It was 50 years ago that I joined the U.S. Army. I went to college on an ROTC scholarship and graduated with a Regular Army commission, the same as the people who graduate from West Point. Three days before graduation, the Army told me my first duty assignment would be staying at Rutgers and getting a master’s degree, all courtesy of Uncle Sugar. Guys I went to high school with were going to Vietnam; the Army sent me to grad school. It didn’t feel right, but it was what it was.
The ROTC scholarship was a sweet ride; grad school was an even better deal. Uncle Sam picked up the entire tab, paid me a housing allowance, and I drew my full pay as a second lieutenant. As I recall, it was something like $436 per month. I couldn’t believe how sweet life was and how I was rolling in dough (grad school was actually easier than undergraduate school). Three of the guys I went to high school with were killed in Vietnam. Several more served over there.
Memorial Day has always been a special day for me, and not just because of what I wrote about above or my time in the Army. I think about the guys I knew and I remember them. You don’t have to have served to do that; all of us should take the day, enjoy it, and think about the people this special day honors: Those who were killed in action fighting America’s wars.
I photographed the Honda VFR you see in the big photo above in Coimbra, Portugal. Bait and switch? Perhaps. We are a motorcycle site, sort of. I’ll try to work in a little moto content when and where I can. For us on this adventure, it was all walking, buses, and high-speed rail transport (and that was really cool). But that’s coming up later.
Coimbra was another stop on our recent trip to the Iberian peninsula. Coimbra is a college town on the Rio Mondego. It was Portugal’s medieval capital before the Portuguese government relocated to Lisbon. But this college town was particularly cool. The UNESCO-recognized Universidade de Coimbra is one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Europe.
On the Universidade square in the medical school area in Coimbra. It was a stunning day.
Like many areas in Portugal, Coimbra also has a rich wine producing heritage. Many of the signs display this heritage.
The shape of signs in Coimbra. Wine was everywhere in Spain and Portugal. We had wine with virtually every meal except breakfast.
The Biblioteca Joanina is one of the world’s great libraries. One of the things that is particularly interesting is the way the librarians protect the ancient manuscripts from insects (insects are the books’ natural enemies, because they eat the pages). Bats reside in the library. They live behind the books. The bats come out at night and eat the insects in the library. I can’t make this stuff up, folks. This really happens.
In the Joanina Library.Books, books, and more books. The principal threat to these books is insects eating the pages. The University has an app for that.
I grabbed a macro shot or two as we wandered the campus. This sidewalk guardpost was interesting.
Photo ops galore. Nothing fancy with equipment here…all these shots are with a basic Nikon consumer-grade D3300 DSLR and 18-55mm kit lens.
As we would find to be the case in virtually every Portuguese and Spanish town, Coimbra has a cathedral. Actually, it has three. We visited St. Michael’s at the University of Coimbra. That’s where I grabbed the interior photos below.
Inside St. Michael’s with our fellow travelers.The tile work, the organ, the roof colors…I had a great time on this trip.A coat of arms, surrounded by scrollwork.A statue in St. Michael’s.
After walking around the University, we walked into the city. It was pleasant. The weather was comfortable, the city was beautiful, and the photo ops continued.
One of many statues in downtown Coimbra.This almost looks like a fancy ancient church or castle. Actually, it was a store catering to tourists with a unique product line: Canned sardines.Another statue in the Coimbra town square.A street menu for one of the many restaurants in downtown Coimbra. The food was excellent; the prices were reasonable.
I enjoyed Coimbra. As a retired college professor, I thought visiting a campus was a cool thing to do. We had a fabulous lunch, and then our journey continued.
Back on the motorcycle thing again…I’ve traveled by motorcycle in some pretty exotic locales. I think bopping around Europe on a motorcycle would be a fun way to see the continent. I wouldn’t want a big bike, and even on the freeways, the speeds are such that a 250 or a 400 would be just fine. Maybe someday. I know my friends in Chongqing read the ExNotes blog. If you need somebody to ride around Europe on your motorcycles to spread the gospel, the ExhaustNotes staff is available. We’re your boys (and one girl). Call us.
Stay tuned. I’ll work in more from Spain and Portugal as time and other blogs permit.
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Labor rates at motorcycle shops are well over $100 an hour and that fact got me thinking about the value of old motorcycles. Take my 1999 ZRX1100: The basic bike is sound but there are many minor issues that add up to a lot more money than the motorcycle is worth. If you took the bike to a shop, that is.
Fixing a bike yourself means you can take more risks. You can reuse iffy parts that a dealer mechanic cannot. The brake system on the Rex was in sad shape. All the calipers were stuck and the master cylinders were stuck, too. If I worked for a shop as a motorcycle mechanic I’d tell the customer they need all new parts. I couldn’t take the risk of my rebuilt caliper failing or coming back for a leak.
The bores in a brake caliper are not super critical as the sealing is done mostly on the piston walls. Unfortunately, my caliper pistons were not in great shape. I polished them as much as I could and cleaned up the bores. New o-rings and dust seals will hopefully keep them from leaking.
The master cylinder bore is much more critical because it forms the sealing surface for the piston and seals. Luckily the bores on the clutch and both brake caliper master cylinders were in good shape.
The rubber bits for the front and rear master cylinders looked ok-ish to me so I reused those parts. I’m to the point that I prefer old OEM bits to new aftermarket bits if I can get away with them.
The levers have a pressed in dust seal and I didn’t have a tube the correct size for the job so I turned out a short piece of PVC tubing to push the dust boot into place.
I ordered a new clutch master seal kit as I tore the original dust boot dismantling the thing. I also bought a clutch slave kit but the bore was so bad by the time I had it remotely smooth the piston was loose in the bore. I have ordered a new clutch slave cylinder.
All in, there were 18 hydraulic pistons in the ZRX that needed service. A shop mechanic would never re-use the stuff I did. It may come back to haunt me later.
I bought two new, made in Malaysia Continental tires for the Rex as the ones on the bike were made in 2009. The old tire sidewalls had small weather checking. I would have run the old tires if I was just bopping around town but I have a few long trips planned so at $200 for the pair I figured I’d better bite. The Harbor Freight tire changer made the job tolerably easy. Still not as easy as having a shop do it.
The fork seals were leaking so I popped in a new set of fork seals and replaced the fork oil and while I had the front end apart I dropped the lower triple clamp and pumped in some much needed grease to the steering head bearings.
I also bought a new front sprocket and new X-ring chain for the Rex. The chain had a new style master link that worked by pressing the side plate on using small nuts then breaking off the studs that stick out. If it works it will be a good idea, if not I’ll probably break my engine cases when the chain lets go.
If I had taken the ZRX1100 to a shop by this point I would have already exceeded the value of the motorcycle. A shop would need to put in all new brake components to cover their butt. I’m willing to risk my life on shoddy equipment to save money and I’m nowhere near done with the bike or spending money, as you’ll see in future blogs.
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It was May 2012, Boston was becoming extremely boring, and the thought it might be time to expand my horizons began to grow inside my head. Still remaining as a “work from home” employee and having traveled throughout most of the United States with not so much as a hiccup in missing calls or people asking “Hey, where are you working from today?” Most wouldn’t expect any type of a response outside “my living room” or “the kitchen table” since that is what everyone was doing and to think an employee was winding up roads in New England on an Italian sport bike or hanging out in Haight Ashbury in a coffee shop while leading a project team call was unthinkable. Now, many will read this and think I wasn’t working and just touring the country while attending a call here and there. While that perspective isn’t totally wrong, it isn’t fully accurate, either. My organization was giving me awards every quarter, to include project manager of the year. While this was all happening, our company was constantly laying people off to the point where morale was extremely low.
Even with my newfound freedom I felt myself being dragged into the depths of depression due to the constant threat of layoffs. It was time to take this working from home to the next level. That being the “what if I don’t have a home” plan. It wasn’t much of a plan, but more of an execution of an idea born over a few beers in a dark Boston bar two years earlier.
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As with everything in life the first step is the scariest, but also the most critical to set the wheels in motion. After thinking this over for a bit the most effective way to ensure I followed through with my plan of setting myself free geographically was to rent out my Boston condo. This was easier than I expected, and had it rented through a management company in under two weeks. June 1st my new tenant would move in. This was it. I was going to not have a home for at least a year. A timeline was now drawn for me to sell everything I owned and find out where my new “home” would be.
Somehow, I knew that returning to Boston wasn’t going to be in the cards. Having a massive fire sale seemed the best way to clear my life of material possessions that were now just clutter, and there was a lot of clutter to be cleared. With time being short it was an emotionless task to sell, donate, and give away almost everything. Paying for a storage unit for an unknown amount of time seemed pointless.
Once everything I owned was condensed into a small box of keepsakes and my travel backpack it was time to decide where to go. As I looked around the condo (which echoed because it was empty), I was left with the question that I probably should have started with before taking all these drastic actions. Where the Hell am I going to go? This is one of those “I may have screwed up” moments.
Originally the semi sorta kinda plan was to just drive around the United States and spend a month or so in each state and see what became of it. As I was looking at a map figuring out a few first stops on my new journey my phone rang. It was a 617 Boston number and instantly thought it was a spam call. Well, this is one call I am glad I didn’t push to voicemail. It was one of my relatives whom I had gifted a Magic Jack plug a year or so ago. He was calling to catch up and let me know he was had just moved to a house in the jungles of Nicaragua and had internet service that was just as fast as in the USA. My jaw dropped and I threw the map of the United States into the trash can that was already overflowing with trinkets and other items that I felt would never be needed again.
Feeling so lost in the United States (on many levels), a new environment would not only be healthy mentally for me but might propel my work motivation (which was currently nonexistent). Right about this time most of my friends and family were sure I had lost my mind. Going to Nicaragua on a one-way flight for an undetermined amount of time seemed reckless and a sure way to lose my job (some even felt my life would be in jeopardy).
Having previously traveled much of Central America, I knew most of these concerns were unfounded or pulled from a news article where one person had a bad experience. The news never really covers the thousands who traveled to this part of the world and had nothing but wonderful things to say about the people, the culture, and the sights that many will never know. Having grown up in Maine (where for many fear to even venture to Boston) it was incomprehensible for them that I would move to Nicaragua.
As I arrived in Maine, I parked the Ducati in the garage, closed the door, and wondered when I would next see that beautiful machine. Little did I know that it would be a year and a half before I would hear the magical dry clutch clacking again. Later that day I boarded a flight out of Logan Airport. With reality setting in I stared out the window. I was really doing this. Nicaragua was going to be my new home.
Our latest Resurrection story about Joe Gresh’s ZRX is not our first big Kawi resurrection story. Going back a few years, we previously ran a 20-blog series on a Z1 Kawasaki. This Wayback Machine piece was the culmination of that story, with a link at the end that will take you to the entire series. Those big Kawis are cool, and the Z1 is unquestionably the coolest of them all.
By Joe Gresh
You may recall from Zed 19 I had to re-soak Zed’s gas tank as 10 days were not enough to dissolve the rust. I drained, dried and reloaded the tank with apple cider vinegar and let it sit for 4 more days. This is what it looked like originally:
The second session really knocked most of the rust out. After rinsing I dumped a large box of baking soda into the tank and added clean rainwater sloshing it as I filled to mix thoroughly. I don’t know the chemical reaction that takes place but the baking soda neutralizes the acid, turning the metal a dull grey, almost white color. This treated metal does not flash rust and I’ve been going 3-4 years on another tank I cleaned like this without rust reappearing. It’s like the metal turns passive and stops reacting to oxygen.
If I wasn’t so hell-bent on riding this bike I think I would flush and cider the tank one more time but it looks good enough and I’ve got to ride! I connected a small hose to my shop vac and played it all over inside the tank. I can hear nothing when I shake the tank so at least there are no big chunks loose inside.
Proving that even the simplest life forms can learn I bought an entire new petcock for $23 rather than the rebuild kit for $8. This is real growth on my part. Usually I buy the kit, mess with it for hours then put it on only to have it leak. Only then will I buy the new one. Kawasaki uses a turnbuckle-type left-hand/right-hand thread on the Z1 petcock. It took about 145 tries to get it to tighten up facing the correct direction.
The new petcock has screens inside the tank and a bowl filter but with 40% of Zed’s tank out of my view-field I can only assume the entire tank is as clean as the places I can see. Inline fuel filters, one for each set of two carbs will hopefully catch any debris still in Zed’s tank.
An update on the Z1 Enterprises regulator/rectifier: It works. The battery charges @ 14.8 volts which is still a tad high but much better than the 17 volts Kawasaki’s setup was doing.
From the top Zed looks pretty well sorted. I took it for a ride and it ran really well for off the bench carb settings. It might be a little rich at idle or it might just be our 6000-foot elevation. I’m not going to tinker with it for now. I’d rather get some miles on the bike.
I don’t know what this bracket is for. Located on the right side down tube near the tach drive, it’d too light for a steering damper mount. Anyway, there’s enough stuff on the bike as is so I’m not going to worry about it.
I took Zed to my secret proving grounds and she ran through all 5 gears smoothly. The bike hit 90 MPH without even trying. I’ll need a better front tire to do any high-speed work. The brakes work ok. When you ride a SMR 510 Husqvarna all other motorcycle brakes seem like crap. After 33 miles there are small oil leaks at the tach drive and countershaft area. Maybe the clutch pushrod seal or sprocket seal is the culprit. That stuff is easy to fix.
The patina on Zed is excessive, bordering on shabby. The bike sat outside for years and paint wise there’s nothing left to polish or wax. The finish is just not there. The pin striping is cracked and missing sections. I’m not sure what to do about that. On the one hand a ratty bike may be less attractive to thieves and old Z1’s are getting fairly expensive. On the other hand it does look pretty bad. I’ve seen my Enduro buddy Mr. French do some amazing work with rattle cans. Maybe I’ll give it a go. The paint can’t look any worse.
That’s it: from Dead to Zed in 20 easy sessions. Don’t worry, this won’t be the last you’ll hear of Zed. I’ll be doing some long trips on this bike, maybe Mexico, maybe ride to a few flat track races. I’ll update the blog if I do any more major work on the bike. The story of Zed’s resurrection may be ending but the story of Zed is just beginning.
And there you have it. If you’d like to run through the gears (i.e., the previous 19 installments of Zed’s Not Dead), you can do so here!
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In 2010 the company I worked for gave me my pink slip due to budgetary cuts. I was feeling distraught and lost because I had been working there for 8 years. Fortunately, I had a great director who helped by transferring me from a management position into a project manager slot that would be fully remote.
Remote positions at the time were called working from home. It didn’t take long for me to ask myself a question: What if I didn’t have a home? This mostly was bar talk amongst friends and I didn’t expect the crazy scenarios we discussed to ever become a reality. Well…it seems planting those seeds in my mind was all it took for them to nurture, and then to grow into 13 years of almost nonstop travel.
The first two years were mostly spent learning to excel in my new position as a project manager along with clumsily discovering how to adjust my work/life balance in creative ways. This involved motorcycling throughout New England in between work responsibilities.
Something I learned early is that there are McDonald’s with wi-fi everywhere, and at the time it was one of the better places to stop to respond to emails or for a conference call (this was a life prior to riding a BMW, so I didn’t require Starbucks). I timed my rides to reach these locations 10 minutes prior to conference calls. This allowed me time to set up and prepare for them as needed.
The first day as a remote employee I decided to knock out a ride from Boston to Route 17 in northern Vermont. Route 17 is also known as the “Little Tail of the Dragon.” It was May and I was literally working off my Ducati Monster M1100 as I tore up Vermont. Since it took so long to reach Route 17 it made sense to ride it twice to ensure the long ride was worth it and regain the curve back in my tires. It may have been one of the best days I have ever had working and figured this newfound freedom would provide many opportunities to fill in the gaps that I had been missing by going into a regular office day to day.
Riding all the way to Vermont from Boston on your first day in a new position probably was a bit of overkill. I was missing calls and hadn’t noticed my phone was constantly ringing in my pocket (an easy oversight being so heavily focused on riding). I was in flight formation and setting the pace for a flock of mallards that happened to be flying down the White River, which ran parallel to Route 100. Unbeknownst to me the phone continued ringing as the Ducati’s Termignoni exhaust roared through the Green Mountains while I leaned into corners that followed the river.
Shortly after parting ways with the mallards and crossing back into New Hampshire, I saw some lights behind me. It was a New Hampshire State Trooper. Dammit! I am sure I was speeding, but the question always is how fast. It was fast. As I began talking to the State Trooper to try to minimize the damage, I could now hear my cell phone ringing. I picked it up as the Trooper ran my information. It was my new manager based in Virginia calling to introduce herself and ask if I had noticed that I had missed a call I needed to be on. I stated I was just out getting a coffee (which was 100% true; it’s just that the coffee was 200 miles away). This was probably one of my more challenging multitask scenarios (i.e., signing a speeding ticket while on an introductory call with my manager). To this day I feel I would have been able to get out of that ticket had I not been so distracted by work. Lesson 1 as a remote employee learned.
After that day I knew I should take my work a bit more seriously and slow my pace. I continued to ride, but always ensured I attended every call (which I did over the next 13 years). My work ethic has always been strong, and I didn’t want to compromise this position and what I could possibly do with it by losing my focus. Continuing to merge my work responsibilities with riding was something that I honed to an art form.
Once I was comfortable performing my work one or two days a week off the motorcycle, I thought I would step the adventure up a notch: California. I had relatives in Oakland and there was a Harley rental in San Francisco, a short transit ride away. It made sense to fly there for two weeks and work remotely in a new environment and time zone to see how I would perform.
The test run couldn’t have gone smoother. I was on Pacific Time when my team was on Eastern Time. This ensured that by 1:00 p.m. all my tasks and calls were completed. Having earlier workdays provided much more time to explore San Francisco and the Bay Area. A couple of vacation days in the mix allowed time to rent a Harley in San Francisco and take a 3-day trip to Tahoe and Yosemite. Even though I was on vacation those days I felt obliged to join work calls whenever possible just to stay on top of my projects, while obtaining bonus points from management for doing so on my time off. I felt this made up for my missed meeting when I had first started this position in New Hampshire.
The California trip had solidified my abilities to work from anywhere. On the return flight to Boston my thoughts focused on a farfetched mindset: What if I don’t have a home? It would take a few months of planning and a solid leap of faith. As with all leaps of faith you never know where or how it will end, but I felt sure I could make this dream a reality. What I didn’t realize is how far I would take this and the new experiences my decision would deliver. I turned my life into Ferris Bueller’s Day Off on steroids over the next 13 years.
When I was a kid, I used to watch a weekly television comedy show called The Little Rascals. In one of the episodes, one of the rascals named Alfalfa sang a song from Gioachino Rossini’s opera, The Barber of Seville. Until very recently, Alfalfa’s rendition and a Cadillac made in the 1970s (the Seville) were all I knew of Seville. That changed with our recent trip to Spain.
I found it: The Barber of Seville!
Cards on the table: I didn’t know anything about Gioachino Rossini’s opera until I Googled the Little Rascals and the Barber of Seville. In so doing, I found out that Warner Brothers also had a Bugs Bunny cartoon with the same song. I know…I digress. Indulge me for 56 seconds more. Here’s Alfalfa belting it out. Told ya…
You might be wondering: What’s with the Sportster in the cover photo up top? I saw it my first afternoon in Seville. Believe it or not, in Spain, the land that brought us Bultaco (the motorcycle, not the Mexican bullfight snack bar delicacy), Ossa, and Montesa (or, as some might say, Montessa), the ultimate motorcycle status symbol is a used Sportster. Hence the title of this blog: The Sportster of Seville. We’ve had a lot of fun with Sportster blogs here on ExNotes, but let’s get to the main topic of this discussion: Seville.
One of our first stops in Seville was the Plaza de España, which is a magnificent building and park area built in 1929 when Seville hosted the Ibero-American Exposition World’s Fair. The Plaza de España is impressive. Today, the building has been renovated and it is used for Spanish government agencies. It’s beautiful.
Photo opportunities abound. This shot of the tower through one of the many arches almost took itself.Any time there’s water or a mirror, I’m there. You can do a lot with reflections when you shoot a photo.
We saw a bunch of touristy chotchkas in the Plaza de España courtyard that made for good photos (I would never buy this sort of stuff…if I need to generate a breeze, I’ll hop on my motorcycle…you know, to get my knees in the breeze). But it was fun to photograph.
Fans for sale in the Plaza de España courtyard.
My attention then turned to the tilework along the Plaza de España courtyard wall that stretched for half a mile. Each tile-based mural depicts a Spanish province. The work was impressive, but what was even more impressive was what happened next.
One of many tile murals in the Plaza de España courtyard.Another Plaza de España courtyard tile mural.
Two Spanish motor officers rolled into the Plaza de España courtyard on (get this) police motor scooters. I always thought small motorcycles and motor scooters made a lot of sense in urban areas (I’ll say more on that in a second). I asked the motor officer in the photo below if I could grab a picture and he was cool with it.
A Seville motor officer. If I was 50 years younger and spoke Spanish, I might try out for a job like this. It looked like a great gig, and I like the colors.
I didn’t realize why the motor officers had appeared out of nowhere. All those tourist chotchkas like the fans you see in the photo above? The folks selling their wares there (I’m told they were Gypsies, if you can even say that anymore) weren’t supposed to be there. When I looked up after grabbing the photo above, all the chotchkas (and the chotchka merchants) were gone. They just went poof and vanished. Wiped clean from the face of the Earth (as they said in that Indiana Jones movie). I guess you don’t want to mess with a Spanish motor officer.
On the motor scooter/small motorcycle thing for police motorcycles: When Gresh and I were at the Zongshen factory in Chongqing, one of the many very cool things we saw there were RX3 police motorcycles. Imagine that: A 250cc police motorcycle. I talked Zongshen into giving us (“us” being CSC Motorcycles) three or four of the things so we could market them to police departments in America. Imagine that, too…one short email and poof: Three free motorcycles.
I thought I knew the police motorcycle market a little bit because I had written a book about police motors. Man, I tried, but it was a bust. The Sacramento Fairgrounds Police were interested, but I couldn’t close the deal. We shipped one to the New York City Police Department (I knew they used Vespas for police work), Andy Sipowicz and crew kept the bike for about two months without ever taking it out of the crate, and then they shipped it back. I took one to a couple of local police departments, but the only thing to come of that was one of the cops told me I wasn’t allowed to ride it around with the red and blue lights and the siren still attached. I told him not to worry; I only used that stuff if people wouldn’t get out of my way. Zongshen, on the other hand, has done fabulously well with their police bikes. They are selling RX1s, RX3s, RX4s, and other bikes as police motors literally all over the world. Just not in America. I’ll do a blog about Zongshen police bikes someday.
I know, I’m digressing again. Back to the main attraction: Seville. We walked around quite a bit (I did 17,000 steps one day) and there were tons of photo ops. Doors, tiles, alleys, and more.
A door in Seville. Spain and Portugal are an artist’s palette. Both were awesome.A Seville sidewalk. The sidewalks were awesome everywhere we went. Think of the labor that went into this. Joe Gresh, this is your new concrete standard. I’ll take a photo when you finish and put it on the blog.Decor on a home in Seville.
As we walked around Seville and took in the sights, Jose (our awesome guide) told us we were in the Jewish quarter. I asked if Jewish people still lived there. Very few, he said. You know: The Spanish Inquisition. Oh, yeah. I remember reading about that in James Michener’s The Source (a great story and a great read).
In Seville’s Jewish Quarter. Note the sign on the wall on the right.
Our walk through Seville presented one photo op after another. I had my old Nikon D3300 (the current version is the Nikon D3500), an entry-level consumer grade digital SLR, and the relatively inexpensive (but vibration-reduction-equipped) 18-55mm zoom lens. It was great. The D3300 is a light camera. My other Nikon (the D810) has more capability, but it is much heavier. For this kind of tourism, the D3300 (or the current D3500) is a better deal.
A fountain in the exterior corner of a Seville structure.I saw this and had to ask: Is Antonio here? Which one, they answered…we have lots of Antonios. Sometimes, my humor is an acquired taste.
We continued our walking tour, and it was on to the Catedral de Sevilla, a massive cathedral built between 1434 and 1517 over what used to be the city’s main mosque (when the Moors occupied the Iberian peninsula). It rivals the Vatican’s Saint Peter’s cathedral (it’s that big).
The 18-55mm lens wasn’t wide enough to take in the entire Catedral de Sevilla. It is a massive church, the largest in Spain.Susie, my traveling buddy for 40 years, with the Catedral de Sevilla in the background.
The Catedral de Sevilla interior is impressive, but it is dimly lit and flash photography is strictly verboten (I wouldn’t have used flash, anyway), so I relied on finding something to brace my camera against and the lens’ vibration reduction technology (which did a great job). I could do a photobook with just interior shots, including the Catedral de Sevilla’s beyond impressive stained glass windows.
This was but one of many stained glass windows in the Catedral de Sevilla.Shooting in the camera’s RAW mode and allowing PhotoShop’s Auto adjustment to work its magic brings up features that can’t be captured with jpeg alone.Incredible sights, incredible detail, and lots of photography fun.
You may not know this (I certainly didn’t) but one of Christopher Columbus’s crypts is in the Catedral de Sevilla (folks apparently spread his remains around a bit). The photo below shows one of his crypts in the Catedral de Sevilla. Columbus was an Italian from Genoa, but his expeditions were funded by Spain’s Queen Isabella.
Columbus lies within. Impressive.
So there you have it: Seville. There’s more to come from our Spanish adventure, so sign up for your free subscription (don’t forget to tell your email program we’re not spam) or check back often. Or maybe do both. And if you have comments, we’d love to hear them.
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As mentioned in recent blogs on my 9mm Springfield Armory 1911, I took the gun to TJ’s Custom Gunworks to have it repaired and customized. I have the gun back now and I am very satisfied with the work.
When I took the 1911 to TJ, I asked him to repair the damage I did to my 1911 and to add several custom touches. That’s what he did, and I’ll describe them below. Most of the photos in this blog are from TJ. I took a few, too.
Fortunately, the 1911’s barrel was not damaged (the cartridge blew apart; the barrel and chamber survived). TJ polished the barrel, the chamber, and the ramp. The reinvigorated barrel looks great and it adds to the 1911’s appearance.
The polished 1911 barrel.It looks great, doesn’t it?
TJ polished the 1911’s ramp and chamber. This helps to prevent feed failures and assists in extraction. The polished ramp also helps to prevent bullet pushback into the case as the ramp is pushed from the magazine into the chamber.
The feed ramp before polishing.The feed ramp after polishing.
The trigger was in bad shape after the 9mm cartridge went into its sudden unintended disassembly mode. TJ cleaned it up, but I’m going to have him fit a new target trigger at some point in the future.
The rigger before TJ cleaned and finished it.The trigger and its bracket after brushing and polishing.
While TJ was in the gun, he removed and replaced the Springfield Armory firing pin and firing pin spring (which he does on all the Springfield Armory 1911s that come into his shop). Springfield uses a titanium firing pin and a heavier firing pin spring, which is a bad combination. I’ve had occasional misfires with my Springfield, and the primers have previously always shown light firing pin strikes. With the new Wilson firing pin and firing pin spring TJ installed, that problem is in the rear-view mirror (where it belongs).
TJ found that the extractor on my Springfield Armory 1911 was terrible. I thought that might be due the base of the cartridge bursting, but it was not. It was just a factory goof up. The photo TJ included shows the extractor about as I remembered it before the event that set all this in motion. The extractor had been extremely difficult to remove from the slide when I disassembled it for cleaning, but I never thought to check if it was engaging the cartridge (the gun had been ejecting). You would think an outfit like Springfield would know what they are doing in this area, but apparently they did not. TJ fit a new extractor to fix that problem.
This photo shows the original extractor not touching the cartridge case at all. It appears that the claw is just too short.The new extractor TJ installed; note that it now has a firm grip on the case rim.Another shot of the extractor on the case rim. It’s amazing the cartridges were extracting and ejecting before this fix. They were flying everywhere.The old extractor is on top; the new one is on the bottom. Note that the old extractor was not reaching in to engage the case.
Ejection is way better now. The gun drops all the cases in the same spot just to my right (they don’t go flying all over creation like they used to). It makes scooping up my brass a lot easier.
Reinstalling the slide release on my Springfield was difficult. The slide release plunger was too long and the camming surfaces on the underside of the slide release were not cut at the correct angles. TJ reconfigured both. The slide release snaps into place in a very slick manner now. There’s no more worry about scratching the receiver (the so-called idiot scratch) when the gun is reassembled.
The slide release plunger, as delivered by Springfield Armory, was originally too long. It made installing the slide release problematic. TJ shortened and recontoured it.The slide release has a contoured bevel to push the slide release plunger in when the slide release is installed. As delivered by Springfield Armory, the angles were incorrect. TJ recontoured this area to make installing the slide release much easier.
TJ polished and fit a new hammer, which looks better than the original. He also lightened the trigger pull. The new trigger is light and I like it.
A polished hammer and sear.The new hammer. It looks good.
The Springfield Armory 9mm 1911 came from the factory with a two-piece guide rod, which I hated. It would constantly unscrew, even after applying blue Loctite after each cleaning. The stock Springfield guide rod needed an Allen wrench to unscrew and remove it (Springfield provided one with the gun). The gun required doing this to be able to rotate the barrel bushing after depressing the guide rod plug. In my opinion, two-piece guide rods are a solution to a problem that doesn’t exist. I don’t know why manufacturers fit them to new guns and I don’t why anybody would want one. I asked TJ to fit a polished one-piece guide rod to my 1911, and to make it short enough so that I could rotate the barrel bushing for disassembly without having to unscrew the guide rod. I like the new set up a lot better.
TJ installed a one-piece guide rod. I like it. The original two-piece guide rod was always unscrewing.The new guide rod in its bushing. TJ modified it so I could disassemble the 1911 without having to unscrew the guide rod. Not the polished end of the new guide rod, and the polished barrel end.
Finally, TJ polished the slide-to-receiver interface points. You can see this work in the photos below.
The 1911 slide underside.The 9mm 1911 receiver.
While TJ had the gun, I ordered new grips and a replacement magazine from the Springfield Armory website. The original crossed-cannon cocobolo Springfield grips were damaged when the cartridge burst, so I bought another set (they were reasonably priced at $32.95). The Springfield site also advertised a set of double-diamond checkered cocobolo grips (without the Springfield logo) for $15, so I checked that box, too (I like having an extra set of 1911 grips on hand). The grips and the new magazine arrived a few days after I ordered them.
I picked up the repaired and reinvigorated 1911 from TJ this week. I’ve already been to the range with it and it works well. Watch the blog; I’ll post a range report in the near term. I’ve also had a few more thoughts on what might have caused the burst round that started this adventure, and we’ll have another blog on that as well. Here are links to our prior blogs on this topic:
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Seeing double? Nope. I liked my 9mm 1911 so much that when I saw the same gun in .45 ACP, I bought it, too. Watch for a report on it in an upcoming ExNotes blog.
The stream crossing to the West End Gun Club has been too deep to cross in my Subie Outback since early January. I tried it once back then and I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
My January Meyer Canyon Road mishap. The Subie is not a submarine and I am not a U-boat commander, although we both came close that morning.
I’ve been going to the Magnum Range in Ontario (an indoor pistol range), watching the West End website for updates and occasionally driving out to check the stream. The Magnum Range is a good place to shoot, but I missed shooting my rifles. Then a good thing happened earlier this week: Good buddy Duane offered to pick me up and attempt a stream crossing in his Toyota 4×4. I was in.
Duane’s Toyota 4×4. It’s an impressive vehicle.
I’ve known Duane for years, going back to my work with CSC Motorcycles in their early days of the replica Mustangs and the RX3 250cc adventure bike. Duane and I both owned the CSC bikes and we traveled extensively on them.
Duane in the commander’s cupola.
The Meyer Canyon Road stream crossing was still deep and the water was moving swiftly, but Duane’s Toyota had no problem crossing it.
Entering the fray…
I knew which rifle I wanted to shoot when I received Duane’s email invitation: My Mosin-Nagant 91/30. It’s the one you see at the top of this blog. The Mosin is a favorite. It’s accurate, I reload 7.62x54R ammo, and it is fun to shoot.
My Mosin-Nagant 91/30. The Russians built 17 million of these rifles. They are becoming hard to get and prices have risen substantially. These rifles are surprisingly accurate.
I’ve owned this Mosin rifle for maybe 10 years now. It came about almost as an afterthought. To me, the Mosins appeared to be cheap pieces of junk. Then one day after a class about engineering creativity, a student asked about the cover photo on a book I wrote. He told me he and his father owned a Mosin and enjoyed shooting the rifle. I saw a Mosin on the rack at a sporting goods store a short while later for $139. It looked crude, but for $139, I thought I’d take a chance. The guy who sold it to me did not know there was a bayonet in the Mosin’s cardboard box, and when he put the rifle back in its box, the bayonet scratched the stock. Neither of us knew this until 10 days later (after California’s silly waiting period). The store offered to sell me a different Mosin, but that meant starting the 10-day waiting period all over again. I viewed the scratch as an opportunity, and indeed it was. I refinished the stock (10 coats of TruOil worked nicely). Then I glass bedded the action, reworked the trigger, polished the bolt, and worked up a load. It was fun and I learned much about the rifle. Mine has matching numbers on the receiver, the butt plate, and the bolt. I know it’s weird: I own some really nice rifles, but the Mosin is one of the ones I love the most.
Serial Number 2339, built in 1940. Production rates ramped up sharply in 1940, but this rifle was built before that occurred. Fit and finish nosedived that year; mine is one of the good ones.The Mosin’s buttplate.The serialized (and polished) bolt.
When Duane and I arrived at the range, I set up a target at 50 yards. Like always, shooting the Mosin felt good. It had been too long.
Duane is a milsurp rifle enthusiast, too. He has a beautiful 8mm Mauser K98 that his uncle took home from Germany after World War II. I keep trying to buy it from him. He keeps saying no.
A World War II K98 Mauser.Left view of the K98 Mauser.Nazi markings on the Mauser’s barrel and receiver.
Like me, Duane is a reloader. He had reloaded reduced loads for our outing. A reduced load is one loaded for lower velocity, which means the rifle has significantly less recoil. One of Duane’s loads had cast bullets. The other had jacketed 150-grain bullets. Both were loaded with Trail Boss powder, and both shot well.
8mm Mauser reloaded ammunition. The upper rounds have 150-grain jacketed soft point bullets, the lower rounds have 150-grain cast bullets.
As soon as Duane fired his first shots, I knew he had reduced-load ammo. Check it out in the video below.
Duane and I both brought handguns, and to my surprise, we both decided to bring our Smith and Wesson 9mm Shields. I’ve written about the Shield before, as well as the custom work TJ (of TJs Custom Gunworks) did on my Shield. I shot my Shield at 50 yards. Using a short-barreled 9mm concealed carry handgun at 50 yards is not a formula for accuracy, but I managed to keep all of my shots on the target. The group was large, but at least they were on the paper.
My Shield in flat dark earth. I shot my reloaded ammo with Gardner powder-coated bullets.My Sheild and Duane’s. Duane’s has a Crimson Trace laser just forward of the trigger guard. The laser is actuated by a pushbutton below the trigger.
One of the things I like about my Shield is its bright sights. Duane’s Shield has white dot sights and a green Crimson Trace laser mounted beneath the slide. The laser is a cool touch for close in work. My Shield has high visibility fiber optic sights (they catch light from the side and light up green and red dots). They’re good if there’s any light at all. If there’s no light, the sights don’t light, but if there’s no light, it’s not likely you’d be shooting.
A comparison of the sights on both Shields. My pistol’s Hi Viz sights are the best I’ve ever used on a handgun.
Before we called it a day, Duane let me try a couple of shots with his Mauser. I shot at the same 50-yard target I’d been using with my Shield and the Mosin-Nagant.
The proof is on the paper. The upper red circle surrounds the shots I fired with my Mosin-Nagant (with one exception, all are in the 10 ring…that one exception was the first shot I fired). The circle around the two shots below were mine, fired with Duane’s 8mm Mauser and his reduced-load ammo. All the other shots were with the Smith and Wesson 9mm Shield.
After the West End Gun Club visit, we stopped at our local Mexican restaurant. I had albondigas soup and a chile relleno. As always, both were outstanding.
A toasted chile relleno. It was excellent.
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I know, we’re a motorcycle (and other interesting stuff) site, and you might be thinking this blog is going to be about a Lotus Evora (the Evora is a Lotus sports car). The Evora is probably an incredible automobile, but that’s not why we are here today.
A Lotus Evora.
The word Évora is a feminine word of Portuguese origin; it means “she who lives near yew trees.” That’s about as irrelevant as the big photo up top. But hey, we’re a motorcycle site, and who wouldn’t enjoy a photo of a Barbie-themed pink BMW cafe racer carousel ride? I saw those carousel Beemers as we walked into Évora. They called out to me. I had to get a photo.
But I digress: Our focus in this blog is indeed Évora, but it’s not about the Lotus. It is about a small 2,000-year-old town in Portugal, a World Heritage Site, named Évora. Before I get to the Évora photos, let me digress a bit more and tell you about our stop as a gas station on the ride from Lisbon to Évora. That gas station had a magazine rack. They still do printed motorcycle magazines over there, you know.
Moto mags in Portugal.
On to Évora. One of our first photo ops was the Capela dos Ossos (the Chapel of Bones). It was one of many churches we would see on our travels through Spain and Portugal, but this one had a rather bizarre twist: The walls and columns are covered in bones.
Yep, I said bones. Human bones. Weird stuff, this is.
An interior shot of the Capela dos Ossos. The little 18-55 Nikon kit lens was earning its keep.The thigh bone’s connected to the hip bone…or something like that. Skulls, too. Go figure.
The Capela dos Ossos is a small chapel (it’s located next to the larger Church of St. Francis), and it was built by Franciscan monks in the 16th century. I guess they wanted it to stand out, and to accomplish that, the guys dug up medieval cemeteries and used the bones from an estimated 5,000 dead folks as interior decor. It was weird, man. Bones. I tried to imagine the conversation hundreds of years ago that led to this decision. Sue and I have had interesting discussions about our interior paint and wallpaper choices. I get it that these decisions are not always easy and everybody has opinions. But bones? Those old Portuguesers must have had some spirited interior decor conversations. Paint? Nah. Wallpaper? Nah. Tiles? Maybe a little, but everybody’s done tiles. Bones? Yeah, that could work.
All this kind of made me think about cremation as an alternative to burial, but I’m not going with either option. I’ve already left directions to my heirs. I’m going to be stuffed when I go. Stuffed with bullshit, and mounted in front of my laptop. You know…so I can keep writing the blog.
One thing I love about travel anywhere is that it gives me lots of photo opportunities. Here’s another picture of a more conventional statue in the bone barn.
High ISOs, the 18-55mm Nikon lens, shooting in RAW, and Photoshop’s noise reduction filter brings it all home.
Gresh asked me about two-stroke motorcycles in Portugal. The only one I saw was this older Zündapp. It was very clean, it was plated, and it was obviously still in use.
An old Zündapp still in use in Evora.
I would see a few more two-stroke motos in Spain, but two-strokes have pretty much had their day on the Iberian peninsula. Bultaco, Ossa, and Montesa (or was it Montessa?) are no more. Gresh loves his two strokes and he owns several. I’ve only had one, a BSA Bantam two-stroke.
My Beezer didn’t look anything like the one you see on the Clymer BSA book above (which is an excellent reference, by the way). Mine was a clapped out, rattle-can black beater bike. But it was fun and frisky and for a 175 it had power way out of line with its displacement. Maybe some day I’ll get another two-stroke motorcycle, but the odds are low. The way the world is going it’s more likely I’ll have an electric motorcycle first, but that’s a topic for a later blog.
I’m digressing again. Back to the main attraction. Colors abound in Portugal. I grabbed this photo of a few plates on display.
Portugal’s photo ops abound.
As we walked through Évora, the door handles and knockers caught my attention. Here are a few photos.
The macro shots of the door knockers were fun. Take my hand…Another handy door knocker.A set of stereo knockers. The one on the right sees the most use.
Many of the doors were cool, too. I’ll show more of these photos in subsequent blogs. I took a bunch.
An impressive entry.And another.
Cork is a big industry in Portugal, and we saw many different cork products (cork bowls, cork pads, cork purses, cork hats, and more). Did you ever wonder where cork comes from? Cork is made from tree bark (something I did not know). The tree is called a cork oak, and the bark can be harvested every 9 years after the tree matures (the bark grows back). Spain and Portugal are the dominant suppliers.
Our local tour guide with a chunk of cork oak bark stripped from the tree. Who knew?Cork hats and purses.Cork bowls and spoons.
Évora is a colorful place. Walking Évora’s narrow and climbing streets was fun, and the photo ops made it even more so.
Frida Kahlo?
Évora dates to the Roman occupation of the Iberian peninsula. The remains of the Temple of Diana are on a hill overlooking the city’s center; the temple was built in the first century. It’s known today as the Temple of Diana, but that’s not what it was when the Romans built it. A 17th century priest, Father Manuel Fialho, is believed to be the person who tagged it as the Temple of Diana. It’s too bad we don’t do politics here on ExNotes; this story screams out for a Father Fialho comparison to Fox News or CNN (depending on which way you lean).
Roman ruins in Évora.
Portugal is a well-developed nation with excellent roads. I’d say it is better-maintained and cleaner than a lot of places I’ve been in the US. The expressways were every bit as good as ours, and other than the fact that signs were not in English and there was little traffic, the freeways were no different than the ones in southern California. The climate is about the same, the towns and roads are much cleaner, and we didn’t see any homeless people. Prices on everything except gasoline were similar to those in the US (gas was around $8 per gallon), but the average wage is substantially lower (their average annual income is about a third of ours). Somehow they make it all work.
The photo below shows the view from our bus just before we entered Spain.
Espana bound. Spain was a quarter mile in front of us. We didn’t need our passports to enter Spain nor did we need to stop. It was like driving across the state line between California and Arizona.
I’m skipping around a bit. There’s more to cover from our time in Portugal, and I’ll touch on that in subsequent blogs. For now, it was on to Spain.
To be continued…
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The first two years were mostly spent learning to excel in my new position as a project manager along with clumsily discovering how to adjust my work/life balance in creative ways. This involved motorcycling throughout New England in between work responsibilities.
