BMW – Page 2 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Bobbie’s Solo Baja Ride: Part 1

By Bobbie Surber

Discovering motorcycles came late in life for me. My first ride was in 2014 on the back of a KTM. From the first ride I knew I was hooked, and I knew being on the back was not for me. By January 2015, I purchased my first bike, a 2006 Yamaha 225 XT. I drove from Sedona, AZ, to Denver, CO, to pick her up. On the drive home, I kept looking at her in my rearview mirror and dreaming of my future adventures. That is, once I learned to ride!

A day later I was on a quiet street teaching myself how to clutch and ride. The clutching came easy, and I had no fear as a newbie. Soon I was competent enough to go down the block, then to the store and friends’ houses, and soon off-road. Boy, I fell a lot at first, but I was surrounded by a group of guys who encouraged and taught me the basics. Many remain mentors to this day. I still have that little 225 XT and would never sell her or give her away. She will be with me till the end.

I soon added a Honda 750 Shadow to my new addiction and split my time between dirt and road adventures. It seemed a perfect balance as I gained more skills off-road with the 225 XT and could now venture further without trailering as I rode the Shadow. This led me to my third bike, new to the USA: A BMW 310 (a single cylinder in hot demand in Europe and Asia). She was a red bike far faster than my little goat, the Yamaha.

With a bike that was great off-road while still able to handle the open roads, I set my sights on several bucket list trips, including the Pacific Coast Highway (Highway 1 up the California coast) and the Sierra Nevadas. These two trips in 2018 gave me the confidence to plan another solo ride. This time I would ride Baja, the peninsula in northwestern Mexico bounded to the north by the United States, to the east by the Sea of Cortez, and to the south and west by the Pacific Ocean. I set my plans for a Spring ride, but a trip to Hawaii and paddling the Colorado River got in the way in May, delaying my departure to June.

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Adding a new 40-liter Wolfman tail bag, I departed Sedona, AZ, heading for a small town south of Tijuana, Alisito, known to the gringos as La Fonda. This was my first time crossing the US border on a bike, challenging my skills while negotiating what seemed like 100 lanes with traffic darting between the lanes. It was soon my turn to cross at San Ysidro south of San Diego. I had done this several times in a car, but what a whole new ball game on a bike!

Turning hard to the right, I made my way to Mexico Highway 1, following the Pacific coast out of Tijuana. The air was crisp even on a June morning as I pulled into the left lane to pass a line of trucks and a group of protesters, soon finding my groove, indulging in music through my helmet speaker and enjoying the sights along the way. An hour later, I pulled into the parking lot at Dmytri’s Restaurant, well-known by locals and visiting gringos alike. It was a time to meet friends and show off my new girl (BMW, to clarify!). The margaritas and conversations flowed as I assured all of my friends that I was utterly competent to ride Baja solo in the growing heat of June.

Bravada got me thru till the morning of my departure, then a massive wall of apprehension flooded me. WTH, I was not competent enough to take on this challenge solo in Mexico! A repeated flaw as I once again found myself vacillating between the urge to push myself and my endless fear of failure and the unknown. I did what I do best, shoved the fear down, and got on my bike heading south on Highway 1 while enjoying the ocean breeze and the endless views of the Pacific Ocean. All the while, I negotiated traffic and the epic potholes that ranged from minor to “might swallow my bike” in one epic plunge.

With the efficiency of the toll road, I was soon in the traffic and mayhem of Ensenada, a port city that is a frequent stop for cruise ships. The smell of exhaust and burning trash contrasted against the street stalls grilling fresh fish and carne asada. I could not resist and soon found a place to pull over for a cold Tecate and a plate full of tacos. The local girls working the roadside restaurant were enthralled with my bike, asking for photos on it it with the sultry hotness that only a Latina could pull off while wearing an apron. I accommodated their requests for pictures and answered a soon-to-be-frequent question of “Solo?” with “Si, Solo,” followed by “No, no, where is your man?” Ha, I didn’t even have a man at home, let alone on this trip, but I had someone I was thinking about a lot on this trip (a story I will tell in another post).

With Ensenada’s noise and challenges behind me, I headed out of town to a campground with hot springs and soaking pools. The ride getting there was all dirt, rocky as hell, with several water crossings. These were my first water crossings on my own. I was both thrilled and nervous as I gave the throttle a firm twist and flew through creating a satisfying rooster tail. It was a short day full of first-time accomplishments that felt right and bolstered my confidence for the adventure ahead. I paid my entrance fee of 200 pesos, about $10, and proceeded to enjoy the hot tubs, complete with little cabanas and a hot shower.

The next day I found myself back on the road. My destination would be the tiny town of Cataviña, a community of fewer than 200 residents. Cataviña is known for cave paintings, colossal rocks mixed with desert vegetation, and epic sunsets. This place could be on Mars with its endless boulders stacked at impossible angles and the stark beauty of the high desert plateau.

The day called for 380 kilometers, about a six-hour ride without stops. The morning started slow and easy as I retraced my ride back down the mountain and through the water crossings of the day before. After a quick stop at the OXXO convenience store for a burrito and coffee, I was on the road heading down Highway 1. The road went into the interior, passing through several tiny dusty towns and a few newfound favorites, including San Vicente and San Quintin. One of my favorite finds is Don Eddie’s Landing Hotel and Restaurant, an oasis with comfortable rooms, sports fishing, and even a few camping spots. I settled in at their patio, enjoying the views of the Pacific and Eddie’s legendary hospitality. This place is an ideal rest spot for enjoying a perfect plate of shrimp ceviche with just the right intensity of lime and chilis, complete with Don Eddie’s legendary hand-crafted margaritas, the likes of which I’ve never found in the USA.

Reluctantly leaving Eddie’s, I continued south on Highway 1, turning inland at El Rosario de Arriba, climbing up from sea level to 1841 feet. The elevation change did little to abate the day’s growing heat. I arrived intending to camp, but the reality of a 98-degree afternoon soon had me sapped. I pulled into the only commercial enterprise besides a little store across the street and a few tiny restaurants.

The Hotel Misíon Santa María – Cataviña looked like she was built in the colonial era; in reality, I learned she was built by the Mexican government as part of their tourism outreach. With a courtyard full of flowers and mature trees, I found a haven and counted my good fortunes to stay in such opulent digs (opulent compared to my humble tent). After securing my room for the night, I quickly dumped my gear, splashed some cold water on my face, and confirmed that I looked like I had ridden in the heat all day. I landed outside in the shade near the little bar enjoying my margarita. The bartender generously gave me endless glasses of water while we chatted about the heat, my bike, and his childhood in Arizona. Soon it was time to head to bed. I reached down to grab my bag and Delorme. A momentary shock as my Delorme was nowhere to be found. The little safety device would allow me to signal for help if needed and text my friends and family when off the beaten path and far out of cell coverage. The bartender and manager helped me search the grounds to no avail. I gave up and went to bed, cursing myself for my carelessness.

The following day bright and early I rode across the street to purchase the only available gas in this remote region from locals selling gas in plastic drums and liter-size soda bottles. Saying a prayer for the safety of my engine, I had them fill up my tank and MSR fuel bottle I always carry for the just-in-case moments.

Soon I was on the road headed to Guerrero Negro. The wind brushed over me gently with no hint of the high wind advisory posted for later that day. I left the unpleasantness of my Delorme loss behind and leaned into the joy of the ride. As it was a Sunday, I had the road to myself, with the added blessing of many commercial vehicles being home for the day. This was precisely what I had been dreaming of. As the starkness of the desert unfolded in front of my bike, I knew how lucky I was to be on this adventure! I was once again reminded to grab my dreams, ignore the naysayers, and embrace the adventure ahead.

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Charlie Don’t Paddleboard: A Baja New Year’s Story

By Mike Huber

There was no better way to ring in 2023 than camping off our motorcycles on a beautiful beach in Bahia Conception in Baja, Mexico. The only thing that made the moment more special was sharing cigars, Tecates, and Tequila with our new friends in the palapas to our left and right while sitting around a fire. Somehow, I managed to make it until 10 p.m., which is equal to a Boston New Year, and I surpassed my previous Baja New Year by 1 hour. I was pretty proud of myself.

Groggily awaking the next morning to the sunrise peering over the mountains across the bay was a serene way to start the new year. Once we had a coffee (or three) in us we decided to pack up and make our way back north. The plan was originally to hotel in Guerrero Negro for the night, but we had made such incredible time riding that we arrived in town by 11:30, and it seemed too early to stop for the day. The biggest problem with this is once you leave Guerrero Negro there isn’t much (really anything) until you arrive in Gonzaga Bay, which is another 4+ hours of riding and the possibility of bad winds. We rolled the dice and decided to attempt the ride to Gonzaga confident we would arrive just before sunset, which I had confirmed was at 16:49 PST.

The ride up was rather uneventful and even the winds seemed to be cooperating with us on the last leg of this ride. In pulling up to the Rancho Grande Tienda to reserve our campsite, refuel the bikes, and load up on firewood we were starting to feel the 320 miles we had just completed. One of the cool things about camping in this location is the rather long bundle of firewood they provide. Every time I load the wood on the moto it looks like some type of biplane. What completes the biplane feeling is riding to the palapas on the bay you are parallel with an airstrip, so you actually feel like you are about to take off. Just as we hit the 1-kilometer dirt road the winds began to increase heavily. This was the norm for this part of Baja and wasn’t too alarming for us.

Thankfully the palapa provided us with some protection from the swirling gusts, but not from the roaring freight train sounds that would keep us awake through the night as a demoralizing reminder that we’ll have to ride in them the following day.

After setting up our home for the evening it was time for a cold Tecate beer to unwind and enjoy the gorgeous views of the bay and the mountains that surround it. As I sat in my chair, I noticed a lone paddleboarder in the bay and became a bit alarmed with his lack of movement while he struggled to fight the wind to return to shore. He was quite a ways out and it was obvious the wind was physically and mentally wearing him down from this difficult battle. I could see him stand up to paddle ferociously for a few moments and then he would lay on the board, clearly to rest. This went on for about one more Tecate when I noticed it was 15:45. People were beginning to gather on the shore to watch his valiant yet seemingly unsuccessful attempt to return to his camp, but he wasn’t getting any closer. It was time for me to walk the beach and see who this person was with, gain insight on his experience level, how long he was out for, and determine next steps (if any were needed).

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After a few minutes I found his wife who didn’t seem to be concerned until I mentioned that sunset would be in an hour. At that moment the full weight of the situation set in, and she became frantic. Being one to always travel with a SpotGen 3 GPS emergency beacon I powered it on, gave her a brief tutorial on how to activate the SOS button, handed it to her and said, “If I am not back in 15 minutes you push the SOS button.” I then directed her to drive the bay in search of a fisherman or boater that could possibly assist. While she was working the problem from that angle, I fired up the BMW GS1200 and returned to the tienda to see if I could find a local that could assist in what clearly was becoming a rescue operation.

The locals in the tienda didn’t seem to know anyone that could help. This was not what I expected, and my brain was scrambling for any other ideas to save this person. As I exited the store the man’s wife came flying into the parking lot creating a mini dust storm from her sprinter van. She was even more panicked then earlier. Just as I was about to take the GPS beacon, return to the location of the paddleboarder and press SOS we saw a 1960s VW van with some surfers with their boards on the roof. After explaining the situation, they fully agreed to help, and we all raced back to the beach. We had 40 minutes of sun left before it disappeared over the desert mountains behind us. Once our rescue caravan arrived one of the surfers quickly dawned his wetsuit, grabbed his board, and was off into the cold, windy waters. Fortunately, it didn’t take him very long to reach the distressed paddler, secure his paddleboard to his surfboard and tow him back in. Everyone was safe and back on shore with 10 minutes of sunlight remaining.

The rescue operation was a success. The hero surfers made a hasty exit just as the last rays of light from the sun began to fade into the lonely desert. An hour later the family came over to our palapa to gift us with a couple bottles of wine as a thank you for assisting in the rescue mission. Of course, we invited them to share our campfire. Chatting with the paddleboarder, we learned this was his first paddleboarding experience. Together we relived the moments of the day from each of our perspectives while drinking the wine and enjoying the glow of the fire. What could have been a much worse ending was nothing more then a valuable lesson for him. The true heroes were the surfers, and I never even got their names before they rolled back down the dusty road and into the Baja desert.

Racing the Sun

By Mike Huber

Finding myself in Arizona in the winter months has become my norm. Arizona provides one of the better climates for riding and camping, and I can camp there without waking up next to a frozen Gatorade bottle in my tent (which happens way too often to me).

Over the past three years wintering here I had missed one of the more moving Veterans Day memorials, the Anthem Veterans Memorial in Anthem, Arizona. This fascinating tribute to our country’s Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, Sailors, and Coast Guard (no Space Force yet) is located just two minutes off Interstate 17.

I visited the Veterans Memorial on several occasions while stopping at the Starbucks in Anthem (insert BMW GS joke here) before riding to work in Phoenix or Tucson. What makes the Anthem Veterans Memorial so special is that on November 11^th at 11:11, the sun aligns with the Memorial and shines directly through its five pillars (each pillar represents a branch of the military). That lights the Great Seal of the United States of America. The pillar heights correspond with the number of people in each branch (Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard).

This year when I rode my GS to Phoenix for routine maintenance, I saw the sign on I-17 for the Memorial. I looked down and it was 11:08. I had a chance to make it! Pulling in my clutch and clicking down two gears brought me to this new destination. It was exhilarating. I was literally racing the sun to be where I needed to be at 11:11.

I didn’t make it in time. Only five minutes or so had passed, but the eclipse of the Great Seal was not in totality anymore. That is how accurate this modern-day sun dial is. The radiant glow from it was still vibrant and even though it wasn’t in full on totality it was still very impressive.

Many people surrounded the Memorial this day; more than a few rode motorcycles here as a Veterans Day Pilgrimage. It is always a great day whenever I chat with Veterans, especially at such an impressive monument on Veterans Day.

Having been so close to seeing this Memorial at its peak has placed it on my 2023 list. I will join other Veterans riding to the Memorial and the festivities on this special day, and Starbucks will be part of the experience to meet my BMW GS ownership obligations.

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Baja in the Slow Lane

For a motorcyclist one of the easiest and most rewarding trips a rider can undertake is Baja, Mexico. It’s a 1-day drive to the Mexican border from most of the Southwestern United States. I have been fortunate enough to spend many months in Baja over the past four years, but always mixed the experience in with working, so I was never able to fully detach and enjoy it. For my fourth time riding Baja this had to change. I wanted to allow myself to embrace this epic part of Mexico at a slower pace and savor each day. It’s Baja. This is the time and place where you are meant to slow down and relax.

The week prior to my departure a friend gifted me this giant stuffed sloth for my birthday. I promptly named him Slothykins, which seemed to fit since I already traveled with a little stuffed lamb named Lambykins. Two days prior to departing for Baja while packing my gear I noticed the sloth in the corner of the equipment room staring aimlessly at the wall.

At that moment an idea hit me. Now usually (always) my ideas are a bit… off and this one would prove no different. My thought was to use my Rok Straps to secure the giant sloth on the passenger seat of my BMW GS1200 and ride the 3,000-mile roundtrip from Sedona to Todos Santos. What better way to embrace the slow lane of Baja life then with Slothykins as my passenger!

As we slowly departed Sedona it wasn’t long before I noticed something moving around in my rearview mirror. I quickly pulled over and saw everything was secure and started off again. I was in 3^rd gear and again saw a flickering of movement. Well, it turns out it was Slothykins. If I went above 50mph his arm would begin flapping in the wind and it gave the perception he was waving at everyone. The whole scene was hilarious. Other vehicles along the road would slow down, scratch their heads or wave back to Slothykins as we happily motored along desert backroads on our way to Mexico.

One thing I didn’t factor into this whole scheme was the attention I would receive once crossing the border into Mexico. This usually is a nonevent; however, with Slothykins I was promptly ushered into the “This guy definitely requires a further search” lane, to include an over friendly German Shepard which did a thorough job of sniffing Slothykins and the rest of my gear. It took a few minutes of the dog jumping all over the BMW before the Mexican Immigration Agents cleared me to proceed. Welcome to Mexico, Slothykins!

After the border dogs provide you with their approval to enter Mexico your senses are instantly overwhelmed with the sights and smells of fresh food, while your mind awakens to the new obstacles in the road to include but not limited to horses, donkeys, cows, potholes, and large trucks along narrow roads with no shoulder. This sensory awakening can make you become pretty hungry. Finding some street tacos and a strawberry Fanta from one of the many vendors you pass by is a rather easy task in Mexico. While sitting on the sidewalk I begin enjoying one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had. Meanwhile, I look over to see my motorcycle parked with Slothykins as a sentry keeping a watchful eye on the new surroundings. THIS is life at its finest in the slow lane of Baja, Mexico!

Baja is a thin peninsula with only four main highways, so when you meet fellow travelers along your journey it is more than likely you will bump into them again at some point. The people of Baja have very kind hearts, so running into them repeatedly is a great way to build relationships along this journey. It didn’t take long for me to inherit the nickname “The Sloth Guy.” Which I found comical since I am a rather fast rider (ask any Massachusetts State Trooper).

For the next two weeks with Slothykins as my tent mate and passenger we happily camped on some of the world’s most beautiful beaches while riding almost the entire length of Baja to a turnaround point on Playa Pescadero, which was just south of Todo Santos. I never tired of hearing “Hey Sloth Guy come over for a beer” or “Sloth Guy want to join us for dinner?” The hospitality is incredible in Baja, more so for motorcyclists, and as I learned, even more so for motorcyclists with a giant sloth as a passenger.

With the relaxing two weeks nearing an end there was an outstanding question that I had to answer. What should become of Slothykins? I couldn’t keep him as he was much too large, and I already had the immense responsibility of Lambykins, who is quite the handful. An idea hit me on the final night in Kiki’s Camp in San Felipe. Why not donate Slothykins to an orphanage. After some time on Google and Google Translate, I happened to find the manager of a local orphanage called Sonshine Hacienda who lived just a few blocks from where I was camping. I called him and he was an ex pat who had been living in Baja managing the orphanage for several years. I promptly drove over, met him, and donated Slothykins to his new home to where he would become a big hit and make many new friends. On the return ride to Arizona the bike felt a bit lighter without my buddy on the back waving happily at passersby. While crossing back into the United States I smiled to the border agent while reflecting on the ride, the people, and the beautiful experiences over the past two weeks of traveling through Baja, Mexico.

Here’s a link to the Sonshine Hacienda.

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Bob’s Vintage Beemers

This blog is about my friend Bob’s vintage BMW collection on display at Brown Motor Works in Pomona, California.

Bob is one of the most interesting people I know. He’s the founder of Brown BMW and he’s a guy with whom I’ve ridden Baja a couple of times. He is the fastest and most talented rider I’ve ever known. I’ve seen Bob riding well-worn BMW police trade-ins (bikes that weigh a hundred pounds more than regular boxer twins) smoke kids on Gixxers. When he wants to make a point, Bob will outride the Ricky Racers in the twisties while standing on the pegs.

Bob’s dealership does a lot of police motorcycle work, and Bob will usually grab a black and white police motor that’s been turned in (I think he likes those bikes because they’re black and white, like the old Beemers). That’s a police motor you see in the photo of Bob at the start of this blog, and no matter how many times I’ve ridden with Bob, my heart still skips a beat when I see that black and white motorcycle in my rear view mirror. It’s a good thing when we ride in traffic…Bob takes the lead and traffic parts.

But I’m going off topic; the topic of today’s blog is the vintage Beemer collection at Brown Motor Works.

This first bike is a 1928 BMW. It’s a 500cc model, and like all of the bikes in these photos, it’s a boxer twin.

The black-and-white paint themes on the first several bikes make these photos really pop. This used to be the classic BMW colors until maybe the 1970s and it works. It’s a classic color combo.

Here’s a 1936 750cc flathead BMW.

The bike above is interesting. It’s basically the model the Chinese copied, and until recently there were still folks riding around on Chiang Jiang motorcycles in China that are, well, Chinese copies of the old 1930s BMW flathead. In the 1990s, you could go to China and buy a brand new 1936 BMW (made in China under the Chiang Jiang name). It’s the bike my good friend Carla King rode around China. Those days are gone; you can’t register a motor vehicle more than 10 years old in China today, and they stopped making the Chinese early BMW boxer twin copies at least that long ago for emissions reasons.

This next BMW is a 1952 600cc model.

Here’s a 1951 600cc BMW.

Here’s one with a great story…it’s Bob’s personal 1961 600cc BMW.

Bob calls the bike above the original GS, and for good reason. He rode it all the way to Cabo San Lucas back in the early 1960s. You might be thinking hey, what’s the big deal? Bob did it before there roads to Cabo. Bob rode the distance on trails and riding along the beach. Sleeping on the beach. Spinning the rear wheel in the sand to let the bike sink in so he wouldn’t have to use the center stand. That is a real adventure ride. Bob was blazing trails in Baja while I was still in elementary school!

More good vintage stuff…here’s a 1971 R75/5 750cc BMW.

Here’s a 1972 model.

Another beautiful BMW classic is the 1976 R90S model. This motorcycle turned heads when it was first introduced, and it is still a show stopper.

The bikes you see in these photos are all in their stock colors. Most amazingly, most of these bikes (including the early ones) are not restorations…they are original motorcycles.

These last two are particularly beautiful. The first is the 1000cc 1977 R100RS.

And here’s the last bike BMW did in the R100RS configuration, the 1983 1000cc model in a beautiful pin-striped pearl white.

These photos are the results of a few minutes of shutter work on my part, and a lifetime of collecting by Bob Brown at Brown Motor Works.

The one that I found most intriguing was Bob’s early adaptation of a boxer twin into a dual sport. As I mentioned above, Bob refers to it as the original GS. When I was in Brown BMW ealier, I saw a current R9T 40th Anniversary model, and it pushed all the right buttons for me. It’s a little out of my price range, but I sure spent a lot of time looking at it. It’s one of the nicest ones they’ve ever done, I think.

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My Big, Fat, BMW Obsession: A Cautionary Tale

Unlike today, when I tend to mercilessly ridicule BMW motorcycles and their insufferable owners there was a time when I ended up owning several of the damn things. Only one, a 1973 R75/5, was actually bought on purpose. When I got the R75/5 it was in almost new condition and just 2 years old. I was living in Florida and traded a small-window 1957 Volkswagen van and $1300 dollars for the bike to a guy who lived in Fort Lauderdale. That van would be worth a wad of money now but who has time to wait around for the zeitgeist? Certainly not me, I’m a man on the go.

The R75/5 was a great bike. It wasn’t as fast as the Japanese 750’s but it weighed 100 pounds less than those bikes. Weight has always been important to me. The 750 was pretty good off road and I used to take it scrambling over at the Florida East Coast railway yards. The FEC had thousands of unused acres where my pals and I could ride motorcycles, set things on fire and strip down stolen cars.

The biggest problem with the Toaster Tank 750/5 was a really bad high-speed weave. I never got it past 100mph because it was so scary. BMW put a steering damper knob on the top triple clamp but you had to crank it down so tight to stop the weave you could hardly turn. This weave was somewhat cured by a 2” longer swing arm on the /6 models. The next biggest problem on the 750 was a weak charging system. If you ran the headlight too long the piss-poor alternator couldn’t keep the battery hot enough to use the electric start. I rode that BMW all over the USA in 1975 and had to kick start it most of the way.

My next BMW came along when I was living in San Diego, California. It was a R60/5 with a faded pink, 6-gallon gas tank. It was one of those cheap deals that you buy just because it’s so cheap. I think I paid around $100 for the bike because the engine didn’t run. The R60/5 model was 600cc. On R60s the final drive was re-geared to reflect the lower horsepower. The only one I ever rode was dramatically slower than the 750. It was a lot slower than the 150cc difference would have you believe and wouldn’t go fast enough to weave. I never liked the 600cc BMW because it was such a dog. I ended up with one anyway.

I unstuck the pistons and took the $100 R60/5 engine apart. It wasn’t in bad shape inside so I decided to lightly hone the cylinders and put new piston rings in the thing. My buddy Glenn and I rode my 550 Honda 4-banger up to a Los Angeles BMW dealer to get parts. That’s how it was, if you were going to LA for parts your buddy might tag along just for something to do. We didn’t have cell phones. I don’t remember if there was a BMW dealer in San Diego back then. It was kind of a one-horse town and you had to go north to LA for a lot of reasons. I’ve also forgotten the name of the dealer I went to but I think it was off the 405 somewhere, maybe Long beach.

Amazingly the BMW dealer had the rings in stock but wanted $35 per piston for each set of 3 rings or $70 plus tax. I was stunned at the cost. I was earning $3.25 an hour back then. You could get 8 pistons, 8 wristpins and 8 sets of rings for a Chevy small-block for $100. You could buy 2 brand new Volkswagen jugs and 4 pistons plus rings for $100. I owned cars that cost less than $70.

I remember getting pissed off at the BMW parts guy and yelling at him, “I’ll make my own damn rings!” and storming out of the place. Outside the dealership Glenn tried to talk some sense into me. “Where else are you going to get rings?” He said. I was kind of stubborn, “Screw it I’ll make them.” I said again, but not as loudly as before. We rode back to San Diego without any BMW parts.

Turns out, making piston rings is not so easy. I tried to find an engine that used a piston the same size as the R60 but time passed and the R60/5 just sat there in pieces. I ended up selling the R60/5 to Glenn for the same amount of money as I paid for it. Glenn rode back alone to the same BMW dealer and bought the rings. He eventually got the bike running but it was so boring to ride he sold it shortly thereafter.

I was done with BMWs for 25 years or so until my buddy Roger gave me his basket case R60/5 when I was living in the Florida Keys. Roger had taken the bike apart after another guy had crashed it and bent the frame. Roger said to me “I’m never going to get that bike running, do you want it?” And like the idiot I am I said “Yes I do.”

Those old, oval-tube BMW frames are some tough cookies. It took a lot of heat and hammering to get it fairly straight again. I discovered Bob’s mail order BMW store and finally purchased that set of rings. They were still $35 a side but I was making a bit more money so it didn’t seen so bad. Plus, I had calmed down over the years.

I freshened up the R60’s engine, cleaned the carbs, and painted the now kinda-straight-ish frame. I bought a new exhaust system to replace the smashed original ones, got new tires and tubes, took a kink out of the front wheel and had myself a roller. I pulled dents out of the 6-gallon tank and bonded it up a bit, then painted the tank and started assembling the motorcycle. I had it a few days from running when the hurricane hit.

Four feet of storm surge flooded the shed where the R60/5 was parked. The engine and gas tank were full of salt water. Our house was wrecked. Our other vehicles were submerged and ruined. It was a disaster. All I had time to do was to drain the salt water out of the Beemer’s engine and flush it with gasoline. As you can imagine, new, more urgent projects sprung up and I finally gave the BMW to another buddy, Charlie.

Charlie tinkered with the bike for a few months but the engine finally seized up and he sold it for $200 to some other poor sucker. So you can see why I’m a bit shirty when it comes to BMWs. I mock them to cover my pain. We have had a long, tortured history, BMW and I, and in that long history I nearly always come out on the losing end.

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Ferrari versus…Jeep?

You’ve probably seen the movie Ferrari versus Ford a few years ago about Enzo Ferrari, Henry Ford II, Carrol Shelby, and the 24 hours of Le Mans. As flicks go, it was decent show. Ford GTs are cool and so are Ferraris, made even more so by their stint in the police show a few years ago where a Ferrari Testarossa shared top billing with the two actors who played the good guys. That show had one of the greatest intro scenes ever:

I didn’t know why that show and the Miami Vice sound track was playing in my mind repeatedly for the last day or so, and then it hit me: Joe Gresh posted an old passport photo on Facebook. Take a look and tell me what you think:

Gresh is a Jeep man, though, through and through. Like me, I think he’d have a hard time even getting into a Ferrari. Hence the title of this blog.

A bit about the Ferraris on Miami Vice. It’s shades of Long Way Around all over again, you know, when those two dilettantes who call themselves adventure riders wanted to borrow a couple of KTMs and do a show about going around the world on motorcycles. KTM wouldn’t cough up the bikes, so BMW stepped in with their GS ADV bikes, and Starbuck’s parking lots haven’t been the same since.

Something similar happened on Miami Vice. Its producer asked Ferrari to give them two Testarossas and the answer was no. So they had two kit cars made up using Corvettes as the base car and Enzo went nuts. He sued the kit car company, but in the end, he coughed up the two real Ferraris so Don Johnson could be authentic. Not as authentic as Joe Gresh in a Jeep, but more than he would have been otherwise.

One more thing about Miami Vice: A lot of big name actors got their start on that show. Take a look:

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The Lyon Air Museum

This is a cool story. Good buddy Mike was visiting us here in Leftist Lunacy Land (i.e., the Peoples Republik of Kalifornia, where I hang my hat) and we thought we were running out of things to do. Sue hopped on the Internet and found the Lyon Air Museum near John Wayne Airport in Orange County. I’d never heard of the place, but it was awesome. As expected, the Museum had the obligatory collection of restored World War II aircraft, but (to my surprise) the place also housed a great collection of vintage motorcycles and more than a few interesting cars. Take a look at the motorcycles.

1945 Indian **340B** as used by the US Army.

1943 German NSU Kettenkrad HK 101 Tracked Motorcycle.

1943 Japanese Rikuo Motorcycle and Sidecar.

**A 1931 Panther Motorcycle with sidecar**.

A 750cc German Zundapp, another motorcycle used by Germany in World War II.

The Museum was founded by Major General William Lyon, an entrepreneur and civic leader based in southern California. The William H. Lyon Company is one of the largest real estate developers in the world. General Lyon died a few years ago at age 97.

There are many interesting aircraft on display inside the Museum. One of the coolest exhibits was outside the display area, however, on the tarmac just outside. That’s the highly-polished B-25 that was General Lyon’s personal aircraft.

On the tarmac, just outside the display area.

The Lyon Air Museum is located at 19300 Ike Jones Road in Santa Ana, California. You can learn more about the Lyon Air Museum here. Trust me on this: It’s worth the ride. You’ll have a good time.

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Nine Reasons Why You Should Ride A Chinese Motorcycle

Sometimes we’ll do a blog just to get folks fired up, you know, like the mainstream media does. And if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that there’s no better format for lighting a fire than a listicle. Listicles get lots of hits, they’re fun to write, and they offend the easily offended. If the topic is controversial, all three reasons are amplified. With that as an introduction and in these times of human rights violations, a new cold war, and a town called Wuhan, what could be more controversial than a list of reasons why you should ride a Chinese motorcycle?

Reason 1: Cost

Hey, what can I say? Buy a Beemer or a Ducati or a KTM, and you’ll pay twice what those bikes should cost. Buy a Harley….well, I don’t need to finish the sentence. Triumphs and the Big 4 Japanese bikes cost about what I think they ought to, but a Chinese bike will be way lower than any of these. And when you buy a Chinese motorcycle, you probably won’t do so through a conventional motorcycle dealer, so you won’t get bent over a barrel on freight and setup fees.

Nearly $1600 on freight and setup on a $6600 motorcycle!

Chinese motorcycles simply cost less. And if you want to come back at me by claiming Chinese bikes have no resale value…well, read on, Grasshopper.

Reason 2: Resale Value

This one may surprise you. The argument you hear from online motorcycle wizards (when they’re not being online military strategists, political scientists, or infectious disease experts) is that Chinese motorcycles have no resale value. I’m sure glad the guys who bought the two Chinese motorcycles I bought new and rode for several years didn’t know that. When I advertised my RX3 and TT 250, one sold the same day for 60% of what it cost new; the other sold the next day for 70% of what it cost new. And that was after I’d owned those bikes for 5 years.

My TT 250 on Route 66. Freight and setup on the motorcycle in the photo above would have nearly paid for this bike!

I suppose I could have taken that money and bought a used Sportster, but I went another route: I bought an Indian motorcycle. Not Indian as in Scout or Chief, but Indian as in chicken masala or curry. I wasn’t getting into enough catfights riding a Chinese motorcycle, I guess.

Reason 3: Reliability

This is another advantage that will put those who know so much that just isn’t so in low earth orbit. I never had a breakdown on any of my Chinese bikes, and that includes big trips in the US, a ride around China (yep, China), a circumnavigation of the Andes Mountains in Colombia, and lots of Baja. I led tours in the Southwest and up and down Baja for CSC Motorcycles, with 8 to 15 bikes on each of those thousand-mile-plus trips, with only one bike ever needing to be trailered home.

You can tell me about your buddy who knows a guy whose cousin bought a Chinese bike and had problems with it, but I know you know not of what you speak. I’ve been there. I know different. I know a little bit about reliability engineering, too. The Chinese bikes I’ve been around are supremely reliable.

Reason 4: Performance

Will a Chinese bike smoke a Hayabusa? You know the answer to that. Or at least, you know the answer today. Look at what’s coming down the road from China and your answer may not ring true for much longer. China has at least a couple of liter bikes on the horizon. They won’t be slow.

What’s coming down the pike from Chongqing…

Within their displacement classes, the Chinese bikes perform as good as, or maybe even better than the small displacement bikes from Germany or Japan.

Deutschland? Nein! Das ist ein Mumbai maschinen!

Japanese? Nope. This puppy will help you Thai one on.

Hell, those other bikes aren’t even made where you think they’re made. Ask me how I know. Want some Pad Thai with your KLR or Triumph Bonneville?

Reason 5: Self-Reliance

“But there’s no dealers!” or so goes the anti-China whine. (Actually, China has some good wines, but I digress.) With regard to the lugubrious (look it up) “there’s no dealer” wails, I have two responses.

I used to be able to say that I’ve seen the same number of BMW, Harley, KTM, and other big name dealers in Baja as I saw for Chinese manufacturers (that number was zero). But I can’t say that anymore. Italika (a Mexican company, the Romanesque name notwithstanding) now imports Zongshens to Mexico, so you’ll actually have better dealer coverage in Mexico with a Chinese bike than you would with a BMW, a Harley, a Triumph, a Ducati, or any other other macho man motorcycle. It’s even more pronounced if your travels take you to South America; Chinese bikes are all over down there.

So that’s one response; the other is: You say “there are no dealers” like it’s a bad thing. Maybe my life experiences are unique, but I don’t think so. Whenever I’ve had work done by dealers, most of the time it was so poorly executed I had to do it over myself. I’d rather save the time and cut the cost associated with letting some kid learn motorcycle maintenance on my bike (while the dealer charges me $125 per hour as Junior learns). Nope, not having dealers is a good thing.

It’s from India and it runs as well as a Chinese motorcycle, which is to say, it’s good. I do all the routine maintenance on the Enfield myself.

I know this approach is not for everybody. Some guys like working on their bikes, some guys like Starbucks, some guys like clutches that rattle, and some guys like tattoos and chrome. Whatever floats your boat.

Reason 6: Fuel Economy

Both my Chinese 250s sipped fuel like The New York Times ingesting truth serum. My carbureted TT 250 got about 60 miles per gallon; my fuel injected RX3 always did better than 70 miles per gallon.

My last Harley was a 40-miles-per-gallon bike when new, and when I put an S&S stroker motor in it, it joined the 33-miles-per-gallon club and I received a personal thank you note from the Emir. Yamaha’s old V-Max got 27 mpg. Yeah, I know, there’s a huge difference in displacement between a Harley and a China bike. But if you don’t like spending $5 bucks a gallon for Biden gas, a Chinese motorcycle can lessen the pain.

Reason 7: Style

You know, all those years I rode an RX3, the keyboard commandos criticized the bike for copying BMW’s styling.

Gobi Gresh, on a Chinese motorcycle, riding in the Gobi desert. 6000 miles in the ancient kingdom with nine other riders on China bikes, and nobody missed a beat.

Hell, I can’t see much of a difference in any of the ADV bikes’ styling for the last 15 or 20 years. They all look like the illegitmate offspring of a wasp mating with an armored personnel carrier. It’s the ADV style. I think it looks good. And unlike the Teutonic Tower bikes (you know, the Special K and GoSlow machines), I could get my leg over the RX3’s saddle.

Reason 8: Individuality

At one of the Love Rides (do they still even do those anymore?) Jay Leno was the grand marshall, and when he got up on stage, he asked if anybody had seen his buddy. “You know, the gray-haired guy with the black Harley T-shirt and pot belly…” It got a good laugh, but a lot of rugged individualist podiatrists, dentists, lawyers, and other pseudo-bad-asses were looking around nervously. You know what I mean. The folks at the River Runs could be made by a cookie cutter. Their moms all dress them the same. BMW riders? Stop in at any Starbuck’s and check out the Power Rangers inside. It’s the same deal.

One of the Hollister events, where all the individualists converge. They’re all trying to be Marlon Brando.

Ride a Chinese motorcycle, though, and you’ll stand apart. Trust me on this…you won’t bump into too many people riding a Zongshen or a Loncin at the Rock Store. Other riders may make snarky comments about your bike in ignorance, without knowing where many of the parts on their bikes are made (that’s because their manufacturers try to keep it a secret, as explained below).

Reason 9: You May Already Be On A Chinese Motorcycle…

…but you just don’t know it. Some bikes that you think are made in Japan are actually completely manufactured in China. Others have significant Chinese content. I’m not just talking bits and pieces…I’m referring to castings, electronics, and in some cases, the complete engine (it’s no accident you sometimes hear Chinese factory technicians humming the Horst Wessel song). You ubermensch riders on a first-name basis with your barristas know who you are, but did you know you’re already riding a China bike? I know…we live in a free country. If you feel comfortable spending $5 for a cup of coffee when you should be buying 技术支持隆鑫 decals (it means Powered by Loncin) for your $1800 panniers, more power to you.

So there you have it. I could make excuses and blame this entire blog on Gresh (the topic was his idea), but that’s not me. And for all you guys who look at the Chinese motorcycles I’ve owned and tell me “You Coulda Bought A Used Sportster” (sung to the tune of I’m A Yankee Doodle Dandy), well, all I can say is “heh heh heh.”

Got a response? Hey, leave it here…don’t be a wuss and leave it on Facebook. We want to hear from you!

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Tough Rides: China

Here’s another Amazon Prime television show and video review. This one (as the blog title suggests) is on a series titled Tough Rides China. It’s about two Canadian brothers (Ryan and Colin Pyle) who circumnavigated China on BMW F800 motorcycles, and you can either watch it on Amazon Prime (if you have that streaming service) on your TV or on your computer.

The bottom line first: I enjoyed this 6-part series. A big part of that was because Joe Gresh and I rode around China with the cult of the Zong and we had a whale of a time, so it was easy to relate to what these two fellows did.

I didn’t think this series was as good as the one I reviewed recently about the two German dudes who rode from Germany to India (Himalaya Calling, which was a stellar production), but I still enjoyed it.

Surprisingly, the Pyle brothers’ BMWs broke down a couple of times during the trip, which suprised me. They were concerned about how long it would take to get parts and the lack of a strong BMW presence in China (now there’s a switch). For the record, our ten Zongshen RX1 and Rx3 motorcycles didn’t have a single breakdown during our ride. The Pyle brothers had breakdowns that mandated trucking the bikes significant portions of the trip (does GS actually stand for Go Slow?).

The Pyles also put their bikes on trucks when they wanted to get on the freeways because motorcycles are not allowed on some Chinese freeways. When Gresh and I were over there with the Zongers, we rode them anyway. It made me nervous that we rode around the toll gate arms (without paying the toll) and I asked one of our Chinese brothers about it. “We’re not allowed on the freeways, so if we tried to pay, they wouldn’t know what to do,” he told me.

Tough Rides China has a long introduction at the beginning of every episode, and it was the same in every episode. That became a bit distracting, and I blitzed through the lengthy and redundant intro after watching the first two episodes.

Tough Rides China featured the giant sand dunes and camels in the Gobi Desert around Dun Huang. Gresh and I were there. It was an awesome place, as was all of China. It really was the adventure of a lifetime.

Tough Rides China is part of a series. The Pyle brothers have done similar series in Brazil and India, too. I’ll have to look for those. While I didn’t think this series was as good the Himalaya Calling adventure ride we recently reviewed, it was still good and I recommend seeing it.

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Would you like to read about the Zong trip when Gresh and I rode around China? Hey, just click right here!