Author: Joe Berk

Caught in the Snow

By Joe Berk

A few weeks ago I posted a blog about riding in the rain.  With all the snow blanketing parts of the US this winter, I thought it fitting that I post a blog about getting caught in the snow.  I’ve ridden in the snow four times and none of them were fun.

Crater Lake

On this ride, my buddy Marty and I were on our way home from Calgary to California after completing the 2005 Three Flags Classic rally.  Marty was far more worldly than me and he knew all the good spots to stop.  One was Crater Lake in Oregon.  We rode in from the Oregon coast where the temperatures were cool but not unbearably so.  We pointed our front wheels east and rode to Crater Lake.  It was a brutally cold ride, and it grew even colder the further we climbed into the mountains.

We had an interesting encounter with a herd of elk on the way to Crater Lake.  We had been seeing road signs warning of elk, but we hadn’t seen any until that day.  A monstrous bull stepped out in front of my Triumph Daytona from the forest on the right side of the road.  He stood broadside 50 yards in front of me, and he looked directly at me as if to say, “What’s your problem?”  If he was attempting to intimidate me, it worked.

I stopped and Marty stopped on his BMW K1200RS behind me.  My visor started to fog from my breath.  It was just the three of us on that cold, cold morning:  Me, Marty, and the Big Bull Elk.  After what seemed like several minutes (during which I wondered how quickly I could execute a u-turn and accelerate away from those immense antlers), the elk turned his head and lazily sauntered across the road into the forest on the other side.  Yeah, you’re bad, I thought.

I started to let out the clutch and moved forward a tiny bit when two more elk stepped out of the forest onto the highway.  These were female elk following the alpha male who had successfully stared me down.  So I pulled the clutch in again and waited.  The ladies crossed the highway and I started to let the clutch out again.  Then another lady elk appeared from the right.  This went on for the next several minutes.  Maybe as many as another 20 elk, all female, repeated the sequence, two or three at a time.  I remember thinking the first one, that big bull, probably didn’t get much sleep with that harem to take care of.  I wished I had grabbed a photo, but truth be told, I was too scared and shocked to react.  I can still see it vividly in my mind, though.

The Daytona 1200 along Crater Lake in Oregon.  A few miles earlier, we had a magical several minutes with a herd of elk.

After the elk episode, we continued our climb up to Crater Lake.  The sun was getting higher, but we were climbing and instead of warming the temperatures continued to drop.  There were bits of snow on both sides of the road, but the road was dry and we were doing okay.  I used a Gerber electric vest in those days.  It was a godsend.

Another view of Crater Lake. Note the snow in the foreground.

Crater Lake was interesting.  I took a bunch of photos and checked that destination off my bucket list.  Incidentally, on that trip I was still shooting with film.  I had the N70 Nikon I blogged about earlier.

After taking in Crater Lake, Marty and I started our ride down off the mountain.  The ride down was on the western side of the mountain, and the road was in the late morning shade.  That section of the road had not warmed up.  The snow was still there in two different forms…hard pack white snow in some places, and black ice where the snow had melted and frozen over.  It was the first time I had ever ridden in such conditions on a big road bike, and I quickly realized my Daytona 1200 was way different than the Honda Super 90 I rode in the snow when I was a kid in New Jersey.  Piloting that Triumph down off the mountain was an extremely demanding and mentally-draining 15-mph riding experience requiring intense concentration.

Fortunately, I remember thinking, Marty and I were the only two guys out there and I didn’t have to worry about anyone else on the road.  Marty was in front and we both were taking things very easy.  Then in my left peripheral vision I sensed a yellow vehicle starting to pass me.  I was pissed and confused.  Who the hell else is out here, I thought.  Can’t they see I’m on a motorcycle, I’m on ice, and why the hell are they passing me?

Then I realized who it was.  What I saw in my peripheral vision wasn’t another vehicle.  It was my motorcycle in the rear view mirror.  The big Triumph was sliding sideways.  The yellow I had picked up peripherally was my rear tail light cowling.  Damn, that was exciting!  (And terrifying.)

Marty and I made it down off that mountain, but it was a religious experience for both of us.

The Sweetwater Rattlesnake Roundup

This was a ride coming h0me from the Annual Rattlesnake Roundup in Sweetwater, Texas  (I wrote about the Roundup before and you can read that story here).  We spent a half day at the Rattlesnake Roundup, another hour or so at the gun show in the hall next to the Rattlesnake Roundup, and then had a late afternoon departure headed home.  The first portion of that ride was okay, but as the sun set the temperature dropped big time and the wind across Interstate 10 kicked up dramatically.  We crossed into New Mexico and the wind was blowing so hard it felt like the bikes were leaned over 30 degrees just to keep going straight.

Very cool photo ops abounded at the Sweetwater Rattlesnake Roundup. Check out the fangs; this is the stuff of nightmares.

We pulled off the highway in Lordsburg, New Mexico, around 10:00 p.m. and stopped at the first hotel we saw.  It was one of those small old Route 66 type motels (you know the type…a cheap single-story structure still advertising they had color TV).   One of us (I can’t remember if it was Marty or me) decided we wanted to look for something nicer.   We continued on into town and found a nicer hotel, but the desk clerk told us they had no rooms left.   “With this wind, every trucker is off the run and in a hotel,” he said.  The next town was 50 miles further down the road.  I looked at Marty, he looked at me, and I made the case for doubling back to the Route 66 special.

We entered the lobby and two other people looking for a room followed us in.  We were lucky.   We nailed the last room in Lordsburg (which, I know, sounds like the title of a bad country western song).  The folks behind us were out of luck.  I have no idea what they did.

Most of the snow was gone after we returned from breakfast.

When we woke up the next morning, the bikes were covered in snow.   There was no way we were going to ride in that, so we walked across the parking lot to a diner and had a leisurely breakfast.  By 10:00 a.m. there was still snow on the ground, but the roads were slushy (not icy) and we could ride.  When we were back on Interstate 10 the slush had disappeared and the road was dry.  It was cold.  I again enjoyed my Gerber vest.  We made it back to southern California late that night.  It was pouring rain (that’s the bad news), but it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been and there was no snow (and that’s the good news).

The Angeles Crest Highway

I met my buddy Bryan at a water treatment company.  Someday I’ll write a story about that company and the guy who started it.  He was a crook (the company founder, not Bryan) and I’m not exaggerating just because I didn’t like the guy.  He actually was a crook who was later charged with financial fraud and convicted.  I know, I’m digressing again.  Back to Bryan, me, motorcycles, and riding in the snow.

Good buddy Bryan and his VFR at warmer times in warmer climes.

Bryan was fascinated by my motorcycles (I owned four or five at the time), and within a few weeks he had purchased a Honda VFR.  That VFR was a nice motorcycle (one I never owned but always wanted), and Bryan and I started doing a lot of rides together.  We both live in southern California at an elevation of around 1700 feet above sea level, and it is rare to see snow here.  I think in the 40+ years I’ve been in So Cal I’ve seen snow twice at my home, and it both cases it didn’t stick.

Bryan and I often rode the Angeles Crest Highway.  We would take the 210 freeway to Glendale to pick it up, ride over the mountains on the Crest (the Angeles Crest Highway), stop for gas and sometimes a meal in Wrightwood on the other side of the San Gabriels, and then head home through the Cajon Pass on Interstate 15.  It’s one of the best rides in the country.

A typical weekend parking lot scene at Newcomb’s on the ACH. Those were glorious days.

One day in the winter months, it was comfortable So Cal winter weather when Bryan and I decided to ride the ACH, but in the opposite direction.  We rode up the 15 to the 138, we rolled through Wrightwood, and then we picked up the Crest heading over the mountains to Glendale.  It got cold fast, and by the time we were on the Crest it was brutal.  Then it started to snow.  It didn’t seem that bad at first and we pushed on.  I was on my Daytona 1200 again, and I could feel the bike moving around beneath me. I’d already ridden the Daytona on icy roads in Oregon (see above), so I thought I’d be okay.  But this was worse.  I could feel the big Daytona sashaying around like an exotic dancer in a room full of big tippers.

Bryan and I stopped.  “Think we should turn around?” one or the other of us asked.  “Nah, it probably won’t get worse and it’s shorter to keep going than it would be to turn around,” one or the other of us answered.  We had that same conversation telepathically three or four more times.  The weather was worsening and we hadn’t seen another vehicle on the road since we started.  No motorcycles and no cars.  It was just us.

Finally, we made it to Newcomb’s, a legendary Angeles Crest roadhouse that is no more (a pity, really…you’d see all kinds of moto exotica and sometimes Jay Leno up there on the weekends).  We stopped for a cup of coffee and a bowl of chili.  The parking lot was empty, but the place was open.  The bartender was shocked when we entered.  “How did you get up here?” he asked.

“We rode,” one or the other of us said.

“How did you do that?  The road’s been closed because of the snow and ice.”

Well, what do you know?  We had our coffee and chili and we warmed up.  When it was time to leave, we kept going toward Glendale.  No sense going back, we thought.  We already knew the Crest behind us was bad.  But we soon learned the road ahead wasn’t any better.  It was a white knuckle, 15mph ride all the way down, and man, was it ever cold.  But it made for a hell of story.  I’ve ridden the ACH many, many times…but only once on snow and ice when the road was closed.

The “Build Character” Ride

In my opinion (and I’m the guy writing this blog, so it’s the one that counts) riding in the snow and ice is dumb raised to an exponent.  If you’re already on a trip and you get caught in it, it’s sort of understandable.   Making a decision to intentionally ride into the snow, though (at least to me), is a really dumb move.  But yeah, I did it.  Once.  Peer pressure is a bitch, let me tell you.

The story goes like this:  A bunch of us guys used to meet every Saturday morning at the local BMW dealer to listen to and tell tall tales (said tall tales usually involving motorcycles, women, or both).  We did a lot of rides together, this group did.  Baja.  The American Southwest.  The Three Flags Classic.  Weekend rides up the Pacific Coast Highway to Pismo Beach for a barbeque dinner in nearby Nipomo at Jocko’s.   And more.  We were not spring chickens, either.  I was in my late 50s and I was the youngest guy in the group.  Most of the other guys were real deal geezers in their 70s.  One guy was in his 80s.

Geezer riding buddies in the Jocko’s parking lot after coming down out of the mountains. Trust me on this: None of these guys needed to build any more character.

One day at one of our Saturday gatherings one of the guys had this brilliant idea that instead of simply getting caught in the rain, it would be a grand idea to start a two-or-three day ride in the rain when rain would be forecast for the entire ride.   You know, a tough guy ride into bad weather.  We would do the two-day run up to Pismo, through the mountains and along the coast, and do it on a weekend when it would rain all weekend.  “It will build character,” said the geezer whose idea this was.  Mom had warned me about guys like that.  I should have listened.

Everybody was in.  Like I said, peer pressure is a bitch.  I had ridden plenty in the rain, and if you are properly attired, it’s not that bad.  But snow and ice?  Nope, that’s positively not for me.  That’s what happened on this ride.  Remember I said along the coast and in the mountains?  Well, it was that mountain part that did us in.  It was in the winter, we were at higher elevations, and sonuvabitch, all of a sudden that rain wasn’t rain any more.  It was snow.  The roads never froze over, but it was plenty slushy.

Somewhere along our descent, the snow reverted to plain old rain again, and we made it to Pismo without anyone dropping their bike.  I noticed on the way home, though, we rode the coast (where it was modestly warmer) all the way back.  I guess each of us felt we had built enough character to have banked a sufficient amount.

There you have it…my thoughts on riding in the snow.  The bottom line from my perspective is that motorcycles and snow don’t mix.  Your mileage may vary.  If you think otherwise, let us know.

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The End Of An Era: RX3 Production Ends

By Joe Berk

Zongshen ended production of its iconic RX3 motorcycle and CSC sold the last of its RX3 inventory. I was tangentially involved in bringing the RX3 to America and I had a ton of fun on that motorcycle.  Knowing that the RX3 is no longer in production is like hearing an old friend has passed away.  In the end, the S-curve prevails for all of us, I guess.  But it still hurts.  The RX3 was and still is a great motorcycle.

An early clay mockup of what would become the RX3 in Zongshen’s Advanced Design center.

According to my sources in Chongqing, Zongshen first started thinking about a 250cc offroad and adventure touring motorcycle in 2010.  Engineering development took about two years (excluding the engine).  China’s initial and traditional 250cc was based on a Honda CG125 air-cooled engine, which evolved into 150cc, 200cc, and 250cc variants (the 250cc CG engine was actually 223cc; it is the engine that powers CSC’s current TT 250). The CG-based variants didn’t have the performance Zongshen wanted for its new adventure touring motorcycle, and that led Zongshen to develop a 250cc water-cooled, four-valve engine for Megelli in Italy.  It went into the Zongshen NC250 motorcycle.  This engine also went into the RX3.

Yours truly with former Sears president and CSC advisor Carl Mungenast on Glendora Ridge Road. I rode the CSC 150 Mustang replica in this photo to Cabo San Lucas and back.

For CSC, the Zongshen connection started with a search for a larger CSC 150 engine.  The CSC 150 was the Mustang replica Steve Seidner designed and manufactured in 2009.  I was already in China for another client, and it was only an hour flight from Guangzhou to Chonqging for the initial visit to Zongshen.  To make a long story slightly less long, CSC started purchasing the Zongshen 250cc engines for the little Mustangs.  I think most of the folks who bought those Mustangs really didn’t care if it was a 150 or a 250.  Both were capable bikes; my friends and I rode the 150cc version to Cabo and back.  It was the 250cc Mustang engine that established the relationship between CSC and Zongshen, though, and that was a good thing.

When CSC’s Steve Seidner noticed an illustration of the RX3 on the Zongshen website, he immediately recognized the RX3 sales potential in the United States.   Steve ordered three bikes for evaluation and he started the U.S. certification process.  Steve and I did a 350-mile ride on two of those bikes through the southern California desert and we both thought they were great.

Showing the Zongshen execs in Chongqing possibilities for a ride in America. The Chinese sponsored the Western America Adventure Ride as a result of that discussion. It was awesome and the bikes performed magnificently.

Zongshen was not targeting the U.S. market when they developed the RX3; they thought the U.S. market had different requirements and consumer preferences.   The initial RX3 design did not meet U.S. Department of Transportation lighting and other requirements. It was back to China for me to help set up the specs for the CSC RX3 and the initial order.

On the Western America Adventure Ride, we rode from southern California to Mt. Rushmore, back to the Pacific across the top of America, and down the Pacific Coast to return to Azusa. Here King Kong, Leonard, Hugo, and Tso emulate the American presidents at Mt. Rushmore.

On that early visit, the Chinese told me they wanted to ride in America.  They sent over a dozen bikes and as many riders, and we had an amazing 5,000-mile adventure we called the Western America Adventure Ride.  Baja John planned the itinerary and mapped out the entire ride; we even had special decals with our route outlined made up for the bikes.  We let the media know about it and it was on this ride that I first met Joe Gresh, who wrote the “Cranked” column for Motorcyclist magazine.  I made a lot of good friends on that trip.  After the trip through the American Southwest, Zongshen invited Gresh and me on a ride around China, and after that, I was invited by AKT on a ride through the Andes Mountains in Colombia.

In Medicine Bow, Wyoming, on the Western America Adventure Ride. Two Colombians also participated, which resulted in an invitation to ride in Colombia.
On the road in the Andes Mountains. The sign says the elevation is 3950 meters (that’s 13,000 feet above sea level).
Joe Gresh and I gladiating near Liqian, China. The China ride was the adventure of a lifetime.

At CSC, we had a lot of discussions on the initial marketing approach.  We were looking at a $50,000 to $100,000 hit for an advertising campaign.  Maureen Seidner, the chief marketing strategist for CSC and co-owner with Steve, had a better idea:  Sell the bikes at a loss initially, get them out in the market, and let the word spread naturally.  We knew the price would stabilize somewhere above $4K; Steve’s concept was to sell the bike for $2995.  Maureen had an even better idea.  $2995 sounded like we were just futzing the number to get it below $3K; Maureen said let’s make it $2895 for the first shipment instead.  I wrote a CSC blog about the RX3 and CSC’s plans to import the bike.  When I hit the Publish button on WordPress for that blog, the phone rang literally two minutes later and I took the first order from a guy in Alaska.  Sales took off with CSC’s introductory “Don’t Miss The Boat” marketing program.

I wrote another CSC blog a week later saying that I was eager to get my RX3 and ride it through Baja.  I thought then (and I still think now) that the RX3 is the perfect bike for Baja.  The bike does 80mph, it gets 70mpg, it has a 4-gallon gas tank, and everything you needed on an ADV touring machine was already there:  A skid plate, good range, good speeds, a six-speed gearbox, a comfortable ride, the ability to ride on dirt roads, panniers, a top case, and more.  We started getting calls from folks wanting to ride with me in Baja, and the orders continued to pile in.   That resulted in our doing an annual run through Baja for RX3 owners.  We didn’t charge anything for the Baja trips.  It was a hell of a deal that continued for the next four or five years.  I had a lot of fun on those trips and we sold a lot of bikes as a result.

The Western America Adventure Riders in Arizona. This photo is prominently displayed in the Zongshen main office building lobby.  That’s Baja John in front; he did nearly all the work organizing the ride.

CSC’s enthusiasm surrounding the RX3, the CSC company rides, and CSC’s online presence did a lot to promote the RX3 worldwide, and I know Zongshen recognized that.  I visited the Zongshen campus in Chongqing several times.  One of the best parts of any Zongshen visit for me was entering their headquarters, where a 10-foot-wide photo of the Western America Adventure Ride participants in Arizona’s red rock country dominated the lobby.

The RX3 was controversial for some.  RX3 owners loved the bike.  A few others found reasons to hate it, mostly centering around the engine size and the fact that the bike came from China.  I spent a lot of time responding to negative Internet comments until I realized that the haters were broken people, there was no reasoning with them, and none were ever actually going to buy the motorcycle anyway.  These were people who got their rocks off by throwing rocks at others.

When RX3 production ended recently, I contacted one of my friends at Zongshen and I thought you might enjoy some of what he told me.  Zongshen sold 74,100 RX3 motorcycles (35,000 in China; the rest went to other countries including Mexico, Colombia, other South American countries, Singapore, Turkey, and the United States).  Colombia alone purchased 6000 units in kit form and assembled their bikes in Medellin.  I watched RX3 motorcycles being built in the Zongshen plant in Chongqing; I was also in the AKT factory in Colombia and I saw the RS3 (the carbureted version of the RX3) being built there.  Ultimately, RX3 demand dropped off, but 74,100 motorcycles is not a number to sneeze at.  The RX3 greatly exceeded Zongshen’s expectations and their initial marketing forecasts, especially in overseas markets.  CSC had a lot to do with that success, and playing a minor role in that endeavor has been one of the high points of my life.

The CSC 650cc RX6 twin cylinder motorcycle. The Chinese motorcycle industry is moving to larger displacement bikes.

Chinese motorcycle companies today are emphasizing larger bikes.  We’ve seen that here with the CSC RX4, the 400cc twins, and the 650cc RX6.  I’ve ridden all those bikes and they are great.  I like larger bikes, but I still think a 250cc motorcycle is the perfect size for real world adventure riding.  I think the emphasis on larger bikes and the decision to drop the RX3 is a mistake, but I haven’t sold millions of motorcycles (and Zongshen, with CSC’s help, has).

That photo you see above at the top of this blog?  It’s good buddy Orlando and his wife Velma riding their RX3 up to Dante’s View in Death Valley National Park.  Orlando thinks blue is the fastest color, but I know orange is.  Sue and I recently visited Death Valley again; watch for the ride reports here on the ExNotes blog.

Visit the CSC website here.

I’ve written several books about the adventures described above.  You can order them here.

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Vegetarian Chili

By Joe Berk

We’ve had a string of cool days here in California (cool for us, anyway, with temperatures in the high 40s and low 50s) and when it gets cold, I really enjoy a bowl of chili.  I suppose the easy thing to do would be to head over to a restaurant and order up a bowl, but with restaurant prices verging on the ridiculous lately, I only visit restaurants when I’m traveling.  Sue and I usually prefer to cook at home.  The cost is way less and the food is better.

One of my buddies mentioned a good pot of chili he ginned up and I asked for his recipe.  A few days later when I was in Trader Joe’s, I saw the shaved beef my friend told me he used in his chili.  I was about to put it in my cart when I thought I really didn’t want to put that in my body.  Then an idea hit me:  Vegetarian chili.  I’ve had some good ones but I had never made vegetarian chili before.   I quickly Googled vegetarian chili recipes on my cell phone, mentally merged the ingredients that appealed to me, and I picked those up instead.

I do a lot of my cooking in a crock pot.  I like the idea of getting all the work out of the way in the morning and letting the brew simmer all day long.  The aromas are always great, and my vegetarian chili was no exception.  crock pots are cheap, too.  They are an easy way to prepare a great meal.

Here’s my recipe for what turned out to be a great vegetarian chili:

    • 1 chopped medium yellow onion
    • 1 chopped red bell pepper
    • 1 cup of shredded carrots
    • 3 cloves of minced garlic
    • 1 15.5 ounce can of can pinto beans
    • 1 15.5 ounce can of black beans
    • 1 15.5 ounce can of kidney beans
    • 1 28 ounce can of fire roasted tomatoes
    • 3 cups of low-sodium vegetable broth
    • 2 tablespoons of chili powder
    • 1 tablespoon of ground cumin
    • 2 teaspoons of dried oregano
    • 1 tablespoon of extra-virgin olive oil

I drain and rinse three different kinds of beans before adding them to the pot.  After everything is in the pot, I mix it up a bit with a big wooden spoon and then put the pot on the low heat setting.   Eight hours later, it’s ready.

The bottom line?  It was delicious.

Pro tips:

    • I always use the San Marzano brand for any recipe calling for canned tomatoes (they have the best flavor).
    • All the vegetarian chili recipes called for adding salt.  I don’t.  There’s enough salt in the canned beans and fire roasted tomatoes.
    • When serving our chili, we add a scoop of sour cream and shredded cheddar cheese.
    • Most chili recipes call for a jalapeno pepper or red chili flakes.  You might want to consider that if you like your chili spicy.  The recipe included here makes a tasty dish and the flavors don’t compete with the heat from a jalapeno or red chili.  The two tablespoons of chili seasoning alone are just about perfect for a modest amount of spiciness.
    • What I’ve found with any crock pot recipe is that the time doesn’t have to be exact, and 8 hours is a minimum time.  If it goes another couple of hours, it’s no big deal.

The sizes on the ingredients listed above make for a full pot; Sue and I will get four or five meals (each) out of this recipe.  I’ve found that chili makes for a good omelet, too.

Our recipe for crock pot Italian meat sauce and lasagne is here.

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ExNotes Product Review: The Orient Panda

By Joe Berk

Some time ago, I wrote a blog about panda watches.  In it, I mentioned the Orient Panda.  I’ve been wearing one for several months now and I thought I’d share my opinions.

From an accuracy perspective, it just doesn’t get much better than what this Orient provides.  I set it to the U.S. National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST) official time site, and it is still spot on after several months (no gain, no loss; it is accurate to the second).  The watch has a solar-powered quartz movement; you can’t realize that kind of accuracy with a mechanical watch.

I didn’t care for the Orient Panda’s stainless steel bracelet.  The bracelet’s appearance is good and the construction appears to be of high quality, but it was uncomfortable.  Maybe that was due to the bracelet’s relatively sharp edges.  I played around with the adjustment by removing links and then putting them back in, and also by moving the pin to different positions on the clasp, but I couldn’t get it to fit my wrist comfortably.  It was either too tight (which made it even more uncomfortable), or it would swim around on my wrist with the watch going from the top of my wrist to the opposite side (I hate it when a watch does that).

Orient and Breitling Pandas. The Orient is $160; the Breitling sells for $7,300.  For me, it was an easy decision.

I addressed the fit and comfort issues by ordering an inexpensive alligator style leather band from Strapsco (it was less than $20).  The band is black with white leather stitching, and when I put it on the Orient, the watch’s personality changed completely (and for the better).  The band matches the watch perfectly and it is much more comfortable.  I think it looks much richer (it’s very similar to the $7,300 Breitling Panda mentioned in my earlier blog).  I think Orient may be missing the boat here; the Orient Panda should ship with both bands.

The Orient’s solar power feature doesn’t need the sun; interior lighting is good enough.   I’ve left my Orient Panda unworn for weeks on a shelf in my office and my office light kept it going. I like the idea that the watch won’t die in the middle of an overseas adventure because the battery gives out.  That’s happened to me before.

The Orient Panda can be had in three different colors. I like the one on the left best.

Although I love the panda concept and look, on the Orient Panda the contrast between the hands and the watch face doesn’t work for me.  The hands should stand out so that the time is apparent at a glance.  It is not on this watch.  Maybe me being an old fart is aggravating the issue.  I have to stare at the watch to see the hands against the watch face.  The hands should be black, I think, as was the case on my 1970s-era Seiko Panda.  Maybe the Orient colors will work for you.  Orient offers this watch in three different colors, but I don’t care for the look of the other two.  Interestingly, the Orient Panda with the gray face is only $135 on Amazon, undercutting the price on the other Orient Panda color options by $25.

The Orient Panda has bits of lume on the numbers and the hands.  The lume is small, though, and like me, they are not terribly bright. I found the lume tough to see at night.  It’s also tough to determine where 12:00 on the watch face is at night.

The Orient Panda has a date feature.  I’ll chalk this observation up to being a geezer:  I found the date to be so small it was useless.  Plus, the date is set back from the watch face, which throws a shadow over the numerals (further obscuring the date).

The Orient Panda has three subdials, which I think is one too many.  Like many over-subdialed watches, the 24-hour subdial is a dumb thing.  I think I can tell the difference between night and day, I know when it’s a.m. and when it’s p.m., and I can do the mental math instantly to convert 2:00 p.m. is 14:00 hours (I don’t need a subdial for this).  If Orient had made the subdial hours settable in hourly increments independent of the main dial’s hourly settings, that would be a cool GMT feature that would allow knowing the time in two different time zones.  But like every other watchmaker that includes a 24-hour subdial, you can’t set the subdial separately, so to me all it does is add complexity where none is required.

With regard to the chronograph feature, there is a smaller subdial at the 6:00 position that tracks up to 60 minutes, and seconds are recorded with the watch’s main face second hand.  That approach is okay, I suppose, but the second hand really disappears against the watch face due to the aforementioned lack of contrast, and the 0-60 minute subdial is too small.  I think Orient would have a better product if they eliminated the 24-hour subdial at the 3:00 position and used that real estate for a larger subdial for the chronograph’s 0-60 minute feature.   That would knock the Orient Panda down to two subdials, which I think is just right for a panda watch.  It would look more like a panda.  But hey, what do I know?  Orient sells a lot of watches.  I don’t sell any.

At an Amazon price of $160.84, the price on the Orient Panda is impressive, especially when viewed alongside the $7300 Breitling Panda.  My complaints notwithstanding, the Orient Panda is a beautiful timepiece at an affordable price.  It is both a nice piece of jewelry and a usable everyday watch.

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Nikon’s N70 35mm Film Camera

By Joe Berk

I visited with my sister a couple of weeks ago and she gave me four 35mm film cameras.  You know, the ones we used to use before everything went digital.  One was a point and shoot Minolta, another was a Chinese copy of a Minolta single lens reflex non-autofocus camera, another was my Dad’s old Honeywell Pentax ES (with four Takumar lenses that were known as some of the best glass available back in the 1960s and 1970s), and a fourth was my old Nikon N70, complete with a Tamron 28-105mm zoom lens.  I had given the N70 to my sister when I bought a Nikon F5, which was a huge top-of-the-line film camera when film ruled the roost.   The N70 made the full circle, coming back to me again after being gone for more than 20 years.  The N70 is the focus (pardon the pun) of this blog.

The N70 and it’s Tamron 28-105 zoom lens. I can use some of my other Nikon digital camera lenses on the N70, too.

The N70 was the second camera I ever purchased.  The first was a 35mm Minolta X700 that I bought a week before my first daughter was born because my wife told me I needed a camera to record the occasion.  I bought the Minolta because it was what the store (a large Fedco, which is no more) sold and everything was automatic (except for focusing, which no one offered at the time).  And, it was what my brother-in-law shot (he was a photography enthusiast, so I figured it had to be good).  The Minolta was a far better camera than I was a photographer, but I really wasn’t getting the eye-popping photos I saw in the photography magazines (and I did a lot of my learning through magazines; there was no internet in those days).

The N70 had what Nikon called a command dial. It wasn’t well received in the market back then. I’ll have to relearn how to use it. It was one of the first film cameras to have an LCD screen interface, a common feature on today’s digital cameras.

Nope, in those days, my Minolta was a manual focus camera, and I figured what I really needed was autofocus.  The ticket in for me was the Nikon N70 (the very one you see here) sold to me by a very competent young salesman at our local Ritz camera store.  It used to be that every major shopping mall had a Ritz camera store; with the advent of the internet, they’ve all disappeared, too.

I didn’t know very much about photography back then, but autofocus really made things better.  My pictures (all print, of course) were turning out great.  I liked the reaction my little 4×6 prints were getting at family dinners, and I started reading more and more about the art of photography.  You know, all the stuff the camera did automatically.  Apertures.  Shutter speeds.  Different ISOs.  How to use the flash, even in daylight.  And then I learned more.  Composition.  The rule of thirds.  Lighting.  The more I learned, the more I shot, and the more I shot, the better my photos became.  Then a funny thing happened. I went back to my old Minolta (without autofocus) and my photos with it were way better, too.  Who would have thought?

The world continued to change.  Ebay became a thing, and so did digital photography.  I resisted digital photography, partly because I am a cheap SOB and partly because I thought I was a purist.  Until I tried digital.  The difference was incredible.  I sold all of my film cameras and the lenses that went with them.

With my sister’s generosity and my newly-rehomed collection of four film cameras, though, I am regressing and I hope to soon be rediscovering the wonders of film photography.  Or going back to my roots.  Or becoming more traditional.  You can choose the words you like.

Nikon didn’t do an adequate job selecting the rear camera door rubberized covering. As it aged, it turned to a sticky, gooey mess.
Where the film goes. The N70 didn’t require threading the film in. Simply plop the film in the camera with about three inches pulled out of the canister, close the camera back, press the shutter button, and the film feeds in automatically. It advances automatically after each shot (a cool feature 30+ years ago).

Anyway, the topic du jour is my N70.  I just ordered a few rolls of Fuji ISO 200 film for it from Amazon, and I’ll put the old Nikon through its paces when the film gets here.  When I picked up the N70 from my sister, I thought she had spilled something gooey on the back cover because it was all sticky.  But it wasn’t her doing.  I did a Google search and it was a common complaint.  Apparently Nikon had applied a rubber-like material on the cover, which degraded over time.  I had that happen on a Bell motorcycle helmet one time (a shame, really; I loved the artwork on that helmet).  One of the guys who wrote about the Nikon N70’s gooification issue said that the rubber goo came off with alcohol, so I’ll try that on mine.

The Nikon feels good in my hands (the gooey cover notwithstanding).  I packed it on a lot of motorcycle rides, including the Three Flags Classic nearly 20 years ago.  Handling it is like coming home to an old friend. Watch for my photos with the N70; I’ll post them in a future blog (if I can find a place that still develops 35mm film).

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A Visit With Andrew

By Joe Berk

This is another one of those blogs that almost had another title.  I considered simply calling it The P11.  Hey, if you know, you know.  And I know.  So does Andrew.

Sue and I were on the East Coast last week (as in literally on the East Coast when we stopped for lunch in Point Pleasant, New Jersey) when I gave my buddy Andrew a call.  Andrew is the guy who runs British Motorcycle Gear, a company whose ads grace these pages.  You’ve also read reviews by Joe Gresh on some of the top quality gear Andrew offers, including Rapido gloves, the Mercury jacket, and the BMG Adventure motorcycle pants.

Andrew is a true Anglophile (a lover of all things British), although like me, he grew up in the Garden State.   We had a nice visit in Andrew’s beautiful home, and then he took us into his garage to see the toys.  I was blown away, not just by the motorcycles Andrew parks in his garage, but at how closely they tracked with my list of highly desireable motorcycles.

Andrew’s Norton P11. It’s awesome.
No one has ever outdone Norton when it comes to fuel tank style. Triumph comes close. So did Harley in the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s. This tank is perfect. And those exhaust pipes!

One that caught my eye instantly was a Norton P11. That was the ultimate hot rod motorcycle in the 1960s.  Norton shoehorned their 750cc engine into a 500cc Matchless desert sled frame.  When I was a teenager, the word on the street was that nothing was faster than a Norton P11.  Norton only made a very few of these motorcycles (I think the production total was less than 2500).  Truth be told, Andrew’s P11 is the first one I’ve ever seen in person, but I knew what it was as soon as I saw it.  It’s parked on the other side of the garage, and my eye skimmed over a bunch of motoexotica when I saw the P11.  Man, I would love to own that motorcycle.  I don’t necessarily need to ride it; I would just look at it and keep it immaculate.  Which, incidentally, is the condition in which I found all of Andrew’s motorcycles.

A late ’60s Triumph Bonneville. How could these guys have been overtaken by Japan?

There was a silver and burgundy 1968 Triumph Bonneville that looks like it rolled out of the Coventry plant yesterday morning.  Andrew told me that the Bonneville is sold.  Not to me, unfortunately.  It’s another I’ve love to own.

Andrew with a few of his rides. Check out the Honda GB500 just behind the Daytona. Just 535 miles! That’s an MV Augusta behind it.

Andrew has a Triumph Daytona, and it’s the rare one…the 900cc triple with a bunch of goodies (think triple caliper disks up front, carbon fiber front fender, and other similar go fast and stop fast bits).  It is bright yellow (Triumph called it Daytona yellow), just like the Daytona 1200 I owned about a decade ago. But my Daytona was but a mere commoner’s motorcycle.  Andrew’s Daytona is the limited-edition version.  Like the P11 Norton mentioned above, it’s the first one I’ve ever seen.  I live in southern California; I’ve been to a bunch of moto hangouts (like the Rock Store in Malibu) and numerous Britbike events (for example, the Hansen Dam Norton get-togethers).  I’ve seen Jay Leno, I’ve seen pristine vintage Indians (real ones, not the current production stuff), I’ve seen four-cylinder Hendersons, and I’ve laid these eyeballs on other similar exotics.  But I’ve never seen a limited-edition Daytona Super III or a P11 in person until I visited Andrew.

Another one of Andrew’s bikes that caught my eye was a near-new-old-stock Honda GB500.  It has to be one of the most beautiful motorcycles ever made.  Honda offered these 500cc singles in the mid 1980s.  It was a modern nod to (and refined version of) the British Velocette. They flopped from a sales perspective back then, but that’s only because of our unrefined palate and our then-fascination with conchos, wide whitewalls , and beer bellies (think potato-potato-potato exhaust notes and you’ll catch my drift).   Like a lot of things, I should have bought a GB500 back then.  Andrew’s GB500 is literally in like new condition.  It has 535 original miles on the odometer.

A BMW…and more Triumphs.

There was more…a modern Triumph Thruxton, another modern Triumph, even a Lotus Elise sports car.   My eye, though, kept returning to the Norton P11.  It really is a visually arresting motorcycle.

At the conclusion of our visit, I asked Andrew if he would consider adopting me.   Everyone enjoyed a good laugh about that.  They all thought I was kidding.  But I wasn’t.

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Spiders

By Joe Berk

I’ve always been afraid of (and morbidly curious about) spiders, so when Bobbie Surber posted the photo you see above of a spider in her Ecuadorean hotel room’s bathroom, it had my attention.  I don’t think I could stay in a hotel room where a spider like that put in an appearance.  I know I’m a big tough guy who rides motorcycles and made it through jump school in a prior life, but spiders creep me out.  I’m deathly afraid of the things.

Which doesn’t mean I’m going to pass up an opportunity to get a photo of one.  Baja John and I were rolling through Baja a decade and a half ago on our KLRs (I loved that motorcycle; it was one of the best I ever owned).  We were doing maybe doing 60 mph when I somehow spotted a tarantula creeping along the pavement’s edge.  I had to turn around and get a photo (it’s the one that sometimes graces the scrolling photo collection you see at the top of every ExNotes blog).  Baja John, being a curious sort, did a U-turn and parked his KLR by the side of the road, too. I had my old D200 Nikon with its first-gen 24-120 Nikon lens (not a good choice for a spider macro shot, but it did the job).

The KLRs of Baja John and yours truly stopped along the Transpeninsular Highway for an impromptu tarantula photo shoot.  Those KLRs were great bikes.
A Baja tarantula minding his (or her) own business.
Cover and concealment, tarantula-style.

Before you knew it, I was snapping away while Baja John and I were crouched down in front of the hairy thing.  The tarantula’s ostrich-like behavior was kind of funny.  It hunkered down with a weed over its six or eight (or whatever the number is) eyes, thinking because the weed covered its eyes it was concealed.  At least for a while.  Then it realized we were still there and it charged.  I’m not kidding.  The thing charged at us with startling speed.  Both of us did our best impersonation of Looney Tunes cartoon characters, our feet moving faster than we were, trying to run backwards from the crouched position, screaming like little girls.   We made it, and the spider scurried off to wherever it thought was a better spot.  Baja John and I, thoroughly adrenalized, laughed so hard I thought I was going to pee my pants.

I’m an old fart who really doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what anybody thinks of me anymore, so I’ll tell you that I am scared of spiders on some basic, fundamental, hardwired-into-my-psyche level.  That said, I know that some of you younger guys who read ExNotes probably still worry about being perceived as tough macho men (you guys who haven’t achieved my level of self-awareness and acceptance yet).  Because of that, I’ll share with you a technique I’ve used for decades.   You know the deal…your significant other spots a spider, usually in the bathtub, and the job of sending it to the promised land naturally falls to you, the man.   You’re as scared as she is, but your ego won’t let you admit it.  There’s a spider there, and militant feminism be damned, it’s your job (as the man) to “get it.”

Here’s where the story turns to my other favorite topic:  Guns.  I’m helping you out here, guys.  Here’s an excuse to pick up another firearm.  You can thank me later.

What you need is a pellet pistol.  Preferably a manually-cocked model that doesn’t require a CO2 cartridge.  My weapon of choice is the Daisy 777 air pistol.  It’s a fantastic gun and it is quite accurate (I used to compete with one in bullseye air pistol competition, but I digress…back to the story at hand).

When your lovely significant other comes to you announcing a spider in the bathtub, choke down those feelings of fear, revulsion, and inadequacy. Here’s what you do:  Grab your air pistol.  Cock it, but (and this part is very important) do not put a pellet in the chamber.  While maintaining a firm grip on the weapon, point it at the offending arachnid with the muzzle approximately one inch away from your target.  Do not stand directly under the spider (for reasons that will become clear momentarily, this is also very important).  Take a deep breath, let it halfway out, and while maintaining focus on the front sight and proper sight alignment, gently squeeze (do not jerk) the trigger.  A high-speed jet of compressed air will  exit the muzzle, strike the spider, and break it up into legs, thorax, abdomen, and other body parts.  They will float to the ground and in most cases, the separate parts will continue twitching (adding to the excitement, the thrill of the hunt, and proof of your masculinity).  Mission accomplished, as old George W liked to say.  Your job (which was to “get it”) is done.   You can now turn to your sweetheart, smile, and ask her to clean it up.

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A Ruger .45 70 Circassian No. 1

By Joe Berk

The .45-70 Government cartridge was destined for obsolescence in the middle of the last century and then a curious thing happened:  Ruger chambered their No. 1 single shot rifle for it and Marlin did the same with an adaptation of their lever action rifle a short while later.

300-grain .45 70 Winchester and .22 LR Federal cartridges.

When Marlin and Ruger came on board with their .45 70 rifles, there was suddenly significant interest in the cartridge.  I fell in love with the .45 70 when I bought a Ruger No. 1 in 1976 (a rifle I still have), and I’ve been reloading the cartridge ever since.  I’ve owned several No. 1 Rugers, a few Ruger No. 3 rifles, a bunch of Marlin .45 70s, and a replica 1886 Winchester (by Chiappa, with wood that is way nicer than anything from Winchester).

Starboard side of the Ruger Circassian .45 70 No. 1 rifle with 26-inch barrel.
Yep. The .45 70 was adopted as the official US Army cartridge in 1873, hence the “Gov’t” designation sometimes seen with the cartridge name.
In addition to its Circassian walnut and 26-inch barrel, these rifles included wrap-around checkering on the forearm. The standard checkering pattern for a Ruger No. 1 is shown on the rifle to the left.

All these manufacturers have offered special editions of their .45 70 rifles. One of the more recent offerings from Ruger was a 26-inch barreled No. 1 with a Circassian walnut stock.  When it was first offered about 7 years ago by Lipsey’s (a Ruger distributor), it was a limited run of only 250 rifles.  They sold out immediately and folks still wanted these, so Lipsey’s and Ruger offered a second run of 250 rifles.  I wanted one with fancy wood, but none of the Circassian Rugers I saw online had wood nice enough to be interesting.  Even though the rifles had Circassian walnut, all the ones I saw were plain and straight grained.  Then one day I wandered into a local gun shop and I saw the rifle you see here.  It caught my eye immediately and at first I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  These rifles were next to impossible to find and here was one right in front of me.  It was pricey, but I Presbyterianed the guy down to $1050 (you fellow Members of the Tribe will get it) and I pulled the trigger (figuratively speaking).

Ruger’s more recent .45 70 No. 1 rifles have a short leade (the distance between the forward edge of the cartridge case and where the rifling starts).  Mine won’t chamber cartridges with 400-grain and above bullets.  In fact, I had some ammo I had loaded with an old batch of Hornady’s 300-grain jacketed hollow points, and this ammo wouldn’t chamber, either.   I examined the profile of my old 300-grain Hornady bullets and compared it to pictures of the current Hornady 300-grain bullets, and it was obvious the older bullets had a more gradual ogive (the curved portion of the bullet’s profile).  I ordered a box of the current Hornady 300-grain slugs, I loaded them, and the ammo chambered in this rifle easily.  In researching this issue on the Internet, the issue of recent Ruger .45 70 rifles’ shorter leades is a complaint that’s popped up more than once.  One guy even sent his rifle to Ruger, but he said Ruger measured the chamber and returned it to him with no work done (according to him, Ruger said the rifle met SAAMI chamber spec requirements).  It’s not really an issue to me; if I want to shooter the heavier bullets I’ll use a different .45 70 rifle.

I had some Winchester factory .45 70 cartridges in my ammo locker, including the Winchester load with 300-grain hollow point bullets.  I thought I would shoot those to see how they did in the Circassian No. 1.

A big ol’ .45 70 hollow point cartridge.
Spent cases destined for reloading. This is one of my favorite cartridges to reload.

My first shots were at 50 yards, and the Ruger grouped nicely.  The shots were biased very slightly to the right.  That’s okay, because the Ruger rear sight is adjustable for both windage and elevation.   I didn’t bother making the adjustments on the range, as it was a fairly windy day.  I’ll make the adjustments, if necessary, on the next trip.

50-yard groups with the Circassian No. 1. The groups are biased to the right, some more than others (a function of how I held the rifle for each group).  Ignore the upper right target and the circled holes to the right of the bullseye; those were from a .243 I had out on the same day.

I then set up a standard 100-yard target (at 100 yards).  There were 20 rounds in the box of Winchester .45 70 ammo and I had already shot four 3-shot groups at 50 yards.  That left eight rounds to play with at 100 yards, and play around I did.

Eight shots at 100 yards. I need to move the rear sight a bit to the left. The vertical stringing is most likely a function of not allowing the barrel to cool between shots.

The results surprised me.  I was holding on the bullseye at 6:00, and those big 300-grain hollowpoints hit at about the right elevation.  As was the case with the 50-yard targets, the point of impact was biased to the right.  The first three made a tight group and then the shots climbed as I progressed through the eight.  The vertically strung group was only about an inch in width.  The stringing is almost certainly due to barrel heating and the barrel being deflected up by the forearm (it’s not free floated).  I was pleased with the results.  It told me that I could leave the elevation adjusted for 50 yards and it would still be spot on at 100.  On my next range outing with this ammo, I’ll adjust the rear sight to the left a scosh and take my time between shots to preclude the stringing.  Even with the stringing you see in the above target, it’s not too shabby for a 100-yard group with open sights.

More blogs on this and other .45 70 rifles?  You bet!

Buffalo Guns
A Wind  River Marlin .45 70 Rifle
A .45 70 Remlin 1895
The 1886 Winchester
Turnbull Guns
Marlin Cowboy Front Sight Installation
Marlin 1895 Cowboy Revisited
Henry Rifles
The Henry Is In California
Developing a Henry .45 70 Load: Part 1
Developing a Henry .45 70 Load: Part 2
Henry’s Home and an Interview with Dan
Henry Accuracy Loads

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A Nice Day For A Ride…

By Joe Berk

I spent most of the morning in the garage, organizing my reloading bench and the tons of components I have stacked in, on, under, and around it.  I rearranged a good chunk of my 9mm brass (I probably have something north of 4,000 empty 9mm cases, enough to keep me in Parabellum paradise for the rest of my natural life).  I’m waiting on a part for my Lee turret press (Lee is sending it to me at no charge), and when it gets here I’ll start reloading 9mm again.  It’s become a favorite cartridge, but more on that in a future blog.

Busy real estate, my reloading bench is. Those coffee cans are chock full of 9mm brass.

As part of the garage cleanup and reorg effort, I pushed the Royal Enfield out so I could sweep the floor.  A young lady who lives in the neighborhood was walking her dog when she spotted the Enfield.  “It sure looks like a nice day for a ride,” she said.  We chatted for a bit and then I thought about her comment. It really was a nice day for a ride.  We’ve had rain big time for the last couple of weeks (don’t believe the lyrics…during the winter it rains a lot in California), and today we finally had a day that was bright and sunny.  I did what anybody would do…I closed up shop and fired up the Enfield.

The nice thing about the winter rains here in So Cal is that when the clouds disappear we see the San Gabriel Mountains blanketed in snow.  It really is quite beautiful.  I started a ride into the mountains to get a good shot of the Enfield with the snow-capped mountains as a backdrop, and then I realized it was already 1:15 p.m. I had a 2:00 appointment with Doc Byrne, my chiropractor.  I stopped for the quick shot you see above, and then it was over to the doctor’s office.

People who see a motorcycle parked in front of a chiropractor’s office should probably realize the doctor knows his business.   My guy does, and another plus for me is that he is a rider.  We’ve had some interesting conversations about motorcycles while he works his magic.  I’m a big believer in chiropractic medicine.

A motorcycle parked in front of a chiropractor’s office. What’s wrong with this picture?

After getting my back straightened, I pointed the Enfield north and wound my way into the San Gabriels.   I was looking forward to a late lunch at the Mt. Baldy Lodge, and I was not disappointed.

The Mt. Baldy Lodge, a favored destination in the San Gabriel Mountains.

I like the Mt. Baldy Lodge.  It was busy (that was good), although like a lot of places their prices have climbed irrationally (that’s not so good).  I ordered a turkey melt sandwich and paid the extra $2.00 for onion rings instead of French fries (not exactly a healthy option, but it was delicious).

As soon as I sat down at the bar, a younger guy (they’re all younger these days) who was shooting pool asked if I came in on the Enfield.  “Guilty,” I answered.

“Cool,” he said.  “I had an Enfield about 10 years ago, but I crashed and the insurance company totaled it.”

“Ah,” I answered.  “You had the Bullet?”  I was thinking we could have a conversation about that bike, because Gresh and I gave both the Bullet and the Interceptor a thorough wringing out on our Baja run.

“No, I had the new 650 Interceptor,” he said.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the Interceptor was only introduced about four years ago.  I had no interest in a conversation with a guy who was obviously making it up as he went along.  Better he should find a job with the news media or in politics, or maybe as an Ivy League university president.  (Does that count as politics?   We don’t do politics here on ExNotes, you know.)

I enjoyed my sandwich and the onion rings.  I didn’t eat the whole thing, which somewhat eased my guilt pangs (I’m having a weight loss contest with Baja John, and he’s kicking my ass).  I was having a good day.  There’s something about a motorcycle ride into the mountains, sitting at the bar in the Mt. Baldy Lodge, having a good lunch, and listening to the pool table balls clicking and clacking that just feels like all is right with the world.  I had a great ride and a great lunch, but it was getting late and the outside temperature was starting to drop.  I knew I’d better head home.  Even though it was cold, I enjoyed the ride down out of mountains as much as the ride up.  The next time I see that young lady walking her dog, I’ll thank her for her suggestion.  She was right; it was a nice day for a ride.

So, in case you are wondering why you received a notification email about the new Janus 450 Scrambler and the link didn’t work…well, that was a case of operator error.  I hit publish before I should have, which triggered the email notification, and then I took the blog down so I could repost it on 23 February.  But the email notification had already gone out.   I reposted the blog on the 23rd (like I was supposed to do to first time), and you can view it here.  My fellow blogistas have warned me that they are going to lop off yet another finger if I screw up again, so I have to be careful.  I only have a few fingers left, and it’s getting hard to type.  Mea culpa, and all that…

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The Wayback Machine: Chiriaco Summit and the General Patton Memorial Museum

By Joe Berk

The thought came to me easily: The Patton Museum. We’d been housebound for weeks, sheltered in place against the virus, and like many others we were suffering from an advanced case of cabin fever.   Where can we go that won’t require flying, is reasonably close, and won’t put us in contact with too many people?  Hey, I write travel articles for the best motorcycle magazine on the planet (that’s Motorcycle Classics) and I know all the good destinations around here.  The Patton Museum.  That’s the ticket.

General George S. Patton, Jr., and his faithful companion, Willie, at the General Patton Memorial Museum in Chiriaco Summit, California.

I called the Patton Museum and they were closed.  An answering machine.  The Pandemic. Please leave a message.  So I did.  And a day later I had a response from a pleasant-sounding woman.   She would let me know when they opened again and she hoped we would visit.  So I called and left another message.  Big time motojournalist here.  We’d like to do a piece on the Museum.  You know the drill.  The Press.  Throwing the weight of the not-so-mainstream media around.  Gresh and I do it all the time.

Margit and I finally connected after playing telephone tag.  Yes, the Patton Museum was closed, but I could drive out to Chiriaco Summit to get a few photos (it’s on I-10 a cool 120 miles from where I live, and 70 miles from the Arizona border).  Margit gave me her email address, and Chiriaco was part of it (you pronounce it “shuhRAYco”).

Wait a second, I thought, and I asked the question: “Is your name Chiriaco, as in Chiriaco Summit, where the Museum is located?”

“Yes, Joe Chiriaco was my father.”

This was going to be good, I instantly knew.  And it was.

The story goes like this:  Dial back the calendar nearly a century.  In the late 1920s, the path across the Colorado, Sonoran, and Mojave Deserts from Arizona through California was just a little dirt road.  It’s hard to imagine, but our mighty Interstate 10 was once a dirt road.  A young Joe Chiriaco used it when he and a friend hitchhiked from Alabama to see a football game in California’s Rose Bowl in 1927.

Chiriaco stayed in California and joined a team in the late 1920s surveying a route for the aqueduct that would carry precious agua from the mighty Colorado River to Los Angeles.  Chiriaco surveyed, he found natural springs in addition to a path for the aqueduct, and he recognized opportunity.   That dirt road (Highways 60 and 70 in those early days) would soon be carrying more people from points east to the promised land (the Los Angeles basin).  Shaver Summit (the high point along the road in the area he was surveying, now known as Chiriaco Summit) would be a good place to sell gasoline and food.  He and his soon-to-be wife Ruth bought land, started a business and a family, and did well.  It was a classic case of the right people, the right time, the right place, and the right work ethic. Read on, my friends.  This gets even better.

Fast forward a decade into the late 1930s, and we were a nation preparing for war.  A visionary US Army leader, General George S. Patton, Jr., knew from his World War I combat experience that armored vehicle warfare would define the future.  It would start in North Africa, General Patton needed a place to train his newly-formed tank units, and the desert regions Chiriaco had surveyed were just what the doctor ordered.

Picture this:  Two men who could see the future clearly.  Joe Chiriaco and George S. Patton.  Chiriaco was at the counter eating his lunch when someone tapped his shoulder to ask where he could find a guy named Joe Chiriaco.  Imagine a response along the lines of “Who wants to know?” and when Chiriaco turned around to find out, there stood General Patton.  Two legends, one local and one national, eyeball to eyeball, meeting for the first time.

A Sherman tank, the one Patton’s men would go to war with in North Africa and Europe, on display at the General Patton Memorial Museum.

Patton knew that Chiriaco knew the desert and he needed his help.  The result?  Camp Young (where Chiriaco Summit stands today), and the 18,000-square-mile Desert Training Center – California Arizona Maneuver Area (DTC-CAMA, where over one million men would learn armored warfare).  It formed the foundation for Patton defeating Rommel in North Africa, our winning World War II, and more.  It would be where thousands of Italian prisoners of war spent most of their time during the war.  It would become the largest military area in America.

General Patton and Joe Chiriaco became friends and they enjoyed a mutually-beneficial relationship: Patton needed Chiriaco’s help and Chiriaco’s business provided a welcome respite for Patton’s troops.  Patton kept Chiriaco’s gas station and lunch counter accessible to the troops, Chiriaco sold beer with Patton’s blessing, and as you can guess….well, you don’t have to guess:  We won World War II.

World War II ended, the Desert Training Center closed, and then, during the Eisenhower administration, Interstate 10 followed the path of Highways 60 and 70.  Patton’s  troops and the POWs were gone and I-10 became the major east/west freeway across the US.   We had become a nation on wheels and Chiriaco’s business continued to thrive as Americans took to the road with our newfound postwar prosperity.

Fast forward yet again: In the 1980s Margit (Joe and Ruth Chiriaco’s daughter) and Leslie Cone (the Bureau of Land Management director who oversaw the lands that had been Patton’s desert training area) had an idea:  Create a museum honoring General Patton and the region’s contributions to World War II.  Ronald Reagan heard about it and donated an M-47 Patton tank (the one you see in the large photo at the top of this blog), and things took off from there.

I first rode my motorcycle to the General Patton Memorial Museum in 2003 with my good buddy Marty.  It was a small museum then, but it has grown substantially.   When Sue and I visited a couple of weeks ago, I was shocked and surprised by what I saw.  I can only partly convey some of it through the photos and narrative you see in this blog.  We had a wonderful visit with Margit, who told us a bit about her family, the Museum, and Chiriaco Summit.  On that topic of family, it was Joe and Ruth Chiriaco, Margit and her three siblings, their children, and their grandchildren. If you are keeping track, that’s four generations of Chiriacos.

The Chiriaco Summit story is an amazing one and learning about it can be reasonably compared to peeling an onion.  There are many layers, and discovering each might bring a tear or two.  Life hasn’t always been easy for the Chiriaco family out there in the desert, but they always saw the hard times as opportunities and they instinctively knew how to use each opportunity to add to their success.  We can’t tell the entire story here, but we’ll give you a link to a book you might consider purchasing at the end of this blog.  Our focus is on the General Patton Memorial Museum, and having said that, let’s get to the photos.

The Patton Museum’s new Matzner Tank Pavilion. When we were there, one of the two M60 tanks you see in front was running. If you think a motorcycle engine at idle makes music, you will love listening to an M60’s air-cooled, horizontally-opposed, 1790-cubic-inch, 12-cylinder diesel engine.  I drove an M60 once when I was in the Army.  Yeah, I still want one.
The business end of an M60’s 105mm main gun. This one has been out of service for a long time; hence the rust. Firing one of these settles disagreements quickly.
The M4 Sherman, our main battle tank in World War II, on the right, with an M5 Stuart tank on the left.
Don’t tread on me, or so the saying goes. Everything on a tank is big. You don’t realize how big until you stand next to one.
When Patton’s men trained at the DTC-CAMA, they used mockup aggressor vehicles (jeeps fitted with frames and canvas) to simulate the bad guys.
M60 main battle tanks parked behind the Museum. This was a shot I could not resist. If Joe Gresh was into tanks, this is what Tinfiny Ranch would undoubtedly look like.  The Patton name was attached to the M47, M48, and M60 tank series.  I asked Margit about these tanks, and she told me that when the Museum raises enough money, they’ll be made operational and put on display.   For now, Margit said, “they stand as silent ghosts with General Patton at the helm.”  I like that.
The General Patton Memorial Museum outdoor chapel.  The chapel was built using desert rocks.  If someone is looking for a unique wedding venue, this is it.

When I first visited the Patton Museum nearly 20 years ago, there were only three or four tanks on display.   As you can see from the above photos, the armored vehicle display has grown dramatically.

Like the armored vehicle exhibits, the Museum interior has also expanded, and it has done so on a grand scale.  In addition to the recently-built Matzner Tank Pavilion shown above, the exhibits inside are far more extensive than when I first visited.  Sue and I had the run of the Museum, and I was able to get some great photos.  The indoor exhibits are stunning, starting with the nearly 100-year-old topo map that dominates the entrance.

The Metropolitan Water District’s scale map of southern California, Arizona, and Nevada. MWD brought this model to the US Congress in 1927 to secure funding for the California Aqueduct, then they stored and forgot about it for decades.  An MWD executive overhead Margit talking about the planned Patton Museum in the Chiriaco Summit coffee shop one day, he remembered the map, and one thing led to another.  MWD donated the map to the Patton Museum in 1988. The Big Map (as it is known) covers the area used by Patton’s Desert Training Center and the California Arizona Maneuver Area.  It’s a visually-arresting display that is truly something special.
Generals Patton and Rommel, the two key players in North Africa. If you’ve never seen the movie, Patton, you need to fix that oversight. It is a great movie.
George S. Patton: The early years. Patton attended the Virginia Military Institute and the United States Military Academy at West Point. His family was from San Marino, California.  Patton was born into wealth and could have done whatever he wanted.  He chose a career in the US Army.
One of the display rooms inside the Patton Museum. I could have spent the entire day in just this room.  That’s an A-10 Warthog model in the foreground.  It’s the airplane we used to take out Iraq’s Republican Guard tanks in Operation Desert Storm.  I worked for the company that manufactured the A-10’s 30mm Gatling Gun ammo and Combined Effects Munitions cluster bombs that did most of the heavy lifting in that war.
Another view inside the Patton Museum. A tripod, a Nikon, a wide angle lens, and having the room to myself. It was a grand day.
A model of Patton’s command vehicle. Patton lived in a trailer and moved with his troops during most of World War II, unlike other US generals who mostly stayed in hotels. Patton was an RVer before there were RVs.
The Patton Museum has an extensive World War II small arms display. I could have spent half a day just viewing this part of the Museum. I’ll be back.
The Patton Museum’s small arms display included this beautiful Model 1917 Colt .45 ACP revolver.  Most of the surviving specimens you see today (when you see them at all; they are not very common) have a Parkerized finish. This one has the original blued finish. I own a Colt 1917; mine has the original finish, too. There’s quite a story behind these revolvers.
A beautiful British Infantry Lee Enfield No. 4 rifle. I grabbed a photo of this one because it had an unusually attractive stock, something you don’t often see on infantry rifles.
A replica of General Patton’s ivory-handled Colt Single Action Army revolver. Patton carried different sidearms during World War II, including this Colt SAA and a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum (also equipped with ivory grips). Patton’s Colt SAA had two notches carved in the left grip.  Then Lieutenant Patton was part of the Pershing expedition that chased Pancho Villa in Mexico from Fort Bliss (my old stomping grounds). Patton personally killed two men in a gunfight during that action. There’s no doubt about it: Patton was the real deal, a genuine warrior.

In addition to the General Patton Memorial Museum, there are several businesses the Chiriaco family operates at Chiriaco Summit, and the reach of this impressive family is four generations deep.  As we mentioned earlier, it’s a story that can’t be told in a single article, but Margit was kind enough to give us a copy of Chiriaco Summit, a book that tells it better than I ever could.  You should buy a copy.  It’s a great read about a great family and a great place.

I enjoyed Chiriaco Summit immensely. That’s Joe Chiriaco in the lower left photo, and Ruth Chiriaco in the upper right inset. Margit Chiriaco Rusche, their daughter, is seated in the 1928 Model A.  Fourth-generation Victor (whom we met) runs a vintage car header company at Chiriaco Summit.  Victor is the young man standing behind Margit.

So there you have it:   The General Patton Memorial Museum and Chiriaco Summit.  It’s three hours east of Los Angeles on Interstate 10 and it’s a marvelous destination.  Keep an eye on the Patton Museum website, and when the pandemic is finally in our rear view mirrors, you’ll want to visit this magnificent California desert jewel.

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