Triumph – Page 2 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Triumph’s New 400cc Motorcycles

By Joe Berk

Well, what do you know? Triumph is the latest moto manufacturer to jump on the small bike band wagon with the announcement of their new 400cc single-cylinder motorcycles. Not to be too snarky, but better late than never, I suppose. Harley did the same thing a year or so ago with their 350cc and 500cc motorcycles, but the Harleys were supposed to be manufactured and only available in Asia. More’s the pity, although I get it: A small bike wouldn’t go well with the typical Harley crowd.

Back to today’s topic: The new 400cc Triumphs: I like them.

Triumph announced two models: A Speed 400, and a Scrambler 400. They look like Triumphs, which is to say they look fabulous. I like the colors (each will available in three different color themes) and I like the looks.

With a published 40 horsepower, the bikes will probably be good for 100 mph, and that ought to be enough for any sane rider. I’m guessing the bikes will get something around 70 miles per gallon, and that should be good, too. Triumph turned to Bajaj (in India). There’s nothing wrong with that. Triumph’s Bonneville line is manufactured in Thailand. My Enfield 650 (which I’ve been riding for three years) is manufactured in India, and its quality is magnificent. Prices on the new Triumphs haven’t been announced yet. If the Mothership can keep the dealers from pulling their normal freight and setup chicanery, these bikes should be a good deal (but expecting dealers to abandon their larcenous freight and setup games is, I realize, probably wishful thinking).

On that Harley thing I mentioned above: QianJiang (also known QJ Motor) bought Benelli (an Italian motorcycle company) in 2005. QJ took the name and started offering bikes made in China but labeled as Benellis (I saw them at the Canton Fair a few years ago). The QJ/Benelli bikes are not bad looking, but I’ve never ridden one and I have no idea how good (or bad) they are. It’s that very same Benelli (i.e., the Chinese one) that Harley announced would be making 350cc and 500cc small Harleys. The Harley plan was that their smaller models would only be sold overseas (i.e., not in America). Harley makes and sells more motorcycles than I ever will, so I suppose they know what they are doing. But I think they are making a mistake not bringing their small bikes to America.

Look! Up in the sky! It’s a QJ Motor! No, it’s a Benelli! No, it’s Super Harley!

Let’s not forget the new BSA Gold Star, another made-in-India Britbike reported here on the ExNotes blog about a year ago. That one is still in the works, I guess. For a delivery date, the new BSA website still says “available to order soon,” which is to say we have no idea when the new BSA Goldie will be here.

The revivified Beezer Gold Star. I think it is a better-looking bike than either the new Triumph or the small Chinese Harley.

While all this is going on, my friends in Zongshen (they make the RX3, the RX4, the Zongshen 400cc twins, the TT 250, the San Gabriel, and now the RX6 650cc twin that CSC imports to the US) tell me that the craze in China has gone full tilt toward bigger bikes. That’s why they introduced the RX6. I was the first journalist/blogger/all around good guy in America to ride and report on the RX6. It’s a good bike, but I’m not a fan of the movement toward ever larger motorcycles. I’m convinced that my RX3 was the best all around motorcycle I ever owned (especially for riding in Baja), and I’ve written extensively on that.

I’m looking forward to seeing the new Triumphs. Hell, I’d look forward to seeing the new small Harleys and the BSA, too, but maybe that’s not in the cards. Why the fascination and appreciation for small bikes? Take a read here.

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A Triumphant Change from my BMW

By Mike Huber

The 4^th of July is a perfect time to tell my riding story from this weekend spending two days riding a British motorcycle. This was a 180 from my usual chant this time of year of “Screw the British,” but my BMW GS1200 happened to be in the shop for another week waiting parts from Germany so getting on any bike for a weekend was just what my soul needed. My girlfriend allowed me the honor of taking her 2023 Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro out to tear up 200 miles of Route 299 through northern California. Along this stretch of highway, it is more important than ever to be alert as it is Sasquatch Country.

I was excited to ride this portion of northern California but didn’t expect to be that impressed with the Triumph. Previously having test rode several Triumphs I was familiar with them. They are wonderful machines but they never really spoke to me or my riding style, so I steered towards Ducati or BMW. However, one of my favorite guitar players, Billy Duffy (from the band The Cult) is a HUGE Triumph rider. I had the pleasure of meeting him last November and being semi star struck. All I could mutter was “I am sorry I ride a BMW GS, but my girlfriend rides a Triumph, and oh yeah…you’re an incredible guitarist.” I guess there have been worse encounters with celebrities than that. He high fived me, we shook hands, and we had a laugh over my awkwardness (more him than myself I am sure). Anyway, back to the Triumph Tiger and Sasquatch hunting along Route 299.

This bike is fast. It doesn’t hesitate to go once you twist that throttle, and the acceleration is smooth. Coming from a background where torque is king it was almost a relief to not have to worry about your front wheel leaving the earth every time you go to pass someone, although I have always felt wheelieing by cars as you pass them is just…. Well, it’s cool.

The Tiger is 60 pounds lighter than my BMW GS1200, and the weight is distributed much lower. This makes it extremely easy to just throw into turns, which I did numerous times along Route 299. There are no longer chicken strips on the tires. The Tiger is also much easier to maneuver due to this, which is helpful in sand, difficult terrain, or having to move it 8 feet into a different parking spot.

Changing modes on the BMW when switching from on road to offroad modes you simply hit the button and shift gears. With the Tiger you need to stop the bike, place it in neutral and switch modes. This is a minor complaint I understand, but I was in the heart of sasquatch country and any delay could result in serious injury or death by being mauled by one of these magnificent beasts.

For some reason Triumph didn’t add a steering damper, or weights on the handlebars ends. This can at times cause a wobble at high speeds and it is not a wind friendly design. When bringing this up to the Triumph dealer they stated it wasn’t supposed to go over 85 MPH with a full load and he asked how fast I was riding it. Without divulging the answer in this write up I will say he raised his hands and walked away at my answer (this happens frequently with me when I am too honest).

Overall, I am much more impressed with this motorcycle now than I was previously. It was a breathtaking 200-mile ride in northern California as the road snaked along the Trinity River and in Six Rivers National Forest. The twisties were a blast and by simply clicking down two gears I was able to rocket past slower vehicles with no problem and put any threats far in my rearview mirror (to include Sasquatch). Speaking of which, we didn’t see any Sasquatch along this route. I swore I could smell them as I dropped into Humboldt County but I suppose that could have just been the marijuana cultivation.

Disclaimer- I moved the Triumph to the other side of the Starbucks parking lot as soon as I saw several GS riders pull up.

Highway 50: The Loneliest Road in America

By Bobbie Surber

Embarking on a motorcycle trip from Arizona to British Columbia I set two goals for myself: to visit as many national parks as possible and to explore remote and intriguing roads. During my pursuit of the latter that I stumbled upon Highway 50, also known as the “Loneliest Road in America.” It offered the bonus of passing through the Great Basin National Park.

Like any good planner, I turned to social media for advice on surviving this desolate route (add in a touch of sarcasm). The responses I received were mostly negative, with warnings about the challenges of riding alone, extreme heat, lack of gas stations, and overall boredom. However, a few seasoned riders who were familiar with the road reassured me that not only would I survive, but I would also have the opportunity to earn a certificate attesting to my survival. With this mixed bag of feedback, I embarked on my journey, eager to uncover the truth about the Loneliest Road.

Highway 50, stretching from West Sacramento, California, to Ocean City, Maryland, is a scenic route that earned its moniker from a 1986 Life magazine article that described it as desolate and isolated. The section of Highway 50 referred to as the Loneliest Road is in Nevada. This road winds through vast stretches of remote desert landscapes, featuring rugged mountains and expansive plains that contribute to its reputation.

Traveling along the Loneliest Road offers a unique experience, characterized by long stretches between services. It is essential for travelers to come well-prepared, as gas stations, restaurants, and accommodations are few. Adequate fuel, extra food and water supplies, and an acute awareness of weather conditions, particularly during extreme heat or summer and winter storms, are crucial.

Despite its reputation for solitude, the Loneliest Road in America showcases stunning natural beauty, allowing travelers to immerse themselves in the vastness of the American West. Along the route, one can encounter remarkable attractions such as the Great Basin National Park, Lehman Caves, and several ghost towns. These highlights offer a glimpse into the unique charm and allure of this road less traveled.

Let’s dive into my own epic experience along this renowned route.

My journey began when I left my home in Sedona, AZ, riding my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, affectionately nicknamed “Tippi,” as she likes to take what I call unscheduled naps tipping over often at inconvenient locations. Loaded with gear for a summer of adventure, I set off on a bright June Sunday morning, spending five days exploring North Grand Canyon, Zion, Bryce Canyon, and the captivating Highway 12, before spending two nights in Capitol Reef.

Leaving Capitol Reef, I eagerly anticipated joining the long-awaited Highway 50, where it intersected Interstate 15 in Utah. Initially, the road meandered through open plains with scattered ranches along the way, offering nothing too remarkable. However, about an hour later, the ride became more intriguing as the winds picked up. As I glanced ahead, an ominous sky threatened an impending storm. Riding past sand and salt fields, I witnessed a bewildering phenomenon—the salt in the fields seemed to defy the wind, rising straight up in vertical columns rather than blowing or swirling. Bracing myself against the wind’s force, I pulled over to capture this puzzling sight but struggled to capture it adequately, settling for a short video clip as proof of my encounter.

Continuing across more plains, I found myself nearing the turnoff to Baker and the Great Basin National Park, my intended destination for two nights of camping and sightseeing. As I gazed at the mountain, I found an angry and ominous sky with snow-covered peaks that seemed to dare me to face the challenges of reaching its 7700-foot elevation to my destination at Upper Lehman Campground. Rain and lightning accompanied me as I rode into the tiny town of Baker, where I hastily stopped at the Visitor Center to check the weather report and determine how cold it would get during the night. Assured of temperatures above freezing, I pressed onward, rewarded with an epic campsite at Great Basin. Nestled alongside the rushing Lehman River, my campsite offered complete privacy, and I reveled in the wonders of the park over the next two rain-filled days and nights. The Lehman Cave tour was an unforgettable highlight not to be missed. As an avid hiker I loved that I was able to experience an epic 7-mile round trip hike along the mountain following ever upwards along the Lehman River complete with snow covered meadows and towering views of the mountain summit.

During my stay in Baker, Nevada, I discovered two places that I highly recommend. The first is the 489 Grill and Whispering Elms Motel and RV Park, which boasts a bar, RV and tent camping facilities, firewood, and the best burger I have ever tasted. Trust me when I say this is a significant claim, as I am a true burger aficionado. The food is not the only remarkable aspect; the owner and staff are incredibly hospitable, making your visit all the more enjoyable. The second recommendation is the Bristlecone General Store, a quaint establishment offering unique local gifts, an unexpectedly diverse selection of food options given its small size, and a coffee bar serving locally roasted beans by a blind roaster with an extraordinary sense of smell, resulting in a delightful brew devoid of the bitterness found in commercial beans. Among the store’s charms, one staff member named Rachel stood out for her warmth, hospitality, and willingness to share insights about Baker and local hidden gems. I was informed that Sandra’s Food Truck serves excellent and affordable Mexican cuisine—an experience I now eagerly anticipate for my future visits.

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

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

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

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

Determined to soldier on, I pushed forward to Carson City, Nevada, before ascending the switchbacks and descending towards Lake Tahoe. The ride and the stunning view of the lake were awe-inspiring. I completed the remaining portion of my day’s journey with ease, covering over 400 miles. A warm hotel bed awaited me after seven nights of camping, and I eagerly anticipated reuniting with my boyfriend, Mike Huber, a fellow adventure rider who also happens to be a badass. I recommend checking out his posts on ExhaustNotes for a combination of insightful rides and outrageous travel stories.

In conclusion, my time on the Loneliest Road in America was an unforgettable experience. Despite the dire warnings I received, I found this historic stretch of highway to be well worth the ride. Contrary to popular belief, there are plenty of services available along the route, and the road itself is intermittently adorned with scenic mountain passes. The friendly locals and the sense of freedom that permeates this lightly traveled road are rare treasures that I seldom encounter. If you’re seeking a unique journey through the American West, I wholeheartedly recommend venturing onto the Loneliest Road in America.

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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.

Geezer on a Beezer

The latest news to sweep across the ether is that BSA is being revived in India. Eh, we’ll see.

I’m naturally skeptical about revivals. Lord knows Norton has been through a few, and last I checked, like Julius Caesar they’re still dead. Indian (not bikes from India, but the American Indian brand) should maybe be called the Easter bike based on how many times they’ve been resurrected. And there was Henderson for a while maybe 20 years ago (remember that flash in the pan?). Triumph…well you know that story. They rose again, but it wasn’t really the original Triumph…it was just the name, but then they reintroduced the vertical twin Bonneville, except the displacement increased until the marvelous 650cc we used to know grew to 1200cc and the bike gained a couple of hundred pounds, give or take. I’d like to see Bud Ekins jump one of the new Bonnevilles escaping from a German POW camp. He might have better luck getting airborne with a Panzer.

And then of course there’s Royal Enfield, but they’re technically not a resurrection. They never went out of business. Well, maybe they sort of did, but before the Japanese bikes drove the final nail in the British motorcycle industry coffin (with a lot of help from the British motorcycle industry, who’s official motto seemed to be “too little, too late”), the original Royal Enfield (the folks in England) starting building bikes in India, and when the Brits went belly up, the folks running the Indian plant watched, shrugged, and kept on building. I ride an Indian Royal Enfield, but it’s not an Indian like most folks in the US motorcycling community use the word. Well, okay, it is, but it’s from India. It’s not a Polaris Indian from America.

Confused yet?

This BSA thing might be cool, though. I’d like to see it work, and if it works as well as my Royal Enfield (which is as fine as any motorcycle made anywhere), it would be a good thing. I always wanted a Beezer when I was a kid, and I suppose owning one now would make me a geezer with a Beezer (like the kid’s book, Sheep in a Jeep).

In the meantime, here are a few more photos I’ve shot of BSAs at the Hansen Dam Britbike meet in California, in Australia, and elsewhere over the years. We can only hope the resurrected bikes look as good.

You know what I’d like to see? I’d like to see two bikes from the 1960s resurrected…a 1966 Triumph T120R and a 1965 Electra Glide (the last year of the Panhead, and the first year of the electric start). Those are two of the most beautiful motorcycles ever made. The HD photo below is an earlier Duo Glide, but you get the idea. Make them reliable, substitute enough aluminum for steel so that when you add all the smog and other regulatoria the bikes weigh in at their mid-’60s weights, and make them reliable. Zongshen, you guys listening?

If they did either of those two resurrections, I’d be in. In a heartbeat. I’d be Charley on a Harley. Johnnie on a Bonny. Whatever.

Hey, if resurrections are what you want, check this out!

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The $100 Hamburger…

The $100 hamburger: It’s aviation slang for any hamburger that requires flying in to a local airport for a burger. I first heard the term from good buddy Margit Chiriaco Rusche when researching the story on the General Patton Memorial Museum. You see, there’s still an airport at Chiriaco Summit, left over from General George Patton’s Desert Training Center. Margit told me about pilots flying in for the mythical $100 hamburger at the Chiriaco Summit Café, and I knew I had to have one as soon as she mentioned it. The Café doesn’t actually charge a hundred bucks (it was only $15.66 with a giant iced tea, fries, and a side of chili); the $100 figure pertains to what it would cost a pilot to fly your own plane to Chiriaco Summit, enjoy the General Patton Burger, and fly out.

Even though bloggers like Gresh and me are rolling in dough, we don’t have our own airplanes. But we have the next best thing. Gresh has his Kawasaki Z1 900, and I have my Royal Enfield Interceptor.

Good buddy Marty (a dude with whom I’ve been riding for more than 20 years) told me he needed to get out for a ride and I suggested the Patton Museum. It’s a 250-mile round trip for us, and the trip (along with the General Patton Burger, which is what you see in the big photo above) would be just what the doctor ordered. I’d have my own hundred dollar burger, and at a pretty good price, too. Two tanks of gas (one to get there and one to get home) set me back $16, and it was $18 (including tip) for the General Patton Burger. I had my hundred dollar burger at a steep discount. And it was great.

I’ll confess…it had been a while since I rode the Enfield. In fact, it’s been a while since I’d been on any ride. I didn’t sleep too much the night before (pre-ride jitters, I guess) and I was up early. I pushed the Enfield out to the curb and my riding amigos showed up a short time later. There would be four of us on this ride (me, Marty, and good buddies Joe and Doug). Marty’s a BMW guy; Joe and Doug both ride Triumph Tigers.

As motorcycle rides go, we had great weather and a boring road. It was 125 miles on the 210 and 10 freeways to get to the Patton Museum and the same distance back. Oh, I know, there were other roads and we could have diverted through Joshua Tree National Park, but like I said, I hadn’t ridden in a while and boring roads were what I wanted.

The Patton Museum was a hoot, as it always is. I had my super fast 28mm Nikon lens (which is ideal for a lot of things), and I shot more than a few photos that day. You can have a lot of fun with a camera, a fast lens, a motorcycle, and good friends. A fast 28mm lens is good for indoor available light (no flash) photography, and I grabbed several photos inside the Patton Museum.

It was a bit strange looking at the photos of the World War II general officers, including the one immediately above. I realized that all of us (Marty, Joe, Doug, and I) are older than any of the generals were during World War II. War is a young man’s game, I guess. Or maybe we’re just really old.

You can see our earlier pieces on the Patton Museum here and here. It’s one of my favorite spots. If you want to know more about Chiriaco Summit, the Chiriaco family, and the General Patton Memorial Museum’s origins, I highly recommend picking up a copy of Mary Gordon’s Chiriaco Summit. It is an excellent read.

We rode the same roads home as the ride in, except it was anything but boring on the return leg. We rode into very stiff winds through the Palm Springs corridor on the westward trek home, and the wind made for a spirited ride on my lighter, windshieldless Enfield Interceptor. My more detailed impressions of the Enfield 650 will be a topic for a future blog, so stay tuned!

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Bikes Gone By

Do you dream about the motorcycles you used to own?

Yeah, me, too. I don’t have photos of all my bikes that have gone down the road, but I have a few and I’d like to share them with you.

My first motorcycle was a Honda Super 90. I bought it from Sherm Cooper, a famous Triumph racer who owned Cooper’s Cycle Ranch in New Jersey. My Super 90 was cool…it was white and it had an upswept pipe and knobby tires. Mr. Cooper used it for getting around on his farm (the Cycle Ranch actually started out there). I was only 14 and I wasn’t supposed to be on the street yet, but I was known to sneak out on occasion. I liked that Honda Super 90 motor, and evidently so do a lot of other people (it’s still being manufactured by several different companies in Asia).

Yours truly at about age 14 on the Honda Super 90. What’s that stuff on top of my head?

The next bike was a Honda SL-90. Same 90cc Honda motor, but it had a tubular steel frame and it was purpose-built for both road and off-road duty. I never actually had a photo of that bike, but it was a favorite. Candy apple red and silver (Honda figured out by then that people wanted more than just their basic four colors of white, red, black, or blue), it was a great-looking machine. I rode it for about a year and sold it, and then I took a big step up.

That big step up was a Honda 750 Four. I’ve waxed eloquent about that bike here on the blog already, so I won’t bore you with the details about how the Honda 750 basically killed the British motorcycle industry and defined new standards for motorcycle performance. The 750 was fun, too. Fast, good looking, candy apple red (Honda used that color a lot), and exotic. I paid $1559 for it in 1971 at Cooper’s. Today, one in mint condition would approach ten times that amount. I wish I still had it.

My first big street bike…a 1971 Honda 750 Four. It was awesome. It’s a miracle I never crashed it. I rode it all the way up to Canada and back in the early ’70s. Check out the jacket, the riding pants, and my other safety gear.

There were a lot of bikes that followed. There were two Honda 500 Fours, a 50cc Honda Cub (the price was right, so I bought it and sold it within a couple of days) an 85cc two-stroke BSA (with a throttle that occasionally stuck open), a 1982 Suzuki 1000cc Katana (an awesome ride, but uncomfortable), a 1979 Harley Electra-Glide Classic (the most unreliable machine I’ve ever owned), a 1978 Triumph Bonneville (I bought that one new when I lived in Fort Worth), a 1971 Triumph Tiger, a 1970 Triumph Daytona, a 1992 Harley Softail (much more reliable than the first Harley, and one I rode all over the US Southwest and Mexico), a 1995 Triumph Daytona 1200 (the yellow locomotive), a 1997 TL1000S Suzuki (a sports bike I used as a touring machine), a 2006 Triumph Tiger, a 1982 Honda CBX (a great bike, but one I sold when Honda stopped stocking parts for it), a 2007 Triumph Speed Triple (awesome, fast, but buzzy), a 2006 KLR 650 Kawasaki, and a 2010 CSC 150. Here are photos of some of those bikes:

My high school buddy Johnnie with a Honda 500 four I later bought from him. That sissy bar was the first thing to go. It was a fun bike.

A Honda 50cc Cub, the most frequently produced motorcycle on the planet. In China and elsewhere, this bike is still being manufactured. I bought this one in the 1960s, mostly because I knew I could sell it and make a few bucks quickly.

My ’79 Electra-Glide Classic. I called this one my optical illusion, because it looked like a motorcycle. I couldn’t go a hundred miles on that motorcycle without something breaking. And people badmouth Chinese motorcycles.

Me with my 1982 Suzuki Katana. In its day, that was a super-exotic bike. Uncomfortable, but very fast, and way ahead of its time. I bought it new and paid over MSRP because they were so hard to get. I was a lot skinnier in those days.

My ’92 Softail Classic Harley. This motorcycle was superbly reliable right up until the moment the oil pump quit at 53,000 miles. At about the time I shot this photo on a trip through Mexico, I started thinking that maybe a Big Twin was not the best answer to the adventure touring question. And I know, my motorcycle packing skills in those days were not yet optimized. That’s a Mexican infantry officer behind the bike.

My buddy Louis V and me with our bikes somewhere in Arizona sometime in the mid-’90s. I’m not sure why Louis had his shirt off…we sure didn’t ride that way. Louis had an ’81 Gold Wing and I had an ’82 CBX Six. That old CBX was a fun bike…it sounded like a Ferrari!

My ’97 Suzuki TL1000S on the road somewhere in Baja. Wow, that bike was fast. Here’s a story about my good buddy Paul and me featuring this motorcycle.

The 1200 Daytona. I won it on an Ebay auction. It was an incredible motorcycle and you can read more about it here.

I’d always wanted a KLR 650, and when I pulled the trigger in 2006 I was glad I did. Smaller bikes make more sense. They’re more fun to ride, too. It seemed to me that this was the perfect bike for Baja. That’s me and Baja John out at El Marmol.

The ’06 Triumph Tiger. Fun, but a little cramped and very heavy. It was styled like a dual sport, but trust me on this, you don’t want to get into the soft stuff with this motorcycle.

Potentially the most beautiful motorcycle I’ve ever owned, this 2007 Speed Triple was a fast machine. The joke in motorcycle circles is that it should be named the Speed Cripple. That’s what it did to me.

My CSC 150. Don’t laugh. I had a lot of fun on this little Mustang replica. My friends and I rode these to Cabo San Lucas and back.

That brings up to today. My rides today are a CSC TT250, an RX3, and a Royal Enfield Interceptor 650. I like riding them all.

Do you have photos of your old bikes? Here’s an invitation: Send photos of your earlier motorcycles to us (info@exhaustnotes.us) with any info you can provide and we’ll your story here on the blog. We’d love to see your motorcycles.

Want to see some of our Dream Bikes? Give a click here!

Fred Checking In…

Never miss an ExNotes blog!

The call we put out earlier about sending a photo and describing your first bike was answered almost immediately by our good buddy and YooHoo aficionado Fred. Check this out, boys and girls:

JOE!

There was a Tecumseh-powered Mini-Bike before this one, but I consider my Yamaha Mini-Enduro to be my first REAL motorcycle (picture attached). I put 100’s a miles a day on it in the woods around Woodstock Connecticut and Sturbridge Massachusetts….especially in the woods around Bigelow Hollow State Park – got lost in there more times than I care to remember!

Note how skinny I used to be…..Mom wasn’t stocking up on the Yoo-Hoo for me…..

Fred

We wrote to Fred and asked what he’s riding today, and here’s his answer:

Only the finest motorcycle known to man (or woman) – my trusty 2007 Caspian Blue Triumph Tiger 1050 – pic attached.

Over 76,000 trouble-free miles and smiles from North (Nova Scotia) to South (Florida) and West (Arkansas) and back East (Connecticut).

And it’s got PLENTY of storage for the Yoo-Hoo.

Fred

Fred, we admire your choice in your first motorcycle, your current motorcycle, and of course, beverages. I used to ride a Caspian Blue Tiger as well; mine was a 2006 and I loved it. Thanks for writing and ride safe.

So how about the rest of our riders and readers? Does anyone else care to share their first ride with us? Write to us at info@exhaustnotes.us!

Ekins, McQueen, Leno, Weinstein, and more…

This is a story I wrote a good 15 years ago and it has appeared online a couple of times before. It’s about an invitation only celebration of Bud Ekin’s life at Warner Brothers Studios here in So Cal. I first published this story on the old MotoFoto site and then again on the CSC blog about 10 years ago. Good buddy Marty and rode our motorcycles to the event and it was awesome. It’s a good story and it was a great day.

I’ll bet everyone who reads this blog has seen Steve McQueen’s The Great Escape. Released in 1963 (about the same time as the original Mustang Motor Products folded), I believe The Great Escape is one of the greatest movies ever made. If you’re into bikes (hey, you’re reading this blog, so you gotta be!), you know about the scenes showing Steve McQueen racing away from the Nazis on a motorcycle in World War II Germany…

The purists among us recognized that the movie dudes took some liberties here…McQueen was on a 650 Triumph in the film, and the Germans didn’t use Triumphs. The movie folks modified the Triumph to make it look like a German military bike because it would have been a lot harder doing this scene on an old and underpowered BMW. And the guy who jumped the bike over that barbed-wire fence wasn’t really Steve McQueen…it was a previously-unknown desert racer and stuntman named Bud Ekins (more on him in a bit).

The real deal: The original, actual Triumph motorcycle used in The Great Escape.

So, how did all this come about?

Most of you probably know that Steve McQueen was a serious motorcycle guy. In his day, he was an avid collector, racer, and rider. McQueen got into motorcycling almost accidentally. A guy who owed McQueen money offered to give him a Triumph motorcycle to repay the debt, and McQueen agreed, but he didn’t know how to ride. McQueen took the bike to the local Triumph guru to learn how to ride, and that guy was a racer and mechanic named Bud Ekins. The two became riding buddies and (pardon the pun) fast friends. Fast forward a bit, and McQueen’s got this gig to star in a movie called (you guessed it) The Great Escape. There are cool motorcycle scenes in it, including the iconic jump shown in the video above. McQueen’s bosses wouldn’t let him do the jump, so McQueen turned to his buddy, Bud Ekins. It would be the first time Ekins did any stunt work, or really any work at all in the movie industry.

Ekins and McQueen met with the folks in charge of the movie and learned that the script required jumping a 15-ft fence. Ekins explained to the studio execs that the highest he had ever jumped a motorcycle was maybe 5 feet, but Ekins thought he make the higher jump. McQueen and Ekins worked at it, building up Ekin’s ability to jump greater heights through a series of experiments with ramps, velocity, and ropes. When Ekins felt confident, they filmed the scene in the above video in a single take. That’s all it took.

Ekins negotiated what was then a whopping fee for his jump: $1000. Yep, that’s right…there aren’t any zeros missing in that number. A cool one thousand dollars. It almost seems laughable now, but at the time, it was the highest fee Hollywood had ever paid any stuntman, and it made news.

Frank Bullitt’s ride. The two Mustangs used in filming Bullitt were on display at this event.

After Ekins made that Great Escape jump, his stuntman career took off. Just about any action scene you’ve ever seen in any movies during the last 50 years or so (if it involved a motorcycle or a car) had Ekins doing the real driving. In Bullitt, he drove both the Mustang (the green car, that is…not a Mustang motorcycle) and he rode the motorcycle that crashed during that movie’s iconic chase scene. In The Blues Brothers, that was Bud behind the wheel of Belushi’s and Akroyd’s trashed out police car. In Smokey and the Bandit, it was Ekins behind the wheel of the Firebird. You get the idea.

Speakers at the Ekins Celebration of Life. The guy on the right needs no introduction. The guy on the left is Harvey Weinstein.

McQueen died young a long time ago. Ekins passed away in 2007, and I was lucky enough to attend the celebration of life for him at Warner Brothers Studios. There were a lot of speakers at that event, including big wheels in the movie business (one was a guy named Harvey Weinstein). The were McQueen family members, Ekins family members, and Jay Leno. Something that stuck in my mind was Harvey Weinstein telling us that during the ’60s and ’70s if you asked any guy who he wanted to be, the answer would be Steve McQueen. But, Weinstein continued, if you asked Steve McQueen who he wanted to be, the answer would be Bud Ekins.

So there you have it. Bud Ekins, Steve McQueen, The Great Escape, a famous Triumph motorcycle disguised to look like a BMW, and more. It was a grand day. So, we have a question for you: What’s your favorite motorcycle movie? Let us know with a comment or two. We’d love to hear from you.

A Dream Bikes page!

Yep, we’ve added another index page, this time for our Dream Bikes blogs…

The Dream Bikes page is a concept started by Arjiu, and it’s one of my favorites. It’s all about bikes we wished we had bought back in the day, bikes we’d still like to own, bikes we have owned and miss, and more. It’s a favorite, and now you can get to any of them quickly.

The lead photo above is one of the best bikes I’ve ever owned, my old 1995 Triumph Daytona 1200. It was an awesome ride. That bug-spattered headlight shot? It was the result of a sustained 120 mph run across central California on Highway 58…a ride I was on with my good buddy Marty. Good times on a dream bike…something we call can relate to.