience. For Pinnacles I had reserved two nights camping so once I arrived late in the day, I could knock out a shorter hike and complete a long hike on the spare day. The longer hike I chose was to summit the highest peak in the park, Chalone Peak, which reaches 3,304 feet in elevation. That isn’t that bad because there is only a 2,034-foot elevation gain from the base. This is a 9-mile trail that snakes through beautiful hills. Every turn provided an incredible panoramic view of the fields below and the mountains that stretched to the sky.

Once summitting the peak, it was time to rehydrate and fuel up with lunch for the hike back. As I sat down, I heard what sounded like someone vomiting. Looking to my left I saw I was sitting about 25 feet from a California condor. It was tagged with No. 89. The National Park Service tags these rare birds to track and follow them at a level not seen since Facebook started tracking me. Having researched No. 89, I learned this guy was born in captivity in Idaho in 2011. There are under 600 of these massive birds remaining in the world. To have the rare opportunity to see one was magical, but to be able to sit next to one for 30 minutes as I ate lunch was something spiritual, equivalent to petting the gray whales in Baja.

As I sat eating my lunch the condor and I constantly exchanged gazes. Every so often it would spread its wings to show off its true size. Not only did it not seem bothered by me, it seemed to enjoy my company (I mean, who doesn’t?). After about 30 minutes I began wrapping up lunch and as I packed up, No. 89 silently turned away, spread its wings, and leapt off the rock like a hang glider sailing down about 100 feet and then turning upward it flew off into the distance.

This magical encounter reinvigorated me for the 4.5-mile hike to the base of the mountain. I had a solid buzz from the encounter for the remainder of the day. Just like all the close encounters I have had in nature, that buzz never seems to fade and it has me looking forward to National Park Number 51.

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Life as a Digital Nomad: Part 5 (Ecuador)

By Mike Huber

As the plane was race tracking to land in Quito, the capitol of Ecuador, I could see how large the city was and was reassured in the coin toss that had me choose this country. This would be my third country to call home for the foreseeable future.

Having been in Panama and Nicaragua with such little luggage it was important to keep my packing to a minimum. This wasn’t very difficult as the countries I had been visiting were tropical and very warm. I was certain Ecuador would be the same, as Quito was on the equator. Where could be warmer than the equator. Well, it turns out a lot of places could be much warmer? Quito was indeed on the equator but is also nestled in the Andean foothills at an elevation of around 10,000 feet above sea level. To add to that it was August, so technically it was winter there (although the ambient temperature doesn’t fluctuate very much).

Quito is a beautiful city with even more beautiful people. As the cab dropped me off, I was still over a mile from the Aparthotel I had booked for the next month. The issue was it was Sunday and the roads all going into Mariscal Foch (the city center) were closed and open only for bicyclists. Since I had been running almost daily in Nicaragua and had dropped some weight, I slapped one backpack on my back and one on my front and thought I’d just get a nice run in as I made my way towards my Aparthotel. This would help warm me up, too, since I was only in shorts and a t-shirt. That was another bad idea. I quickly learned that running at 10,000 feet elevation wiped me out quickly. I think I made it 4 minutes before my hands were on my knees and the packs were sliding off my back. This I am certain was quite a scene for the locals who were casually riding their bicycles up and down the main street staring at me as I felt like I was about to die.

Once arriving successfully to the Aparthotel I first confirmed the wi-fi to assure this location was suitable for my day job. The connectivity worked great, but there was just one hitch. The wi-fi knocked you offline every 60 minutes. To me this was a simple fix of logging off it before each conference call so that it wouldn’t force me off mid-stream during the calls. That was easy enough and worked perfectly without any problems.

That photo at the top of this blog? Every Friday night the police held a formation in the central square (Marisol Foch) and I would chat with the moto cops. It was fun.

Once settled in Quito, a wave of relief fell over me knowing that I could relax and focus fully on work for the next month. That was important as there had just been a reorganization and I had a new manager. Three months into traveling through Central and now South America and still no one knew I was anywhere but Boston, nor did they ask. I was fine with that and made it a point to keep it quiet, but not because I wasn’t performing. I was performing and at an elevated level, but I thought someone might be upset it they knew I was doing this and would put the kybosh on it. I wasn’t about to let that happen, so I took steps (to include disabling my social media accounts to ensure my secret wouldn’t get out). I had a peer who was trustworthy so I let him know just in case there was a volcanic eruption or political uprising so they could let my manager know that “Mike may not make it to work today.” Of course, the chances of that were slim so it was time to settle into a productive routine. I knew Ecuador might be my new home for longer than I had planned, and I had no problem with that at all.

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ZRX RX: An ExNotes Resurrextion, Part 5

By Joe Gresh

The pressure of getting the ZRX1100 finished by July has eased off a bit. The Carrizozo Mud Chuckers may not be able to make July’s Laguna Seca races. I may have to go alone, which isn’t a bad thing, or skip the modern bikes and go to the vintage races held a week after. I’m leaning towards the vintage races as I really don’t have much interest in motorcycle road racing and the vintage bikes hold my attention just by existing. That doesn’t mean I’m backing off the ZRX1100 resurrexion project. I’m full speed ahead and will stay on the job until I am able to ride Rex again.

One of the things that worried me on the ZRX was the 24-year-old radiator. Kawasaki makes a quality motorcycle but how long can a radiator last? I found an aftermarket radiator on eBay for only $80 dollars with free shipping. You know how I like a deal. The radiator arrived securely packed and undamaged. It was welded aluminum and the workmanship looks excellent.

Unfortunately, there are a few problems with the fit of the aftermarket radiator. The top mounting ears are slightly too wide apart. When fitted with the original rubber isolator grommet the ears squeeze in as you tighten the bolts. It will need a thicker rubber isolator and that will require a longer spacer and bolt in order to avoid squeezing the rubber flat.

The next issue is the top tabs that hook into the expanded metal radiator bug screen are slightly too low. When the bottom screw holes are lined up the screen misses the top tabs completely; they hook into thin air. I slotted the screw holes to lower the screen on the radiator and it seemed to work although it looked like hell.

After those problems I found the blind holes in the side of the radiator that secure the radiator side covers were not centered correctly. You could get one bolt started or the other, but not both at once. This was fairly critical as the side covers also incorporate the bottom radiator mount and horn mounting bolts. To fix this I will need to fabricate new radiator side supports along with horn mounts. I decided to punt and cleaned up the original radiator and installed it. The aftermarket radiator might see future use but I’m not in the mood to do the fabrication right now.

The new Kawasaki water pump fit perfectly and I was able to install the hard plumbing pipes and hoses. This included the log manifolds located on the front and back of the cylinder block. I ordered a set of silicone hoses that fit fairly well except one hose was missing. Fortunately, it’s the easiest one to get to and it is straight, so I reused the old hose. I can fix it later if it springs a leak.

When I bought the ZRX used all those years ago the previous owner had dropped the bike moving it around. There is a small scuff on the headlight faring and the front brake lever was bent out at an awkward angle. I rode the bike like this for years. I decided that since I had the brakes apart I may as well straighten the lever. A little heat from a propane torch is all you need. Don’t go hog wild or you’ll melt the aluminum.

After closer examination I could see why the old float needles were leaking. There was a ridge worn into one and another had the rubber tip flaking apart. I ordered a new set of four needles for $28 (shipping included) from China but could not get an accurate delivery date. I was getting nervous about our trip so I went down to the local Kawasaki dealer. The dealer had Kawasaki-OEM needles for only $39 each. It killed me but I dropped $156 and bought the four needles.

With new needles in hand I checked the float levels. The range given in my book was 18.5mm ± 2mm from the float bowl flange to the bottom of the float. Mine were all sitting a bit high at 18mm. I readjusted them to 20mm anticipating needle wear and seating. After the carbs were back together I checked the floats on the bench and no fuel leaked out. I hope this status holds. Two days later my needles from China showed up. They look identical to the Kawasaki needles and even came with the tiny wire bail that fits over the float to pull the needle down when the float drops. My $156 needles required reusing the wire bail from the old needles.

I can see why so many ZRX riders convert the original air box to pod-type filters. It’s a challenge getting the carbs back into position. You have to mount both throttle cables and the choke cable, then feed the cables through the frame as you battle to slide the carb assembly between the manifolds and the air box rubbers. It took at least an hour fighting to get the things in. Then, once you feel like you have succeeded, there’s the not-small matter of fitting the springs onto the air box rubber groove. None of this would be difficult if there were access. The two inside boots were out of reach and too crowded for my fingers. I managed to get the springs in place using a couple of screwdrivers and a lot of bad language.

While waiting on parts I tackled the fuel tank. Amazingly the inside of the gas tank was not rusted. It had stinky old yellow muck inside but was otherwise in good condition. This might be due to my diligent addition of fuel stabilizer several times over the course of the ZRX’s long slumber. I rinsed the tank using fresh gas and after 4 flushes the inside was pretty clean.

The fuel filter on the petcock was brittle with age (or fuel stabilizer) and crumbled to the touch. The filter is not sold as a separate part so I bought an entire petcock for less than a few Kawasaki gaskets. Again, from China. I didn’t pay attention to the delivery date and the petcock was promised between June 7^th and July 15^th. This was a huge window, so I bought a rebuild kit and it didn’t show up, either. Panicking, I went to the local dealer and ordered the inner packing and the gas tank O-ring figuring I could at least make something work. As you can see, I’m using a shotgun approach to parts as time grows short.

The petcock rebuild kit showed up a day before the Kawasaki stuff did and I managed to get a petcock assembled. My main issue with this plan is that since there is no interior fuel filter I’ll have to fit an inline filter. This is not as easy as it sounds because the Kawasaki uses a large 3/8” fuel barb and the 3/8” inline filters I’ve found are too large to fit under the carbs or below the petcock. Maybe my new petcock will show up soon and solve the problem for me.

The big holdup now is the gaskets for the reed-valve pollution plumbing located on the valve cover. The law of unintended consequences says that I should have left the reed valves alone when I painted the valve cover. But I didn’t. They tore when I removed the reeds to paint. I ordered the gaskets weeks ago and they have not arrived.

The reed valves allow fresh air to be drawn into the exhaust ports when there is a vacuum pulse at the exhaust port. Kind of like a smog pump without the pump. The reeds connect to a carb-vacuum-actuated valve that is supplied via the air box. I’m guessing this is some sort of backfire control. I can eliminate all this junk and I might do just that but I will need to make a blank plate to replace the reeds and a blob of high heat silicone to replace the gaskets. Then I’ll need to plug the hole in the air box. It would be faster to bolt the junk back on as the bike ran fine with it.

I also installed the new battery and tested the electrical system. I tested the lights and horn and they seemed to work then I bumped the engine over to see if the electric starter still functioned. Maybe in Part 6 this motorcycle will start.

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Life as a Digital Nomad: Part 4 (Panama)

By Mike Huber

Having just left my new home in Nicaragua and boarding a local bus on a 26-hour ride to Panama had me almost second guessing my decision. The bus was full, and the bathroom already looked like a scene out of Poltergeist. Now, all this I was able to tolerate, but what really got my goat was that they had TVs every few rows. You’d think “OK, we’ll watch a few movies to pass the time.” Not on this bus. They had a Kirk Cameron movie (Fireproof) on repeat AND in Spanish. I had never seen this movie and by the 2^nd time it rolled on I was ready to just set up camp inside the destroyed bathroom just to get a reprieve from it.

I eventually fell asleep with the help of some Flor de Caña that I smuggled onto the bus. After what felt like forever the bus came to a stop, and I noticed everyone was getting off. I was still half asleep when I was ushered off the bus. Still bleary eyed I looked at my watch. It was 4:00 a.m. We were at the border of Nicaragua and Costa Rica and the border crossing didn’t open until 7:00 a.m. I was beginning to understand why the bus ride would take 26 hours. After sitting on the concrete for 3 hours the border finally opened, and we were welcomed into Costa Rica.

Once back on the bus my anxiety increased as we all wondered what type of obstacles we’d have to overcome to enter Panama. Entering through the Panama border was less time consuming but again the bus emptied and everyone was guided into a small room with their luggage, where we all had to open each item as dogs systematically sniffed through all the luggage, piece by piece. Then, once back on the bus, we continued the journey to Panama City. Fireproof was probably on its 8th showing.

The further south we traveled the landscape continued to change, as did the neighborhoods. In Nicaragua the houses were in mostly poor condition but by the time we were in Panama they were more like those you’d find in the United States, modern and well maintained. This was due to the Panama Canal which draws in an unreal amount of revenue for the country.

As we pulled into the terminal, I was exhausted and ready to exit the bus. Fireproof was still playing on the TVs overhead and I couldn’t leave fast enough. It was a short taxi ride to the hotel I had picked in downtown Panama City. I quickly learned that in 2012, almost anywhere outside Panama City was difficult to find an affordable place to stay with solid wi-fi to perform my work duties. This was frustrating as I hit wall after wall, all the while residing in a Marriott, which was not what I envisioned life in Panama would be.

After 3 days of continued failed attempts at finding a suitable home, it was time to decide to move on or return to Nicaragua. I honestly think the thought of another 26-hour bus ride back to Nicaragua with Fireproof playing nonstop was the key factor in deciding to move onward. But to where was the question. I was at the end of Central America so this meant I would have to fly to my next destination. Looking at a map the logical choices were Columbia or Ecuador. I left it up to a coin toss to determine which it would be. The coin landed on heads, so Ecuador it was. That day I booked a flight to leave in 3 days.

This decision left me with limited time to tour Panama City. I am not huge on tourist spots but the one place I wanted to see was the Panama Canal. It didn’t feel right to be there without seeing this engineering marvel, and I am glad I did. The canal was extremely impressive, and they had grandstands you could sit in to watch the massive ships pass through the initial two steps of the Miraflores Locks. These two locks manage to raise ships 54 feet higher as they let the water rush in. The ships traveling through the locks must surrender their boats to a Panamanian captain (to include raising Panamanian Flag on their masts). Many boats were extremely large and had very little leeway on either side as they steered through the canal, so the captain piloting the boats must be certified and skilled in navigating the tight canal locks.

The remainder of the days spent in Panama consisted of getting in some short runs along the waterfront and starting the preparation for the next stop in Quito, Ecuador. Research showed that the wi-fi in Quito was fast and reliable. This put me at ease since the pace I was going for was a minimum of one month per country. This pace would allow me enough time to settle and fully absorb the culture instead of just being in a vacation mode. I wanted to be immersed in the culture and was determined to stay in Quito for that minimum length of time. Upon landing in Quito, I instantly knew that a month there wouldn’t be enough and would require me to adjust my schedule yet again.

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Mike Huber Stops By

By Joe Berk

Good buddy Mike Huber rolled through So Cal a few days ago and spent the night at Casa Berkowitz. It was a fun visit.

Mike Huber on the UberMoto. Mike’s current GS is his second one.

I first met Mike on one of the CSC Baja expeditions, and the circumstances of our meeting hit on shared interests (motorcycles and Baja) and a shared background (we are both alums of the Benning School for Boys).

An August 1972 jump school postcard purchased at the Benning School for Boys Post Exchange.

The CSC crew (me and maybe a dozen fellow RX3 riders) had stopped for gasolina on the 200+ mile stretch between Baja’s El Rosario and Guerrero Negro. Cataviña is about 130 miles south of El Rosario, and for a long time it has been the only place to buy fuel on that section of Mexico’s Highway 1. There were no gas stations then; enterprising Mexican capitalists sold it from bottles on the side of the road (capitalism rules, my friends). Today there is a Pemex in Cataviña, but that’s a relatively recent development.

Refueling in Cataviña. That’s good buddy Tuan, an RX3 rider and one of my former students at Cal Poly Pomona.

You can imagine the scene…a dozen bikes crowded around a handful of people selling fuel out of jugs. Or maybe you don’t have to imagine it; just take a look at the photo above. It was a hot day, we’d been on the road a while, and we were two days into a seven-day trip. I looked at the other bikes around me and on one of the motorcycle tailpacks I saw a decal that commands instant and profound respect from anyone who’s been there: The winged parachute emblem showing that the bearer graduated from the US Army Airborne School at Fort Benning, Georgia.

Mike’s jump wings on the back of his first GS. It was this emblem that first alerted to Mike and his background. Mike’s done 19 jumps (5 in jump school and another dozen when he served with the US Army’s 82nd Airborne Division).

When the jump wings fell off, Mike replaced them with an 82nd Airborne Division decal. The “AA” stands for “All American.” I learned that when I asked one of my jump school instructors; he first told me that for us trainees, it stood for “Almost Airborne.” Then he told me the real story.

That’s weird, I thought. I had only known the guys on this ride for a few days, I’d seen all of their bikes, and if any had been adorned with jump wings I would have picked up on it immediately. I was pondering how I had missed that when I looked at the guy standing next to the bike. It was Mike Huber, whom I had not met yet. My next befuddled thoughts were that I thought I had met everyone. Where did this guy come from? Then I looked at the motorcycle. It wasn’t an RX3. It was a BMW GS 1200. The two machines looked enough alike that I had not noticed the difference when Mike worked his way into our herd of turtles at the gas stop in Cataviña. I looked up at Mike again and he was grinning. He knew I was confused and I think he was enjoying my being perplexed.

Mike’s current GS 1200. It’s a stunning motorcycle.

Mike and I hit it off immediately. He stayed with us a couple of nights later in Mulegé (at good buddy Javier’s magnificent Las Casitas Hotel), and we’ve kept in touch ever since. Mike did a guest blog or two for us here on ExNotes, and he became one of our regular writers last year.

When Mike told me he would pass through our neck of the Peoples Republik, I told him we wanted him to stay the night and enjoy a barbequed salmon dinner with us.

And the starboard pannier. Mike gets around, as you know from his blogs here on ExNotes.

We had a great visit. The Tecate cerveza (and later, the Spanish wine) flowed freely. Sue crafted a desert we recently learned about on an olive plantation in Spain (see our most recent blog), and it was awesome.

The post-dinner treat: More vino, and chocolate gelato topped with orange-infused olive oil from the Basilippo plantation in Spain. Olive oil on ice cream sounds strange, but take my word on this: It’s wonderful.

As always, it was great to spend time with my good friend and fellow scribe Mike. The next morning after a good breakfast Mike was in the wind again, headed north toward Ojai, the Bay area, and beyond. You will be able to read about those travels right here, on your favorite motorcycle blog.

Good times and good friends, folks. It’s what life is all about. That, and clicking on the popup ads.

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