CIGAR, ANYONE?

The best cigar merchants are those staffed by folks older that I.  At sixty, that number is dwindling.  I don’t want the proprietor to appear hip or suave or cooler than me.  I want him to be professorial, or, if not professorial, maybe just of a different ilk than myself.  But more than that, I want him to teach me something about cigars.

Placer County Historical Society

My local guy fits all the requirements and calls his store “the Tobacco Republic.”  Located in an out-of-the-way berg called Loomis, California – 25 miles east of Sacramento, yet off I-80 – the Republic has a humidor the size of many folks’ dining rooms adjacent to a seating area where locals come to taste product and discuss the issues of the day, week or whatever’s buggin’ ‘em at the moment.

I like to browse the humidor but generally walk out with a couple of Rocky Patel “vintage” 1990 Maduros knowing that they will complement whatever my pallet yearns for on the spirit side of the cigar/whiskey equation. 

Occasionally, owner Ron will gently probe: “What are you drinkin’ this evening?” and I’ll reply with some type of Scotch, bourbon or, lately, rye. He knows I’m a mild-to-medium twice-a-month kind of guy.  “Then try this,” he’ll say and he’ll trot out something I’ve not heard of before.  He talks about the wrapper, the binder and the various leaves that make the filler.  He tells me about the history of the group that produces the stick and throws in a little knowledge of Caribbean and Central American politics.

I’m a sucker.  I love the smell of the humidor and rarely, if ever, am I disappointed with the resultant stick.

My beloved old-time doctor retired due to health issues.  Her replacement was not too many year my junior.  In getting to know me, his new client, he asked about my lifestyle choices.  “Drink any alcohol?” 

“Yes.”

“Frequency?” 

“Only when I’m alone or with somebody.” 

“Smoker?”

“Cigars.” 

“How often?” 

“Maybe twice a month depending upon the stresses associated with retirement.”

“Other vices?” 

Somehow mention was made of my enjoyment of two-wheeled travel.  He asked me where I’d been and I shared a link to my on-line presence.  Then he laughed and said he’d always dreamed of touring the west on a Harley.  I questioned him on brand of choice and he admitted, “That’s what I thought everyone rode.”

The examination followed including blood pressure, pulse and a bunch of unmentionables. 

Upon conclusion, I asked him, “So, whadaya think, Doc?”

“Worst thing you do,” he said, “is riding that bike.”

Rightly or wrongly, I took that as approval of the occasional cigar and whiskey.

My computer crapped out today: Wouldn’t print and couldn’t access some on-line links I needed for a contract I was supposed to complete.  My patience for technology is thin.

I headed over to “the Republic” to pick up a couple of Rocky Patels.  A little mid-winter quality time in the back yard with my lab-mix, some Elijah Craig and a Rocky, seated in front of a blazing chiminea would probably put all things in good order. 

The “try this” amounted to something from Cuba Rica.  The Cuban economy has virtually fallen apart, Ron said.  Many of the folks who roll cigars have left the island and work through out Central America.  This particular group of cigars uses Cuban filler – he mentioned a couple of different leaves that I nodded about but completely forgot – Ecuadorian wrappers and yada, yada, yada.  “Try these,” he said.  “Only a couple of bucks more a stick.  Let me know what you think.”

In America, we do many things well.  We invent things like washers, dryers and Z-28s.  We get highway systems.  We practice agriculture to the point where we can feed much of the rest of the world.  We do democracy – whether or not we’re all that enamored with the results of the latest election.  (I happen to be okay with the outcome, but no matter.) 

But we don’t do cigars.

In the gathering dusk, I am rubbing the little lab’s ears, nursing some Kentucky Bourbon and savoring the fruits of those Cuban ex-patriots, handsomely hand-rolled for my personal pleasure.  It’s a good thing I got permission from the Doc.

Today’s Route:  I-80, exit Horseshoe Bar Road.  North ½ mile to Loomis.  Right on Taylor.  One block:  Tobacco Republic, Ugly Mug Coffee Shop.  Across street: Loomis Packing Sheds with great fresh fruit and local products year round.  West on Taylor: a classic burger drive-in, an old-fashioned drug store and one of the finer nurseries in the area.  Loomis is small town America and is worth a visit.

Resources:

Tobacco Republic, the local cigar store: www.trcigar.com They do on-line sales.  Today’s toke: www.viahavana.com Oh me, oh my: the Corojo is good!

Loomis Basin Chamber of Commerce:  www.loomischamber.com

Local Produce at the packing shed: http://bluegooseproduce.com/

High Hand Nursery: www.highhand.com

© 2013

Church of the Open Road Press

SCHUBERTH C-3 HELMET – NICE LID!

Annually, we visit Seattle if for no other reason than to say things will improve in the coming year – specifically if we focus on the weather.  Up that way, my riding partner, Randall Guzziboy, and I check in with the bike shops eyeballing new hardware from BMW, then Guzzi and Aprilia, then Triumph, then Yamaha and Victory.  We are both quite satisfied with our current mounts, but as with many things, just because one is on a diet, doesn’t mean one can’t look at the menu.

While my buddy was salivating over a big Triumph, my eye was grabbed by a bright yellow Schuberth flip face helmet (the C-3), the likes I’d read about but knew I could never afford.  I’d heard they were really quiet, lightest in their category and that if you damaged it in an accident, Schuberth would replace the thing for 1/3 of current retail.  Beneath this hi-viz wonder was a SALE! sign. 

I’d been toying with replacing my old Nolan 102 flip face helmet for some time, now.  I’d made the mistake of not wearing the thing around the showroom for the requisite 30 minutes prior to purchase so, through no fault of the good folks at Nolan, the thing never really seemed to fit just right.  Santa was aware of this, I think, but then again, I haven’t been all that good a boy this past year.

Turns out, the Cycle Barn was closing out their representation of Schuberths because of lackluster sales (perhaps due to price point?)  I tried the unit on.  Understand that when I enter a shoe store and there’s a sale rack there, I’ve long ago given up looking because nothing’s ever gonna fit.  Not so this time with this helmet.  I wore it throughout the showroom sitting on everything from Triumph Tigers and Bonnevilles to a Vespa 150s.

The kinds folks at Lynnwood Cycle Barn willingly shipped the helmet and the day after it arrived, the weather gods smiled on me: mid-fifties and clear.

I fired up the Breva intent on enjoying my head-clearing 40-mile loop through the foothills of Placer County.  Out this way, the roads sweep and twist through vineyards and orchards, past derelict barns and rusting implements.  Cows low.  Sheep graze.  Horses do whatever horses do in the winter. 

First thing I noticed about the C-3 was the quiet.  Wind noise was discernibly less than with my other lids.  The exception being that when I approached 70 mph, the laminar lip on my stock Guzzi screen funneled a river of air right at the helmet.  Noisy.  Yet, (and here’s the second thing) under these circumstances, I noted no buffeting.  I turned my head left and right and still none.

The initial part of my loop headed east, the return portion, directly into the sun.  The C-3 has an interior sun visor that conveniently drops down in side the face shield with the slide of a tab on the side of the helmet.  The low January sunrays immediately were quelled, but so was my view of the data on the Guzzi’s readout.

I stopped for a picture of one of those narrow bridges where you always wait for the other guy to cross first.  A gentle pull on the tab on the chin bar released the front.  It swiveled up, completely out of the way.  I figured a cup of coffee could easily be enjoyed without removing ones head from the Schuberth’s cozy confines.  The same might be said for filling up the tank or talking to a partner while pulled over.

One of the things I’ve yet to master is keeping my face shield clear of condensation.  I figured most of what a manufacturer professes in this regard is hokum.  But, the night before this first ride, I installed the Pinlock insert touted as a means to keep fogging at bay.  Rimmed in silicon this insert offers a fraction of an inch of air space trapped between the outer screen and itself.  Shazam!  Not so much as a molecule of moisture showed up whether when I tried it on the previous night in sub freezing temps, or when riding through the 50-degree hills of the gold country. 

Thank God for full face helmets*...

Although I’ve only ridden with the Schuberth C-3 for about 90 minutes and I have yet to use it on the GSA, which has a different wind pattern at speed, I think this thing will become my go-to lid.  It is light, quiet, solid, comfy and, in the case of the one I purchased, extremely visible. 

It has been said that the cheapest thing on a BMW is the rider (perhaps this is said of the Moto Guzzi brethren, also) and I’ll plead guilty.  Still I like quality gear and will usually wait until I can pay the price for it.  I think I learned this from the Michelin Man back in the late 60s.  The fact that this one came to me at a discounted price, perhaps, was Santa’s way of winking at me and telling maybe I was an all right boy this past year after all.

Resources:

Schuberth Helmets etc: www.schuberth.com

Lynwood Cycle Barn: http://www.cyclebarn.co/

_____
* if only to cover up that face.

© 2013

Church of the Open Road Press

THE BUSINESS WITH TWO BOTTOM LINES

A visit to Moto International in Seattle, Washington

B 1200 Sport

SIX OR EIGHT MONTHS AGO, the Moto Guzzi bug bit me. I’d ridden a beautiful bike known as a 1200 Sport at the Guzzi dealer nearest to me. (A nod, here, to the good folks over at Elk Grove Power Sports. Thanks!) Enamored by everything this bike presented except for the café-style bend-your-body-forward handlebars, I weighed whether, so set up, this would be the bike for me. I checked on-line forums, motorcycle reviews and finally contacted a dealer whose name kept coming up over and over.

In retrospect, my question about the handlebars on a B-1200 Guzzi was a very trivial thing. As with most motorcycles, aftermarket modifications and fixes are abundant and there would be a solution to this “problem.” Still, Dave Richardson, owner of Moto International in Seattle, Washington, returned my call and spent quite a while explaining to me the options I might pursue if I chose the 1200 Sport.

B 1100 Breva

As history played out, I found a used Guzzi, very similar to the beautiful Sport model, but one that came with handlebars more to my liking. And I bought it.


LAST WEEKEND, after a two hour stint with Southwest Airlines, I arrived in Seattle to celebrate a 60th with a friend. Knitted into our errands, I was afforded the opportunity to stop by Moto International. I wanted to thank Mr. Richardson for his advice and time. Living 800 miles away, I am certain that he knew the odds of me purchasing a bike from him were slim, but I think he saw me as a potential member of a community he is dedicated to serve.

Having visited MI’s website, I was eager to pour over the large selection of current and non-current Guzzis, and Dave has a ton of them. When he approached in his rather cozy showroom, we shook hands and I shared my gratitude for his previous call. Now a member of the community, our conversation moved to a question of oil weights recently raised on a Guzzi forum site I frequent. Within minutes, he gave me a primer on 10w60 synthetics and ran a page from his book “Guzziology” to save as a reference. Again he was going to make no money on this exchange.


MY VISIT LASTED ONLY TWENTY MINUTES. I had places to go and people to see in preparation for the friend’s 60th. But as I drove away, these thoughts circulated: Dave runs a small business carrying a very unique product in a very tough market. He probably grosses enough to pay for the small crew of very cordial fellows who work the parts counter and the service department, leaving something to support himself and his loved ones. So I suspect that the money-side bottom line is positive most years.

But there’s another bottom line: That one is being a member of a larger community. It is measured by how the business serves its customer base, as well as also those who may wander in – as I figuratively did over the phone that day. In MI’s case, the larger community includes folks who tear around the country with ear-to-ear grins because they ride a Moto Guzzi; and those of us wanna-bes. I further suspect, from the handshake and conversation, Mr. Richardson is also quite a contributor to his neck of the Seattle community because of his affability, his patience and his dedication to educating and helping others.

Successful small businesses have two bottom lines. One is financial, the other is more difficult to measure. But if the business is to remain successful, both are essential. In fact, they are inseparable.

RESOURCES:

Moto International: www.motointernational.com


© 2012
Church of the Open Road Press

BUYING FROM THE LOCAL GUY? EATING WITH THE LOCAL GUY!

TUCKED IN BEHIND A STARBUCKS and a Subway in the little strip mall adjacent to our neighborhood is one of those gems hidden because we’re too much in a hurry these days to actually look for it.

The corporate outlets – Chili’s, Olive Garden, Mimi’s, Chevy’s – would have us believe that their fare is authentic. And perhaps it is. But sitting at a table, being served by the owner who grew up somewhere in the same time zone as all of Thailand brings authenticity to a much more authentic level.

BANGKOK CITY, at the corner of Rocklin Road and Sierra College Boulevard (and just steps away from the house) is a place I do not frequent enough but frequent rather frequently. Initially, I dropped in because it was really local and I didn’t want to cook. Now I drop in because I want to be transported to a place I’ll likely never visit through the strength of the cuisine – the unique sauces, the varied noodles, the shrimp, the lamb, the chicken, the curry. And the gentle caress of the owner’s voice as she shares with us the evening’s specials.

Tonight, the owner and I visited about the rosemary bacon-wrapped pork chop I didn’t cook because I so desired what on her menu is listed at “Number 52.” We started with whatever Thai is for “pot stickers” accompanied with a soy and ginger based sauce, twenty of which would have been a meal. My spouse enjoyed a vegetarian delight with noodles concocted from beans. My shrimp dish came with just enough sweet chili to remind me how flavor can truly be enhanced when the chef is an artist at heart.

Bangkok City follows the Church of the Open Road’s encyclical about buying from the little local guy. The entire wine list is comprised of Placer County wines, some of which are served in few other places. The Fawn Ridge Old Vine – we purchased their last bottle this night – seemed as if it had been vinted simply to match tonight’s fare.

Throughout each of our visits we are constantly cared for by owners and wait staff that live locally. Our dollars go directly to them and circulate directly back to our community.


WALKING HOME FROM BANGKOK CITY for the umpteenth time, I knew what I’d consumed was far better than corporate: more authentic, fresher, tastier, a bit more adventuresome and a bit less pretentious. Though liking to cook, it felt really good to eat out this night.

All of which raises the question: What local eateries in your community are those hidden gems, often lost in the glare of corporate neon?



THE CHURCH OF THE OPEN ROAD RECOMMENDS:

Thai: Bangkok City: www.rocklinthai.com 5050 Rocklin Road, Rocklin, CA, 916-632-9282.

Italian: La Fornaretta: www.lafornaretta.com 455 Main Street, Newcastle, CA, 916-663-1338 – Note: We ran into Paul Newman at this place shortly before the legend’s passing a few years back.

Also Italian: The Italian Cottage: www.theitaliancottage.com 2234 Esplanade, Chico, CA 530-343-7000 – A Church of the Open Road favorite since it opened in about 1962.

Chinese: Frank Fats’s: www.fatsrestaurants.com At 8th and L in Sacramento, since 1939, the third house of the California Legislature. The “Church” ate with Jerry Brown there once, although he won’t remember.

Mexican: The Original Lorenzo’s, 3883 Taylor Road, Loomis, CA, 916-652-6218. Two words for you: “ta males.”

Also Mexican: La Hacienda, www.lahacienda-chico.com 2635 Esplande, Chico. A family favorite since 1957 when they were located on Nord Avenue at the creek. Just try to get their salad dressing recipe.

California Cuisine: The Diamondback Grill, www.thediamondbackgrill.com Downtown Sonora, CA. We’d share the address, but then you’d miss the shops on Washington Street.

Breakfast: Putah Creek Café, www.putahcreekcafe.com 1 Main Street, Winters, CA, 530-795-2682. If you can find better breakfast sausage anywhere… Wait! You can’t find better breakfast sausage anywhere.


ALTHOUGH THIS LIST IS NOT DEFINITIVE, readers get the point. The hard-working local guy deserves our business – and then our repeat business.

The Church would welcome your suggestions for local eats. Please click on the comment section and bear with the funky sign-in procedure.

© 2012
Church of the Open Road Press

Ode to the Independent Bike Shop Owner

“ZHE AIRHEADS HAVE ALL JUST DISAPPEARED,” the old German speaks wistfully. “Oh, ‘casionally, you con find vun mit low mileage und it's been sitting in un old man’s garage. Und he gets on it vun day und he says, ‘I zhink I cun still hold zhis zhing up,’ und he finds he con’t.”

He pauses.

“Zhe passion,” he thumps his chest, “is still here. Zhat’s why I keep zhe shop open.

“Zhe bikes have changed a lot, but not all zhat much.”

He’s reminisced many times before. For me, this is a repeat performance. One I rather enjoy.

“As long as I still have zhe passion.”

He thumps his chest again. I thump mine and he smiles.

© 2009
Church of the Open Road Press