August 2024 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Scuba: Part 1

By Mike Huber

As I had begun to enter my 5^th month of travel, not knowing where I would be sleeping the next night became routine. My mentality was “Future Mike will figure this one out, he always does.” And I always did. That mindset isn’t wrong, as crazy as it felt. However, as time pushed on and the countries began to be more in my rearview mirror something was missing. A way to deeply experience a country, more than most experience it. Similar to my past life with living off the BMW GS1200. The bike added a much-needed color to my adventures whereas most were just doing these adventures in a van or car. The BMW gave me that extra level of depth that awakened my senses and really allowed me to meet some wonderful people I wouldn’t have otherwise.

Realizing I needed to experience something new (besides circling the globe solo). I needed something thrilling but something I had never done. I was two months into driving through Australia and about to board a flight from Sydney to Cairns. When I asked others in my hostel what was worth doing up there, one reply was always consistent: Scuba dive the Great Barrier Reef. That was it! I would become a certified scuba diver and head for the Great Barrier Reef.

I registered for the dates I would be in Northern Australia for a 5-day Open Water PADI Scuba Certification Class. This class would include two days of classroom/pool training and three days and two nights on a live-aboard boat in the Great Barrier Reef. Upon filling out the school course paperwork it seems that due to my ripe old age of 51 I would require a physical. Not a big deal; there was a clinic across the street from my hostel. I am sure they would rubber stamp me through this, so I booked an appointment. Upon being called into see the doctor I noticed his clothing apparel seemed a bit…off. It wasn’t until I went into his exam room I noticed posters of Elvis all over the walls. Now his butterfly collar, gold glasses, slicked back hair made sense. He was an Elvis impersonator, or a big fan at the least. Once reviewing the physical requirements with him he explained the physical entailed much more than I expected, including chest x-rays, hearing tests, vision test, drug test, etc.

So I am not saying I cheated on this physical, nor am I disclosing if I did cheat how I would complete such an act. What I am saying is I passed the physical with flying colors. Sweet. I sent the paperwork off to the diving school and was formally accepted into the program. I was still smiling as I boarded my flight from Sydney to Cairns in Australia (which was one of the northern-most points of this mind-blowing continent).

Arriving on time to class (15 minutes prior to its scheduled start) I learned the class would be small. Myself, a young man from France and an American female from San Diego. Our instructor was from Pittsburgh. Normally I would hold that against her, but she was beyond stunning so it was easy to let that go as we began our class instruction on the equipment and different emergency protocols, hand signals, and a tutorial of almost any underwater emergency we could possibly encounter. This was the first half of the day and post lunch it was time to put these lessons to use, using our scuba gear in an enclosed 12-foot deep pool.

The first thing in the pool we performed even before learning about our gear was a swim test. This consisted of treading water for 10 minutes in place and a 300-meter swim. Upon successfully passing this, it was time to learn about all our gear. This included the air tank, BCD, respirator, fins, mask and snorkel, and how to successfully connect it all together.

It was now time to put on the scuba gear and go underwater in the pool for the first time. I will admit this caused a bit of anxiety for the first few minutes, even though we were just a few feet under. It was a new experience for me and the others, so that was normal. In no time we were nailing the different drills, such as mask removal and replacement while underwater, and buoyancy control. We also performed drills in the event we ran out of air and how to signal and use your buddy’s secondary air supply (I of course made sure I was paired with the instructor). Little did I know at the time, but paying attention to this lesson would prove to be lifesaving in just a few weeks in Indonesia.

Upon successfully completing the classroom, pool sessions, and passing a written exam, we were ready to take our skills into the ocean. The next day we were scheduled to meet at 0700 at the boat launch where we would be on a live-aboard boat for the next three days. The remainder of our training and honing our skills would be performed in the open waters of The Great Barrier Reef in Australia. This is where we hopefully would pass and become Open Water Certified Divers. Bad ass!

More epic adventures are here!

Three Movie Reviews

By Joe Berk

Man, as a blogger on a site that sometimes offers movie reviews, I am flat on my butt. No excuses, folks. I’ve been having too much fun doing other things. This is a catchup blog on three shows I’ve watched recently. Two were excellent; the third was a unmitigated flop. With that an as intro, here we go.

First Man

The story here is about Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon. I really enjoyed this one. In a word, it’s outstanding. Maybe outstanding is too weak an adjective. I was a teenager during the Apollo program years, and this movie hit home for me.

First Man is running on Netflix, and I’m giving it two thumbs up only because I don’t have three thumbs. If you have a Netflix subscription, this is one you might consider viewing.

As an aside, I almost got to meet Neil Armstrong. He was a regular at the former Nieuport 17 restaurant in Tustin, California (I wrote about it in our blog about Admiral Gordon Smith). I knew the owners there, who would have introduced me if the real First Man had been in the restaurant. It just never worked out that we were both there at the same time, much to my regret.

Horizon

I was hoping this Max film would be an epic work, but it was a real bust. I want anticipating something like another Lonesome Dove, but Mr. Costner appears to have lost his touch.

Costner’s presence notwithstanding, it’s not Dances with Wolves. If you want to urinate away three hours of your life you’ll never get back, this wandering, mumbling, constantly moving back and forth in time, difficult to follow, and plot-free show is for you. My advice is to take a pass. I wish I did. But having said that, I noticed in the photo above that this is to be a “two-part theatrical event.” For me, Part II will be like driving past a bad motor vehicle accident. You know you don’t want to look, but you do. I’ll give Part II 15 minutes, and if it’s a snoozefest like Part I, I’m outta there.

Bad Education

Bad Education is an outstanding movie. It’s about a school system superintendent and his administrator convincing a Long Island, New York, community that their school system was outstanding in every regard while simultaneously embezzling something north of $10 million over a multi-year period. It’s a true story, which makes what happens on screen even harder to believe.

I don’t want to spoil it for you, so I won’t tell you too much more other than what I’ve written above. You can tell a movie is good when it seems like it’s over in 20 minutes. I enjoyed it and I think you will, too. Bad Education can be seen on Netflix.

More Reviews are here!

Cambodia

By Mike Huber

Guys, I apologize (again) for the long gap without writing. I have a massive backlog that I am attempting to catch up on and really have just been constantly doing too much to complete even a short blog. It has been a busy but productive time for me. I’m currently in my 6^th country and I’m 8 months into a 1-year journey. I’m in Cambodia.

Cambodia is yet another country that wasn’t on my radar but having been semi-obsessed with experiencing all 7 Wonders of The World I really wanted to see Angkor Wat. I know, I know. It isn’t on the list of 7 Wonders now but that list seems to be ever changing and I didn’t want to miss out in the event it was added again. That, and the other reason is I was about to overstay my visa limit in Thailand (running my visas out seems to be a new talent of mine).

Originally, I booked a flight to Phnom Penh as a forward journey requirement for Thailand entry. As the time got closer to my travel I linked up with a driver in Cambodia who would take me around to see the many Temples. However, upon sending him my flight itinerary he quickly replied “Dude, you are flying into the other side of the Cambodia, Angkor Wat is 360 kilometers from that city.” After 8 months this was really my first error of any consequence. There were two options, a 6-hour bus ride, or just eat the $80 and book a new flight. I chose the latter to save time.

Upon arrival and a minor hiccup going through immigration (I didn’t bring $30 for a visa so I had to “borrow” it from an immigration officer who included a hefty “tip”). It was part of the game and another lesson learned from my poor planning. I can’t complain. Once through customs I met my driver, Kong, outside the airport. And we were off to my hotel in Seim Reap.

The first thing I noticed in Cambodia (beside the fact that they drive on the right side of the road…it has been 8 months since I have been in a country that drives on the right) was the heavy humidity. It was brutal, even though I was in high humidity places over the past three months. This was next level and there just was no reprieve, even in the early morning and evening. Along the drive we discussed my objectives while in Cambodia and the main one was to see Angkor Wat. With the heat and humidity being so oppressive, Kong recommended we start at 0430 the next morning in order to see sunrise at the Temple. This would provide for a magnificent way to begin the day and allow us to get a head start on the heat.

We arrived at Angkor Wat at around 0530 and walked through the darkness and over the moat that guards this UNESCO treasure. All the while the mountainous sandstone silhouette was gaining in color and depth as our path led toward a meeting point between us and the rising sun. Even during off season there was quite the crowd at the reflection pool, at sunrise, to try to get that perfect photo of this stunning homage to Hinduism. It didn’t take long for the heat to follow. This was our queue to seek out shade deep within the Temple to avoid more heat and more crowds, and begin exploring the hidden Temple chambers.

The depth and detail on the Temple was more than impressive. Even with the destruction from past wars and an occasional bullet hole in the sandstone, the overall structure hadn’t lost its mystical feeling. The mysticism was unavoidable as we walked through the Temple’s many chambers.

Of the many experiences along my journey, I think Angkor Wat is one of the best things worth seeing, touching, and experiencing. Whether included in the 7 Wonders of the World or not, it makes little difference in my appreciation of this stunning structure. Even as a massive tourist attraction, this Temple sets the criteria for what an ancient wonder should be. Experiencing it was well worth the trip to Cambodia.

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Three .243 Ruger No. 1 Loads

By Joe Berk

This story is about finding a decent load for my .243 200th Year Ruger No. 1 rifle. The rifle is 48 years old now, but the old girl can still get it on. I didn’t think my Ruger was particularly accurate at first, but wow, it’s a shooter.

Good wood, a good looking 200th Year Ruger No.1A, and a day on the range. Life is good.

I’ve tried a lot of loads in this rifle and I probably would have given up except for what I saw happen with another shooter. He had a .243 No. 1 in the 1B configuration (that’s the one with no iron sights, a 26-inch barrel, and a beavertail forearm), and he didn’t like it at all. To me, not liking a Ruger No. 1 is a crime against nature, but that guy was frustrated with his .243 and he had given up on it. He spent good money (Ruger No. 1 rifles sell for around $2,000 today) and it just seemed like a shame. When I first tried my .243 No. 1 it wasn’t very accurate, but I decided I wasn’t going to be that other guy. I was confident I could find a good load. Actually, I found three, and they are listed below by bullet weight. They are all of comparable accuracy in my rifle.

Accuracy Load No. 1

Nosler 55-grain .243 bullets. It’s the lightest bullet available for the .243.

Bullets, loaded ammo, and XBR 8208 propellant.

My first accuracy load for this rifle is the 55-grain Nosler Varmegeddon flat base bullet with 40.0 grains of XBR 8208 propellant. I seated the bullets to a cartridge overall length of 2.606 inches without a crimp, but I haven’t experimented with bullet seating depth or crimping. I used Fiocchi large rifle primers because at the time, primers were scarce and I bought 1500 of the Fiocchis when I could.

Accuracy Load No. 2

Hornady 58-grain VMax bullets. Hornady makes a good-looking bullet.

I shot all the rounds I loaded with this bullet, so this picture will have to do.

Another excellent load is the 58-grain Hornady VMax bullet with 42.0 grains of IMR 3031 propellant. I ordinarily wouldn’t use IMR 3031 in the .243, but I had a tiny bit of it left from some development work on another cartridge and good buddy Kevin told me IMR 3031 was his powder of choice for the .243. It was a good recommendation. I set these rounds up with a cartridge overall length of 2.620 inches. Like the load above, I have not tried different seating depths or crimping.

Accuracy Load No. 3

Cavernous hollowpoints in the 75-grain Speer varmint bullets. These shoot exceptionally well.

I found IMR 4895 works well with the Speer 75-grain bullets.

My third accuracy load is the 75-grain Speer Varmint hollowpoint bullet with 39.0 grains of IMR 4895 propellant. I loaded this round to an overall length of 2.620 inches, and like the others above, I have not experimented with overall length or crimping.

What I Haven’t Tried and What Didn’t Work (for me)

I have a couple of boxes of 65-grain Hornady V-Max bullets and I’ve only tried them with a few powders. So far, nothing gave me acceptable accuracy with these bullets.

.243 ammo loaded with PRVI 100-grain bullets. I couldn’t find the secret sauce to make this bullet accurate. Hornady 100-grain bullets weren’t any better.

I also have a bunch of 100-grain bullets (from Hornady and PRVI). Neither of these 100-grain bullets grouped well. They stabilized (no target key holing), but the groups just weren’t very good. That’s okay; I’m not going to use the .243 on pigs or deer. But if I ever took it varmint hunting, the accuracy loads listed above would get the job done.

The Bottom Line

Typical results with the accuracy loads listed above.

Any of the above loads will shoot a three-shot group at or below 0.75 inches at 100 yards. The groups would be tighter with a more skilled rifleman. For me, getting the old .243 to group into three quarters of an inch is good enough. I’ll call it a day with load development on this rifle and stick with the loads above. On to the next rifle. Stay tuned.

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Shoemaker Holsters

By Joe Berk

Back in the 1970s I was a falling plate competitor. That competition involved knocking over a set of steel plates at a relatively short distance, usually with something in .38 Special or .45 ACP. In those days, nobody competed with a 9mm; the 9mm pistols had not made the inroads they enjoy today. A lot of guys competed with 1911s or modified K-frame S&Ws; I was a bit of an oddball and I used an N-frame Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum (with light .44 Specials, as the shot-to-shot recovery was faster and the .44 Special easily knocked the plates down). We shot from the ready position, with the gun held at an angle to the ground. The video below gives you an idea what the falling plate game looks like:

There were variations of this competition. The most exciting one was a bowling pin competition, which involved clearing a half dozen bowling pins from a table. In that one, you needed a .44 or a .45; the .38 Special didn’t have the energy to clear a bowling pin off the table. Both competitions were all about speed; whoever knocked all the plates over (or blew away all of the bowling pins) in the shortest time won.

Other similar competitions involved drawing the gun from a holster, and I wanted to shoot my AMT Long Slide Hardballer, a really cool 7-inch-barreled 1911. It’s the one Arnold Schwarzenegger used in Terminator.

An AMT (Arcadia Machine and Tool) Long Slide Hardballer. The story on it is here.

I needed a holster long enough to hold the Long Slide AMT 1911, and at that time there were none on the market. Other holsters could hold either 5-inch or 4 ¼-inch 1911s, but nobody had anything for the 7-inch AMT. Hold that thought. I’ll come back to it shortly.

I’ve written about good buddy Mike here on the blog before. Mike and I have been buddies since junior high school. He went on to become Chief of the New Brunswick Police Department. We still talk every week. Mike deputized me a couple of times when he attended the International Association of Chiefs of Police conventions. I’d always ask for a gun, and the answer was always no. But we had a lot of fun at those conventions.

The Director at the International Association of Chiefs of Police 2023 convention. I was his administrative assistant on that adventure. That story is here.

Mike called me last week. He was pumped up. He found his old New Brunswick Police Department duty holster from the days when they carried Heckler & Koch P7M8 9mm squeeze cocker semi-autos. That was the gun the New Jersey State Troopers adopted back in the ‘80s.

A New Jersey State Trooper Heckler & Koch P7M8 and its Tex Shoemaker holster.

The NJSP emblem embossed on the Tex Shoemaker holster.

The New Jersey State Police had custom holsters crafted for their handguns by the Tex Shoemaker company, a legend in the holster business. They also had Shoemaker emboss the NJSP emblem in the leather. Not to be outdone, the New Brunswick Police Department also adopted the Heckler & Koch P7M8 9mm semi-auto, and they, too went to Tex Shoemaker for holsters embossed with the NBPD emblem. Mike had one when he served, and it was this holster he recently found. The Tex Shoemaker H&K police duty holsters have become collectible items, with this particular model appearing on Ebay for $300. Mike is going to donate his to the New Brunswick Police Department Headquarters display case. I think that’s pretty cool.

Good buddy Mike’s Heckler & Koch P7M8 Tex Shoemaker holster.

The Heckler & Koch P7M8 holster with an embossed New Brunswick Police department emblem.

So I was thinking about this story and Mike’s holster and then I remembered: Hey, I have a Tex Shoemaker holster, and mine is brand new. The Tex Shoemaker company was located in San Dimas, which is not very far from my home. They closed up shop in 2019 (I’m assuming it fell victim to the pandemic, the move toward plastic holsters, and competition from the plastic holster manufacturers). Whatever the reason, it’s a pity. Shoemaker’s was an old line holster manufacturer started by Tex Shoemaker, a former lawman who started out making holsters in his garage. Their quality was unsurpassed.

When I needed a quick draw holster for my anticipated pistol competition (as described at the beginning of this blog), I couldn’t find anyone in the ‘80s who was making a holster for the AMT Long Slide Hardballer. I searched the yellow pages for holster companies (this was all pre-Internet), and that’s when I learned that the Tex Shoemaker company was nearby. I called them and explained what I wanted. I spoke with a nice guy who told me he didn’t know of anybody making a holster for the Long Slide 1911, but Shoemaker was experimenting with a new break-front holster that would handle all 1911 barrel lengths. He explained that it wasn’t on the market yet, but I could swing by and take a look at it.

My AMT Long Slide in it’s Tex Shoemaker experimental holster.

Sue and I rode over to Shoemaker’s that day. It was a factory and they didn’t have a retail facility, so I walked up to the loading dock, looked up at a guy standing above me, and explained why I was there. A minute later that same nice guy I had spoken with on the phone appeared with the holster he told me about on the phone. I had my Long Slide with me and we tried the big 1911 in it; the fit was perfect. He also had two magazine holders (together they could hold four magazines). The holster was just what the doctor ordered, and I told him that even though it wasn’t commercially available yet, I’d like to buy it. He smiled, gave all three items to me, and told me there was no charge.

The Tex Shoemaker holster is adjustable for draw angle. It’s a cool feature.

For normal carry, the pistol is secured with a cross strap.

For quick draw work, the cross strap is removed. The holster has a strong clamp spring inside the leather that secures the pistol. When drawn, the pistol can be snapped forward without withdrawing upward from the holster.

The Long Slide Hardballer, the Tex Shoemaker holster, and two Tex Shoemaker magazine holders.

The Tex Shoemaker logo on the back of a magazine holder.

I was shocked when that nice man told me there was no charge, and then I realized I didn’t even know who he was. I introduced myself, and as we shook hands, he told me his name: Randy Shoemaker. Randy Shoemaker was Tex Shoemaker’s son.

I never pursued quick draw competition. I had visions of shooting myself in the foot, and it just wasn’t something I wanted to do. But I sure enjoy owning my Tex Shoemaker leather. Maybe someday, I’ll enter the Quick Draw McGraw games. In the meantime, here’s an unashamedly doctored video of me playing around a few years ago at the West End Gun Club.

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Speaking of ExhaustNotes…

By Bob Orabona

Well….we’ve been having a little heat wave here in SoCal and I have been hanging around the house too much, so it was time to take the Harley Low Rider out for a little run.

My Low Rider when it was at the dealership in Minneapolis. I bought it about 4 years ago with 4,000 miles on the odometer.

I couldn’t do my usual run around the Palos Verdes peninsula due to the highway being closed to two-wheeled traffic. So I instead went the short way across the peninsula and then through the beach cities where it was nice and cool compared to the rest of Los Angeles.

I got through them all and was coming out of El Segundo and towards the airport and Westchester. On Sepulveda there’s a tunnel that goes under a runway at LAX and we call it, of course, the airport tunnel.

Some guys on bikes think of it as a tunnel and some think of it as a concert hall. Well, I kinda go both ways on that. But every time I get near it, I harken back to a memory of New Year’s Eve in 1972. I was a teenager at the time and my best bud Dave Reimer called me at home and told me he was at a great party in El Segundo. He offered to come by and pick me up (I had no wheels at that time). Dave showed up at my pad on a BSA 650 motorcycle he had borrowed from a friend. I jumped on and we headed out.

As we approached the tunnel from the Westchester side going to El Segundo Dave yelled back to me to hang on. He kicked it down a gear into 3rd and hit the throttle hard. We entered the tunnel going about 60mph and he banged 4th and hit the throttle hard and we were flying. The support columns just turned into a blur. There was a lot of great engine noise too. We came out the other end doing about 110mph!

What a kick! The things you do and get away with when you are young can be amazing. It was a great party and it is a favorite memory.

Today, in honor of my buddy Dave who left us about 15 years ago, I entered the tunnel in 3rd and laid down a little sweet Harley music with lots of throttle. It was about as much as I could get away with considering traffic.

So, Dave, wherever you are just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you.

Thanks, Bob. That’s a great story and we enjoyed reading it. Remind me never to lend my motorcycle to any of your friends!

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Evel Knievel’s Snake River Canyon Jump

By Joe Berk

I grew up up in the Evel Knievel era. It was a glorious time, the 1960s, and if you were a motorcycle freak (as I was and still am), there was no way you could not have heard of Evel Knievel, a man who jumped cars and buses (and ultimately, the Snake River Canyon) on a motorcycle. He was one hell of a showman.

In the summer of 1966 I was a skinny little 15-year-old kid, my Dad owned a new Triumph Bonneville, and I was in hog heaven for that reason. Then and now, there was and is nothing cooler than a Triumph Bonneville. We were going to the motorcycle races. A big night out in those days was the East Windsor Speedway, a half-mile dirt track oval where they raced everything. Stock cars, two-strokes, and the big bikes. Not just locals, either. Harley’s Bart Markel (National No. 1), Triumph’s Gary Nixon (National No. 9), and more. It was the 4th of July weekend and it was 58 years ago. I remember it like it was last week.

East Windsor Speedway is no more. It’s now tract homes. My loss; New Jersey’s property tax gain.

East Windsor Speedway put on quite a show. Dad and I rode there on the Bonneville. I fancied myself a motorcycle guy and it just didn’t get any better than the half-mile dirt oval at East Windsor. The fun started right in the parking lot with hundreds of fans’ motorcycles. Fins and twins (everything was an air-cooled twin in those days), carbs, chrome, custom paint, custom seats, and more. It was all England and America and a little bit of Japan: Triumph, BSA, Honda, Harley, Suzuki, Yamaha…you get the idea. Italy and Ducati were yet to be discovered, only weirdos rode BMWs (remember those strange sideways kick starters?), and weirdos definitely didn’t go to the races. A new Bonneville was $1320 and a Honda Super Hawk (electric start, no less) was only about $600. It all seemed so attainable.

The East Windsor Speedway is long gone now, shut down by noise complaints from the encroaching ‘burbs and then plowed over for more cookie cutter homes. It’s a pity, really.

East Windsor always put on quite a show, but that 4th of July evening was a six sigma outlier on the right side of the bell curve. Stock car racing was first, then the 250cc class (love that smell!), then the big boys (including Nixon and Markel), then the main event (Evel Knievel!)…and it was all washed down with a 4th of July fireworks display that was as good as I had ever seen. That warm New Jersey night out started before the sun went down and finished around midnight. I think the cost to get in was something like $2.50.

Evel Knievel was the highlight for me and I think for everyone else, too. Evel was just starting to get famous, and here he was in person. White leathers and a cape trimmed in red and blue on the 4th of July. (Gresh and I always wanted capes, but we had to wait 50 years and go to China to get ours.) A Harley V-twin, with monstrous ramps set up on the infield (one for liftoff and one for landing), with a couple of Greyhounds in between (buses, that is…not the dogs).

The crowd fell silent as Evel revved the 750 Harley and then accelerated. But it wasn’t up the ramp. Nope, Evel (ever the showman) accelerated alongside the ramps and the buses when we all expected him to jump. Faked us out, he did. Then he looped around to start again. Ah, I get it, we all thought. That was just to gage his acceleration before hitting the ramps for real. The anticipation built. Thousands held their breath as Evel accelerated again, but he faked us out with another run alongside the ramps. Okay, all part of the show. A third time….maybe this would be it…but no, it was yet another tease. Back to the start point, more revving, and by now we were wise to the ways of Evel. We all thought it would be another feint. But nope, this was the real deal…up the ramp rapidly and suddenly there he was: Airborne Evel, sailing up and over the buses, suspended high in the evening air, and then back down on the landing ramp. He hit the brakes hard, struggling to stop before running out of room, the Harley’s rear end sashaying around like an exotic dancer in a room full of big tippers. The crowd went nuts. A seismic cheer drowned out the mighty Milwaukee sound machine. We had seen Evel, the man and the motorcycle, airborne and in person, flying over the buses that would have you leave the driving to them. It was awesome.

It all happened 58 years ago. Evel, my Dad, and the East Windsor Speedway have gone on to their reward and I’m officially a geezer drawing Social Security. But that evening will live in my memory forever, which sort of brings us to the present. Sue and I were on a content safari in Idaho (you’ve seen several blogs from that trip, and I still have a few to go). When we visited Twin Falls, we were on the edge of the Snake River Canyon. That name stuck in my mind because it was where Evel went when the US Government said “no dice” when he asked for permission to jump the Grand Canyon.

Good buddies Velma and Orlando on the south Rim of the Grand Canyon. Evel asked, and the Feds said no.

The entire concept was preposterous on so many levels I can’t list them. But that was Evel Knievel. Before he did it, the idea of jumping over a car was preposterous, as was the idea of jumping over several cars, as was the idea of jumping over a bus, as was the idea of jumping over several buses, and…well, you get the idea. Evel had bumped up against the limits of preposterousness, and that’s when he floated the Grand Canyon idea. The Feds nixed that, but Evel wasn’t a man stopped by obstacles. He went for the next best thing, and that was the Snake River Canyon. It’s over a mile wide, and it’s a big drop to the bottom.

To get back to Idaho connection and this story, I looked on the map to see if it denoted where Evel did his thing and to my surprise, it did. And it wasn’t very far from Shoshone Falls. Sue and I did our thing at Shoshone Falls and as soon as we were back in the car, I plugged in “Evel Knievel Snake River Canyon Jump.” Waze didn’t know from Evel Knievel, but the regular iPhone mapping app did. We were only a few miles away, we were off to the races (so to speak).

On the way in, as we approached the road’s end (it ended at the Snake River Canyon), we saw no signs initially marking the spot where Evel made history. We did see a lot of tract homes, and a sign selling more.

Not bad for an entire acre by California standards, but that’s Idaho. Someday every square inch of America will be covered by tract homes or high-density housing, and our politicians will wonder why there’s so little water and so much traffic.

As we reached the end of the road, the Canyon came into view, as did the ramp you see in the photo at the top of this blog. Whoa! Can it be?

The Snake River Canyon, where Evel attempted his jump. It’s wider and deeper than it looks.

It was. On the other side of that dirt ramp, we saw our first indication that we were where we wanted to be. It was a good summary of Evel and the attempted jump that occurred decades ago.

Evel: The Man, the myth, and the motorcycle.

The deal on the Evel Knievel Snake River Canyon jump is this: Evel didn’t attempt it on a regular or even a modified motorcycle. He instead used a steam rocket-propelled aircraft of sorts that was mounted on a launch ramp. The dirt ramp you see in the photo at the top of this blog was not one that you would attempt to roll up and hit at high speed with a motorcycle to become airborne. The idea instead was that the rocket ship would launch off a launch rail, carry Evel across the Snake River canyon, and then Evel would deploy a parachute and he (and the rocket ship) would float back to Earth on the other side. That was the theory.

An excerpt from the above sign. Evel Knievel, motorcycle astronaut.

It didn’t work out that way, though. Evel and his rocket ship made it about halfway across the Snake River, the parachute deployed inadvertently and prematurely, and man and machine descended into the canyon and onto the Snake River’s banks. Miraculously, Evel walked away, never to attempt a canyon (any canyon) jump again.

Another excerpt from the photo above. There was no V-Twin hidden in the bowels of Evel’s rocket ship.

We climbed to the top of the ramp and gazed across the Snake River Canyon. I wondered: Will we ever see another man like Evel Knievel? I think it’s less likely, given our predilection with biological males competing in women’s sports, our insistence on listing our pronouns (you can just refer to me as “hey, you”), and everything else our society has degenerated into. But that borders on being political, and as you know, we don’t do that. That said, though, I think it’s a safe bet that Evel never worried about anyone using his preferred pronouns.

After our climb down, we wandered around the area a bit. Other than that sign above (which isn’t visible until you walked to the other side of the ramp) and a marker on the trail fence, you’d never know this was an historic spot.

Peering at the Evel Knievel sign on the canyon side of the historic launch site.

A tiny fencepost marker on the trail that runs along the Snake River Canyon.

A macro shot of the Evel fencepost marker. History happened here.

We had a marvelous trip through Idaho, and like I said above, I still have another two or three blogs to wrap up our Idaho expedition. I’ll tell you before I get there, though, that visiting this obscure (and rapidly fading into further obscurity) spot was the highlight of the trip for me.

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Mosins, Sewer Pipes, and Lunar Landscapes

By Joe Berk

I’ve joked around a bit about my 1940 Tula Mosin-Nagant’s bore by writing that it looks like a sewer pipe. It turns out my description was closer than I realized. I recently purchased a Teslong borescope (watch for an upcoming review here on ExNotes), and I took a look at what things looked like inside the Mosin. Wow, was I ever shocked. That photo above is my Mosin, from the inside.

My Tula Mosin and a 100-yard target shot with my reloaded ammo. The first five shots are at the bottom of the orange bullseye. As the barrel heated, the subsequent shots hit higher.

I shoot only jacketed bullets in the Mosin described above, and even with that funky bore it shoots them well. This rifle is surprisingly accurate. That’s amazing, particularly in light of the fact that the bore (while clean) is extremely pitted, and in some places, I couldn’t even see the rifling. Still, it cuts a relatively tight group at 100 yards, especially considering that I shoot it only with its native iron sights. On a good day, it will put five shots into a little over an inch before the barrel heats up, and then when it does heat up, it walks them up a line no wider than an inch due to the stock deflecting the barrel upwards.

The Izzy Mosin at the West End Gun Club. I shoot cast bullets in this rifle.

A 7.62x54R cartridge loaded with a cast bullet.

The above Mosin’s bore, as seen through the Teslong borescope. It is in much better shape than the rifle I use for shooting jacketed bullets.

I have another Mosin (a hex receiver 1935 Izhevsk) I use for cast bullets, and I thought it had a pristine barrel. I was wrong about that, too. The Teslong reveals all. It’s way better than the Tula’s bore, but it also bears more than a passing resemblance to a lunar landscape. But it, too, can cut a decent group at 100 yards. What makes that amazing (at least to me) is that it does so with the same old prehistoric iron sights and cast bullets.

A 100-yard target shot with cast bullets. This rifle had been zeroed for 50 yards, which is why the shots are below the bullseye.

When these rifles were new back in the 1930s and 1940s, primers were corrosive, and corrode the bore they did. And obviously the soldiers who carried them did little to clean them adequately. I’m not faulting them; those troops had other things on their minds and I’m just making an observation. I’ve been driving myself nuts using the new borescope when I clean my modern rifles trying to get every speck of copper and carbon out of the bore, and I’ve been living in anguish every time I see a machining defect or scratch in these firearms. As the Mosins show, I’ve been worrying for nothing. A bore that is in pretty rough condition can still be accurate.

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Shoshone Falls, Idaho

By Joe Berk

The question I found confusing when navigating my way to Twin Falls, Idaho, was this: Is Shoshone Falls the “twin falls” referred to in Twin Falls, or is there another set of falls somewhere along the Snake River? I never really had a satisfactory, definitive answer to that question (and I asked several people in Twin Falls). It’s further complicated by the fact that upstream of Shoshone Falls (at the eastern edge of the town of Twin Falls), there’s another park called Twin Falls Park. I think the answer is this: There are other falls along the Snake River in the area of Twin Falls, but the Shoshone Falls are the two falls that give the city its name. If you know different, please let me know.

The arrow on the left points to Shoshone Falls. You can see how close the Falls are to the city of Twin Falls. The arrow on the right points to Twin Falls Park, which is also on the Snake River.

I plugged Shoshone Falls into Waze, and the nav program took us east out of town through a bit of farm country and past a few housing developments. The ride down to Shoshone Falls Park was an interesting one. When we approached the entrance where you pay $5 to enter the park and I asked about handicapped parking (I had a bad motorcycle accident 15 years ago and my handicapped parking tag was that cloud’s silver lining). The nice lady in the ticket booth told me my handicapped parking tag meant free admission. The month I spent in the hospital had a return on investment.

The ride down to Shoshone Falls from the entrance demands attention. It winds down a narrow lane alongside the mountain with a steep dropoff on one side (and there was no guardrail). I realized it would be best to save the sightseeing until I got down there.

The sign upon entering the parking area.

Once we arrived at the Shoshone Falls viewing area, we could see there are indeed two separate falls. It’s very scenic.

I stopped on the stairs leading to the viewing area. Our visit was nice and it wasn’t crowded.

A photo of Shoshone Falls from the viewing platform.

I’ve read online that Shoshone Falls is the Niagara Falls of the West, and Shoshone Falls has more of a drop than does Niagara. Shoshone Falls is a beautiful thing to see, but trust me on this, it’s not Niagara Falls. I’ve been to Niagara Falls. Shoshone Falls is nice, but there’s no comparing it to Niagara Falls.

Niagara Falls, from the US side. That’s Canada in the distance. I could feel the ground shaking when I shot this photo.

I looked down the Snake River. It was nice. It was scenic. I was glad we made the trip to Idaho. We were covering a lot of ground. I was getting great photos. Sue and I were on a content safari and Idaho was a target-rich environment.

The Snake River below Shoshone Falls. Just around the bend in the river is where Evel Knievel attempted to jump the Snake River Canyon. That story is the next blog in our Idaho series.

While studying the map to get to Twin Falls’ Shoshone Falls, I noticed that a bit downstream of Shoshone Falls along the Snake River the map showed the Evel Knievel Snake River Canyon jump site. There was no mention of it anywhere else. I wondered: Was it still there?

Stay tuned, folks.

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Craters of the Moon National Monument

By Joe Berk

As mentioned in our introductory Idaho blog, I had briefly visited the Craters of the Moon National Monument on the 5,000-mile Western America Adventure Ride with the Chinese and other folks who owned RX3 motorcycles. Good buddy Baja John did all the navigating and planning on that ride; I just rode at the front of the pack and took all the credit.

Baja John posing at the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserved entrance exactly 10 years ago. Tempus fugit, my friends.

We planned those early CSC trips as if it was just Baja John and me riding, and I figured on way too many miles each day. John and I can do 600-mile days easily. When we planned the larger Western America Adventure Ride, even 400-mile days were a huge challenge. A good rule of thumb on such larger group rides is to stick to a maximum of 200 to 250 miles each day. I didn’t know that then.

Anyway, on that first Craters of the Moon stop, we were on a big mileage day and we didn’t have too much time to spare. We pulled into the Craters entrance, grabbed a few photos, and continued our trek to Twin Falls. I recently wanted to do a Destinations piece on Craters for Motorcycle Classics magazine, and when I looked through my files, I found I only had a couple of Craters photos. That dearth of useable photos became part of the reason Susie and I visited Craters again.

The ride from Boise (where Susie and I started that morning) to Craters takes you east on I-84 and then east on US Highway 20. As an aside, Highway 20 runs across the entire United States, from Newport, Oregon to Boston, Massachusetts. Part of Highway 20 in Idaho was designated as the Medal of Honor Highway by Governor Brad Little in 2019, and Susie and I took it to Craters.

US Highway 20, Idaho’s Medal of Honor Highway. The photo ops through this part of the world are impressive. Bring a polarizer.

Idaho is justifiably proud of its Medal of Honor winners. That’s an M1 Abrams tank in the background, a turbine-powered, 70-ton beast that can hit 60 mph and fire on the move with great accuracy. Three Medal of Honor recipients currently live in Idaho; as many as 48 people awarded the Medal of Honor have an Idaho connection.

After Highway 20, it’s a left turn onto Highway 26 to get to Craters of the Moon. It’s more scenic riding, including the towns of Carey and Picabo. Carey is where we had a comical encounter on the Western America Adventure Tour when riding with our Chinese compañeros across Idaho. On that day 10 years ago, it happened to be Pioneer Day. We didn’t know that, nor did we know that there was a parade in Carey. I was in my usual spot (in front of the pack), Gresh was riding alongside me, and our group of a dozen RX3 riders were right behind us. As we approached Carey, local residents lined the streets. Many were holding American flags. They waved and cheered us as we rode into town. We had no idea what was going on. Gresh flipped his faceshield up and said, “Wow, a lot of people are following the blog” (I had been blogging our trip across the western US every day). We didn’t know it at the time, but we were only a few minutes ahead of the parade Carey was expecting, and those good Idahoans thought we were the advance guard. It was fun and it made for a great story (which I have told about a thousand times by now).

On US Highway 26 heading east into the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve. Note the volcanic rock on either side of the road.

The good folks in Carey were not waiting for Susie and me on this trip, but we had a good time anyway. When we rolled into Picabo a little further down the road, we had an even better time when we topped off the Jeep and had lunch (which was excellent). I told you a bit about that (and the Ernest Hemingway connection) yesterday.

The volcanic flow in the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve. That’s Echo Cone in the distance.

The National Park Service describes the landscape in and around Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve as “weird and scenic” and that’s an apt description. The landscape is almost lunar-like. Its alien features consist of mostly dark brown solidified lava surrounded and sometimes punctuated by patches of green vegetation. It makes for a dramatic landscape and awesome photo ops.

A walkway above the pahoehoe lave field.

Sue reading about the pahoehoe lava. The National Park Service does a great job making these kinds of places accessible and providing explanations telling the story at each location.

You can ride a designated, one-way, circular tarmac road through the Preserve, with paved offshoots for specific sights. One of the first stops is a pahoehoe lava field. The name is a particular type of lava, and it comes from the lava volcanoes and their flows in Hawaii. Pahoehoe lava is characterized by a rough and darkened surface. What made it even more interesting is the walkway above the lava. You can walk a loop of about a quarter of a mile and see what the hardened lava looks like. The walkway is a good thing; I don’t think it would be possible to navigate this terrain on foot.

Monolithic cinder cone fragments in one of the lava fields.

Another lava structure is called cinder cone. Sometimes these structures break apart and leave monolithic forms like those in the photograph above. One of the more dramatic areas in Craters of the Moon is the Inferno Cone. There’s a place to park near the base and you can climb to the peak.

The climb to the Inferno Cone peak. Sue did it. I watched.

Completing the circular ride through Craters of the Moon. The lava formations to the left are called cinder bombs.

There are several lava tubes (caves formed by lava flow) in Craters of the Moon, and if you wish, you can hike into them. We didn’t do that. There are also longer hikes throughout the Preserve if you want to explore more.

There’s much to see and do at Craters of the Moon. How long you stay and how much you see is up to you. We were there for about three hours and we had a great visit.

The next stop on our Idaho expedition would be Twin Falls. That’s coming up, so stay tuned.

If you would like to read about the Western America Adventure Ride and how CSC rewrote the motorcycle adventure touring book, the story is here: