On this Spring Trifecta ride, Tim Kessel combined his three loves: a scenic motorcycle ride, baseball, and live music. Photos by the author.
I am not one to repeat most motorcycle rides, and I am certainly not one to revisit my old articles. However, there is a curious symmetry to this Spring Trifecta piece. Two years ago, virtually to the day, I wrote a web article for Rider titled, Spring Training: A Good Reason to Dust Off the Bike. I penned the piece after intertwining some great southern Arizona motorcycle rides, Cactus League spring training, and concerts at the appropriately named Innings Festival. It was a great time, but the precipitous onset of Covid-19 followed immediately cutting spring training short and rendering gatherings like music festivals a thing of the past.
This spring, with Covid loosening its talons on society, I was going to return to spring training to watch the boys of summer hone their skills and to the Innings Festival for more good music. I had already traced new southern Arizona motorcycle routes. This time, it was not a novel virus that interfered; it was a dispute between those same boys of summer and their bosses that silenced the baseball diamonds. With one leg of my trifecta of fun severed, I cancelled my spring riding and concert plans.
Sloan Park is home to the Cactus League spring training for the Chicago Cubs.
A few weeks later, the baseball owners and the players’ union agreed to an eleventh-hour deal, and spring training was green-lighted for a late start. My routes were already in place and bats were again going to crack. All I was missing was a musical component to complete my return to southern Arizona and some semblance of normalcy. An Internet search revealed that Roger Clyne, the rock balladeer of the Southwest, was to perform at the intimate and beautiful outdoor Mesa Amphitheatre, which is just a stone’s (or hardball’s) throw away from the Arizona training facility of the Chicago Cubs. Perfect!
Arizona’s Sonoran Desert is the perfect place for a scenic springtime ride.
As it turns out, it was perfect. My ride south of Phoenix was amazing. Towering cacti stood sentinel as I wound though Sonoran Desert National Monument. Blue skies and rugged mountains served as backdrop in my loop ride even further south through the Southwestern desert. Things like labor disputes, global viruses, and two years of missing many of my favorite things blurred in my rearview mirrors.
The night after my sojourn into the arid version of God’s country, I settled my saddle fatigued posterior into my seat at the Mesa Amphitheatre. Intermixed in the enthusiastic audience were Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers concert shirts and various iterations of baseball jerseys. Clearly I was not the only one enjoying a vibrant melding of spring activities. Under the Mesa, Arizona, stars, Clyne played his raucous mix of original songs, threw back shots of his proprietary tequila, and generally whipped his fans into a communal frenzy. I offer up a strong recommendation. Experience a Roger Clyne show as it is very easy to become a fan.
Enjoying a performance by Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers at the Mesa Amphitheatre in Mesa, Arizona.
In the couple of days that followed, I embarked on another much-needed and spirited desert ride through Arizona’s burgeoning wine country. The high grasslands of southeastern Arizona are fertile ground for both grapes and entertaining riding. I rode past isolated vineyards and unique small towns in the high desert expanse. My big BMW R 1200 GS seemed as happy to free from the stagnancy of winter, variants, and quarantines as I was.
I followed the riding with a bit of sun-warmed bleacher time watching the relaxed pace of an early Cactus League practice at the Cubs spring training facility. Listening to bats cracking and the banter of players returning to their diamond sanctuary was just what the doctor ordered.
So there you have it – one man’s return to some kind of normalcy. Baseball is back, concerts are returning, and riding is always there. There is a smile on my face. Trifecta complete.
Taking a short break on U.S. Route 89A in Arizona at the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument. Temps reached 103 degrees with nothing in sight for miles!
What could possibly be better than a 75-day, 15,000-mile motorcycle ride around America? How about visiting the best Jewish deli in almost every state along the way? My journey, which took place last summer, gave a whole new meaning to that popular motorcycling motto, “Ride to eat, eat to ride.” It echoed in my head as I threw a leg over the seat of my Honda Gold Wing each morning for two and a half months.
With fellow JMA members at Protzel’s Delicatessen in St. Louis.
It all started with a suggestion by a fellow riding buddy of mine, Roger Burton. He knew that I love long-distance riding, and he forwarded me an article published on The Nosher website with a map listing the top Jewish deli in nearly every state. On previous rides, I had ridden to the four corners of the U.S. (14,000 miles), to all of the lower 48 states (11,500 miles), and to nearly all of America’s national parks (17,000 miles; read “One Ride, 47 National Parks”). This new challenge was right up my alley.
Roger Burton (the instigator for this ride) with his daughter, son-in-law, and Rabbi Jacobson, the owner of Maccabee’s Kosher Deli in Des Moines, Iowa.
When I discussed the trip with my wife, Judi, she suggested contacting MAZON, a Jewish nonprofit that fights hunger in America through advocacy and public policy change. The idea was to partner with MAZON and use the ride to raise awareness and funds to help alleviate hunger. When I called someone at MAZON, they loved the idea … right after having a few laughs because they had never heard of a Jewish biker before.
With my wife, Judi, on June 1, the first day of the 75-day tour. She helped me maintain a daily blog during the trip and prepare this story.
We decided to call the ride the Great American Deli Schlep, since “schlep” is a Yiddish word for carrying something heavy or awkward, or a difficult journey. And we split up the responsibilities. I created the route, did the ride, visited the delis (and ate the food!), took photos, and wrote a blog (with editing assistance from Judi). MAZON did the behind-the-scenes work, such as creating a logo and donation webpage, printing up materials, contacting the delis, promoting the ride on social media, and contacting print and media outlets for interviews.
Jewish delis aren’t known for low-calorie fare. Before the trip, my friends said I would gain 40 pounds and my cholesterol would skyrocket. I got lab work done before and after the trip, and I share the results at the end of this article.
My journey started on June 1, at Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen in Chicago, near where I live. It was a picture-perfect day: 75 degrees, abundant sunshine, and 35 to 40 family members and close friends to see me off. Fox News and ABC came to cover the event, which added to the festivities. I realized that one of my goals – getting the word out about hunger – would merit TV news airtime during the deli visits.
Opening day at Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen in Chicago.
This was the most structured and time-sensitive of my long-distance motorcycle trips. I had to stick to a schedule because of the specific dates and times set up for meeting deli owners, doing media interviews, and meeting fellow club members of the Jewish Motorcyclists Alliance (JMA). I belong to the Chicago-area Chaiway Riders chapter – “chai” (pronounced high) is a Hebrew word that means “life.” Other chapters include Hillel’s Angels, Shalom n’ Chrome, Kosher Hogs, Golf Riders New Jersey, and King David Bikers of South Florida.
Matzo ball soup.
My strict schedule required long days. I was up by 6 a.m. and riding, visiting delis, and managing details of the trip until 10 p.m. As much as I enjoyed visiting delis and meeting people, I had to leave each deli no later than 2 p.m. to allow time to ride to my next destination. Although the logistics were tricky, after visits to the first few delis I got into a rhythm similar to what I have experienced on other long-distance trips. I felt like a politician on the campaign trail. At each deli, I’d introduce myself to the owner or manager, explain why I was there and what MAZON does, do a photo op, sit for an interview with the local media, and finally eat too much deli food.
With the MAZON team at Canter’s Deli in Los Angeles.
Going into this trip, I knew there were going to be logistical and riding challenges. I mentally prepared myself that not every day was going to go as planned. Being flexible and going with the flow helped me tackle the most difficult motorcycle trip I’ve ever done. My planned route took me on backroads most of the time, but when I got within 50 miles of a major city (which is where most of the delis are located), I’d jump on the freeway to avoid stop-and-go traffic.
JMA members and grammar school friends at Rosenberg’s Bagels & Delicatessen in Denver.
Fellow JMA members met me at delis along the way, and a few of them joined me for three or four, but I rode solo for most of my 75-day journey. MAZON got the word out to the Jewish community in each city, which led to some funny encounters. In Westport, Connecticut, an older couple and another woman arrived early at Gold’s Delicatessen because they were afraid of not being able to find parking for the event. When they arrived, they asked me, “Where are all the people?” I replied, “You’re it.” We ended up having a lovely quiet lunch together.
Hanging out with my “fan club” at Gold’s Delicatessen in Westport, Connecticut.
Throughout my trip, I heard incredible stories of survival and tenacity. When I met the owner of Hershel’s East Side Deli in Philadelphia, he told me he named the deli after his father’s older brother. During WWII, his father and uncle lived in a small town in Poland. When the Nazis rolled into town, Hershel ran home and got his little brother and escaped into the woods. They survived by living in a camp for six years in Russia. The brothers eventually made their way to New York, where they started working in a deli.
Meeting with the owner of Herschel’s East Side Deli at the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia.
I was the very first customer at Bubbie’s Market & Deli in Providence, Rhode Island. They weren’t planning to open for another week, but they let me be their “test” customer. On the other end of the spectrum was Attman’s Delicatessen in Baltimore, Maryland, which was celebrating its 105th anniversary. Every deli had a story about how it began and how it survived over the years.
Celebrating the opening of Bubbie’s Market & Deli in Providence, Rhode Island.
At each interview, I was asked, “What is your favorite deli?” My response was always the same. I compared this trip to my national park tour. Just as each national park has its own story and personality that makes it special, so does each deli. And like national parks, delis reflect their geographic location. Rose Foods in Portland, Maine, serves a Fisherman’s Feast that includes bagels, cream cheese, rose lox, nova, and whitefish salad. The General Muir in Atlanta, Georgia, serves deviled eggs and pecan-crusted French toast.
Meeting up with Josh from MAZON at Rose Foods in Portland, Maine.
Posing with the Sabra Riders at The General Muir in Atlanta.
Even though I visited 42 delis, I never got the same sandwich twice. There was always something that made each one unique, such as how the pastrami or corned beef was prepared, or the particular type of bread or toppings that were used. Since I was often busy meeting new people and doing interviews, I rarely finished my entire sandwich. The other half went into my saddlebag and served as dinner in my hotel room.
Every sandwich at every deli was delicious, especially when paired with Dr. Brown’s soda.
Traveling for weeks on end by motorcycle opens you up to interesting experiences. I chalked up a few memorable “tales of the road,” such as my encounter with a lone tire on the highway. While riding down the New Jersey Turnpike at 70 mph on a sunny afternoon, I saw a tire rolling along in front of me. I backed off my highway pegs and watched it meander off into the emergency lane, where it disappeared in the grass. Then I saw a huge splash, and figured the tire ended up in a pond.
Stein’s Market & Deli in New Orleans, unlike any deli you’ll ever visit.
As I passed by, I glanced over to see if I could spot the tire. When I looked back at the road, that same tire was 50 feet in front of me and about to cross my path of travel. Before I knew it, the tire rolled behind my bike, or at least I thought it did. I pulled over about a mile down the road to check on things and found that the tire had hit my rear pannier, though I never felt the impact.
Playing tourist at the boyhood home of Butch Cassidy, near Circleville, Utah, on U.S. Route 89.
Although my trip began on a beautiful summer day in Chicago, the next day rainstorms hit Indianapolis and followed me around the country. Riding through heavy rain in Texas, I went through a puddle so deep that I lost control of my bike. When I rolled into Phoenix, I encountered monsoon rains for four days straight. My fellow JMA bikers told me they hadn’t seen that much rain in more than a decade, and they nicknamed me “Rain Man.”
As I also found out, scorpions leave their nests during Arizona’s monsoon rains to avoid the water in the soil. The night before leaving for Los Angeles, I was packing up and reached into my bag, only to narrowly miss a scorpion that had taken up residency there. I don’t scare easily, but I looked under my bed 20 times before going to sleep that night. Once I got to California, the rain was replaced with dryness and heat, and I had to navigate around enormous wildfires that filled the skies with smoke.
At the geographic center of the United States near Lebanon, Kansas, with fellow JMA member Bruce Ente.
After 40 years of long-distance touring, I have learned several tricks that were helpful on this trip. As I approached Red Bluff, California, the day before riding the famous State Route 36 (140 miles of curves known as the Serpent to the Sea that was on my bucket list), the temperature was 108 degrees. As I usually do, I used a cooling vest, water-soaked bandanas, and a 3-liter hydration pack filled with ice water to stay cool. I also carried a half-gallon, wide-mouth container of water that I could reach into while riding. Every 20-30 minutes I soaked my lightweight leather gloves in the water, which cooled the blood in my hands and felt like the opposite of heated grips.
Connecting the dots between delis was a delight. I rode the Natchez Trace Parkway through Mississippi, and visited the boyhood home of Elvis Presley in Tupelo. Near Circleville, Utah, I visited the boyhood home of Butch Cassidy. In Lebanon, Kansas, I visited the geographic center of the United States. I rode the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado, and I visited Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks in California.
Enjoying some rest and relaxation somewhere on the Natchez Trace Parkway.
Meeting new people was one of the best parts of this trip. From the deli owners, employees, and customers to random people who just came up to me to ask what I was doing, special connections were made based on our shared love of Jewish food, fascination with travel, or just plain curiosity. It only took two or three questions to find out if someone was from Chicago, or if we knew someone in common, or if their best friend knows my brother. Six degrees of separation played itself out over and over.
Party time at Dingfelder’s Delicatessen in Seattle.
When I was in Seattle visiting Dingfelder’s Delicatessen, I did an interview with a young woman from the local Jewish newspaper. When she asked if my friends had strong feelings about which deli I should visit in each town, I mentioned a grammar school friend of mine who lives in the Boston area and has a very strong opinion about the “best deli.” As soon as I mentioned his name, she said, “I know him. I went to college with his daughter, and I stayed at their home.” She went on to describe his house and backyard – 3,000 miles away – that I’ve visited many times.
Checking out the bike with Ziggy Gruber, owner of Kenny & Ziggy’s in Houston.
As with my previous trips, I felt fortunate to travel by motorcycle and experience many parts of America. I had the opportunity to meet a variety of people, from cosmopolitan hipsters to farmers, from children to centenarians – a true cross section of individuals. When talking about this trip with my wife, she coined the phrase “new friends, old food,” which is exactly what I took away from this experience.
After two and a half months on the road, I had a wonderful reunion with Judi in Chicago. She and members of the Chaiway Riders joined me the next day, on August 14, for a ride up to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to visit Jake’s Deli – the 42nd and final deli on my list.
The final stop at Jake’s Delicatessen in Milwaukee.
By visiting Jewish delis, which are typically located in large cities, and wanting to cover most of my miles on backroads between those cities, I rode through the full spectrum of America – urban areas, rural areas, and everything in between. You could plan this sort of motorcycle trip around any kind of food, whether it be varieties of ethnic food such as Italian, Mexican, Greek, or Chinese, or specific types of food such as BBQ, hamburgers, pie, you name it. Or, as I did with national parks, you could visit baseball parks or other landmarks in every state. Think of something you love, do some research, design a route, and hit the road.
So, after visiting 42 Jewish delis, did my health deteriorate? No. My blood pressure, cholesterol, and glucose went up, but I lost two pounds. And since returning home things have returned to normal. But I’ve developed a serious itch, one that can only be cured by another long-distance motorcycle adventure.
The Great American Deli Schlep raised more than $18,000 for MAZON, a nonprofit organization that is committed to ensuring that vulnerable people have access to the resources they need to put food on the table. Even though Steven Goode’s trip is over, MAZON’s mission is not. Please consider making a donation by visiting mazon.org/events/delischlep.
Getting to know the granddaughters of the original owner of Attman’s Delicatessen in Baltimore.Getting to know Joe, Ellen, and their daughter at Jo-El’s in St. Petersburg, Florida.
Our guest on Episode 31 of the Rider Magazine Insider Podcast is Alan Wilzig. Alan is an automotive and motorcycle enthusiast who has been a semi-professional racecar driver and race team owner. He owns Wilzig Racing Manor, the largest private racetrack in the U.S., located in upstate New York. Alan has amassed an impressive collection of race cars, sports cars, and motorcycles. His collection of more than 100 motorcycles includes many Bimotas, Ducatis, KTMs, sportbikes, and racebikes. He was also an early investor in Brammo electric motorcycles. Retired from a career in banking, Alan is active in many charitable and philanthropic endeavors. He serves on the boards of the Wilzig Hospital and the Wilzig Family Foundation, and provides financial support for the Rainforest Alliance, JCP Downtown, High & Mighty, Cars for a Cause, and many other organizations.
You can listen to Episode 31 on iTunes, Spotify, and SoundCloud, or via the Rider Magazine Insider webpage. Please subscribe, leave us a 5-star rating, and tell your friends! Scroll down for a list of previous episodes.
This Honda CB175 was one of many small-displacement bikes sold at the Barrett-Jackson auction in Scottsdale, Arizona, January 22-30, 2022. Photos by the author.
The Barrett-Jackson automobile auction is an annual extravaganza with a major stop staged at Westworld in Scottsdale, Arizona, January 22-30, 2022. This year’s 50th anniversary iteration was a sensory overload of rare, antique, classic, and exotic cars and trucks. However, there was also a shiny, tidy collection of motorcycles at the expansive event.
Rare vintage motorcycles, classic dirtbikes, and moto-themed art and memorabilia were all featured. However, by far the largest representation of motorcycle history was of the minibike variety. Based on the fan and bidder attention that the large stable of minis garnered, car enthusiasts have a serious soft spot (and deep pockets) for the little rides of their youth.
Classic dirtbikes like this 1978 Yamaha YZ125 were hot sellers at the auction.
The Hondas of the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s made up the lion’s share of the minbike contingent at the auction. Dozens of diminutive Z50s, step-through Trail 90s, and the once ubiquitous CT70s were offered in both original form and correctly restored examples. The “you meet the nicest people on a Honda” advertising slogan from the bellbottom era has clearly transcended to a modern movement of sentimentality and financial means.
So what did the small-displacement Honda bikes garner at the Barrett-Jackson auction? Here is just a sampling.
Yamaha have a long history of lending their engine building know-how to car makers going back more than four decades with the release of the Toyota 2000GT in 1967. That partnership continued with Yamaha supplying engines for various Lexus and Toyota models right up to the present day. Yamaha have also supplied engines to Ford and Volvo and in the 90s also provided Formula One engines to the likes of Brabham, Tyrrell, Jordan and Arrows.
Now Yamaha has been commissioned by Toyota to develop a 5.0-litre V8 fuelled entirely by hydrogen. In Japan, Toyota and other automotive-related companies are about to begin a collaborative effort to expand the range of fuel options for internal combustion engines.
Kawasaki Heavy Industries and Yamaha Motor have also started considerations toward the joint development of a hydrogen engine for possible use in two-wheeled vehicles. Going forward, they are planned to be joined by Honda Motor Co., Ltd. and Suzuki Motor Corporation, and the four companies intend to jointly explore the possibility of achieving carbon neutrality through the use of internal combustion engines in two-wheeled vehicles. To maintain a distinct line between cooperation and competition, they intend to proceed after establishing a framework that will clearly define areas of cooperation and collaborative research.
Toyota is now collaborating with Fukuoka City, which is to supply Toyota hydrogen derived from sewage biogas. Since 2015 and as a world first, Fukuoka City has been taking on the challenge of producing and commercialising hydrogen from domestic wastewater sewage. The city is producing non-CO2-increasing green hydrogen from biogas generated during sewage treatment at the Fukuoka City Chubu Water Treatment Center and has a daily hydrogen production capacity of 3,300 Nm3 (which is roughly equivalent to the daily amount of hydrogen used by 60 units of the Toyota Mirai hydrogen fuel cell electric vehicle, based on a per-unit daily hydrogen requirement of 55 Nm3). The city is also conducting verification tests with corporate partners, such as supplying green hydrogen to fuel cell-powered trucks, motorcycles, and power supply vehicles.
Yamaha began developing a hydrogen engine for automobiles about five years ago. Takeshi Yamada from the Technical Research & Development Center’s Automotive Development Section is a member of the hydrogen engine development team and he began to sense the depth of potential in the powerplant as the project progressed.
“I started to see that engines using only hydrogen for fuel actually had very fun, easy-to-use performance characteristics,” Yamada explains. “Hydrogen engines have an innately friendly feel that makes them easy to use even without resorting to electronic driving aids. Everyone who came to test-drive the prototype car would start off somewhat skeptical, but emerged from the car with a big smile on their face at the end. As I watched this, I started to believe that there is actually enormous potential in the characteristics unique to hydrogen engines instead of simply treating it as a substitute for gasoline.”
In November last year, the five companies of Kawasaki Heavy Industries, Subaru Corporation, Toyota Motor Corporation, Mazda Motor Corporation, and Yamaha Motor jointly announced they would begin discussions for conducting collaborative research into possible avenues for expanding the range of fuel options for internal combustion engines in the quest for carbon neutrality.
And at the announcement venue, the V8 hydrogen engine shown above, which was developed by Yamaha for Toyota, was unveiled to the public. The unit is based on the 5.0-litre engine in the Lexus RC F luxury sport coupe, with modifications made to the injectors, cylinder heads, intake manifold, and more, and delivers up to 450 hp at 6,800 rpm and a maximum 540 Nm of torque of at 3,600 rpm.
Yamaha Motor President Yoshihiro Hidaka
“We are working toward achieving carbon neutrality by 2050, at the same time, ‘Motor’ is in our company name and we accordingly have a strong passion for and level of commitment to the internal combustion engine. Hydrogen engines house the potential to be carbon-neutral while keeping our passion for the internal combustion engine alive at the same time. Teaming up with companies with different corporate cultures and areas of expertise as well as growing the number of partners we have is how we want to lead the way into the future.”
Another thing that Yamada and the team value in the development process is Kanno Seino, meaning sensual or exhilarating performance. One example is the harmonic high-frequency exhaust note produced by the engine’s 8-into-1 exhaust manifold. “This is a challenge we can sink our teeth into as engineers and I personally want to pursue not just performance but also a new allure for the internal combustion engine that the world has yet to see,” declares Yamada.
What he and his fellow engineers believe in is the potential of a fully hydrogen-powered engine. Working together with his gradually expanding network of partners, Yamada undoubtedly feels they have one hand on the door to unlocking that potential.
Workhorse Speed Shop have revealed their latest custom creation – the FTR AMA, the first of two long-anticipated Indian FTR builds by Brice Hennebert.
Well known for his unique creations and with two iterations of Appaloosa – the Indian Scout based sprint racer – already under his belt, Brice was commissioned to create two very special FTRs for two brothers, the Black Swan and the FTR AMA.
While Black Swan is yet to be revealed, it was the commissioner of Black Swan who asked Brice to design a second build for his brother. The result is the FTR AMA, a bright and imposing motorcycle with a hardcore 1980s edge.
“The brief was pretty open, something colourful and as sharp as a war tank. The only restriction was that the paint be inspired by the Martini Racing livery. After some research and brainstorming with myself, I based the look around AMA SBK racers from the 80s and the Rally cars from the same era. The main influences were the Lancia Delta HF mixed with Bol d’Or 750s and some muscle bike DNA.”
Starting work in early February 2021, Brice’s first decision was to retain an upright riding position, something close to the original FTR and using the original handlebars. From there, a lot of changes were about to happen.
“While Black Swan was a clay shaped build, I decided to go in another direction in terms of design process with this bike. I used direct CAD design based on a 3D scan of the FTR chassis. Then, all the body parts were 3D printed and reinforced with carbon fibre.”
The 3D printed front plate houses a PiAA race light and supports the Setrab oil cooler beneath. Nestled behind the front plate sits the OEM dash from the new Indian Chief, a design more in keeping with the retro racing mood, but with all the options of a modern machine, such as phone connection and charging.
The printed module that incorporates the seat pan and taillight is also the battery holder, the battery having been moved into the rear as nod to endurances bikes. With the saddle upholstered in a smooth brushed leather by long-time collaborator, Jeroen from Silver Machine, the tail section is complemented by an old school taillight adapted to take LEDs
Workshop Speed Shop Custom FTR AMA
To accommodate the DNA performance air filters, the intake was redesigned and 3D printed, while two aluminium fuel cells were fabricated to fit the new bodywork, one under the tank cover and the other hung under the seat unit. Connected by AN10 connectors, the capacity matches the 14 litres of the original bike.
WIP on the fuel tank – Workshop Speed Shop Custom FTR AMA
The chassis plates were redesigned for a more race-like look and machined from Brice’s CAD designs by Vinco Racing in Holland. Vinco Racing undertook all the machining on the project including the swingarm components, braking brackets, yokes, fuel cell components, the front brackets for oil cooler and more, with Brice sharing, “Vinco Racing spent a lot of time on the machining which saved me a lot of time to focus on other areas.”
The chassis was also heavily revised – Workshop Speed Shop Custom FTR AMA
The fork yokes are replicas of Bol d’Or 750cc yokes adapted to the 43mm Öhlins forks. And at the rear the tail section was modified to use twin piggyback Öhlins shocks mated to a bespoke swingarm built from 7020 aluminium Tubes. The swingarm design was inspired by the same era and is 40mm longer compared to the original with a 3D printed chain slider protecting the tubing.
WIP shot of the Workshop Speed Shop Custom FTR AMA
Brice Hennebert – Workhorse Speed Shop
“The wheel set is a total eye catcher. I collaborated with Fabio from JoNich Wheels in Italy, the design is based on his Rush wheels, machined from billet aluminium, but without the carbon flanges. The design makes me think about the turbo fans wheels used on the racing Lancia. So that was a perfect choice for me. They are completed by a Dunlop GP tyre set with this mad 200 rear tyre.”
Clearance for the braking system was a concern with these wheels, so Brice called on another long-time collaborator, Etienne at Beringer Brakes.
Brice Hennebert – Workhorse Speed Shop
“I called Etienne to get their 4D braking system the same system I used on Appaloosa. Etienne is always motivated for technical challenges. So, we played with different colours on the components to work with the AMA mood. And then, because I removed the ABS module, I had to find another way to get the speed signal on the bike and the solution was a Motogadget Moto Scope Mini.”
To create the swoop of the exhaust, it was fabricated from stainless steel pie cuts and beautifully welded together, capped off by a couple of modified slip-on S&S Cycle Grand National mufflers.
Workshop Speed Shop Custom FTR AMA
Brice Hennebert – Workhorse Speed Shop
“The amazing paint job designed by Axecent in Japan has been applied by my friend Fabian who’s near to my workshop. This build is aggressive, massive and a real pleasure to ride. I had a lot of fun testing this ride.”
I covered the Bimota DB1 SR in a previous column, so it’s only proper that we have a look at the ‘base’ DB1 – if any Bimota can be considered to be such a thing!
Bimota’s DB1
The DB1 had a fairly fraught beginning before going on to be Bimota’s best selling model. Ducati (in the form of Gianfranco Castiglioni one of the two brothers who owned Cagiva which in turn owned Ducati at the time) originally commissioned Bimota to develop a bike employing the 750 F1 Pantah motor, paying 50 per cent of the contract price up front.
The management team of Giuseppe Morri and Federico Martini (this was the first design undertaken by Bimota following Massimo Tamburini’s departure) appointed Pier Luigi Marconi and Roberto Ugolini, the pair were later responsible for the Tesi, to oversee the project. It was developed up until the prototype stage at which point Morri met with both Castiglioni brothers – only to have Claudio, who did not like Morri, cancel the project!
When the project was cancelled by Claudio, Bimota took it in-house
Given Bimota’s investment in the design (and to prove Claudio’s judgement wrong) Morri contacted Gianfranco and offered to refund Ducati’s deposit if Bimota could then own the rights to the design. This was agreed and the rest is history! This of course left Cagiva without a new model so Claudio hurriedly employed Tamburini to design one – and the 750 Paso was the result.
The DB1 entered production in 1985 and continued until 1990, with some 687 (not counting prototypes) made across several versions.
The Bimota DB1 was produced until 1990
The bulk of the 400 “base” models went to Japan (307). One of the five kits included in the 400 came to Australia via the importer at the time Ian Gowanloch and was used as the basis of his DB1 race bike – the images here are of rider Chris Oldfield at Bathurst. About 20 DB1s were imported to Australia and I was lucky enough to be lent the demo bike for a week!
It remains the best handling bike I have ever ridden. A lasting impression was how condensed the bike was. You basically couldn’t fit a cigarette paper between any two components! It was acknowledged in every road test that the bike was the first fitted with 16-inch wheels to handle properly. The DB1 made 62 hp at 7,500 rpm and weighed 161 kg dry, while top speed was 223 km/h.
Chris Oldfield at Bathurst in 1986
The DB1J was a 400 cc version intended for the Japanese market only and all 53 were exported there, producing a restrained 42 hp.
63 DB1S were also made during 1986-7. They featured a slightly higher state of tune with 40mm carburettors and a more free-flowing exhaust system (still a two-into-two) and produced an extra 10 hp, to 72 hp in total. The DB1SR I have already covered, of which 153 were built.
Caption: Chris Oldfield at Bathurst in 1987
The last 7 frames were used in 1990 to produce the SR Series Finale.
In addition 11 DB1R race bikes (although one was a chassis only) were built for both the factory team and various other importer teams, and five went to the US. Power was up to 92 hp and dry weight just 134 kg.
Our guest on Episode 30 of the Rider Magazine Insider Podcast is Scott Moreno, founder and owner of IMTBIKE Motorcycle Tours and Rentals. Scott was born in New York City, raised in northern New Jersey, and has lived in Spain for the past 30 years. Scott founded IMTBIKE 25 years ago in Madrid when he purchased 8 BMW motorcycles and ran the company from his 5th story walk-up apartment in the old section of the city. IMTBIKE has since grown to include five touring and rental centers in Barcelona, Bilbao, Madrid, Málaga, and Lisbon, and it now has a fleet of over 200 new BMW motorcycles and 30 employees. IMTBIKE rents motorcycles, designs and provides self-guided and guided tours, and will even store your personal motorcycle at one of its centers. IMTBIKE has earned a reputation as one of the world’s best motorcycle touring operations on the planet. IMTBIKE has an 85% repeat rate among tour clients, and in 2021 it received a Travelers Choice Best of the Best award from TripAdvisor. For more information, visit IMTBIKE.com or send an email to [email protected].
You can listen to Episode 30 on iTunes, Spotify, and SoundCloud, or via the Rider Magazine Insider webpage. Please subscribe, leave us a 5-star rating, and tell your friends! Scroll down for a list of previous episodes.
Newfoundland and Labrador, the easternmost province in Canada, fights a losing battle patching its roadways. Realizing it’s a lost cause, the province simply erects signs along the way warning “Potholes Ahead.” It’s a challenging slalom on a motorcycle, let alone in a car. I watch the suspension jolt on the van ahead carrying my wife and two teenage sons. New struts and an alignment are in order upon our return.
Signal Hill provides a panorama of St. John’s Harbour.
This is a cautionary tale about undertaking a “family vacation” when your family is in a van while you expect to experience the freedom of tagging along on your motorcycle. My wife, Nancy, has the notion of taking a ferry across the strait to coastal Labrador on the mainland to drive the mainly gravel Trans-Labrador Highway after we’ve finished our tour of Newfoundland. I, on the other hand, have serious reservations about adventure biking on my 850-pound beast of a BMW K1200LT, now with more than 200,000 miles on it. So, we will part ways after the ferry crossing to Labrador. And soon thereafter I would learn a bit of humility from some Canadian riders.
Fog shrouds a lighthouse at Cape Spear, the easternmost point in North America.
Meanwhile, we have arrived on Newfoundland’s Avalon Peninsula after a 16-hour ocean crossing from North Sydney, Nova Scotia. We enter fog and wind on our southern loop around the peninsula by way of Trepassey Bay, common weather features in this part of the country. But conditions improve at Lord Baltimore’s Colony of Avalon, the best preserved early English colonial site in North America. Archaeologists continue to dig as we tour the area. At the nearby Tetley Tea Room by the Sea, we sample our first Newfoundland cod and wild berry treats.
Nearly 100 lighthouses once peppered the shorelines of Newfoundland and coastal Labrador, and we encounter our first ones at Cape Spear, the easternmost point in North America. One, dating back to 1836, is the oldest surviving lighthouse in the province. The more modern one, erected in 1955, houses an adjacent museum. Here we learn there are 23 staffed lighthouses remaining in the area. In the distance we saw Signal Hill, our next destination.
Twilight gilds the rocky west coast of Newfoundland’s Northern Peninsula.
We negotiated the downtown minefield of St. John’s to reach a better perspective of the city from Signal Hill National Historic Site. The narrow harbor entrance drove many a sailing ship to peril. A colorful regiment of signal corps were practicing for their daily tattoo in front of Cabot Tower, a sandstone Gothic Revival structure begun in 1898 to commemorate the 400th anniversary of Italian John Cabot’s discovery of Newfoundland and the 60th anniversary of Queen Victoria’s reign. Marconi received the first wireless transatlantic transmission here in 1901.
The Canadian Signal Corps regiment practices at Cabot Tower on Signal Hill.
Icebergs like this one in Smith’s Harbour on the Baie Verte Peninsula float into coves and inlets aided by the wind and tide.
Nancy wanted to explore downtown St. John’s, while I desired to escape Newfoundland’s capital and largest city. Changed my mind at lunch in a rathskeller dive where we were served outstanding cod burgers and I discovered Iceberg Beer. St. John’s Quidi Vidi Brewery claims it is enhanced by pure 20,000-year-old iceberg water. I detect crispness in this pale lager that similar brews lack. Our two boys, both crew rowers, were excited to find out from our friendly waitress that the Royal St. John’s Regatta is North America’s oldest continuing sporting event. That’s appropriate, since St. John’s is the oldest English-founded city on the continent.
Crab pots and trawlers stand ready at Port au Choix along the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
The Trans-Canada Highway leads us inland through the Eastern Region. Insidious longitudinal potholes jar the unwary. Canadians whoosh by, heedless of the hazard. My shocks are taking a beating, and they were leaking even before this trip. We set up camp at Notre Dame Provincial Park in the Central Region, and I take to the van for exploration around Twillingate. At Boyd’s Cove, we visit the Beothuk Interpretation Centre to learn about the extinct native inhabitants of Newfoundland.
In a tiny outpost called Clarke’s Head, I backed the van into a local’s vehicle at a gas station. “See what trouble I get into when I’m off the bike?” I say to my wife. The Newfoundlander was almost apologetic for being in my way, and we parted in friendly fashion. I can’t imagine that happening back in New York.
Iceberg Alley extends into the harbor at St. Anthony on the tip of the Northern Peninsula.
I mounted the bike for our next excursion up the Baie Verte Peninsula. The 50-foot skeleton of a humpback whale was worth scrutinizing at King’s Point. On the way to the tip of the peninsula at Fleur de Lys, we diverted to Smith’s Harbour, having learned that a huge iceberg had settled there. Indeed it had, and a picture perfect little place it was. These bergs drift off from the Labrador Current into nearby harbors, bays, and coves brought here by the wind and tide.
Back in the town of Baie Verte we learned about the peninsula’s rich mining history. Indeed, we passed a huge abandoned asbestos mine on the way to Fleur de Lys, where soapstone was quarried by the Dorset Paleo-Eskimo some 1,600 years ago. After reaching the end of the road, we were about to turn around when a pickup raced up and blocked our way.
A humpback whale breaches in St. Anthony Harbour on the Northern Peninsula.
The driver turned out to be a friendly local resident who noticed our New York license plates and wanted to chat. Encounters like this were common for us throughout Newfoundland.
So far, our progress was slow. Stopping frequently and visiting the numerous outport villages didn’t accumulate the mileage. Many were the dead-end roads we explored. I reviewed my mileage log once we were in the Western Region: 70 miles one day, 105 miles the next, followed by 90 miles, 62 miles, then zero, zero. Aaaughh!
A seal basks on an ice floe.
I finally rode a 200-mile day from Baie Verte to Trout River campground in Gros Morne National Park. This area is a UNESCO World Heritage Site defined by ancient up-thrust landscape forming the tip of the Appalachian Mountains. The Tablelands region exposes examples of the earth’s mantle. Glaciers carved out a fjord at Western Brook Pond, where we took a boat ride beneath 2,000-foot cliffs. Ice fields cling to crags, offering summer habitat to the caribou and puffins.
If there was a central point to this wilderness, it would be picturesque Rocky Harbour, sheltered by a lighthouse promontory and twin Appalachian ridges dipping into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The Gros Morne Wildlife Museum in town is worth a look. The Ocean View Hotel displays unique local artwork and hosts the Anchor Pub, where one can be “screeched in” as an official Newfoundlander. The boys were greatly disappointed they weren’t allowed to drink the rum and kiss a codfish. Earl’s restaurant offered moose burgers, moose soup, moose pizza, and any other variety you’d like. We left sated.
Norsemen landed here in 1,000 A.D.
I gave the BMW free reign on Route 430 up the western coast of the Northern Peninsula, a smooth-surfaced road flowing alongside the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with the Long Range Mountains framing the eastern horizon. Felt like being back on Highway 1 in California. This is the Viking Route that would lead us to the first established European settlement in North America at the very tip of the Northern Peninsula. It also has the largest density of moose on the continent, and we had already seen several.
We had fun interacting with interpreters at L’Anse aux Meadows National Historic Site, location of the Viking presence here in 1,000 A.D. We walked through a reconstructed encampment of turf-walled longhouses while re-enactors stayed in character demonstrating the daily life of the Norsemen. Our tour continued at nearby Norstead, a living history site of additional costumed interpreters and a fully replicated Viking ship.
Reconstructed sod huts replicate the Viking village as it would have appeared 1,000 years ago at L’Anse aux Meadows.
We hit paydirt in St. Anthony, viewing a harbor filled with icebergs. A boat tour brought us up close to these ice cathedrals. A humpback whale breached for us several times. A pod of minkes came alongside the boat. A seal reclined upon his private ice floe. We absorbed the opportunity, because two days later the icebergs had broken up, which can happen quickly we were told. By mid-July any icebergs become a rare sight.
A ferry took us across the Strait of Belle Isle to coastal Labrador. A 50-mile ride brought me along the strait and over the mountains to Red Bay, a 16th-century Basque whaling port. Red Bay also offers access to the Trans-Labrador Highway, and this is where my family and I parted company. I had reservations aboard a supply ship that routinely sails upstream to replenish harbor towns with no connecting roads along the Quebec coast.
Around the promontory in the background of this coastal Labrador village rises Canada’s second tallest lighthouse and an ideal spot for whale watching.
I returned to the ferry landing at Blanc-Sablon, Quebec, and lined up with other motorcyclists early on a rainy morning. The bikes were loaded two to a container, tied down, and hoisted by a mammoth boom crane into the vessel. Two Honda ST1300 riders humbled me because they had just completed the Trans-Labrador trek. We would disembark where the road begins anew in Natashquan. Or so we thought.
Circumstances changed upon reaching the village prior to Natashquan hours behind schedule. We all had reserved respective B&B inns in Natashquan, where we wouldn’t arrive now until the wee hours of the morning. We learned there was indeed a 20-mile road from the village to Natashquan, but it was all gravel. Nonetheless, all riders, except me, decided they would disembark here and risk the unfamiliar road in the midnight blackness.
Riders lined up for loading into the supply ship heading up the Gulf of St. Lawrence and coastal Quebec.
Now, I’ve ridden my share of gravel roads, I told them. Even did the 1,200 miles of Alaska Highway when it was unpaved. But I was much younger and more fearless. My concern today was dropping my precious K1200LT, resulting in thousands of dollars in cosmetic damage. But my bike shared a container with one of theirs, and all looked askance at my weak rationalization. To regain self-respect, I agreed to accompany them.
It turned out to be the most anxiety-inducing 20-mile ride of my life. Inky blackness and bunched gravel had me plowing from one side of the road to the other, trying to find a tractable groove. It didn’t help that I was reluctant to get the speed up. One of the Canadians on his Kawasaki Tengai remained behind me for assurance, urging me to stand on the pegs and go faster, while the rest shot ahead. Such humiliation, I thought. When we finally caught up, the group was parked at a pullout on the outskirts of town.
Harrington Harbour was one of our supply ship’s many stops to replenish ports along coastal Quebec not connected by any roads.
“How’d he do?” asked one of his Canadian co-riders.
After a slight pause and a sly smile directed at me, he replied, “Slow, but steady.”
And with that turn of phrase, my newfound Canadian friend preserved my dignity, eliciting congratulatory backslapping and an acknowledgment of a successful ride all-around by the French-Canadians in a language universally understood.
The next day, while imagining my wife and boys bouncing along the rutted Trans-Labrador – views blocked by boreal forest and swatting at clouds of black flies – I rode 390 blissful miles of coastal Quebec. Open-road freedom never felt so good.
Road testing the 2019 Tracer 900 GT in Washington’s Klickitat River valley, with Mount Adams in the background. (Photos by the author & Brian J. Nelson)
Winding through a dark canopy of evergreens, the road played hide-and-seek with the Clackamas River, offering a glimpse here and there of clear water pouring over rocks as it made its way downstream to the Willamette, then the Columbia, and finally the Pacific. A break in the canopy was like popping out of a tunnel and I set my eyes on a patch of gravel next to the road, just a few feet from where the river made a sharp turn. Down went the Yamaha Tracer 900 GT kickstand, off went the ignition. I hadn’t seen a car for miles. It was just me and the trees and the river. Just what I was looking for.
Emerging from a dark tunnel of trees on the West Cascades Scenic Byway, I found the perfect sunny spot to enjoy the sights and sounds of the Clackamas River.
The previous day I logged 250 miles aboard the Yamaha at the bike’s press launch. The event was based in Stevenson, Washington, a small town in the heart of the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area, and I spent a long, hot day testing the GT on local backroads. Weighing just 500 pounds and packing a punch from its 847cc inline-Triple, the Tracer 900 GT is a light, agile, comfortable sport-tourer, perfect for a solo traveler. Yamaha entrusted me with the keys to one for the long ride home to Southern California.
With snow-capped volcanic peaks, wild and scenic rivers, dense evergreen forests, and countless roads that follow the contours of the land, the Cascade Range is a motorcyclist’s paradise.
For years I’ve heard and read about how good the riding is in the Cascades, a mountain range that runs from British Columbia down through Washington and Oregon to Northern California. Whenever possible, I like to fill in the blank spots on my mental map –to experience first-hand what roads and scenery are really like. So I sketched out a route from the Columbia River to the California border that zigzags several times over the Cascades, winds its way through four national forests and one national park, and follows three designated scenic byways. Like any good motorcycle route, it would take at least twice as long as a more direct path.
The ride route from Stevenson, Washington, to Red Bluff, California.
With the GT’s saddlebags packed and a tailbag strapped to the passenger seat, I hit the road at 6 a.m., crossing the mighty Columbia – and into Oregon – on the Bridge of the Gods, a steel truss bridge named after a natural dam that was created by a landslide at the same location nearly 1,000 years ago. The narrow, 90-year-old bridge has no pedestrian walkway, but it’s where the Pacific Crest Trail crosses the river, so weary hikers with heavy packs must contend with cars and trucks.
The Bridge of the Gods spans the Columbia River, which forms the border between Washington and Oregon.
What makes the Cascades special is its many stratovolcanoes –the cone-shaped variety we learned about in grade school –that rise thousands of feet above the surrounding mountains. I’ve ridden along the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada in California dozens of times, and every time I pass through the town of Lone Pine, I struggle to pick out Mount Whitney – the tallest mountain in the lower 48 states – from the neighboring peaks that are nearly as tall. On the Tracer 900 GT press ride we saw several volcanic peaks, Mount Adams (12,281 feet) and Mount St. Helens (8,363 feet – before it blew its top in 1980, it was 1,300 feet taller) in Washington, and Mount Hood (11,249 feet) in Oregon, standing head and shoulders above the landscape, easily visible from miles away. They’re part of the Cascade Volcanic Arc, a series of 12 volcanoes stretching from Mount Silverthorne in British Columbia to Mount Lassen in California, which is part of the Pacific Ring of Fire –more than 450 volcanoes scattered along the outer edge of the Pacific Ocean.
When Washington’s Mount St. Helens erupted in 1980, it literally blew its top, erasing 1,300 feet from its peak. This view is from McClellan Overlook, off Curly Creek Road, in Gifford Pinchot National Forest.
Like a good omen, snow-covered Mount Hood greeted me as I turned south on State Route 35, the beginning of Mount Hood Scenic Byway, where I rode through apple farms on a sunny, cloudless July morning. The previous day topped out at 105 degrees, and the heat wave wasn’t done with me, but early in the morning the byway along the East Fork Hood River was still in deep shadow and my teeth began to chatter. On went the heated grips, and I tried to hold onto the physical memory ofbeing cold, hoping to recall that feeling during theheat of the day (it never works). With graceful curves and smooth pavement, the byway is a pleasure to ride, especially when the screen of trees falls away and Mount Hood takes center stage, framed perfectly in brilliant blue.
Mount Hood Scenic Byway, one of many scenic byways that meander through the Cascades, cuts a wide arc around its namesake peak.
After cutting a wide arc around the eastern and southern sides of Mount Hood, my first crossing of the Cascades came to an end in Sandy. Turning south and then east on State Routes 211 and 224, I picked up the West Cascades Scenic Byway, heading southeast along Estacada Lake and North Fork Reservoir, two finger lakes created by dams on lower sections of the Clackamas River. As the byway crosses into Mount Hood National Forest, it enters a deep, narrow valley as it climbs up into the Cascades, where the Clackamas flows wild and free. The Tracer and I were in a groove, experiencing this road together for the first time –bends, kinks, dips, rises, bridges, blind corners, and fleeting views of the river, the contours of which give the road its character.
A postcard view of Oregon’s Mount Hood from Bennet Pass Trailhead, just off State Route 35 on the Mount Hood Scenic Byway.
With the low-fuel light on, I pulled into Detroit, a crossroads on the shore of Detroit Lake. Folks were starting their summer weekend early. Subarus laden with kayaks and pickups overflowing with camping gear were parked in lots, coolers were being filled with ice and beer. I refueled and scarfed an egg salad sandwich in the shadow of Rivers Run Deli, trying to stay cool while enjoying a view of the marina and the lake’s milky blue water. When traveling solo and covering a lot of miles in just a few days, I rarely stop for long. Just a few minutes here and there, then I’m back in the saddle, trying to cram 10 pounds of riding into a 5-pound sack.
Roads in the Cascades often carve their way through lush forests, with the curving pavement winding in and out of shadows.
From Detroit to Chemult – south, zig west, zag east, back over the Cascades –all I remember are trees, and a cross-section of America. Stopping to use the bathroom at a McDonald’s, I had to negotiate my way through a crowd of boisterous kids wearing matching blue T-shirts bearing the name of their church summer camp, ready to fill their bellies with Happy Meals. Outside, two young women were sitting on the curb, holding a sign: Family in Need. And next door I topped off the Tracer’s tank after the flirtatious – not to mention bald and tattooed – gas station attendant handed me the nozzle. (In Oregon and New Jersey, you’re not allowed to pump your own gas, but attendants often let motorcyclists break the law.) I was just passing through, little more than an observer. Experiences like these give me something to mentally chew on while ticking off miles.
The 500-mile Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway runs through Oregon and California, connecting volcanic peaks in the Cascades.
Passing through Chemult, a truck stop on U.S. Route 97 brought back memories of stopping there to refuel during my one and only SaddleSore 1000 ride back in 2013 – a very long day that I’m not likely to repeat. Turning west on State Route 138, the Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway took me to Crater Lake National Park, where I queued up behind a rumbling Harley and a line of cars and RVs outside the northern gate, keeping my faceshield closed to prevent the army of mosquitos from waging war on my nose. Crater Lake was high on my list of must-see places, and it didn’t disappoint. Created thousands of years ago when a volcano collapsed, the caldera lake is nearly 2,000 feet deep – the deepest in the U.S. – and because it is filled only by rain and snow, the water is pure and a brilliant shade of blue. But I was pressed for time and there were construction delays on the East Rim Road, so I’ll have to go back to ride the full loop.
Taking in the brilliant blue of 2,000-foot-deep Crater Lake, a collapsed volcano filled with thousands of years’ worth of rain and snow.
On the not-politically-correct but wonderfully twisty Dead Indian Road, I descended from the green heaven of the Cascades into the dry, brown hell of Ashland. It’s actually a lovely little town, home to Southern Oregon University and the world-famous Oregon Shakespeare Festival, but it was over 100 degrees and I had been in the saddle for 12 hours. I was in desperate need of a cold shower, a colder beer, and some pizza.
The next day I left the Cascades, riding a few miles south on Interstate 5 into California, where I filled up at a Chevron in Hornbrook. On both sides of the interstate and all around the gas station, the ground and vegetation were charred black from the Klamathon Fire, which roared through just days earlier. It was one of many wildfires that would plague California and other western states in the weeks and months ahead.
More blanks filled in on my mental map: State Route 96 along the Klamath and Trinity rivers, which cuts through rugged, remote country. In 1941, a group of armed men stopped traffic near the town of Yreka, handing out a Proclamation of Independence for the State of Jefferson, which was in “patriotic rebellion against the States of California and Oregon.” Although the new state never materialized, the movement is still active, and the State of Jefferson Scenic Byway runs along Route 96 from State Route 263 to Happy Camp. After that, 96 becomes the Bigfoot Scenic Byway. Regardless of one’s views on state politics or mythical forest dwellers, the riding along Route 96 is sublime and traffic is almost nonexistent.
Sasquatch sighting in Happy Camp, California, on State Route 96, where the State of Jefferson Scenic Byway turns into the Bigfoot Scenic Byway.
At Willow Creek, I turned west onto State Route 299, known as the Trinity Heritage Scenic Byway because it follows the path of 19th-century gold miners and pioneers. It snakes its way through the heavily wooded Trinity Alps and climbs over a pass before making a long descent to the coast. Even in mid-July, U.S. Route 101 through Arcata, Eureka, and Fortuna was socked in with chilly fog. At Alton, I turned east again, heading inland on State Route 36 –not a designated scenic byway, but known as Serpent to the Sea. Traveling west-to-east, it passes through a few rural communities before entering Grizzly Creek Redwoods State Park, where enormous coast redwoods rise hundreds of feet above the roadside.
Beyond Bridgeville, Route 36 turns into a narrow goat path as it goes over a ridge, but it’s currently being straightened and widened to accommodate big trucks and RVs –an improvement for them but not for motorcyclists. East of Dinsmore, Route 36 was freshly paved, like having a racetrack all to myself, scraping the Tracer’s peg feelers in corner after corner. And on it goes, over more mountains with endless curves and finally roller-coastering its way through ranch land with blind crests and sudden drops and quick turns. As I approached the town of Red Bluff, just before Route 36 crosses I-5, I found the well-known sign that warns motorists and entices motorcyclists: curvy roads next 140 miles.
This sign tells motorcyclists everything they need to know. Good times ahead!
The thing about riding roads as good as these is that it becomes addictive. Now that I have experienced the Cascades and California Routes 96 and 36 for myself, all I want to do is go back for more.
