When I finally came to motorcycling at the ripe old age of 42, it was just another line item on my bucket list, next to “expat in the EU” and “race cars”. I never imagined what it would lead to.
Quit boiling your broccoli. Quit microwave steaming it. Try braising it.
Cut up a head of broccoli (or two). Rinse it well. Put a frying pan on the stove and heat it. Add one tablespoon of butter and melt it. Toss in the broccoli florets. Add about an ounce of water. Turn the heat to high and put a lid on it. Best is a lid that fits down in the pan and sits on the broccoli. One of those silicone thingies is great.
Cook for a few minutes, until the color changes, then remove the lid. Continue cooking until the water is gone. At this point, your broccoli is ready to eat, unless you want to give it a little fry and brown it.
This is actually really similar to steaming, but with higher heat and butter.
If you are really adventurous, don’t add any water. The broccoli will cook just fine and the florets will brown in the most amazing way.
I’ve been trying to get a Veloster as a rental for a while, and Enterprise delivered for me in Altanta this time around. Between the optimistic name and the cool looks, I was looking forward to see what Hyundai brought to the table in the sporty hatch segment. Sadly, rental spec is not kind to this silly little coupé. That’s too bad, because the Veloster has some fun elements amid a laundry list of mediocrity usually reserved for lower-budget American cars.
I think the one feature that truly sums up the car is the Veloster logo screened onto the front seat backs: most cars would have embroidery where the little Hyundai has some sort of puffy ink. The entire interior is best described as a hot mess. The front seats are shapely and body-hugging, with solid bolstering, but the lower center cushions are flat and cardboard-y. After a mere half hour, my butt was screaming. And what are great bolsters without adjustable lumbar? Not much. Adjustability was fantastic in all other dimensions, though.
Moving on to the IP, holy underwear, Batman. The dash looks like a 2010 Civic got it on with an old Grand Am. It’s actually better in daylight than at night, where the endless array of backlit buttons is also endlessly distracting. The MMI screen is raked back at such an angle that only the lower half is easily reachable. Thankfully Apple CarPlay seemed to work fine. The silver-painted plastic trim is *everywhere*, spilling onto the doors in the form of upper trims and very intrusive grab handles that duplicate the function of the traditional cup pulls set further back and obscure access to the window and lock controls. The controls for the HVAC are decently laid out and took little time to sort. All functions worked, too. The MMI and rear camera setup functioned well and with minimal fussing. I was able to connect my phone via cable and Bluetooth with no fuss at all.
The outside of the poor Veloster is part of the problem. It’s overstyled to an artful degree that so overpromises that the car could never really deliver anyway. The rear treatment is, in, my opinion, pretty good. Where the Chrysler Cross(back)fire looked unfinished, the Veloster comes to its conclusion directly and forcefully. The car sits balanced front to back with well-defined haunches and brings to mind some of Renault’s artistry in the Wind. The front end suffers a bit from excessive canard syndrome, but the whole look is consistent and grew on me over the course of my rental.
Where the outside and inside meet, visibility goes out the proverbial window. Aside from the interesting glass hatch (I like it), there is not much greenhouse in the Veloster, making visibility an afterthough. Particularly bad is the view over the left shoulder, which is simply a wall of black B pillar. The driver’s mirror includes a blindspot viewer in the upper outer corner to help. The right side of the car benefits from the third door, which includes a window that can be opened to relieve wind noise and booming from open front windows.
Rental spec sadly meant that the Veloster I was driving was equipped with the naturally-aspirated 1.4l mill and a functional DCT automatic. Oh, man. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about this combination. I spent about 80% of my time in the car thinking “damn, this would be pretty fun with a snail and a stick.” The promise spoken by the Veloster name and the hyper-styled exterior fell on the stone-deaf ears of the lame powertrain. It didn’t even sound good.
General driving dynamics were decent. Road grip was good and for as much as you could push the tiny mill, the suspension was not the weak point of the system. Handling was another area where the car could use an upgrade. I’m not going to say it needs one, because the available power will never get you in trouble that way.
I realize that it sounds like I think the Veloster is a bad car, and that is not true. This is not a penalty box car (even in rental trim), nor is it a modern Mustang II. It’s actually a fun little way to get around that could do with some upgrades and factory performance options to help it live up to its enticing name. To start with, a high output motor and a decent six-speed manual, along with improved seats. Everything else works fine and is not only functional, it’s largely easy to figure out and use. The rest of it is all style points, and truthfully, if you’re a hot mess of a person, the Veloster will be a great fit for you right out of its hot mess of a two-box. You’re trying just as hard as Hyundai is.
I’m coming to LA! I said.
Let’s ride bikes! my friend Ronald said.
Bikes! my friend Andria said.
Race bikes in a wine cask! this guy Peter said.
Occasionally you get a work trip that goes somewhere really nice, like southern California. I have quite a few friends there, and like to take the opportunity to spend time together whenever possible. Friend Ronald and I make the effort to ride motorcycles together when we can, and my recent trip to Long Beach and Compton was no exception. We were privileged with loaners from Kawasaki and the Motorcycle Industry Council – I spent my day putting the new Ninja 300 through its paces and Ronald bounced around on a nicely kitted Versys. We ended up riding with a bunch of friends, new and old.
My trip started on arrival at SNA where I picked up a Ford Fiesta with the laziest torque converter in the world. Oh, you want to accelerate? Let me think about that. Absolutely killed the fun part of the car, even in sport mode. My gf Suzie had warned me about taking the 15 (the north route) and suggested the south route instead. I peeked at the map ahead of time – the south route was CA74, the Ortega Highway. While hardly an Alpine run, it’s a tight, twisty run over a 2665′ pass that takes you from the coast to the valley and on toward the desert. Roughly 20 miles of fun, even in the recalcitrant Fiesta.
I arrived in Wildomar and was met not just by Suzie, but friends Teri and Richard! A great surprise for me. We dined at a Mediterranean restaurant and shortly after, I flopped over, sound asleep in a nice, comfy bed. I needed to be out of the house at 0530 in the morning to head back over the Ortega to meet my riding group.
I was joined by friends Ronald and Andria at the Motorcycle Industry Council, home also to the Motorcycle Safety Foundation. Andria had arranged for the loan of two Kawasaki motos for Ronald and I – the delightful Ninja 300 for me, and a Versys 650 for him. Thankfully the Versys had big panniers, because we couldn’t get the seat off the Ninjette so I could mount my tank bag, and Andria’s beautiful Indian Scout had no storage, either. We teased Ronald a bit about carrying two women’s purses. From the MIC, we headed off to Schubert North America to pick up Peter Meade and his big GS. Peter had arranged a day loan of Schubert’s C3Pro Women for me to test out. I’m desperately in need of a new helmet, so…… He also had arranged for us to visit MotoDoffo at the Doffo family vineyard near Temecula.
We headed out the way I’d come in – over the Ortega. Every road looks different on a bike. No matter that I’d come over it in a car, all I’d learned was the basic layout. On the bike, the twisties took on new looks and lines. The little Ninja was flick-flick the whole time, limited more by its rider than its mechanicals. We stopped at the top of the road at the Overlook, a classic bikertreffpunkt like I used to go to in Germany. Tons of gorgeous sportbikes everywhere, and a great view of Lake Elsinore.
We headed down into the valley to Temecula for a late breakfast at the Swing Inn. It was filling and yummy. We discussed the next phase of the ride – we would visit MotoDoffo, a collection of older racing bikes displayed at the Doffo family vineyard. We would also meet Suzie, Teri, and Richard. It turned out that Suzie knew the Doffo family through her experience in racing and wine, and if Marcelo wasn’t home, she’d rope son Damian into taking us around. We rode out of Temecula into the sun and wine country.
Arriving at Doffo, we parked and began wandering around while Peter hunted down the family. Suzie&Co arrived and introductions were made. From there, it was BIKES!
The Doffo family have been racing motorcycles and participating in the racing community for multiple generations. Once the winery was up and running, they decided to install a homage to 1970s motorcycles and mototechnology in the form of a museum. Featuring everything from your basic SuperCub to a big cube KZ, it’s a love letter to two wheels with autographed pictures from Ducati. My favorite bit was a light-up sitting Bibendum figure, as I have now seen two of them and am convinced that they are real. I love Bib and all things Bib.
Damian Doffo guided us around the display and pointed out some of the more significant bikes, including a particularly rare early Ducati owned by his father. I gawked at the parts in a display case. We learned about the Doffo family’s experiences racing both bikes and cars, and I chatted up Damian about our shared experience in the 24hrs of LeMons. Imagine that, two LeMons racers in a room full of bikes. We tried valiantly to explain it all to the others, but I guess you only get the LeMons if you get it.
We visited the back shop, where the restorations take place in between pressings. More Ducati, including a Ducati rototiller (!), which is right up there with MI friend Ben’s Lamborghini orchard tractors. A lap around the dirt loop outside of the ship (in a golf cart) had us holding on for dear life.
Richard led us back to the Ortega on a beautiful back road around the “back” side of town, climbing up and over a mountain range that reminded me more of the Angeles Crest than the Ortega. It was over too quickly – we found ourselves back at the Lookout at the end of the day. From there, we decamped to the MIC office to hand over the keys and retrieve our purses, and wound ourselves down from the joy of a great day of riding.
My day ended with a nice, quiet tapas dinner with Ronald in Long Beach. It was a perfect start to my week of training in California, something I apparently need to do a lot more of!
The venerable Ninjette gets a re-do and earns its place in the books all over again. Photography by Ronald Ahrens.
I was headed to LA for some work training, so I started calling friends to see who wanted to hook up and hang out for a while. One thing led to another and the prospect of borrowing bikes got floated. Then, a chance meeting with the US rep from Schubert and a ride plan started to take shape. This is where it sometimes goes to hell, instead, it went closer to heaven: 2665ft closer, the notch at the top of the Ortega Highway in California.
The newest bearer of the Ninja name is a little parallel twin displacing 300ccs of volume. There is nothing about this bike that is big – from the exhaust ports that are barely an inch (25mm) in diameter, to the seat height at about 29″, to the standard riding position is almost sitting up for my 5’6″ frame. Even the graphics are small. The whole bike screams starter. And you know what? That is entirely ok. Because small means party time in Kawasaki-speak.
I admit up front that I consider myself a sort of lover of small bikes. I used to own a CBR250R that I considered illegal levels of fun, and currently turf my lawn with a beat-up old KL250G Super Sherpa. Smaller is lighter, more nimble, and easier to overpower. I am in charge of the bike, not the reverse. The little 300 is a logical step forward on the itty bitty bike path.
Kawasaki lent me the Ninja 300 through the Motorcycle Industry Council and I put 200 miles on it over the course of a day, exploring the Ortega Highway and Temecula wine country. Schubert North America lent me a C3Pro Women helmet to test out while exploring the desert on the Ninja.
The Ninja 300 is, despite its very sporty looks, a standard. The rider takes a slight lean forward, just enough to feel your core working to hold position. It’s a natural fit for my 5’6″ frame, my 32″ legs are more than enough to have both feet down and some air under my butt when standing over the bike. This means sure stops and standing while waiting for lights to turn green. The controls are sized for average to smaller hands, although my big mitts are not the best measure – I wear a men’s XL glove simply to get the length I need in the fingers. The seat is surprisingly comfortable for a stock plank, far better than the foam brick on my old CBR250R and wide/shapely enough to offer decent butt support and comfort for longer (2hr+) rides.
The transmission is a weak point – the six speed has the traditionally smooth shifting I associate with Kawi and their wonderful positive neutral finder, but first gear is completely useless and the entire range could do with a drop and new top cog to take the green machine up to modern highway speeds with a bit less buzz. Riding home, I became convinced that I’d broken something when I was unable to shift up at the behest of the upshift light – it’s apparently not locked out in sixth. I eventually had to downshift and figured out that everything was fine in the gearbox.
Schubert’s top-of-the-line ladies’ lid is an engineering marvel. Lighter than my RPHA-Max from HJC and closer-fitting, it is also quiet and cool. Several vents and a visor that will remain cracked open provide excellent air flow. The wide and tall eyeport has plenty of room for glasses. I’m stretching to find things that haven’t been said about this great helmet – even at the price, it’s as good as it gets – if it fits, of course. The inverted cheek pads modify the interior shape, bringing it closer to the female bone structure. This helps to keep the helmet in place on the rider’s head. Proper fit is best assessed by a professional, and after fitting by the Schuberth rep, I found that I wear a different size in Schubert than HJC. No surprise as head shape does more the determine helmet fit and comfort than head circumference, which is best used to size the shell.
The instrument cluster is offset and features a huge tach with a digital speedometer and assorted warning lights. The lights are clear and bright in daylight and easy to see. The information on the panel flows and is clear and legible. A multi-bar fuel gauge does require the bike to be mostly level to read properly – tilted back down a hill leads to false full readings. The bike returned roughly 60mpg in spirited riding.
The wheels are cast and painted to match the bodywork, in this case, black. Colored deco strips add some attractive and sporty highlights. The wheels are fit with IRC tyres that I was never comfortable with on my CBR, on the heavier and slightly more powerful Ninja, they performed satisfactorily and I would consider leaving them on for the wear cycle. They lent reasonable plant on the dry pavement and were generally predictable under load. I didn’t push them to breaking loose, my previous experiences with them weren’t good enough to test that out. Regardless, the interface with the road is competent and fully acceptable for the power generated by the 300cc mill.
The motor is free-revving and buzzy, with the drama-free response typical of parallel twins. The engine suffers the transmission poorly – it’s eager to go and the gearset does it no favors with 1st gear hitting all of 20mph at 9K. The torque is more than sufficient to give up on first completely and treating the drivetrain as a five-speed rewards the rider with a very willing bike. A major plus are the brakes – I needed nearly no adjustment to my rote braking behaviour to bring the Ninja to heel. Smooth and effective, they held up well throughout the whole trip and during several runs up and down a steep section of the Ortega where my co-riders and I stopped for pictures. I place a lot of stock in braking, and it was quite a relief not to have to even think about it.
The entire experience is pure Kawasaki and that’s a very good thing. The need to differentiate in the small displacement segment is high and the CBR300R is serious competition. Honda’s absolutely drama-free entry is just as capable, but lacks some of the little quirks that make the new Ninjette more of a family member than a hired hand. BMW and KTM leverage their more exotic packages to cater to smaller segments of the small bike market and are not ready for prime time in the starter bike market. The baby Kawi is a solid entry and should be considered by all small bike buyers.
I have been looking for a throttle rest for a while, and finally found time to hit up the IronPony and check out what is available. I decided on a left-handed Throttle Rocker and fit it to my bike.
Here, I digress, sort of. I have big hands for a girl. Not just big, but long. Gloves are a total joke, and I usually end up wearing a mens’ L or XL just to have room for my fingers and thumbs. This turned out to be a problem.
I tried my favorite waterproof gloves that mostly fit – a sweet pair of Racers:
Then I tried my everyday gloves, some IXS RS200s (mens’ XL!):
You can see where this is headed. I went ahead and rode with the Throttle Rocker for about a week, during which my bike kept shutting off on me. Knowing the history of my poor old GS, I was starting to wonder if I was headed down the bad path again, but quickly realized that I was shutting off the bike myself as my gloves were hitting the kill switch when I rolled off the throttle! Yikes is not the word for it.
So, while I really do like the comfort and the function of this sort of palm rest, I don’t think it’s going to work out for me
Grass grows in Detroit.
Someone asked me
what is so good about Detroit?
I said: Grass grows in Detroit.
When bad things happen,
Grass grows in Detroit.
Between the houses.
On the ground.
Fresh green life, exuberant and ready to play.
A network to protect the stressed surface and give it time to recover.
When humans wreak destruction large,
Mother Nature renews her command
and grass grows in Detroit.
When other cities riot and loot,
When their denizens tear at the fabric of decency,
Does grass grow?
Do empty lots turn to meadows of green and gold?
Do wildflowers reach for the sun?
Do people rise?
Only in Detroit.
Time moves ever forward.
Which way do the people go?
When fires burn and flames ravage,
The ground is prepared anew,
and grass grows in Detroit.
When spirit wanes and strength fails,
When rivers flood and trees fall,
When the very earth boils in pain,
And grass grows in Detroit.