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.