Kawi C14 Super Sport Trip Report Part II: LA Times Throttle Jockey Susan Carpenter

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V
42 miles and 2 hours later I exit Highway 101 and easily locate the LA Times garage. "Susan Carpenter?" says the attendant, with a smile. "Of course. I could have guessed." She points me to the motorcycle parking where I shed my jacket, soak my bandanna at the water fountain, and put it over my face. I'm so hot I could just lie down on the nice, cool concrete garage floor, but if I were Sue I'd probably be a little concerned at my tardiness, so I hustle on over to the building next door. Tall, blond, elegant Sue rushes from the elevator around the reception desk saying, "I knew you were stuck in traffic, it's awful here."
[Photo by Don Kelsen, LA Times.]

We stroll around the corner to a pizza place, modern, windows all around, and very nicely air conditioned. I get a big glass of fresh watermelon juice and we settle into a booth to wait for our orders. And then she breaks the news. "The Throttle Jockey column was cut."

Waah! I sit astounded. "Why? How?" Sue's column was something I really looked forward to: reviews, interviews, industry news and investigation into issues in the power-sports world. And she's a very good writer. She was recruited to the column from the newspaper staff because an editor remembered she rode a motorcycle. 

She shrugs. "You know the publishing business . . . maybe I can still write about motorcycles sometimes. Who knows? Right now I'm writing general articles, floating around, trying to find my niche."

She loved reviewing bikes, making comparisons and recommendations. For example, during our conversation she says, "If someone asks me 'Monster or Shiver,?' I say 'Shiver.' I don't know if Aprilia has the same quality of support, but it's just based on the ride." That kind of insight is valuable, and only comes with experiencing many different bikes, hundreds, and she's ridden them. " (Her most recent stated fave is Ducati's 1098 S.) I'm really going to miss the Throttle Jockey column. But hey, maybe she'll blog! (Hint, hint!)

I suppose being two women whose work and passion is motorcycling we can't help but stay on the topic. I tell her that I'm letting some of my motorcycle magazine subscriptions lapse. "Maybe I'm being too sensitive," I say, "but so many ads, and the tone of so many stories are so obviously sexist, exploitative, sometimes even misogynistic. Maybe I need to wait it out a few more years. Maybe it'll take another generation or two. I mean, do you think they even know they're being insulting?"

"I only flip through them," she admits, "but I know what you mean, and I get that uncomfortable feeling, too."

In my opinion the Scorpion ads are perhaps the worst. Nude women modeling helmets? It reminds me of what the high-tech industry was like in the 80's. Some of it is conscious--like the Scorpion ad managers who indulge the male customer his adolescent fantasies. I won't buy or even try any of their products. For others it's subconscious, and most of the time you can tell from the language that a writer or editor doesn't even know he's being sexist. Sometimes they think they're being cute, like the Progressive Insurance ad that shows a woman walking down the street in a miniskirt--the snapshot shows her from the waist down and the caption excuses the rider for his inattention. It's not awful, but still, it makes me cringe and I won't buy insurance from them. Rider is the perhaps only mainstream consumer motorcycle magazine I know that is conscious of this. They don't run articles or ads that might make a women feel uncomfortable.

"You know, I think it might be because it's just such an easy way to market to men," says Sue. "A no-brainer. Whereas women . . . well, it's a lot harder. There's no one thing that attracts us."

Read an interview with Sue here, and the Throttle Jockey archives, here.

Finally, I wish Sue well in finding her new path at the Times and she tells me the best way to get back to Highway 10 West toward Palm Springs where I'm going to visit my friend Christopher Baker. It's mid-afternoon and even the 24/7 commuter lanes are crawling, so it's two more hours of lanesplitting for me until Ontario when I exit to gas up the bike and drink a lot of water. As soon as I get off the bike I realize that I'm dangerously dehydrated. I'm soaking with sweat, even in my breathable Olympia Moto Sports Cordura suit, and thirstier than I thought and a little woozy. I should have definitely stopped sooner but, you know, I was in the zone.

As I rest in the shade and sip from my water bottle I watch the traffic and many trucks go by. This is obviously a farming hub. In a little while a battered old Ford truck pulls in to gas up and three Mexican guys jump out. One of them walks over and asks, in heavily-accented English, "Is that your motorcycle?"

I smile and nod, laughing a little as he looks around, maybe thinking that  I'm joking and my husband will come walking out of the mini-mart and I'll hop on the back. But then he decides that I really am the rider.

"It looks heavy. How can you hold it up?"

"It is heavy! But it's low, and I have been riding since I was a kid."

He grins. "It is a very beautiful motorcycle," he says, giving me the thumbs up before walking back to his compadres. I guzzle more water, douse my clothes with the rest of the bottle, and fasten my helmet. I smile and wave as I ride by, and they all laugh and wave back.

Palm Springs is another hour away but thankfully traffic is sparse and I zip along enjoying the 70 mph speed limit, playing with the C14's dashboard, which looks much like the dash on my sister's Volvo. It's got a panel that tells me my fuel economy (average and current), my fuel tank's range (which shifts between 160 and 240 depending on if I've got it in one of the low gears or above 5th, in overdrive), tire pressure for front and back (40 cold, 42 hot), and battery charge (14.4).

When a cross-wind starts blowing me around I use my left thumb to adjust the wind screen which raises up to protect my chest all the way up to my neck. I'd had it in its lowest position while pottering through traffic. I love this feature and fool with it all the time. I suppose it'll wear off but, for now, it's irresistible. I show it to everybody who looks at the bike, and it makes them smile, too.

I don't really need the GPS. It's Highway 10 to Highway 111 where it's so windy that hundreds of giant white windmills generating power for Palm Springs stand spinning their heads off. A sudden gust sends a pile of desert sand onto me at speed, and I wonder how that feels to the tank-top clad Harley rider who blows past me

Palm Springs is so charming that, as I'm sightseeing, I miss the turn but enjoy the cruise through town with several other riders who are showing off their brightly-painted custom choppers with loud pipes. Everyone but me is wearing jeans and tank tops and brain buckets. 

Finally, I find Chris's loft. He hears the C14 and comes out to help me inside for a glass of cold water and a cool shower for which I am more grateful than anything I can remember at the moment.

I haven't seen Chris in over a year. The author of hundreds of travel articles, and the motorcycle travel book Mi Moto Fidel, Chris also writes guidebooks to Cuba, Costa Rica, The Dominican Republic and, not surprisingly, has a new Guidebook to Palm Springs coming out this fall.

If your an old automobile aficionado, you'll love his coffee table book Cuba Classics (see it in the carousel, below) His motorcycle travel book Mi Moto Fidel is one of the most well-written accounts of motorcycle travel out there, and I highly recommend it. Here's a review: In 1996, English travel writer and Cuba travel expert Christopher P. Baker set out to explore Cuba astride his 1,000cc BMW Paris-Dakar motorcycle. In three months Baker logged 7,008 miles wheeling from the streets of Havana to old Caribbean colonial outposts and rugged mountain tracts. The Cubans he met often struggled under material scarcity. Belying their hardship was an unbridled sensuality. Passion infused the island, and Baker unabashedly embraced it.

Yep, it's one sexy book, and timely again, as our relationship with Cuba will soon change.

Next: A night on the town in Palm Springs, the tram to 8000 feet and 30 degrees cooler, and on my own again through the Los Angeles and San Bernadino Mountains to Mojave.