Adaptive Curmudgeon

Many posts on my blog are about how I’ve screwed up. Which, if you think about it, is where a lot of the fun in life happens for everyone. I’m just sayin’. Anyway, sometimes I get it right. This time I hit a home run.

I had to face the eternal challenge of motorcycles; “how does one carry stuff on in a way that’s waterproof, impact resistant, convenient, and well balanced… oh yeah, and do it cheap”. I came up with a solution that totally rocks!

I decided to repurpose Milwaukee Packout toolboxes. I’m happy as a pig in shit with my clever little idea! It’s cheaper than virtually any commercial motorcycle stuff, modular, tough, allows easy access, it’s lockable, and even looks OK. In my humble opinion, it’s better than something that would cost five times as much.

First, take a look at the rear rack I’ve already installed on my Yamaha TW200. The stock bike has no room and a load limit of “more or less nuthin'” so you’ve got to start by mounting a rack. I chose a CycleRack. It’s tough as nails and easy to install. Maybe it’s not the prettiest thing in the world but I’ll choose utility over pretty every damn day.

What I mounted to that nice solid base was a Milwaukee Packout. Here it is with the price tag still attached. I was doing a “test fit”. It’s perfect!

Notice how it doesn’t hang out over the edges? Yeah, that’s a feature! If (when!) I smash into a tree there’s about 3/4″ between the rack (which also sticks out a bit and protects some of the bike’s body cladding) and the load. I like that. It also means I’ve got access to the rack for tying stuff down. There are never too many “mount points” for lashing stuff to a motorcycle!

Milwaukee’s Packout ecosystem has about a zillion pieces that interlock like Legos. What you’re looking for is the 1/2 width pieces. That means the pieces which are designed to lock to either the left or right half of a bigger toolbox. The full width stuff is too unwieldy for a motorcycle.

The half width stack starts with either the Regular Milwaukee Packout or the thinner Compact Milwaukee Packout. Aside from thickness, the only difference I’ve found is the handle. The Compact Milwaukee Packout has a fixed handle and the Regular Milwaukee Packout has a folding handle. The two look fine when locked together.

Both lock to each other. Both come with five little cups to organize your shit (which I immediately removed). Both have watertight sealing gaskets and nice hinges and dual points that close it and a place to put a padlock. Neither handle is a problem when mounted to the motorcycle.

Miraculously, the Regular Milwaukee Packout fits exactly around the upraised bar on a CycleRack! It makes centering much easier and it’s a very solid place to mount. I suppose it even protects the Packout in case I back into a tree(!). It fits perfectly!

The bottom of Packouts are uneven. They’re almost exactly like a Lego in how they hook together. This makes drilling holes a bit of a chore. I did my best and it came out like this. In an unrelated note, my 20 year old cheap ass drill press died when I was doing this. All those mouse nests finally ate the thing. I’m in the market for a drill press now.

I bought plain u-bolts (stainless steel now that I think about it) for the mounting. They wrap around the CycleRack and stick up through the bottom of the Packout. I used locknuts to keep it there and splurged on a buck’s worth of little white protectors to keep my crap from getting scratched up. I could only fit the rectangular washer thing (what is it called?) on two of four mounts. I was worried about this but it has no impact at all. No cracks or vibration stress at all so far. I’m not sure if four mounts was necessary but I like to be extra careful.

Packouts stack like Legos… but better! Once you’ve drilled and mounted one, you just snap others on top.

The “Legos” can stack as high as you want. They all have the same footprint (which is about 10″ x 16 1/4″… I note the specs on Amazon vary a bit which is weird but the half width Packouts all match their footprint). The difference among the “Legos” is height. The Compact is about 2 1/2″ tall, the Regular is about 4 1/2″ tall, and there’s a Compact Toolbox which is a hefty 16″ tall.

The Compact seems weird but it’s absolutely perfect for an iPad. I have an iPad something or other… the middle sized one I think. With a modest case on it, the iPad fits width wise to absolutely the perfect amount. Not too tight, not shifting back and forth. I add one or two slim packets of baby wipes on top of the iPad and it’s the right thickness; it can’t bounce up / down. (And Baby Wipes are a damn good thing to have on the trail!) I added two Altoids Arctic tins and that locks it in the third direction. Just tight enough that it’s not squeezed but not bouncing around. (Pay attention here: this is Altoids Arctic tins… not regular Altoids tins.) Those things all work together incredibly well. I’ve got it setup so sweet I think I could drop this thing off a cliff and the iPad would be unaffected. Also, in a 2 1/2″ thick waterproof, ruggedized slab you’ve stashed everything to have an iPad (with Avenza for navigation), a clean ass, and fresh breath. That’s some slick packin’!

Aside from the iPad, a compact might be great for a small fishing tackle box. I’ll report back on that in the future. If, for some inexplicable reason you wanted to carry a pistol and had a perverse desire to have it in a box instead of a holster… that’s another good use of the compact. Though that probably only applies to folks in California?

The Regular is my main workhorse. Right now it’s filled with tools and matches and a knife and survival shit. I’ll sort out exactly what I need as I try things out.

The Compact Toolbox is too tall for my purposes. I’ve never seen one in real life. If you had an ATV, I’d say go for it and stack to the moon but for a bike it might be pushing it.

In addition to the “Legos” (which can stack infinitely high), there are pieces that must be “top of the stack”. These lock on top of “Legos” but you can’t stack on top of them.

I chose a Milwaukee Packout 15″ Tool Bag. It’s just about the right size. Ideally you wouldn’t need it at all on short rides but I’m still “getting my feet wet” (literally) and have been carrying a bit more than “minimal” until I get used to what’s needed and not. You access the Tool Bag by opening a zipper. It’s not waterproof but I can say I’ve splashed it plenty with mudpuddles and that hasn’t gotten my stuff wet. It’s fabric instead of hard plastic but it’s plenty reinforced. If you somehow tear it while riding it was probably in an act you won’t survive anyway. It’s that tough.

In the Tool Bag, I’m carrying snacks and an MRE, a water bottle, some maps, an old MSR bottle of spare fuel (I’ll refine fuel carrying in due time), and spare warm clothes. I could fit a lot more but the idea is to strike a balance between “prepared for anything” and “loaded like a minivan”. The Tool Bag has two outside pockets. It’s probably best to keep your water and gas on the outside and away from your clothes anyway.

If you stash stuff in the side pockets, clip it down with a carabiner or it might fly out. (Ask me how I know this.) Since this is “top of the stack” it’s a great place for light but bulky stuff. A sweatshirt or sleeping bag makes sense, but don’t get stupid and carry a bowling ball up there. The shoulder strap is removable (so remove it… now it’s a carabiner’s anchor) and the sewed on handles don’t get in the way while riding. (They might come in handy for strapping things down.) There are outside places to strap other things. A spare hat or whatnot might make sense there. Just keep the weight under control.

There are (as far as I know) three “top of the stack” options; Milwaukee Packout Backpack, Milwaukee Packout Cooler, and Milwaukee Packout 15″ Tool Bag. There may be more but these are what I’ve seen myself. I’d be wary of open topped totes… your fond memories of a milk crate on a bicycle leave out the memory of all that shit flying out of the unsecured top when you ride hard. The cooler is awesome but I seldom carry beer while camping/exploring and prefer to carry stuff like jackets and dry socks.

The backpack might be awesome but it was a little more expensive so I chickened out and didn’t buy it. At the time I wasn’t sure how the Packout system would all work together when bolted to a motorcycle. Now I know it’s damn perfect. The backpack might be very cool if I wanted to step off the bike and go hunting. It’s about the size of a hefty daypack. It’s setup for electrician’s type tools but could be used as a hunting daypack just fine. (If you’re one of those guys who can’t endure hunting gear unless it’s your favorite flavor of camo, this might be an issue for you. I’m ambivalent about camo. I’m wonder how much of camo’s appeal is just for the humans buying it and how much it actually improves your hunting odds.)

Here’s my total purchase of two Regular Packouts (one is now drilled and bolted to the CycleRack), one Compact Packout. and the “top of the stack” 15″ Tool Bag. I can’t remember exactly what I paid for everything but I think you can have that whole set, and the u-bolts and some Altoids and whatnot, for about $100. Try that with a “made for motorcycles” Givi topcase!

The cool part is you can mix and match as you see fit. Here’s an in-motion test from an early ride with two regulars. I think I’ve already posted photos of a huge deer blind strapped on top of the one permanent regular? Get creative y’all!

So far I’ve mostly been using the permanent regular, the slim for my iPad, and the tool tote for food and an MRE. (Leaving the other regular home.) I can say that the three piece ensemble has ridden about 100 miles (about 50% off road) like it wasn’t even there.

Well that’s my big win of my motorcycle outfitting. The important part is that it’s summer! Get out there and play!

If there’s one thing every guy knows, it’s how to appreciate a front rack. [OK, that’s a dumb joke, but it had to be done.]

Putting weight on the front forks of a motorcycle is not necessarily wise. But some folks got in the habit of doing so and I think front racks just have an awesome Mad Max vibe that I can’t help but appreciate. I suspect the original idea was for when you’ve got a huge elk quarter on the rear and need a counterbalance to keep the front wheel on the ground. Or maybe that’s a bullshit story and I’m just believing crap I saw on the internet?

All I know is I very much wanted a front rack for several reasons:

• It looks cool… zombie apocalypse approved.
• If I need to grab hold of the front of the bike and physically drag it somewhere… like with a z-drag… I want a nice solid anchor point.
• You can never have too much carrying capacity.
• Did I mention it looks cool?

Unfortunately, a front rack is expensive. But as luck would have it, I found some fella on the internet that had bought a used TW and was trying to get rid of the front rack that came with it. I helped out, a few bucks changed hands via paypal, and $20 worth of shipping later I was looking at a used (not new!) rack on my workbench.

It came with no hardware. No instructions. It had a little rust, but nothing too bad. I got it for under half of what new would cost.

Here it is next to the skidplate I mentioned in my last post.

After a few days sniffing around the internet I figured how to install it. It took virtually no effort and it’s integrated into the front fork rock solid. It might actually protect the front a bit if I run into a tree or something… or not. Point is, it’s solid.

Also…

IT LOOKS COOL!

It’s not particularly practical. If I put anything heavy up there I might alter the steering balance. If I put anything bulky there I’ll block my headlamp. BUT IT LOOKS COOL!

I immediately tested it out and it was indeed handy. In these photos I’m lugging a big ass hunting ground blind on the back. I had a little propane stove in the blind and I couldn’t figure out how to carry it at the same time as the blind. Viola! Strap it down to the front with a cheap old bungee net and it worked slick as snot.

The little mule is shaping up to be an even better cargo hauler than I expected. This particular location is a stone cold bitch to get in there with an ATV. There are big rocks that hide in the grass to pound my ATV’s undercarriage and even high center it. The plucky TW is too narrow to understand the concept, it just zips to the left or right of any big rock and sweeps through just as fast as I can lift my foot out of the way and hang on. Wow!

I began a search for the perfect thing to carry on my new VERY COOL LOOKING rack. I came up with a Redcamp Wood Burning Folding Camp Stove:

Ignore for a moment that the wood stove appears to be hovering in space and the background has a hipster chick in a pretentious hat and a blonde eating a marshmallow that might be beat her in chess. The stove itself seems pretty solid.

I’ve used mine 3-4 times and been pleased with how it handles combustion. It’s pretty slick, you can have a fire in wind without hassles, and toss a bratwurst on the top for damn near instant lunch.

I got the large size. I’ve been wanting a stove like that anyway. I have an Ohuro “twig stove” that I’ve enjoyed but is also small and finicky. I simply have more carrying capacity when the bike does the work.

It’s too heavy for backpacking but folded up and zipped in it’s nice case, it should fit perfectly on the front rack. I haven’t tested it on the bike yet. I need better straps before I try. But all indications are I’ve found the perfect thing to sit right beneath the headlight beam and make camping more fun.

Here’s another photo. It’s stainless steel and fairly beefy. After you use it, it’ll lose some of the gloss. It’s a firebox, not a laptop. I give it the thumbs up for combustion, but haven’t tested long term reliability… then again it’s $35, not a lot to risk. YMMV

My little TW is said to be nearly unkillable. That said, me and Murphy’s Law have a long and storied acquaintance.

One of the very few weaknesses to a Yamaha TW200 is the low crankcase. You could conceivably smash the crankcase into a sharp rock and damage it. Realistically, this kind of event has a low likelihood of happening, especially since I am trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to be mellow. Also, the good folks at Yamaha equipped the TW with a skidplate. Here’s the brand new OEM skidplate with a bespoke applied patina of organics:

Not a scratch on it. But it just looked too wimpy for my tastes. I wanted something better.

My reasoning is that I’m stupid. If there’s a sharp rock I’ll be drawn to it like a moth to flame. The second bit of reasoning is I travel solo. Normally off road people travel in packs. When one damages his or her ride, everyone else has a good laugh and then bails their fellow traveler out. No huge penalty for the mistake.

Not so for me. Just about any off road machine can get you far enough into nowhere that hiking out on your own is a solid gold pain in the ass. If you’ve ever had an unplanned 15 mile hike… you know it’s something best avoided. If you’ve ever hiked half of 15 miles before it got dark, hunkered down overnight by the trail, and continued on… you know it sucks. If it happened while raining… well you know.

So, to prepare for the worst and stack the deck in my favor using mechanical overkill, I ordered a upgraded skidplate from Ricochet. I can’t recommend this upgrade enough. It cost about $100 and you can find them on Amazon. (Note: Ricochet sells a zillion skidplates so make sure you’re getting the right one.) I can’t remember if I ordered via Amazon or directly from Ricochet but I think the price was the same either way.

If you’re the sort that cares about such things, you can get the skidplate with an array of powder-coated colors. It’s only about $20 more. Honestly, it would dress up a plain little TW quite nicely. However, I expect mine to be covered in mud 99% of the time so I didn’t bother with a color.

The replacement vastly exceeded my expectations. You could bludgeon a moose to death with this beast!

This is what the two look like side by side. I have no complaints about Yamaha’s design, it’s a $4,500 motorcycle and decisions have to be made. But the replacement is a bad ass improvement.

Installation was pretty easy. I wanted to use anti-seize on the bolts (which are included) but during the COVID flake-out I couldn’t get any. I plan to add anti-seize in due time… and I’ll probably forget all about it.

I can’t remember if the replacement bolts are metric or SAE. I am carrying emergency tools in metric sizes. I may, in due time, swap to metric just to be safe. Also two of the included bolts are monster Torx bolts. Nobody normal will have a monster Torx socket on the trail. (I had to order Torx sockets on Amazon and wait a week for delivery.) I’m not sure why you’d ever need to pull the skidplate (if you hit something hard enough to trash the skidplate… you’re already dead) but that’s something to think about.

In case you’re wondering, the skidplate doesn’t interfere with oil changes. Once it’s installed, just leave it on.

So, this is almost certainly overkill but I have no regrets. It even looks good.

BTW: This skidplate, like the rack, was funded by Paypal and Patreon donations. No shit guys, I really appreciate every penny.

Also, you might think I’m bolting a gazillion dollars of farkle onto this basement priced little motorcycle but it actually came in under budget and I’m almost done. Upgrading from basic OEM to Curmudgeon-approved death mule has been pretty inexpensive. For example, put a skidplate on your Toyota and then come back and look at what I did for under a C-note. Of course, there’s always more cool shit to add, but I’m not far from declaring it “good to go” and seeing how far I can get.

I travel solo and act accordingly.

I carry a SpotX satellite communicator which I will probably never need. It can be used to summon  search and rescue services I hope never to request. I also have search and rescue insurance that might save my wallet from a financial reaming if I ever need a helicopter extraction. I last mentioned it here.

I also carry a GPS navigator. These are cheap and plentiful and worth having.  (Insert usual speech about how nothing replaces a compass and common sense here.)

I also carry a GoPro camera. It’s the best combination of tough and not a private link to Zuckerberg’s hive mind snitch factory. What I’m saying is that a GoPro is a video device that takes pictures and a cell phone is a Orwellian nightmare that takes pictures… choose wisely.

I carry a flashlight that’s also a backup power supply for the SpotX or the GoPro. It’s a new addition to my gear that was advertised by the creepiest sales pitch I’ve ever heard. (I mentioned it here.) I highly recommend the flashlight. The link is here: Tactical Flashlight Portable Power Bank Cree LED 1865. If you buy from my link it costs you nothing extra but I get a tuppence of beer money. I paid $17 and the price has now dropped to $15. Go figure! Feel free to feel smug and superior to me. (At least $2 worth of smug is completely justified.)

Sometimes I take a cell phone. If I can find any excuse to… I don’t. The reason I don’t carry my cell phone is because fuck cell phones. (I am among the last generations of homo sapiens who will be able to function without a hive mind… enjoy it.)

All this gadgetry is overkill but it’s what I do. Since I don’t expect the components to change, I ponied up for about $90 in RAM Mounting hardware. Handlebar clamp, 3″ shaft, ball mount for the GoPro, cradles for both the GPS and the SpotX, and two funky looking diamond shaped quick release apparatus to swap GPS and Spot X on the fly.

The good news is the RAM mount is rock solid. Everything mates to everything else. It’s a good system and every part is excellent. The cradles cradle. The quick release quickly releases. The ball mount… um… balls. It’s all very rugged and rock solid. Based on that I’d give RAM a 5 star rating and shoo you all there to buy their shit from my link on Amazon so I could get some more sweet sweet kickback money.

Unfortunately, it ‘aint a perfect setup yet. The TW200 has a tiny “dash”. The devices (any one of them) take up a lot of important real estate. They work, it’s all acceptable, but it’s not as cool as I’d like. I’m going to fiddle with it before I issue a Curmudgeonly seal of approval. I think I need a different type of handlebar clamp. I’ll post details when/if I upgrade.

Some other notes:

• In theory, the SpotX should be on your body and not on a machine. If I do something dumb and send the bike off a cliff without me on the saddle… I’ll lose my SpotX just when I need it. I’ll be at the top of a cliff thinking “that was dumb” while my SpotX is pointlessly (and remotely) wrapped around a handlebar. That said, it seems a relatively unlikely scenario and if you’re going to split hairs about risk like that why are you riding around the forest on a motorcycle?
• My GPS is absolutely awesome when operated at the speed of hunter or hiker. It’s pretty damn good at the speed of canoe (though a bit of a PITA when sailing). It’s absolutely useless if the bike is in motion. You just can’t see anything on the little screen. That said, you ought to be steering and not fucking around with gadgets when on a moving motorcycle. Darwin might just sort things out on your behalf if you can’t stop long enough to hit a waypoint while stationary.

So, it’s a setup that has all the basics covered but needs some tweaking. I have to admit the SpotX looks cool though.

Also, don’t leave the SpotX in a pocket. You must train yourself to use it or it won’t be second nature when the time comes. I’m still trying to housebreak myself to leave an electronic trail of breadcrumbs when I’m off adventuring. This is not a gadget thing it’s a personal attitude thing. I’m workin’ on it.

The proper care and feeding of a new Yamaha TW200 begins by gently exposing the fledgling to the elements. I took my gorgeous, clean, shiny, fresh from the factory, brand new bike and promptly coated it in frozen slime. At first I was on snow and ice that about froze me to death. (I couldn’t ride for long and keep all my fingers.) This was long before happy trail rides to watch gophers “doing the nasty” in ditches. There was nothing out there yet… and it was stupid risky conditions for a bike in general… especially with a n00b rider. But I lived so there’s that.

A week later I tried again and the roads were a snow mud slurry that was only modestly less treacherous. I got about as far as I could go and took a photo of the sign. I didn’t really need the sign to tell me to quit trying. About 50 yards from there a snow drift blocked things so hard a tank couldn’t get through.

I mentally remembered that sign and vowed to return. And that folks… is called foreshadowing.

I’d tried hard but just couldn’t get far. The only thing I’d really done was to coat everything in a deep layer of filth. The bike will probably never be clean again.

Our cat approves.

The right side has a pry off plastic cover that is pretty cheesy if you ask me. (But it’s also a common design. It’s about the same “pry off plastic” as my Honda Shadow.) This gives you access to the tool kit and the electrical “fuse panel”. There is one fuse and one spare; pure simplicity. I didn’t muck about with the electrical system.

All motorcycle emergency tool kits are crude cheap metal from a Cracker Jack box. This is no exception. That said, it probably has everything I need.

Also, I did some research and the thing that looks like Philips head is a JIS head. It’s almost Philips head but not. If you don’t heed this hint and strip shit out… that’s on you bub.

I decided to get myself better tools. Alas, it wasn’t easy because all the tool shops were closed (and far from me anyway). I ordered stuff in dribs and drabs over a month. I like carrying the basic tools AND ALSO better tools. I’m not sweating weight and don’t care about duplication. It’s all about “get home no matter what”.

The stock tail of a TW200 has room to carry a pop tart and the weight rating to carry a toaster… but only if it’s light. Seriously, it’s pathetic. I needed a rack.

I’m usually a cheapskate but not when it comes to load carrying equipment on outdoors machinery. The rack I bought came from CycleRacks and it cost $200 + shipping. There are cheaper options and there are cooler looking options and there are lighter options but in terms of utility for my plans… this is the way to go.

It’s the biggest baddest rack you can get without making your own. I also like that it sticks out and will (hopefully) take any damage that might otherwise strike the machine. The bike looks less svelte with the new rack but I’m allergic to style anyway.

The CycleRacks people are super nice. I called in the order just as society began its Covid crumble and I talked to an actual human being in Idaho. It came in the mail in great shape. It was stupid simple to install. I don’t get any kickbacks for saying nice things about them, it’s just true.

Notice the anchor points. Two under the seat. One on each side waaaaaaaay down by the passenger footpeg. Why? Because the seat and footpegs are setup to handle hefty loads like a whole human being. Good design.

I used some of my carefully hoarded blogging PayPal donations to pay for the rack. Thank you all!!!! 

It looks a lot better with the seat reinstalled.

I strapped down an old bag full of junk and took a short test drive. Notice the seat got all dirty again. I think the damn cat left footprints on the seat too.

Yes, this damn cat.

Here’s the anchor point. (The silver bolt and the clean tubing connecting with the passenger footpeg bracket.) Waaaaaay down low.

At this point the bike only had one tank of gas through it, the ground was still solid ice, and people were hoping the Covid thing would be over by Easter. So yeah, I’m not good with chronologically posting.

More mods when I find my camera chip.

I mentioned 128 goats as a metaphor for my little bike and then stumbled across a video of what’s purported to be 200 goats. Peaceful, cute, and utterly unstoppable. It seems appropriate.

This is from the third world nation we call California as reported by the foreign press (because the US has no press left?). (Link here.)

Incidentally, there’s a sound reason for this situation. As silly as it sounds, running a shitload of goats through an area is an excellent way to keep the underbrush controlled. It may make much more sense than driving a heavy machinery or spraying herbicides. There’s lower risk of erosion, the area gets fertilized, and usually the treatment (removal) is pretty thorough. The alternative for steep areas might be crazy expensive like hiring a helicopter to spray, or somewhat experimental like hiring a drone, or risky like a controlled fire; all of which will send eco-Karens into a lather (especially in their home planet of a California suburb!).

Goats do a bang up job as furry Roundup and they haven’t yet annoyed the Karens. Lucky goats!

I hope the people of San Jose don’t freak out over this harmless situation. If they do something stupid like pass the “No Goats In Our Suburbs Act of 2020” it will inevitably lead to the “Federal Pork Distribution Package To Repay For A Suburb That Burned To The Ground In Forest Fire Act of 2030”. Anyone want to place bets against them being that dumb?

A.C.

[By the time you finish reading this you’ll wonder; “does this guy have some sort of creepy obsession with small mammals?” I assure you I don’t. If I’d seen a moose, or a cool helicopter, or pretty flowers, I’d have mentioned that. I’m reporting what happened and nothing more. If I seem weird, it’s only because I’m observing a weird world.]

For most of the spring, I spent far too much time wishing I could ride instead of riding. It’s not my fault. It was just too damn cold out. Every week or two, I would suit up with as much insulation as I could manage, careen about on frozen dirt roads, and return home just shy of hypothermic. In the meantime, I ordered minor parts and gadgets for my future adventures. Nothing too mechanical, mostly just racks and a skid plate. I also MacGyvered a really cool toolbox arrangement to carry gear. None of this had been fully tested.

Eventually the weather cleared. Eventually the trails thawed. Eventually the seasonally closed trails were opened. By then I could wait no longer, even though it was 50° and scheduled to rain, I loaded up with some of my gear (mostly to test the load carrying of my toolboxes) and rolled out.

My target was the easiest trail I could find. I got a bit mixed up by beginning at the wrong trailhead but that was okay because my bike is street legal. I lit out on pavement and cruised around randomly on country roads (mostly dirt) until eventually I bumped into the trail. It was a repurposed old abandoned railroad track. The trail is “multi use” and it is ridiculously well-maintained. Everyone knows railroad beds don’t have steep slopes, they’re wide, and they are well-built. Perfect for someone who has absolutely no idea how to operate a motorcycle off-road.

The first few miles were uneventful. The bike was built for this and it knows what to do.

Later I got into something like very long wave washboards. I think these are called “whoops”? Whatever they are called, there are two ways to handle them; stand up on the foot pegs and let the bike hobby horse beneath you or slow down. Standing up on the foot pegs works great but that’s not my style and I think I need to get bigger foot pegs. So, I sat down on hard seat and then, for some reason that eludes me even as I type this, I just ripped the throttle wide open. This jackhammered my ass and damn near sent me flying into a tree. Lesson learned.

The OEM tire for this motorcycle has a nickname. The nickname is “deathwing”. Yes, there is irony throughout the universe! This is the second vehicle I’ve had with a known front end steering issue. A new tire is pretty cheap and supposedly an excellent improvement for off-road riding. I haven’t had a chance to order one yet and none of the shops are open to swap it out. Besides, I wasn’t sure if that was just a bad rep or a real thing.

At first the bike handled like a pig, but I stopped to air down to about 12 psi front and rear. That tamed the beast amazingly. I was rather impressed with the traction I got on a series of different surfaces.

After about 15 miles I had decided that the front tire was good enough and everyone bitching about it on the Internet was just too sensitive. About 20 miles into my ride I hit deep sand and the “deathwing” did everything it could to kill me! I did not dump the bike but I had a couple of moments of excitement.

Lesson learned. As soon as society gets its head out of its ass and there’s a garage to do the tire swap I’ll buy a superior front tire and make it happen. If it gets towards fall, I’ll do it myself if I have to. The tire is not going to wear out in that time but there’s no need to make my life any more exciting than it needs to be when the snow hits again. Incidentally, the rear tire is pretty darned awesome, it’s only the front that has “issues”.

My toolbox arrangement worked great. I was loaded heavy and had a little coffee pot and some matches. I wanted to stop and make coffee and a campfire. Sadly, the wind was howling and I didn’t want to deal with the fire risk. Also, every time I tried to stop and rest and just enjoy the scenery, I started getting chilled. Even the birds were staying quiet that day. Any day that’ll make a chickadee call it quits is a bad day to be out and about.

The bad winds and cold annoyed me immensely. It was defeating my purpose. The goal was to hang out in nature and get mellow. Traversing from point A to point B was only a means to an end not the goal itself. Yet here I was, relentlessly flogging myself (and my machine) simply because the weather wasn’t nice enough to relax. Was the flaw in myself? Did I lack the adaptability to enjoy that which was around me? These thoughts occupied my mind as I came towards the highlight of my ride.

There’s an area where the train once crossed beneath a main thoroughfare. It has been cleaned out and it is managed as a good way to allow ATVs, horses, snowmobiles, and idiots on motorcycles to get past the main thoroughfare without darting across like deer. It’s a very safe and very intelligent method and I should appreciate it. For subjective reasons, I hate that tunnel!

Anytime there is a concrete tunnel beneath a road it just picks up that “urban sewer rat/thug gathering point” vibe. For example, it has graffiti. This is not a big deal; graffiti is not the end of the world. But where I live there is no graffiti on anything. Graffiti is an urban thing. If you graffiti some farmer’s barn you will get shot. So, I am accustomed to a world that doesn’t have graffiti. I don’t like passing through the one tiny little spot where you could shoot up heroin and graffiti the walls and otherwise act like you live in Detroit.

Further, there’s a little part of me that is always paying attention to risk. I can travel through 50 miles of open forest and mountains and swamps and natural areas and there is nowhere that a person could get a jump on me like they could in that tunnel. In a condition white world, that tunnel is a perfectly logical spot. For me, it’s where I would put a trap if I was trying to catch a muskrat. (Okay that’s a terrible metaphor. Forgive me, most people aren’t out there trying to run a trap line. For that matter, I’m far too lazy to run a trap line myself. But if I were a space alien, intent on nailing some dude on his off-road vehicle, I’d be sitting at one side or the other of that tunnel. Make of this what you will.)

As I approached the tunnel, I was dismayed to see three people clowning around right at the entrance. There’s really no alternative route, you’ve got to go through or you’ve got to turn around. I rolled up slow, calculating scenarios in my head. My main thought was “If they make a grab for the handlebars, we’ll both find out how far I can drag their ass with this little motorcycle… and then I’m going to step off and handle any further aggression personally. I’ll be wearing a helmet, gloves, and armored jacked. If they think I’m a mark, they’ll be learning a new thing today!”

Call me paranoid if you wish, but I rolled up to that group of three people with a mindset ready for combat. What’s worse, just as I rolled into the group my “deathwing” front tire smeared into a big messy deep pile of sand and I could just about keep the bike upright. Damn!

Lucky for me, we live in a wonderful world!

Instead of pelting helpless and stupid into a group of three possible urban thugs in the only dangerous chute for hundreds of miles, I wound up in the middle of a cluster of two women and a man who were laughing their ass off. One of the women just barely stopped laughing long enough to point at something in a ditch nearby. She clearly wanted me to see this important thing.

I glanced there and saw a patch of fur in motion. That got my attention!

I turned off my engine, planted both feet, and lifted my visor.

“Two squirrels are fighting!” One of them shouted.

“You gotta see this!” The other one enthused.

There, in the ditch, not 5 feet from my left foot, two creatures were going at it with hammer and tongs. I identified them as 13 lined ground squirrels, also called striped gophers. As far as I’m concerned they’re gophers and not squirrels. I’m a little embarrassed that I’m such a nerd. Some people have deeply help opinions on whether Pluto is a planet and I don’t think striped gophers are squirrels. This is a fault in my personality. What kind of dipshit has an opinion on the species classification of little furry psychos that happen to be running amok in a ditch? My only saving grace is that I managed to keep my opinions to myself. The world has enough pedantic assholes without my help.

Meanwhile, we were getting quite a show. All four of us couldn’t help but watch the wildlife acting particularly wild.

Something dawned on me, and I just had to pitch it out there. “I am not sure if this is actually… combat.”

“What are you talking about?” The guy asked.

“Well, I’m not an expert in these things, but baby squirrels have to come from somewhere.”

One of the women, who was already laughing heartily, damn near hyperventilated. “They’re doing the nasty!” She cheered.

Suddenly all three of them started laughing and cheering on the little critters. One of the women whipped out a cell phone and deftly hit a few keys. “I just put squirrel porn on Facebook!”

By this time all of us were laughing uproariously. “Oh my God, pound for pound these guys are amazing!” The guy laughed. “They been doing this for like eight minutes!”

“That’s going on Facebook too!” The other woman laughed.

Somewhere, server farms recorded the situation, photos were processed, posts were assembled, and the great hive mind of humanity began reflecting on eight minutes of squirrels fucking in a ditch. I could see it in my mind. Social media doesn’t record what’s important, it records what is recorded… which becomes vitally important to some among us; even though it’s nothing but mental flotsam.

Meanwhile, I enjoyed the laughter. The shared camaraderie of three friends and some random weirdo watching wildlife hammer at it next to an old railroad grade. Has there ever been anything less threatening? A moment devoid of politics, scheming, complaints, or any of the more obnoxious traits of human interaction. God help us, the savior of humanity might well be that we all laugh equally at a fart joke.

The squirrels broke it up at that point. One zoomed off in a random direction that nearly collided with the guy’s foot and we all laughed harder as he hopped energetically out of the way. “Yiiiiieeee!!!”

The other one looked up at us and blinked. As if to say “What are you watching bub?” Then it flashed off to disappear under a shrub. The moment was gone.

We all stood there for a bit regaining our breath after all the laughter. Then with a smile the three people headed off. I fired up my bike to continue in the opposite direction. We’ll probably never see each other again. Which is OK.

What a strange day it had become. My highlight of the trip… or perhaps the month… was a shared moment of peace and laughter. I’d rolled up ready to throw down, only to have a great joyous belly laugh. It was a chance to totally ignore a jittery and overwrought world.

That’s what it’s all about folks. Standing around laughing as the squirrels fuck.

The first true test of my motorcycle was a total success. Sixty miles, most of it off-road, and ten minutes standing around doing absolutely nothing of import. I couldn’t have asked for a better maiden voyage.

I was going to start by apologizing for being scatterbrained and disorganized. Then I started laughing my ass off. Logical, chronologically sequenced, factual analysis ‘aint my style even in the best of times. And it’s apparently the apocalypse right now (at least if you listen to the crap spewing from my truck’s radio). In the midst of this, why feel bad that I forgot about the goats? Like that’s the biggest problem we face? “Today in the news, we’re all gonna’ die according to predictions that have been astoundingly wrong but support our pre-conceived notions. Meanwhile, some nitwit blogger is starting sentences with a conjunction and that’s a huge problem for society.”

If there ever was a prime situation for relaxed standards, right now is the time. Join me today for sweatpants level prose!

Topic 1: About the goats:

Yes, I bought a Yamaha TW200 which was to be my adventure wheels. By God I love it. I haven’t had a lot of riding opportunities but I’ve flogged it mercilessly whenever possible. I wanted to know just how stupid you can get with its meager 200cc engine cranking out something like 16 horsepower.

The answer? It has all the juice you need to have more fun that you ought to be having. On the trail I can go full “barrel of monkeys”. Horsepower never seems lacking. I will sometimes go even dumber. I’ll see some barely noticeable hint that there once was a path through the brush and think “it’s probably safe… lets find out”. Like an idiot Pavlovian moron, the handlebars follow the mind, the bike goes, and the body can either hang on or fall off. The bike doesn’t give a shit about esoteric physics like traction and clearance. It’s happy to honey badger it’s way; anywhere anytime anyhow. It’s all torque and terror and I find myself skittering about in places that would eat an ATV for breakfast.

There is an ominous drawback, I’ve gotten a bit too brave. I keep trying to remind myself I’m still a n00b operator! I need a speaker in my helmet whispering memento mori because I’m tempting fate. Sooner or later I’m going to try to climb a tree… and I might just succeed!

On dirt roads, 16 horsepower is enough to have all the fun you need on loose gravel. If you’re like me and therefore dumb enough to ride when the roads are a solid sheet of packed ice, you can experience complete abandonment of all reason. Yep, 16 horsepower is a handful if you’re misusing it.

On pavement it’s a bit dull. I’ll cop to that.

Back to 16 horsepower as an integer. Man, it seems so ridiculously small. My truck’s power windows probably take that much oomph to roll up the glass.

I’m not the first one to notice the gap between on the ground “fun-index” and the tiny number. Someone somewhere did math and decided the TW isn’t 16 horsepower… it’s 48 donkey power. Honestly, it fits more with “donkey” than “horse” anyway.

This evolved to “goat power”. Apparently 16 horsepower = 48 donkey power = 128 goat power.

I like the image. I picture a stampeding herd of 128 goats charging pell-mell across the woodland… it seems appropriate. I ordered up a sticker that says 128 goat power. I’ll post a photo when it arrives.

Presumably I could calculate “squirrel power” but that doesn’t seem right. Squirrels get their leverage from Swedish disco, unattended Wi-Fi, and a population suggestible enough to follow their devious, meddling, scheming, crafty, misinformation. A BMW might have squirrel power but not my plucky little Yamaha. Squirrels aren’t appropriate for a wheeled anachronism that brick shithouses its way thought the middle of nowhere without the slightest hint of sophistication.

So, now you now.

Topic #2 will follow. I intend to discuss gophers, God, and mods. Unless I flake out and don’t. Stay tuned!

[Y’all know I sorted through an elaborate decision matrix, bought a motorcycle, planned an awesome adventure, and (before the ink was dry on the purchase agreement) society shit itself. Oh well. No plan survives contact with the enemy and thank God I didn’t take on huge payments for an idle device. I couldn’t ride in 3′ of snow. Things is/are/will be delayed. I did however, “test her out a bit”. I’ve had the new critter out in bitter cold, sleet, snow, ice, mud, slush, forest, dirt, and fields. I’ve “learned” about it’s abilities as much as I could in the midst of the wrong season during a half-ass zombie Apocalypse. I tell myself to be patient but it ‘aint easy. So far the bike looks like a good call. I wrote this as a sort of “first impression”.]

Also, sorry about the following rant. I’m only human. Scroll past it if you’re trying to stay mellow. And if you are… I salute you!

[What the fuck?!? It could have been the Black Plague… it wasn’t. I’m happy about that. Why am I alone in my joy? So far it’s been pretty tame. Yeah sure, if you’re an overweight 89 year old asthmatic who lives in New York city it’s bad, but that’s called diversity. Nor is economic disturbance fun… though I’m not sure that can be blamed on the contagion itself. The point is that risk is not spread evenly across the globe and we should adapt. It’s clumpy; with wide swaths of not much to report and little miserable clots of bad shit. None of our societal response is based on actual data about what’s actually happening as we can measure it right fucking now. Now it’s a planetary Rorschach test that’s telling me we’re overrun with wimps. The last pandemic happened while hippies were getting stoned in in a great muddy stinkhole called Woodstock and now those same hippies have gone full Karen on people who might go fishing without a mask. This is “the Black Plague that didn’t happen”. Isn’t that great? Things didn’t go “asteroid and dinosaur”! Gratitude and relief should be the name of the day!

But we’re still collectively fretting. “Shit might get bad, so stay wired every day, until we tell you it’s OK; which we won’t.” It’s mostly a story told to fertilize the vote farms; those of us with eyes to see know that gas is cheap, beer is good, and the sky is blue. Whatever came from bat soup or biolabs didn’t interfere with me eating cake for breakfast so turn off the media and smile. Spit out their frustrating buzzkill of gas-lighting and defeatism. They want you cowering in the basement until you pull the lever for daddy government to wipe your ass with subsidized toilet paper.

The woke-scolds are in league with the Tide Pod eaters and none has a track record of correct predictions or wise counsel. When unaccomplished people are faced with a new situation, I’ll cut them slack. Two months later when they’re demonstrably wrong about damn near everything I expect them to see new information and correct course. Failing that basic task of sentience, I declare they’re useless and should be ignored. The best I can do is offer distraction; the following post(s) may be shallow but there’s not a single sentence which will try to boss you around or allocate your money. You’re welcome.]

Having considered soul death by debt, reflected on eccentricities of planetary rotation, endured the brutal loss of the best dog I ever had, and found solace in tales of sand dunes in far northern Canada… I purchased a Yamaha TW200. Then I made elaborate plans which collapsed and finally wrote this unfinished review:

Parked solidly on the tail end (you choose the side) of a bell curve, the TW encounters “average”, gears down and lurches over it like an irrelevant speed bump. A less likely candidate for “average” you’ll rarely find; for me or the bike. We seem to get along just fine.

[Warning: I’m painting here with a broad brush, if anyone wants to get pedantic and start mentioning that a 1978 Mazda RX-7’s Wankel engine disproves the notion that “gas engines have reciprocating pistons”, they’re missing the point.]

The TW200 is a cheap, crude, simple beast. It’s a single cylinder, air cooled, carburetor equipped relic from 1987. (With only minor caveats, a 2020 Yamaha TW200 and a 33 year old 1987 Yamaha TW200 are very similar; including a fair amount of parts interchangeability. Try that with a Subaru.) One selling point for me was the notion that there’s a vehicle from 1987 that the EPA hasn’t ruined yet. How long will it last? Better get one while I can.

The Awesome Rear Tire:

The TW was created before the rise of ATVs. You can tell by the monstrous rear tire. I love that tire!

Motorcycles with off road aspirations have a large tire in the rear and a smaller tire in the front. The big ass tire on the back is a major feature of off road motorcycles and everybody loves them. The TW200 uses the dimensions of an “average” large rear tire from an “average” off road bike and then non-ironically stuffs it into the front fork. On the rear, Yamaha installed an ATV sized monstrosity that has no equal among bikes of today. The design was intended to compete with ATVs of 1987 and it still functions exactly like it was built. It’s very much a “two wheeled ATV”. Other motorcycles moved on to greener pastures after ATVs won that long forgotten market share war; the TW200 never got the memo.

The epic tire is attractive to me; a big fat squishy rear tire just looks awesome and bad ass (as far as I’m concerned). It sings to me! I hear that song of low speed, high torque, sputtering through places that would be surprisingly rough under other conditions. FortNine said something like “it’ll get there slow but you’re damn sure going to get there” and that’s what I wanted. All other bikes have gone to smaller width tires and higher RPM operation… heck, even the ATVs are going that way. If you want that huge tire on a stock motorcycle, there’s only one game in town.

Ergonomics Pro And Con:

The TW is uniquely short. Off road bikes are surprisingly tall. They need room to manage elaborate suspension components with huge travel. I like aggressive suspension geometry; it can impressively soak up rough terrain at ground rocket speeds. Alas, the usual tall arrangement for rocketing around like a maniac didn’t suit me. Not only does it put your center of gravity higher (which concerns me) but it’s a hassle for a guy with a short inseam. I never thought I had a short inseam but climbing onto and off of several very tall off road bikes convinced me that many of them wouldn’t work for me; even if I could afford them, which I couldn’t.

Speaking of short, the TW seems chunky but it’s lighter than most bikes; which have larger displacement engines and all sorts of cool shit bolted everywhere. (Not sure about non-street legal dirt bikes, they might be light too?) The TW is not light due to titanium this and carbon fiber that. It’s light because it has damn near nothing extraneous present. If I removed everything from your car that’s unnecessary, from EPA mandated E-85 fuel gadgetry to stereos and cup holders, I’d make your car weigh half as much… I’d also have turned it into something more like a VW Beetle than a modern bloatwagon. That’s the TW’s design.

I hoped the small, light, short design was a good thing. I know that lifting up a fallen adventure tourer motorcycle is within my physical abilities but would be a PITA. How much harder would it be if I’d just pounded myself into a tree? Remember, I will always be riding alone. If I can’t lift it, I’ll have to stay right there forever; I’ll either bleed out or build a cabin depending on the fall I suppose. Luckily, lifting the little TW is easy. I got to test it in the real world. With only 140 miles on the odometer, I slipped the rear tire on a wet rotten log and dumped it. I stood it up without drama. Theory, tested. I’m happy to have faceplanted the little beast so soon in it’s life. I bought it to play in the forest and it’s getting broken in right proper.

The TW is squat and low; like you’d design a machine that might be hauling a bale of hay. It puts much less emphasis on gyroscopic balance(?) and more into slow, steady, motion. Think not of a quarterhorse but a Shetland pony.

Tall, pretty, and expensive.

Short and dragging a log.

It’s the right compromise for me. I’m not invested in flying down a single track at the speed of chiropractor visit. I’m more interested in finding a good squirrel hunting spot or pretty vista. I prefer the ability to crank along with drama free motion and the chance to “flat foot” in tight spots.

That said, on the road, it’s a bit small. There’s a cramped feeling to the ergonomics. I might fiddle with the handlebars and footpegs to ameliorate this. You don’t notice it if you’re riding in stupid places, which is my purpose.

The Wow Factor… There Isn’t Any:

I’ll be the first to admit, it looks a little bit dull. Here’s a photo from the Yamaha site:

That’s the site where Yamaha tries to pump you up to buy their product. Jesus Yamaha, show some balls! At least splash some mud or something. Maybe show some dude with a rifle slung over his back and an elk quarter on a cargo rack? It’s pathetic!

This is what an off road motorcycle photo ought to look like:

(Photo from here.)

Then again, when I back off on the testosterone and engage my brain, everything comes into focus. The guy in the awesome photo is perched on a tall, powerful (1300CC) KTM Super Adventure that clocks in at $18,000. He’s got a dragon to unleash in that throttle. He’s suited up like a Power Ranger and looks like a God. But it’s in a specialized environment and controlled conditions.

Notice he’s carrying no gear. No water, no first aid kid, no map, no nothing. He’s playing on a sand dune and it’s gorgeous but who’s got a sand dune in their backyard? He’s not going solo, he’s not equipped for a three day campout, he probably doesn’t even have a snack stuffed in the pocket of his suit (which might cost as much as my whole motorcycle).

The glorious spitting “roost” of sand is not for me. Meanwhile, the guy in the boring Yamaha photo is sitting placidly on the seat of a 200cc mule that clocks in at $4,500. He’s sputtering down a dirt trail, looks relaxed (he’s wearing a sweatshirt fer crissakes), and I know the little bike has a huge payload capacity. One guy is playing with fire and will be exhausted in an hour. The other guy might be cruising to a nice fishing spot.

The Curmudgeon needs chill. With the TW, I tried to buy chill.

Plates!

It also has the magic of plates.

Motorcycles (off road types) come in two flavors; dual sport (meaning it has a license plate) and dirt bike (meaning it doesn’t). The TW is basically the smallest, cheapest thing that passes the “street legal” threshold. Unlike, even the most expensive ATV / snowmobile / Argo / side by side, I can roll the little TW onto pavement and poof… like magic it’s officially a licensed vehicle. It can go anywhere, on any pavement, in any State, and do anything (legally) that a Goldwing or a minivan can do. McDonalds drive through, ATM lane, check into a hotel, parked at a laundromat… fine. Try that with an ATV! (That said, it’s slow-ish. Country roads are fine and it’s absolutely splendid on dirt roads, but if you take it on the Interstate, you deserve what happens to you.)

Turns out the “street legal effect” really opens up options. I guessed this but wasn’t sure.

Also, I discovered I really liked the transistion from road to dirt… there is none. I planned an ATV which meant ramps and trailers and trailheads. Not so for the little TW. I can amble down a dirt road, slow down at a likely spot, and then plunge right off the road, across the ditch and into the unknown. So far I’ve only done that a few times but every time I do it, I’m impressed.

So, given it the test I can. I’ve only got a couple hundred miles on it (about 40% off road, 40% dirt road, 20% paved country road). Initial results are good. It’s not a beacon of technology but it’s rather impressive. It’s built a bit cheap but “cheap” isn’t the right word. It’s built like a brick shithouse. Every component is rock solid but for $4500 I hope you’re not expecting Bluetooth linked stereos and heated cupholders.

If you’re wondering how capable a 200CC two wheeled ATV can be; in it’s proper environment it’s amazing. It was a good call.

Sooner or later I’ll explain about the 128 goats.

Bye for now.

A.C.