I haven’t been to the Autry Museum in Los Angeles since 2018 when I took the photos you see here. I’ll get out there in the next few months. It’s one of the great destinations in the Los Angeles area, and what makes the Autry even better for me is the extensive firearms display.
I found these photos when I was poking around a bit on an external hard drive. For this blog, I’m including only the Colts in the Autry Museum. I only photographed a few of firearms I saw there. The Autry had more Colts, as well as Winchesters and other firearms on display.
The photos were a challenge. Each of the guns you see here was behind glass, and the lighting was fairly dim in the firearms display area. I was using my D3300 Nikon with its standard 18-55mm lens, shooting at ISO settings of 800 to 3200. These are not conditions conducive to capturing good images. I did the best I could.
The sixgun you see in the photo above is an original Colt Walker, one of the one thousand guns Sam Colt manufactured for Sam Walker in 1847. The last original Walker I know of that sold went for a million bucks. We’ve mentioned the Colt Walker in an earlier ExNotes blog. I bought the Uberti reproduction; the reproduction Uberti Walkers sell for just over $500.
The Autry Museum firearms collection features several Colt black powder revolvers. In addition to the Walker up top, here are a two more I photographed. The first one is a .36 caliber 1851 Colt Navy that belonged to Wild Bill Hickok. The second is a .44 caliber 1860 Colt Army. It’s quite fancy and it probably belonged to somebody famous, but I don’t know who (and that gives me a good excuse to get back out to the Autry Museum).
As you might imagine in a museum dedicated to the American West (and one carrying the name of a famous cowboy star like Gene Autry), the Colt 1873 Single Action Army revolver is well represented in this collection.
One of the 1873 Single Action Army revolvers on display at the Autrey Museum belonged to Theodore Roosevelt. His initials are carved into the ivory grips.
There were also a few Colt double action revolvers:
In addition to the early Colt revolvers, there were three Colt Pythons:
This is a crop showing some of the engraving detail on the revolver above.
The Museum also displayed an engraved 1911 .45 Auto. This 1911 was manufactured by Colt and several other manufacturers (as is the case even today; Colt still makes the 1911 and so do many other companies). The 1911 shown here had the trigger guard cut away. The idea behind removing the trigger guard is that it allows getting off a shot more quickly. The modification is not something I’d want.
There was one more Colt I should mention: A Bulldog Gatling gun. Richard Jordan Gatling, the Gatling gun inventor, never operated his own factory. All U.S. Gatlings were manufactured by Colt in Hartford, Connecticut. They were also made under license in Russia military by the Orloff company.
Uberti replicas of the Colt Walker and the Colt 1873 Single Action Army.
We’ve done other blogs in the past on the Colt Walker and the Colt Single Action Army (including the two replica revolvers you see in the photo above), other Colt black powder revolvers, and variations of the Gatling gun. Those blogs are here. You might also want to pick up our book on the Gatling gun.
We recently started a Uberti Firearms Facebook group, and the response and growth has been phenomenal. Within 10 days, membership grew to more than a thousand people. One of those new members is my new good buddy RJ, a Uberti owner and Hollywood stunt man. He posted an interesting story in the Facebook group, I asked if we could show it on ExNotes, and RJ graciously consented. The photo RJ refers to is the one at the top of today’s blog.
Here’s a pic of my iron frame Henry. I have a kind of a neat story how it came about.
In ’92 I was the armourer for “Buffalo Bills Wild West Show” at EuroDisney in Paris. I was constantly getting new guns and swapping guns out through our provider, a gun dealer in Paris. Most times it was someone I knew but every once in a while a new guy made the delivery.
One evening before showtime, I had been prepping a 66 carbine and a delivery showed up, brought to us by an older new guy with several firearms. I had a yellow boy carbine spread over the work bench and I was stoning the parts. The guy asked me what I was doing and I told him these guns are a little “clunky” when I get them and I have to smooth them up for the girls who played Annie Oakley. So he gave me a rundown on what he’s brought while I put the gun together.
I asked him how long he’s been with Maratiaee and he’s said he’s not; he’s just delivering and going to take in the show. I introduced myself and said, “I’m RJ Preston.” He said, “It’s a pleasure, Sir. I’m Aldo Uberti.”
Oh man, I just told Aldo Uberti his guns were clunky!!!! It turned out we became good friends and I told him I would love one of the iron frame Henrys. He offered to build me one personally, so I told him that the iron frames all had three-digit serial numbers. He said he had some three-digit frames set aside.
In about a month he asked which distributor I want the gun sent to in the United States. My dad and Val at Navy Arms were friends and we had done business with Navy Arms since the mid-’60s.
I had to wait until I got back to the US to see it but what a peach: No varnish, oil finished wood, under 300 serial number, an action smooth as butter, and with A.U. stamped on the inside of the right sideplate. It was already sighted in and it was a tack driver. It came with a Uberti company envelope and the invoice said “NO BALANCE DUE” with a short note enclosed. “Here’s one that’s not clunky, enjoy.”
He was a great guy. Rest in peace, Aldo.
What a story and what a rifle! RJ, you are one lucky guy. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
If you would like to join our ExhaustNotes.us Facebook group, it’s here. If you would like to join our Facebook Uberti Firearms group, it’s here.
Baja is a motorcycling paradise and I have a bunch of favorite destinations there. Seven of them, to be precise, although truth be told, I like everything in Baja except for Tijuana and maybe La Paz and Loreto. That said, my favorites are:
Tecate
San Quintin
Cataviña
Guerrero Negro
San Ignacio
Santa Rosalia
Concepcion Bay
Here’s where they are on a map:
So what’s so great about these places? Read on, my friends.
Tecate
Tecate is the gateway to the middle of northern Baja, and it’s the easiest point of entry. Both Tijuana and Mexicali are too big and too complicated, and the Mexican Customs guys are too official in those bigger cities. Tecate is a friendly place. The last time I picked up a tourist visa in Tecate, the Customs officer tried to sell me salsa he and his family made as a side gig. That’s what the place is like. I love it.
If you’re into fine dining (not as in expensive dining, but just great food), it’s hard to go wrong anywhere in Baja. Tecate has some of the best, from street taco vendors to Malinalli’s to Amore’s. I could spend a week just in Tecate. It’s that good.
Uncle Joe Gresh with street tacos in Tecate. Wow, were they ever good.The buffet at Malinalli’s is regional, awesome, and inexpensive. It’s a hidden treasure.Dos Joes’ motos on an Enfield expedition that took us through Tecate.The Tecate brewery dominate the Tecate skyline and is visible from just about anywhere in town. A can of ice cold Tecate with sea salt around the rim and a bit of lime juice…life doesn’t get any better.
San Quintin
San Quintin is 186.4 miles south of the border on Baja’s Pacific coast. It’s usually a quiet ag town that has a lot of things going for it, including interesting hotels, good food, and Bahia San Quintin. The Old Mill hotel and its associated restaurant, Eucalipto, is my personal favorite. The hotel is about 4 miles west of the Transpeninsular Highway, and what used to be a harrowing soft sand ride to it is now easy peasy…the road is paved and riding there is no longer a test of your soft sand riding skills. The Eucalipto restaurant is second to none.
What could be better than an ice cold Tecate overlooking Bahia San Quintin after a day’s riding in Baja? We once saw a California gray whale from this very spot.
A man, a motorcycle, and Mexico….the sign on the Transpenisular Highway pointing toward Bahia San Quintin and the Old Mill Hotel. The bike? That’s the 650cc Royal Enfield, perfect for riding Baja. But then just about any motorcycle is perfect for riding Baja.Bahia San Quintin at dawn. It’s an awesome spot.Uncle Joe enjoying breakfast in the Old Mill’s Eucalipto. It is an exquisite restaurant.
You’ll notice at the top of my scribblings about San Quintin I said it is usually a quiet town. The one exception for us was when there was a labor riot and we were caught in it. The Mexican infantryman about 80 miles north of San Quintin told me the road was closed, but his English matched my Spanish (neither are worth a caca), and without me understanding what I was riding into, he let me proceed. It’s not an experience I would care to repeat. But it’s the only event of its type I ever experienced in Old Mexico, and I’d go back in a heartbeat.
The Cataviña Boulder Fields
Ah, Cataviña. Rolling down the Transpeninsular Highway, about 15 miles before you hit the wide spot in the road that is Cataviña you enter the boulder fields. Other-worldly is not too strong a description, and if the place wasn’t so far south of the border it would probably be used more often by Hollywood in visits to other planets. The boulders are nearly white, they are huge, and the juxtaposition of their bulk with the bright blue sky punctuated by Cardon cactus.
Pastel geology. The area really is as beautiful as the photos depict it to be.
I get a funny feeling every time I enter this part of Baja. Not funny as in bad, but funny as in I feel like I’m where I belong. I once rolled through this region in the early morning hours with my daughter and she told me “you know, it’s weird, Dad. I feel like I’m home.” She understood (as in completely understood) the magic that is Baja.
I like the area and its stark scenery so much that one of my photos became the cover of Moto Baja! I grabbed that shot from the saddle at about 30 mph on a CSC 150 Mustang replica, which I subsequently rode all the way down to Cabo San Lucas (that story is here).
You should buy a copy or three. They make great gifts.
Every time I roll through Cataviña with other riders, the dinner conversation invariably turns to how the boulders formed. When I was teaching at Cal Poly Pomona, I asked one of my colleagues in the Geology Department. He know the area as soon as I mentioned it. The answer? Wind erosion.
Guerrero Negro
The Black Warrior. The town is named after a ship that went down just off its coast. It’s a salt mining town exactly halfway down the peninsula, and it’s your ticket in for whale watching and the best fish tacos in Baja (and that’s saying something). I’ve had a lot of great times in Guerrero Negro. It’s about 500 miles south of the border. You can see the giant steel eagle marking the 28th Parallel (the line separating Baja from Baja Sur) a good 20 miles out, and from there, it’s a right turn for the three mile ride west into town. Malarrimo’s is the best known hotel and whale watching tour, but there are several are they are all equally good. It you can’t get a room at Malarrimo’s, try the Hotel Don Gus.
CSC RX3 motorcycles at the Hotel Don Gus. We used to do annual Baja tours with CSC…those were fun times and great trips, and introduced a lot of folks to the beauty of Baja.What it’s all about…getting up close and personal with the California gray whales. They are in town from January through March.Tony, taco chef extraordinaire. You might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not.It’s worth the 500-miles trek to Guerrero Negro just to savor Tony’s fish tacos. You might think I’m exaggerating. But like I said above…I’m not.Man does not live by fish tacos alone, so for breakfast or dinner, it’s either the restaurant at Malaririmo’s or the San Remedio, a block north of the main drag into town. You won’t be disappointed at either.Sue’s photo of a Guerrero Negro osprey enjoying some sushi.
After you leave Guerrero Negro and continue south, the Transpeninsular Highway turns southeast to take you diagonally across the Baja peninsula. About 70 miles down the road (which is about half the distance to the eastern shores of Baja and the Sea of Cortez along Mexico Highway 1) you’ll see the turn for San Ignacio. It’s another one of Baja’s gems.
San Ignacio
San Ignacio is an oasis in the middle of the desert that forms much of Baja. The Jesuits introduced date farming to the region hundreds of years ago, and it’s still here in a big way. Leave Guerrero Negro, head southeast on Mexico Highway 1, and 70 miles later you run into a Mexican Army checkpoint, a series of switchbacks through a lava field, and when you see the date palms, turn right.
An oasis is usually formed by a volcano, and when a volcano is done discussing politics, it forms a lake. That’s the San Ignacio volcano and its lake, visible on the left as you ride into town.The San Ignacio church, built as a mission in the 1700s, dominates the center of San Ignacio. It’s a beautiful spot, one of the most photogenic in all of Baja.Another photo of the San Ignacio Mission. You’ll want to grab some photos in San Ignacio.Dates? Nope, not on that trip, but dates are one of the things San Ignacio is known for. I’ll bet they are delicious.
San Ignacio has a town square that’s right out of central casting, there’s a little restaurant that serves the best chile rellenos in all of Mexico (I’m not exaggerating), and the place just has a laid back, relaxing feel about it.
Santa Rosalia
You know, this town is another one of Baja’s best kept secrets. As you travel south on Highway 1, San Ignacio is the first town you encounter after traveling diagonally across the peninsula. Folks dismiss it because it’s an industrial town, but they do so in ignorance. There’s a lot of cool stuff in this place.
The ride into Santa Rosalia a few years ago with novelist Simon Gandolfi, Arlene Battishill, J Brandon, John Welker, and yours truly. That’s a dead fish I’m holding. We did a round trip to Cabo San Lucas on 150cc Mustang replicas, just to say that we could.
One of the things that’s unique about Santa Rosalia is the all-wooden architecture. The town was originally built by a French mining company (Boleo) and they built it they way they did in France. Like the Hotel Frances, which sits high on a mesa overlooking the town and the Sea of Cortez. I love staying there.
The Hotel Frances. It used to be a brothel.
There’s a cool mining musuem a block or two away from the Frances, and it’s worth a visit, too.
The mining museum in Santa Rosalia.
There are many cool things in Santa Rosalia, and one of the best is the Georg Eiffel church. It was designed by the same guy guy who did the Eiffel town.
Santa Rosalia’s church. It’s an unexpected delight. And I’m not even Catholic.Inside Santa Rosalia’s Georg Eiffel church.Stained glass. Photos ops abound in Santa Rosalia.
I’ve heard people dismiss Santa Rosalia as a gritty, industrial place not worth a stop. Trust me on this: They’re wrong. It’s one of my favorite Baja spots.
Bahía Concepción
Concepción Bay is easily the most scenic spot in Baja. It’s just south of Mulege (another delightful little town, and the subject of an upcoming ExNotes blog). Bahía Concepción runs for maybe 20 miles along the eastern edge of the Baja peninsula. I’ve seen whales from the highway while riding along its edge, the beaches are magnificent, and the photo ops just don’t stop. The contrast between the mountains and Cardon cactus on one side and the pelicans diving into bright green water is view from the saddle you won’t soon forget.
On one of many rides along Bahía Concepción, good buddy Joe Lee and yours truly rode our Triumph Triples. This is a favorite shot of mine.Besides “wow,” what can I say?World-famous novelist and motorcycle adventurer Simon Gandolfi andn yours truly on 150cc scooters. We were on our way back from Cabo San Lucas when we stopped for this Bahía Concepción photo. Hardtail 150cc scooters. Up and down the length of Baja. I think about that ride every time I see a GS parked at a Starbuck’s.
So there you have it: My take on seven favorite spots in Baja? How about you? Do you have any favorite Baja destinations? Let us know here in the comments sction!
Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area is an interesting spot located just west of Las Vegas. During our recent visit to Death Valley, we rode to the Red Rock Canyon area after stopping for lunch at Mom’s (a great restaurant) in Pahrump.
Pahrump is 30 miles northwest of Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area on Highway 160; Las Vegas is 17 miles to the east.
The Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area has a good plan for managing visitors. You have to make an online reservation that slots you into 15-minute arrival intervals. There’s $16 entrance fee (I guess it’s per vehicle), but when we arrived the park ranger didn’t even look at my senior citizen lifetime pass. He just waived us in. That’s happened to me a few times at National Parks. Maybe I just look old.
We took Highway 160 east from Pahrump and it was a pleasant ride. As we approached Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, the Spring Mountains on our left (north of Highway 160) had brilliant burgundy horizontal rock layers. The red is caused by iron oxide. We weren’t even in the Park yet, and the views were already stunning. It really is something to see.
Once we entered Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, we explored the Visitor Center and four interpretive exhibits accessible via a walkway outside. After that, we started the 13-mile one-way ride through the park. There are many stops offering different views of the mountains and rock formations. Motorcycles are fine on this road, and we also saw people riding bicycles. I’d like to do the ride on a bicycle someday. It looked like fun.
Desert tortoises live here and there are exhibits that provide information about them. The tortoises live near Visitor Center paths, but we didn’t see them while we were there. That’s okay; I’ve seen desert tortoises out and about on previous treks. As an aside, if you happen to see one, don’t pick it up. Doing so will frighten the tortoise and literally scare the pee out of it, which can induce dehydration and kill the tortoise. The desert tortoise is a protected species, so leave them alone.
You can hike and camp in Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. When I read that I immediately thought of Mike Huber, who is wheeling and camping his way around New Zealand as I write this.
Although I’ve been to Las Vegas many times, I had never visited Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. It’s about as different from Las Vegas as a place can be, and in my opinion that’s a good thing. If you’re ever in this part of the world, Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area is worth a stop.
Carl Bennett of the UK has contributed to the ExNotes blog before. He recently sent to us a piece related to riding gear and we thought you might enjoy it.
By Carl Bennett
One thing I never wanted to hear on a motorcycle was the Ra-ta-da-ta-da of my head, elbows, hips, knees and toes bouncing down the tarmac having come off it. Ok, you might have to be of a certain age and indeed of a more than certain pretentiousness to recognise the song and the joke in the title, if that’s not too strong a word for it, but if you ride, you’ll have thought about buying the stuff, if you haven’t already. Which I’m feeling as if everybody else in the universe already has.
Back when I started riding motorcycles, rider armour was something I read about in Bike magazine, something strictly for people like Barry Sheene, who was the nearest thing to the Bionic Man I’d ever heard of. For our younger readers, Barry Sheene dropped his bike at Daytona somewhere around 170mph when he was 24 when his tyre blew up.
“I was rolling, and I could feel all my skin coming off. I didn’t feel the leg because all I could feel was the skin tearing off my shoulders. I went to get up and looked down, and my leg was right-angled, poking under the other one.”
Barry Sheene
He broke his left femur, right wrist, forearm and collarbone, six broken ribs, and a few vertebrae, sandpapered a lot of his skin off and got himself a 40cm steel plate screwed into his leg bone to hold it together. I don’t know what it’s like to do 170 on a motorcycle, and on my antique BMW F650, it’s not something I’m likely to find out. But I do know I never want to feel anything like Barry Sheene that day. Or any other.
I’d seen a kid at school who came off his bike at something under 40mph, but as he was wearing one of those sleeveless tops with a strap over each shoulder, the kind of thing they made you wear at English schools for Games back in the days when the P.E. teacher would wander around the shower room to “make sure” everyone was washing. This kid had one big scab from his wrist to his shoulder for a couple of weeks. He’d given up gloves to keep cool.
My view back then was that the more I looked like Mad Max, the cooler I’d look, so I bought myself a leather jacket. The one I wanted was in a proper motorcycle dealer in Bath, just about affordable, padded with something at the shoulder and the elbow and bulked me up massively. It was also an unseemly shade of orange, which was probably why it was affordable. The other problem was all I had was a Yamaha FS1E. Seriously.
Instead, I got a jacket made for me by a chain-smoking hippy in a weird shop in Bath’s Walcot Nation. He got the leather from cutting up old jackets, handbags, or wherever he could find it for free, then lined the coat with an old wool blanket he’d probably dug out of a decommissioned Cold War bunker under Box Hill. I got full marks for recycling and alternative cred, but it was about as protective as the mini-skirts it was probably made from, and it stank of cigarettes for months until the wind blew the smell away.
When I got a 650 Triumph, I had to get something more becoming, so when I was on holiday and visited Truro market, I bought the Stranglers-style black leather jacket I’d always yearned for, for a massive £35. As Meatloaf used to tell us, it was long ago and far away. According to Google, that would be about £180 today, so it’s not so much better after all. When I got my Sportster, I got myself a Schott A2. Luckily, I never got to test either of these out seriously, but after that, I turned my Harley into a laser printer and a laptop to start a business that saw me around the world for 15 years or so, during which I didn’t have a bike and being dumb, gave away or sold all my kit, gloves, Ashman boots, Belstaff boots, open-face Bell 500, goggles, jackets, waxed cotton over-trousers, Rukka suit, the Schott, the lot.
Then, just before Christmas, Santa brought me a BMW 650. Before I rode it anywhere, I had to start from scratch, starting with a helmet. I drove up to Harleston on one of those crisp December days to find a shop full of bikes I didn’t even know the names of, where they totally ignored me, then on to a shed (always a sign of a better bike shop) full of guys my own age and more who tried very quietly but firmly to sell me a nice Triumph but didn’t have any helmets. When I got home, Best Beloved, who fondly recalled her tasselled leather jacket and Yamaha 650, took me to the nearest bike shop in Ipswich, marched me to the helmet racks and whipped out her bank card. She chose a flip-front helmet I’d never heard of. I tried it on in the shop, and the sales guy told me it was the right size. After talking me out of buying a Scott chain oiler, agreeing it would be ideal if I was riding Route 66 coast to coast but also pointing out quietly and firmly that, in fact, I wasn’t, she walked me to the till and then her car.
The biggest problem was my head. It’s huge. Seriously. It’s 63cm and 64 if I need a trip to the barber. I tried the shiny new, never-heard-of-the-maker polycarb (I know..) helmet on in my home office and couldn’t believe three things: How heavy it was. How much my head hurt. That the nice guy in the shop was lying when he’d told me the helmet was my size.
It clearly said 61cm on the label on the back of it, and yes, I most definitely had said 63 in the shop. Another Saturday, another trip to the store, and a full refund. I got a Bell online instead, with the Gold ACU sticker.
I’d forgotten, or rather never really knew, how fashion was now a massive part of motorcycles. This is good because it means old stock is Out Of Fashion, and the seller still has to sell it, so there’s a whole load of good stuff being sold off cheap because Oh-mi-Gard it’s last season’s gear.
The same day we went to the bike shop in Ipswich I answered an ad on Gumtree that promised leather jeans for £30. After a tour of the town’s lesser architectural gems southeast of the railway station we found the house and the guy who said he was giving up riding motorcycles. Whether or not that was true, £30 bought a fantastic pair of leather bike jeans, padded at the knee. Ok, they zip from the wrong side and possibly, just possibly the cut makes them fit slightly like jodhpurs, more as if I was going to co-pilot Amy Johnson than ride a motorcycle, but hey. £30. A significant upgrade on Levi’s for protection anyway, and I’m too embarrassed to say when I remember Levi’s were £30 anyway.
The brand new Halversen gloves donated to a charity shop on Ebay were better than the ones I used to ride with, despite the Mad Max-style knuckle dusters that seem to be a legal requirement for riding gloves these days. The Bering jacket was the best thing though. I was intending to use my old leather jacket. Not the Schott that went to Ebay about five years back but the one I bought one Christmas in Fuengirola about 20 years back when it wouldn’t stop raining. After waxing it, soaking it in neatsfoot oil, daubing it with cocoa-butter and generally stinking my office up I realised that I might as well just buy something with armour and have done with it.
The Bering was a ludicrous £89, and that’s from a man who still thinks £4.95 is a benchmark price for pheasant pie, chips and peas, which I used to get for quiet evenings on my own in Stow-On-The-Wold back when I had a 400-year old house there. It’s got armour in the elbows and the shoulders, and a slot to stuff more armour down the back. It’s blue instead of leather coloured, with a twin zip up the front and a zip across the shoulders at the back, so that in summer you can ventilate yourself on the three weeks it ever gets above 80 Fahrenheit in the U.K. It’s made of 600 denier Cordura with a woven aluminium zip-in full lining for winter, and a handy strap and a brass buckle at the throat. More to the point, despite all the protection and windproofing, it doesn’t make me look like I’m auditioning for a Mad Max film. Best Beloved, who sews for a living, took one look at it and said “That’s a £300 jacket.”
Now, maybe it’s me, but if I’m spending £300 on a jacket I’m only going to wear in one eventuality, on the back of a motorcycle or anywhere else, then I want it to look pretty special. Some lizard skin detailing, maybe, or a paisley lining. Instead I get armour and fine-spun aluminium. When I started riding the biggest deal in protective clothing was whether you could find white sea-boot socks to turn down over the top of your knee-length zip-up boots, the ones where the only armour insert was a steel plate in the right instep, for the kick-starter.
The older I get the more I realise that saying is true: the past is another country. They do things differently there. And just sometimes, at least when it comes to motorcycle clothing, they do some things a whole lot better here.
Carl, thanks much. It’s a good writeup, I enjoyed reading it, and I think our readers will, too. ExNotes readers, if you’d like to follow Carl’s blog, the link is writer-insighter.com.
I recently posted a couple of blogs about Death Valley, including a recap of my several visits over the last decade. This blog is a little bit different. it’s about some of the cool stuff near Death Valley. I didn’t have any hard rules about how close “near” means. I’m including the places I’ve visited and thought were worth a mention. If you think there should be more, leave a comment and tell us about it. We love hearing from you and we love when you click on the popup ads, so don’t forget to do so (and when you see that donate button at the bottom of this blog…well, you know what to do).
I shot most of the photos in this blog with my Nikon D810 and the 24-120 Nikon lens. A few were with the Nikon N70 film camera I recently wrote about, and where that is the case, I’ll say so in the photo caption.
Baker
When visiting Death Valley from the south (as in southern Calilfornia), it’s likely you’ll pick up Highway 127 in Baker, just off Interstate 15. There used to be a hotel in Baker, but it’s gone. There are a couple of gas stations a couple of tacky fast food franchises, but don’t waste your time eating in a fast food franchise. What you want is the Mad Greek.
The Mad Greek restaurant in Baker, California.
I didn’t eat at the Mad Greek on this trip (either coming to or leaving Death Valley). Sue decided several trips ago she didn’t like the place, so I deferred to her wishes. I never know when I might want to buy more reloading components, another gun, another watch, or another motorcycle, so we took a pass on the Mad Greek (Sue is of Greek ancestry; maybe that has something to do with it). When I ever pass through Baker on my own, though, the Mad Greek is a sure thing.
The Baker thermometer. If you are going to visit Death Valley, the winter months are very comfortable (it was 68 degrees when I took this photo). It gets warmer in the summer.
The other thing Baker is famous for is its thermometer. It’s 134 feet tall, in honor of reaching that record temperature in 1913 (I guess we had global warming back then, too). If you go through Baker, you have to get a photo of the Baker thermometer. It’s a rite of passage.
Highway 127
The signs are new; the Old Spanish Trail is not.
The ride north through the California desert from Baker to Death Valley is both beautiful and historic. It follows the Old Spanish Trail, something I had never of until I saw the signs and did a little research. Established in 1829, the Spanish Trail is a 700-mile long road that runs from Santa Fe to southern California. It traverses New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and California. John C. Fremont and Kit Carson used it. Serapes and other woven goods went to California from New Mexico; California’s horses and mules went to Santa Fe. Indian slaves, contraband, and more used this same route.
Looking north on California Highway 127 after leaving Baker. You probably think I cranked up the saturation on this photo, but I didn’t. The CalTrans folks had recently repainted the yellow and white lines. The dark blue skies are due to the polarizing filter I had on my 24-120 lens.
Shoshone
The first time I ever visited Shoshone was on the Destinations Deal ride. I remember well the terror I felt on that stretch of road, leading a group of other riders after a long day through Death Valley. We were heading south on Badwater Basin Road and I was relying on my cell phone and Waze to guide me. I was worried about running out of gas, keeping one eye on the gas gage and the other on the road. I should be okay, I kept thinking, but I’d never been this way before and I didn’t know. Then my Waze program quit. It had been running on stored info because I had no cell phone reception for the last 60 or 70 miles. The gas gage was nudging closer to the “no more” line and I was sweating bullets. It sure was remote out there.
Finally, Highway 178 ran into Highway 127 and a sign pointed to Shoshone. I felt better, and then I realized I didn’t have the Shoshone Inn’s address where we would spend the night. “How will I find it?” I wondered. It wouldn’t be easy leading other riders while looking for the place (I’ve had to do this on other rides). Then I was suddenly in Shoshone and I started to laugh. You can’t miss the Shoshone Inn. It’s one of only three or four buildings. I’d say Shoshone was a wide spot in the road, but California 127 was no wider there than it was anywhere else.
Shoshone was founded by Ralph Fairbanks in 1910; initially, it was primarily a mining town (old Ralph was a Death Valley prospector and entrepreneur). Charles Brown (yep, Charlie Brown) married Fairbanks’ daughter. Charlie and Stella moved away, but they returned in 1920 and further developed the town. Charlie became a California state senator and he turned ownership of Shoshone over to his son (who was also named Charles Brown). I guess you might say Shoshone is a Charlie Brown kind of place. I been there a few times, always looking for a girl named Lucy, but so far, I’ve had no luck.
The sign lies.
As I mentioned in an earlier blog, the Population 31 sign lied. It’s only 13 people now. The lady who runs the hotel (Jennifer, not Lucy) commutes from Pahrump (Pahrump is about 45 minutes east on the other side of the Nevada state line). She told us about the sign lying. The rest of the people either died or moved away. None of them were named Lucy.
Shoshone is the last town before the southern entrance to Death Valley National Park. One woman, a Mrs. Sorrells, inherited the town. There’s a school that handles kids from K through 12th grade, some of whom commute from up to 120 miles away. There’s a general store (including a gas station), a museum, a restaurant (the Crowbar Cafe and Saloon), a nature trail, an RV park, and an unmanned airstrip. I guess if you are flying to Shoshone, you have to make a pass or two over the runway to make sure it’s clear.
The Shoshone Inn
A film photo taken with the Nikon N70 and tweaked in Photoshop.
The Shoshone Inn is surprisingly nice, although it’s probably time for it to be refurbished. There’s a gas-fired fire pit outside in the unpaved parking lot; when I rode into Shoshone with the Destinations Deal crew we spent a nice evening drinking Joe Gresh’s beer, which he bought from Shoshone’s next-door Charles Brown general store.
I got up early the next morning to take pictures with my film camera (the N70 my sister gave to me) and I saw that the fire pit was still going; I think the Shoshone Inn desk clerk may have forgotten to turn it off (they will be surprised when they get their gas bill).
The Charlie Brown Rocks
A view of the Charlie Brown rocks.
When I Googled what else was around Shoshone, the Charlie Brown rocks appeared. Highway 178 east intersects with Highway 127 right at the southern edge of Shoshone. When I saw the Charlie Brown rocks on Google, I wasn’t sure how far east on 178 I’d have to go, but when I approached Shoshone, I saw it was not far at all. The rocks are what appear to be sandstone formations and they are kind of in your face as you approach Shoshone. I could see the cave openings I’d read about, but there were signs to ward off trespassers and I didn’t want to wander in. A few photos were good enough.
A shot from Highway 178.
The Crowbar Cafe and Saloon
An N70 photo of the Crowbar Cafe and Saloon. It’s diagonally across the street from the Shoshone Inn.
Sue and I had two meals in the Crowbar. As I had experienced on previous visits (especially if you get there later in the day) it’s good to have three or four meal choices ready when the waitress takes your order. Hamburgers? No hamburgers, we had a busload of Chinese tourists come through and they ate all the hamburgers. Trout? No trout. Tacos? Yep, the Crowbar had tacos and they were surprisingly good.
The same restaurant, but with the D810 Nikon. Digital is superior to film. Duh.
When we left after lunch that first day, we spotted a small airplane on the runway at the town’s southern edge (the runway is tucked into the southeastern corner of the Highway 127/178 intersection). There’s no tower or buildings or anything else there, and you only see that it’s a paved runway when you look (you wouldn’t notice it otherwise). We think the four young guys who were sitting one table over from us at lunch flew in from somewhere to eat at the Crowbar.
We sat at the bar the next night and the one-man-band lady who handled everything (waitressing, barmaiding, dishwashing, etc.) asked if I wanted a beer. You bet, I answered. There were four taps, all unmarked. She didn’t know which tap had which beer, so she poured me a small sample of each and I opted for a craft-brewed dark beer. The bartender/waiter/dishwasher told me was made in nearby Tecopa. It was good, as were the chicken fajitas Sue and I shared for dinner.
The Shoshone Museum
An N70 photo of the Museum. Not too bad for an old film camera.
We didn’t go into the Shoshone museum because it was closed the two times we visited the Crowbar (it’s right next door). It didn’t look as if there was much there; it was all housed in a very small building. I took a picture of an old Chevy, an old fuel pump, and a bit of junk in front of the museum. I’m guessing the museum used to be a gas station. I’ll bet Charlie Brown owned it.
Tecopa Springs
Tecopa Springs is short drive east of Shoshone on Highway 178. We went there twice. We saw quite a few RVs but we only saw a few people in front of Tecopa’s two restaurants. A young fellow we spoke to at the Crowbar the previous night told us he lived in Tecopa for six months each year and worked remotely (he was a digital nomad like Mike Huber). I imagine he spent winters in Tecopa and found someplace cooler in the summer. He said he came into Shoshone once a week for dinner because he wanted fried food and he couldn’t make fried food in his RV.
The two restaurants in Tecopa are a barbeque place and a combined bar and pizza place. The digital nomad we spoke with in the Crowbar said Wednesday (the day we rolled into Tecopa for dinner) was the best night at the barbeque place, but that restaurant was closed when we rode by. We rode on to the beer and pizza palace. When we entered, I asked the guy at the bar about the dark beer I’d had the night before in Shoshone (which was made in Tecopa), but they didn’t serve that brew there. He gave me a small sample of their dark beer (also brewed in Tecopa). It had kind of a peanut flavor to it and I thought it was okay, but the beer the previous night was better. The bar only had two seats; there were other people drinking and smoking at tables outside the restaurant.
What can I say? Folks in Tecopa don’t have a lot to do, I guess. This is an N70 photo.
When I asked about their dark beer, the one guy who was seated at the bar told me,”it’s this one…the dick.” I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly until I looked at the tap (which I hadn’t noticed). It was, indeed, a dick. I had to grab a photo.
Tecopa pizza, via the N70. There’s a whole lotta PhotoShop tweakin’ goin’ on in this photo.
We ordered a pizza that seemed to take forever. When the guy finally brought it out, it was cold. It had probably sat for a while. Trust me on this: You wouldn’t want to make the trip to Tecopa for the pizza. Maybe the photo ops, but not the pizza.
There’s also a date farm somewhere beyond Tecopa. Sue and I rode out there after dinner, but it closed at 5:00 p.m. and we were too late. They had date shakes and I was looking forward to one, but that will have to wait until my next visit.
The Amargosa Opera House
After poking around a bit more on the Internet, I read about the Amargosa Opera House in Death Valley Junction. It was 50 miles north of Shoshone. The pictures on the Internet looked like the Opera House theatre’s interior would make for an interesting photo stop, so I called a couple of days before. I mentioned that I was doing this for the ExhaustNotes website and possibly, a travel article for Motorcycle Classics magazine.
My free photo. Saved $500 on that one, I did.
A young lady answered the phone and told me I needed to email their Director of Operations. She promised he would get back to me that day. That sounded like a plan and the Director of Operations did indeed get back to me with this message: I could take their daily tour (at a cost of $15 per person) or I could pay $500 for one hour to photograph the theatre. Gulp. I can’t remember ever paying anyone anything for something like this.
Sue and I rode to Death Valley Junction anyway, and I grabbed a few photos from the outside. When we first saw the place, it looked run down. It’s hard to believe anyone would stay their hotel, but I guess people do. A few photos and a $500 savings later, we were back on the road.
Pahrump
After spending another half day in Death Valley National Park, we decided to head over to Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. That’s near Las Vegas. On the way over, we crossed into Nevada and entered Pahrump. Pahrump is a much bigger town than anything around Death Valley. It has been one of the fastest growing towns in the entire U.S., with 15% year-over-year population growth for each of the last several years. We thought Pahrump would be a good place to have lunch, and we were right.
Mom’s: A great restaurant in Pahrump.
Sue found a place called Mom’s on her cell phone, it had great reviews, and we had to wait a few minutes to get in (which is always a good sign). Trust me on this: If you ever find yourself in Pahrump, Mom’s is where you want to eat.
I had a corn beef hash omelet for lunch at Mom’s. It was magnificent.
As I mentioned above, we went through Pahrump on our way to the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. I was going to squeeze that in here, too, but this blog is getting a little long. I’ll save Red Rock for another blog.
On the ride out of town on our way back to Shoshone, we stopped for gas in Pahrump. It was $3.68 per gallon. That’s a good two bucks cheaper than what we pay in California. After filling up and on the way out of town, we saw a gun store creatively named Pahrump Guns and Ammo. Sue won’t let me drive past a gun store without stopping, so we did. It was a small place and we had a nice visit with the two guys who worked there. I told them we were from California and we were collecting campaign contributions for Hillary Clinton. We had a good laugh. People in Pahrump have a sense of humor.
Barstow’s Del Taco Restaurants
You probably think I’m crazy including the Barstow Del Taco restaurants in this blog. I’m listing it here because if you’re going to Death Valley from southern California, it’s a safe bet you’re going to pass through Barstow, and if you’re going to pass through Barstow, you need to stop at one of the three Del Tacos there.
There’s a story behind this. About 15 years ago I had a bad motorcycle crash and I had to spend a month in the hospital. One of the guys I shared a room with was the son of Ed Hackbarth, the entrepreneur who founded the Del Taco restaurant chain.
One of the three Barstow Del Taco restaurants. Trust me on this: You want to stop at Del Taco in Barstow.
Ed Hackbarth is a real prince of a guy. He started Del Taco in Barstow, the restaurant chain was riotously successful, and it spread all over the U.S. Ed sold the Del Taco chain way back in 1976 to a group of investors and it continues to thrive. But there’s a big difference between the rest of the Del Taco empire and the three Del Tacos in Barstow. When Ed sold Del Taco, part of the deal was that he kept the original three Barstow Del Tacos. Ed would continue to use the Del Taco name on those three restaurants, but he didn’t have to use the Del Taco menu and he could serve food the way he wanted. And that’s what Ed does. The portions are bigger (they’re huge, actually), everything is fresh (nothing is ever frozen), the restaurants are immaculate, and the staff is super friendly. The Barstow Del Tacos have some of the best tacos and burritos I’ve ever had. We won’t drive through Barstow without stopping at one of Ed’s three Del Tacos, and there’s been times we’ve made the 80-mile trek from my home to Barstow just for a taco. You should try one. You can thank me later.
I’ll bet you never thought you’d find me reading (much less writing a review about) a romance novel. You might be thinking we’re getting desperate for ExNotes content. Nope, it’s not that at all. We’re into our sixth year publishing ExNotes, and somehow content just keeps jumping over the transom and into the boat. It’s been an enjoyable ride with no signs of slowing down.
So back to the main attraction and the topic of this blog: Finding Home. It’s a romance novel, and it’s the first book in this genre I’ve ever read. If you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll share with you that I enjoyed it. You might be thinking there’s no way in hell you’d ever read a romance novel, and that’s okay. But what about your significant other? Would she enjoy a good read?
Finding Home is a great story about a woman who finds a new life, a new location, and a new love. Discarded after a long marriage by a callous and selfish husband, Katherine (the main character) makes a somewhat impulsive decision to relocate to Rehoboth Beach during a 6-month sabbatical. She finds new friends (a group of successful businesswomen) and a new man in her life, and then faces a new set of challenges when her sabbatical ends. Building on the success and confidence Katherine gained in the Rehoboth Beach move, she is faced with another set of life altering decisions. I won’t reveal the ending (no spoilers in this review), but I will tell you that Katherine’s new circle of friends sets up a continuing line of novels from this new author (which I look forward to reading).
Deborah Smith Cook’s interests and expertise in several areas are skillfully woven into the novel, including bicycling, cooking, fine wines, fine dining, Nikon photography, creative writing, and more. This (along with a good story line, superb character development, and great writing) make Finding Home‘s substantive heft (380 pages!) move along quickly. The chapters are light and frequent, and for me that made reading several each evening a well-anticipated treat.
In the interests of full disclosure, you should know that I know the author. Deborah Smith Cook was one of just under 200 classmates with whom I graduated high school. I’ve seen Deborah every 10 or 30 years or so at high school reunions (the most recent being our 50th reunion). I bought Finding Home because I knew the author and I thought it would be cool to support another writer’s efforts (rather than always asking folks to support mine). Then I found I enjoyed the story. I think you will, too. And I know your wife, girlfriend, sister, mother, or daughter will.
I guess I like Death Valley, because when Sue and I learned we had to use or lose some of our airline miles (and that we could use them for a hotel stay), we opted for a couple of nights at the Shoshone Inn in Shoshone, California (Shoshone is a little town just below Death Valley’s southern edge). Plus, I wanted to play with the N70 Nikon (a film camera) a little more and compare some of its photos to the digital pics from my Nikon D810.
The 2024 Death Valley Adventure Run route. We took a couple of days to do this and more. You could cram it all into a single day, but what be the point?
The plan was to roll in to Shoshone through Baker, and hit Dante’s View, Zabriskie Point, Artist’s Palette, Badwater Basin, the Ashford Mill ruins, and then head back to Shoshone. If we had enough time, we wanted to explore other points of interest, too.
When we checked in to the Shoshone Hotel on this visit, I asked about the 31 people who lived there. The hotel clerk told me the sign lied. The current population was 13 (not 31) people.
Dante’s View
The sign up at Dante’s View, nicely oxidized.
Our first stop the next morning was at Dante’s View. This spot gives a good overview of nearly the entire Death Valley basin and the surrounding mountains. Here’s the view looking northwest:
You can see that Death Valley was flooded, and that the floodwaters in the basin were receding. No kayaking allowed by the time we arrived.
The vantage point at Dante’s View is really a panorama from nearly due north to nearly due south. I took several photographs from that vantage point and stitched them together in Photoshop. The photo below is a link. If you click on it, it will open a larger version.
Go ahead and click on this photo…I dare you.
Zabriskie Point
From there, it was on to Zabriskie Point. We backtracked from Dante’s View back to Highway 190, turned left, and then headed to Zabriskie Point. The ride through the rolling desert was nice, and the views were spectacular.
Walking up to Zabriskie Point. This is another scenic location, with lots of California and Death Valley geology on display.A view of the different strata at Zabriskie Point.Looking across Death Valley to the snow-capped mountains on the other side.Zabriskie Point badlands. You can have a lot of fun with a camera at Death Valley. This was a good time of year to be there, too.
Artist’s Palette
Artist’s Palette. There are different elements present in these mountains, which provide an array of color.
From there it was on to Artist’s Palette and then Badwater Basin. Artist’s Palette is a on a road that cuts off of Badwater Basin Road. The name is based on the fact that the hills in that area are multicolored. I plan to do another blog in the near future just on Artist’s Palette and the geology that gives the place its many hues.
PhotoShop, artificial intelligence, fake lightning, and Artist’s Palette.
You might be wondering about the photo at the very top of this blog (I repeated here so you wouldn’t have to scroll up). No, I didn’t just happen to trip the D810 Nikon’s shutter when lightning struck. This is the same photograph of Artist’s Palette two pics up, but I had a little fun with a c0uple of PhotoShop features. I used the program’s artificial intelligence selection feature to select the sky (which, as you can see from the earlier photo was nice and sunny), and then I told PhotoShop to replace the sky with dark clouds and lightning. PhotoShop gave me three options; I selected the one you see here. What’s kind of cool is that it also shaded the mountains a bit, as they would appear under a dark and cloudy sky. I’m still on the fence on this topic of artificial intelligence and its uses. I’d prefer just plain old actual intelligence in more of my fellow mammals, but hey, I’m a grumpy old man who likes to shout at the clouds. What’s nice is now I can use AI to make the clouds appear whenever I want to.
Badwater Basin
After Artist’s Palette, we were back on Badwater Basin Road, headed south to Badwater Basin. Death Valley, as most folks know, is below sea level. As you ride through different parts of Death Valley, there are signs showing how far you are below sea level. It’s cool. Badwater Basin is the lowest of the low at 282 feet below sea level.
Looking up from Badwater Basin at the mountains to the east. Our location was 282 feet below sea level.Fellow tourists walking out into Death Valley’s Badwater Basin.
We had a lot of rain in southern California this winter, and in Death Valley, that resulted Badwater Basin being submerged. There was enough a couple of weeks before our visit that the National Park Service allowed kayaking in Badwater Basin. By the time of our visit, though, the Park authorities had put a lid on that. There was still water present, but it had receded enough that people would have to walk through the muck at the edges, which would damage the area. It’s too bad; a photo of folks kayaking in Badwater Basin would have been cool.
One of the nice things about traveling to places like Death Valley is that you meet people from all over the world. We had a nice conversation with a young guy from Beijing who was an exchange student in the Cal State system. I asked where he was from and he was hesitant to tell me at first, which I chalked up to nervousness induced by the tense(r) situation between the US and Chinese governments. I told him about our travels through China and that broke the ice. He was impressed.
Sue and I hamming it up with the cameras. The guy next to her is the young man from China mentioned above.
When you stand at the edge of Badwater Basin, there are mountains to the left and mountains to the right. I took nine photos and stitched them together in PhotoShop, just like I did for the Dante’s View panorama above. If you click on the photo below, it will open a larger version, which gives a small hint at the grandeur of the Badwater Basin vantage point.
Go ahead…make my day: Click on this photo.
Ashford Mill Ruins
There’s not much to the Ashford Mill Ruins. It’s the shell of a building that processed gold prior to shipment out of Death Valley. It was on the road back to Shoshone, so we stopped to grab a few photos.
All you ever wanted to know about the Ashford Mill ruins.What’s left of the Ashford Mill. Working here in the summer must have been brutal.
We wrapped up our ride through Death Valley late in the day, continuing south on Badwater Basin Road and then east as it became Highway 178. It was back to Shoshone for us, with dinner that night in Tecopa Springs. I’ll tell you more about that hopping locale in the next blog.
As I mentioned in a recent blog, Sue and I recently spent a couple of days in Death Valley. I love the place. I lived in California for 30+ years before I ever made the trip out there on my KLR 650, and since then, I’ve been back several times. Here’s a short recap of those previous visits.
The Teutonic Twins Run
My KLR in Death Valley on that first visit. I loved my KLR; it was a great motorcycle.Good buddy Dennis, who won the chili-eating contest at Brown’s BMW.
That first ride on the KLR 650 didn’t just happen because I decided to finally get out there to see the hottest place on the planet. It came about because the guys at Brown BMW had a chili cookoff and eating contest followed by a two-day ride to Death Valley. If it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t have made it out there. I was the lone KLR rider; all the other guys were on big BMW twins. I’d ridden with those guys before and they were too fast for me. Nope, I was happy as a clam poking along on my 650cc single. I left right after the chili cookoff because I planned to meander along through other parts of the Mojave before spending the night in Baker, which was to be our jumping off point the next morning. It was fun, that ride out to Baker was. Just me and the KLR. I explored the desert around Kelbaker (southeast of Baker) and the old train depot there.
The next morning, we all had breakfast at the Mad Greek (a Baker and southern California icon), and then rolled out on California State Route 127 to the lower end of Death Valley. That’s a good highway that cuts through the desert. There’s nothing else out there, and the Teutonic twin crowd quickly left me in the dust. They were running well over 100 mph; the KLR might touch 100 on a good day. But I didn’t need to run at those speeds that day. I was enjoying the ride.
The charcoal kilns in Death Valley, I’m sure glad I didn’t skip seeing them on that first Death Valley foray.
When I left Death Valley on that first trip, I left through the northwestern part to pick up the 395 back down to southern California. That was a good thing. I saw a sign for Wildrose Canyon Road and another sign for the charcoal kilns pointing down a dirt road. I was by myself and I was in no hurry. I didn’t have any idea what the charcoal kilns were all about, but I was interested in learning more. I took that road, and I’m glad I did. Every time I’ve been in Death Valley since that first trip, the road to the charcoal kilns was closed, including on this my recent trip. If you are ever out there and the road is open, you might consider seeing them. The kilns are interesting, and Wildrose Canyon Road (as the name suggests) is a beautiful ride.
The Hell’s Loop Endurance Run
Following Arlene and TK on 150cc California Scooters into Death Valley.
Another ride in was when good buddy TK, good buddy Arlene, and I rode in the Hell’s Loop endurance rally on the 150cc California Scooters. That was a challenging day. We rode 400 miles into and through Death Valley and then returned to Barstow. It was cold and the hardtail CSC 150 beat me up, but it was fun. That little 150 never missed a beat.
We had lunch at the Furnace Creek Inn, and shortly before turning off the road, we saw this guy. He is obviously well fed.As soon as we sat down for lunch at the Furnace Creek Inn, this guy landed a couple feet away. We had just seen the coyote. I asked the roadrunner if he owned anything made by Acme, or if he was being chased by old Wiley. He responded with but two words: Beep Beep.
My next Death Valley adventure was a photo safari with Sue. We did that one in my Subie CrossTrek in a single day. It was a long day, but the photo ops did not disappoint. What was kind of cool about that trip is that when we rode through Badwater Basin, we saw a coyote loping along the road headed north, and a short while later when we stopped at the Furnace Creek Inn, a roadrunner landed right next to us as we enjoyed lunch on the patio. Was the roadrunner running from the coyote? Cue in the Warner Brothers: Beep beep!
The Destinations Deal Tour
The Destinations Deal crew overlooking Death Valley from Dante’s View. We covered a lot of territory on that trip.
A few years ago we rode through Death Valley on RX3 motorcycles. That was part of a promotion we ran when I was working with CSC. We took a half dozen riders through a handful of southwestern states, and Death Valley was the last of several national park visits. It’s where I first met Orlando and his wife Velma. Joe Gresh was on that ride, too. It was fun.
The “My Sister Eileen” Trip
A 20-mule-team borax train.Just like the theatrical title: My sister Eileen. We had a great time on that trip.
After the Destinations Deal run, Sue and I and my sister Eileen had a road trip through California and Nevada, with a run down the 395 through a major league snowstorm. We went through Death Valley the next day (the snowstorm had ended) and it was awesome. I didn’t do a blog on that Death Valley visit (I have no idea why), but trust me on this: Like all trips to and through Death Valley, it was awesome.
That gets me caught up on my prior Death Valley visits. If you want to see more photos and read more about those earlier visits, here are the links:
Watch for a series of Death Valley blogs. The first will be about our most recent visit, and then I’ll post blogs about Death Valley history, Death Valley geology, things to do around Death Valley, Shoshone, nearby Red Rock Canyon National Park, and maybe more. Stay tuned.
Good buddy Paul recently told me about a custom crafted flintlock rifle he bought from rifle maker Tom Caster at a steep discount because the stock had been broken. A stock break sounds like a major defect, but actually it is not that uncommon and repairing the broken stock, if done correctly, makes the stock stronger than new. Paul is a serious black powder shooter and he builds custom rifles, so he knows what he is doing here. Both Paul and Tom gave me permission to share this story.
Here’s what Paul wrote to me about this rifle:
When I first saw it I had the same reaction as you. It ticked off all my boxes for a rifle of this style and caliber as I did not have a .40 caliber muzzle loading rifle. They are supposedly an accurate target rifle. He sent me a target that he shot at 25 yards and seven of the ten shots were around a 2-1/2″ cluster which is not bad for the first time the rifle was shot.
I asked Paul about the accuracy. Here’s what he said:
That flintlock target is good for the first outing of the rifle. From there you will test out different powder amounts, different patch thickness and ball diameters if you want better groupings. The .40 caliber is mostly a 50-to-75-yard gun so you would be hunting squirrels or small game up to small deer. A lot of states only allow .45 caliber and bigger for deer hunting, so the .40 caliber is used for varmints and target work.
Here’s the story on this rifle from Tom Caster:
I finished up this pretty little .40 cal Armstrong rifle last week and was putting a coat of wax on the stock when it slipped off my table and broke in two at the wrist!
Scrapping was never really considered (too much work into it) because I have always been about fixing things that happen on the job or in the shop. It was a pretty clean break, so I set it up in my two vices and glued it back together with Tite-Bond II. After that set up, I drilled a 3/8″ hole from the breech down thru the wrist 8″ deep and glued in a 3/8″ hickory RR in place. After drilling out the holes in the rod for lock screws and the sear area, I sealed the inside up with epoxy.
The crack barely shows now but it is there when you look close. The stock should be fine to use now.
Some guys would use a steel threaded rod instead of wood dowel, but I didn’t want to add any more weight to a 7.6 lb. rifle.
I plan to sell it after the first of the year at a discounted price if anyone is interested.
After another inquiry about the rifle, Tom added the following:
As far as the wood choice goes, I purchased this “in the white” from the estate of my old friend Fred Schelter. He purchased the Getz barrel and had Fred Miller (I believe) inlet it and pre-shape the stock in 2000-2001. Whether it was his wood or Miller’s, I don’t know. He had two Armstrong stocks done this way at the same time, one was a .50 cal (sold) and this .40 cal, rifle. Fred S. did the carving and inlay of the patchbox, butt, toe plate, nose cap, and trigger and guard. He had made the forend escutcheons for the barrel keys but didn’t inlay them.
Both stocks were inletted and drilled for a large Dlx. Siler Flintlock, but only one lock existed and it was curiously interchangeable. So I had to buy a second lock to complete this one. I fashioned a new trigger for a lighter pull and made a patchbox release, side plate and sights. Then I did the engraving and finish work.
…so, now you know…the rest of the story!
Tom Caster
In his email to me, Paul included several photos from Tom. As the photos show, the detail and workmanship on this rifle are stunning. Take a look:
It will be interesting to see if Paul shoots this one. I’m going to visit with him again (hopefully in the not too distant future) for a trip to the range. I’ve never fired my Colt Walker (it is a black powder revolver) and I know very little about shooting these weapons. Paul knows a lot, and I hope to get educated.
As I mentioned at the start of this blog, repaired stocks are not that big a deal. I had an experience where a seller did a poor job packaging a Ruger No. 3 he sent to me. I had the repair accomplished and the stock refinished by a competent shop, the rifle looks better than new, and it is now one of my favorites. It is exceptionally accurate, too. You can read that story here.
In addition to the early Colt revolvers, there were three Colt Pythons:
