So I had my new Harley, a gorgeous blue ’92 Heritage Softail, and it was a shockingly beautiful motorcycle. Yeah, some of the styling touches were a little hokey, but in a good way. I never even knew what a concho was before I bought the Softail, but I knew after I owned it. I became a Harley-riding cowboy. The conchos made the bike complete. How I ever made it to 40 without conchos I’ll never know. I had them now, though, and they just looked right. My Softail was a fashion statement. It made me look good and it made me feel good. I loved that bike.
My ’92 Softail on a Baja ride to San Felipe. Good buddies Baja John and Marty rode with me on that one. Those gangster whitewalls? That’s a story for another blog.
There was only one problem, and it was a big one: The Softail was a dawg. It was a 700-lb lump that couldn’t get out of its own way. I’ve already spoken about how unreliable my ’79 Electra-Glide was, but that old clunker would get up and choogy, and it would have walked away from my new ’92 Softail in a drag race. I mean, the thing was slow. When I gave it more throttle going up a hill, it seemed like the only result was a deeper moan. It sure didn’t go any faster.
I worked in El Monte in those days and the nearby dealer was a famous one in southern California, Laidlaw’s, and I felt comfortable with them. I knew Bob Laidlaw, their founder, and I knew his son Jerry, and I knew both to be straight shooters. When it was time for the Softail’s first service at 500 miles, that’s where I went. Laidlaw’s has since moved to a larger, more modern facility in a better neighborhood, I’m guessing at Harley-Davidson’s insistence, and it’s still a great place. But I liked the old location better. Like I described for Dale’s in the last blog about buying my ’92, the old Laidlaw’s facility had that crusty old motorcycle shop schtick, and I liked that. You know, grease on the floor, a funky shop area, and guys who looked like their lives revolved around motorcycles and tattoos. Guys with calibrated arms who knew how much torque to apply to a 9/16 by feel alone.
I went to Laidlaw’s on an overcast Saturday morning for that first service, and Jerry wrote the service order. After completing it, he looked at me and asked: Anything else?
“Yeah,” I said. “The thing’s a dog.”
Jerry smiled. He knew. This wasn’t his first rodeo.
“They lean them out pretty good from the factory,” he said.
“So what do guys do?” I asked.
Another Jerry smile. “Well, most guys get a new cam, punch out the pipes, rejet the carb, and put the Screaming Eagle air filter in.”
“How much is that?” I asked. I could see this smoking past another $1500 without stopping to look back.
“It’s about $500,” Jerry answered. Hmmm, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
“So how much would everything be,” I said. “You know, the 500-mile service and the cam and carb and pipes and all the rest?”
“It’s $500 for everything,” Jerry answered, “including the 500-mile service.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
“Let’s do it,” I said. I mean, I know a good deal when I see one. I hung around, as Jerry told me the whole thing would be a couple of hours. In the meantime, it had started raining, and I had no raingear. I walked across the street to some sort of an Army-Navy-99-cent store and bought a $3 rain suit.
In those days, it was no big deal to hang around in the service area and watch the techs work on your bike. The guy who was working on mine was a long-haired dude with lots of tattoos and a friendly smile. He held this giant steel toothpick-looking sort of tool that was essentially a ¾-inch-diameter rod sharpened to a point in one hand, and in his other hand he had a sledge hammer. He stuck the persuader into the end of one of my fishtail mufflers and whacked it with the sledge hammer. Then he repeated the process on the other fishtail. With a big grin, he said, “Adios, baffles!”
Then it was the carb work and the air cleaner replacement. And then it was the Screaming Eagle cam, which actually was pretty easy to install in the chrome cone on the right side of the engine. Then he buttoned it all up.
I finished my cup of coffee, donned my el cheapo raingear, paid my bill, and fired up the Harley.
Good Lord!
It was a completely different motorcycle. It sounded way better than it had before the Screaming Eagle cam work and exhaustectomy. It had been transformed from a smothered, anemic, pathetic, wheezing sort of thing into living, breathing, fire-snorting, spirited motorcycle. It reeked raw power and it had attitude. The idle was lopey and assertive, like a small block Chevy with an Isky cam and Hooker headers. My Harley rocked back and forth on its axles with each engine rotation. It was telling me: Let’s go! I think I’m pretty good at turning a phrase and I’m doing my best here, folks, but trust me on this: It’s hard to put into words how complete and total my Harley’s transformation was. It kind of reminded me of the first time I ever threw a leg over a Triumph Bonneville (I was 14 when that happened, and when Laidlaw’s tuned my Softail I was 14 all over again).
So I rolled out into the rain for my 30-mile ride home and I was afraid to whack the throttle open. I thought the rear wheel would break loose on the wet pavement; it felt that powerful. The rain and the clouds, I think, made the Harley’s Exhaust Notes (love that phrase) sound way mo better. I was there, man.
The year was 1991, and the last thing in the world I was thinking about was buying another motorcycle, and within the confines of that thought, the very, very last thought I would have ever had was buying a Harley-Davidson. I had previously owned a ’79 Electra-Glide I bought new in Texas, and that bike was a beautiful disaster. I called it my optical illusion (it looked like a motorcycle). I wrote about the bad taste it left in an earlier blog. Nope, I’d never own another Harley, or so I thought when I sold it in 1981.
My ’79 Electra-Glide Classic, as shown in the 1979 Harley catalog. It was the most unreliable and most beautiful motorcycle I ever owned. I wish I still had it.
But like the title of that James Bond movie, you should never say never again. I was a big wheel at an aerospace company in 1991 and I was interviewing engineers when good buddy Dick Scott waltzed in as one of the applicants. I had worked with Dick in another aerospace company (in those days in the So Cal aerospace industry, everybody worked everywhere at one time or another). Dick had the job as soon as he I saw he was applying, but I went through the motions interviewing him and I learned he had a Harley. DIck said they were a lot better than they used to be and he gave me the keys to his ’89 Electra-Glide. I rode it and he was right. It felt solid and handled way better than my old Shovelhead.
Dick Scott on his ’89 Electra-Glide. The day after I took this photo in Baja, Dick died when he crashed his motorcycle.
That set me on a quest. I started looking, and after considering the current slate of Harleys in 1991, I decided that what I needed was a Heritage Softail. I liked the look and I thought I wanted the two-tone turquoise-and-white version. The problem, though, was that none of the Harley dealers had motorcycles. They were all sold before they arrived at the dealers, and the dealers were doing their gouging in those days with a “market adjustment” uptick ranging from $2000 to sometimes $4000 (today, most non-Harley dealers sort of do the same thing with freight and setup). There was no way in hell I was going to pay over list price, but even had I wanted to, it would have been a long wait to get a new Harley.
One day while driving to work, a guy passed me on the freeway riding a sapphire blue Heritage softail, and I was smitten. Those colors worked even better for me than did the turquoise-and-white color combo. The turquoise-and-white had a nice ‘50s nostalgia buzz (it reminded me of a ’55 Chevy Bel Air), but that sapphire blue number was slick. Even early in the morning on Interstate 10, I could see the orange and gray factory pinstriping, and man, it just worked for me. It had kind of a blue jeans look to it (you know, denim with orange stitching). That was my new want and I wanted the thing bad. But it didn’t make any difference. Nobody had any new Harleys, and nobody had them at list price. I might as well have wanted a date with Michelle Pfeiffer. In those days, a new Harley at list price or less in the colors I wanted (or in any colors, actually) was pure unobtanium.
The Harley Softail I bought at Dale’s Modern Harley. I negotiated a hell of a deal. I kept that Harley for 12 years and rode the wheels off the thing. I’ve since learned how to pack a little better.
So one Saturday morning about a month later, I took a drive out to the Harley dealer in San Bernardino. In those days, that dealer was Dale’s Modern Harley (an oxymoronic name for a Harley dealer if ever there was one). Dale’s is no more, but when it was there, it was the last of the real motorcycle shops. You know the drill…it was in a bad part of town, it was small, everything had grease and oil stains, and the only thing “modern” was the name on the sign. That’s what motorcycle dealers were like when I was growing up. I liked it that way, and truth be told, I miss it. Dealerships are too clean today.
Anyway, a surprise awaited. I walked in the front door (which was at the rear of the building because the door facing the street was chained shut because, you know, it was a bad part of town). And wow, there it was: A brand new 1992 Heritage Softail in sapphire blue. Just like I wanted.
Dale’s had a sales guy who came out of Central Casting for old Harley guys. His name was Bob (I never met Dale and I have no idea who he was). Bob. You know the type and if you’re old enough you know the look. Old, a beer belly, a dirty white t-shirt, jeans, engineer boots, a blue denim vest, and one of those boat captain hats motorcycle riders wore in the ‘40s and ‘50s. An unlit cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth. His belt was a chromed motorcycle chain. I’d been to Dale’s several times before, and I’d never seen Bob attired in anything but what I just described. And I’d never seen him without that unlit cigarette. Straight out of Central Casting, like I said.
“What’s this?” I asked Bob, pointing at the blue Softail.
“Deal fell through,” Bob answered. “Guy ordered it, we couldn’t get him financing, and he couldn’t get a loan anywhere else.”
“So it’s available?” I asked.
“Yep.”
Hmmm. This was interesting.
“How much?” I asked.
“$12,995, plus tax and doc fees,” Bob answered, walking back to his desk at the edge of Dale’s very small showroom floor.
$12,995 was MSRP for a new Heritage Softail back in 1992. That would be a hell of a deal. Nobody else in So Cal was selling Harleys at list price.
I followed Bob to his desk and sat down. I was facing Bob and the Harley was behind me. Bob was screwing around with some papers on his desk and not paying any particular attention to me.
“I’ll go $11,500 for it,” I said.
Bob looked up from his paperwork and smiled.
“Son,” he said (and yeah, he actually called me “son,” even though I was 40 years old at the time) “I’m going to sell that motorsickle this morning. Not this afternoon, not next week, but this morning. The only question is: Am I going to sell it to you or am I going to sell it to him?”
Bob actually said “motorsickle,” I thought, and then I wondered who “him” was. Bob sensed my befuddlement. He pointed behind me and I looked. Somebody was already sitting on what I had started regarding as my motorsickle. That guy was thinking the same thing I was.
“Bob,” I began, “you gotta help me out here. I never paid retail for anything in my life.”
“That’s because you never bought a new ’92 Harley, son, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll throw in a free Harley T-shirt.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he was trying to insult me, but I didn’t care.
I looked at the Harley again and that other dude was still sitting on it. On my motorcycle. And that’s when I made up my mind. $12,995 later (plus another thousand dollars in taxes and doc fees) I rolled out of Dale’s with a brand-new sapphire blue Harley Heritage Softail. And one new Harley T-shirt.
It was a day on the range with three classic and regal rifles: A .22 Hornet Winchester Model 43, a Winchester Model 70 chambered in .300 Weatherby Magnum, and a .416 Rigby Ruger Model 77 RSM Express. These are rifles that can handle everything from rabbits to rhinos, although my only intent was to punch holes in paper, preferably with the holes as close to each other as possible. It’s always fun doing so, and it’s even more fun when the rifles have an elegance rooted in fine walnut, hand-cut checkering, and deeply polished blue steel. To me, these things are art. Art you can take to the range and enjoy. I’m going to tell you more about the load data for each of these rifles in subsequent blogs; today, it’s a bit of history about the guns and their cartridges, and how I came to own each of these fine rifles.
A study in extremes: From top to bottom, it’s the .416 Rigby, the .300 Weatherby Magnum, and the diminutive .22 Hornet. All three are reloaded cartridges.
The rifles? I’ve mentioned at least two of these in ExNotes blogs before, but for those of you who haven’t read those posts, let me bring you up to speed. The first is a Winchester Model 43 Deluxe manufactured in 1949.
The Winchester Model 43 Deluxe, a .22 Hornet rifle that looks like it shipped from the factory last week.
The next is an early 1980s Winchester Model 70 XTR. It’s one of a very small number of rifles Winchester chambered in .300 Weatherby that year.
Another magnificent Winchester, this time a Model 70 chambered in .300 Weatherby Magnum. Check out the walnut!
And the last is a Ruger Model 77 RSM Express. It’s a monstrous rifle, chambered for a cartridge designed to slay monsters. Rhinos, elephants, and more. It’s a beautiful firearm.
The .416 Rigby Ruger RSM Express, a rifle so costly to produce Ruger had to stop making it.
As I wrote this blog, I realized that I purchased all three rifles from the same store: Turner’s in West Covina, California. Turner’s is the major hunting and fishing sporting goods chain here in California. I’m usually not a fan of big chain stores, but I’ve found some good deals at Turner’s and I’ll give credit where credit is due: Turner’s did good by me. All three of these rifles were fantastic deals.
People ask how I find guns with great wood. Part of it is I’m picky and I’m patient. Another factor is that today’s firearms market is dominated by folks who want black plastic rifles and pistols. That’s the market Turner’s serves and that’s good for me, because when collectible firearms with blue steel and walnut come into Turner’s they tend to sit for awhile. Most guys who focus on ARs tend to ignore what, to me, is the good stuff.
The Winchester Model 43 was on the consignment rack at Turner’s several years ago. It was the first Model 43 I had ever seen and I liked the look and feel. I like the cartridge, too. Turner’s had the rifle priced at $1000 and after doing my research, I thought that was fair. But I’m not interested in a fair deal. I want an exceptional deal. I visited that store every week or so for a good month and a half, and that little Model 43 had not moved. You see, in that neighborhood, there isn’t much of a market for a collectible Winchester. Like I said above, it’s just not what sells around here.
Winchester only made the Model 43 from May 1948 through 1953, and as mentioned above, mine was manufactured in 1949. When I bring my Model 43 to the range, folks who know what they’re seeing are all “ooohs” and “ahhhs,” as the crowd I run with consists mostly of guys who started driving when Eisenhower was in the White House. These guys get it.
Name one modern rifle that includes a checkered steel butt plate. You can’t. They don’t exist. You have to turn back the clock 50 years or more to fnd this.Hand checkering, too! Not laser cut, not pressed in, not machine cut, and not a rubber insert…but real hand-cut checkering. Somebody at the Winchester factory probably took the better part of a day 70 years ago to do this, and it was all done with hand tools. Checkering is one of the things that makes this Model 43 a Deluxe model.Nobody has better rollmarks than Winchester, and these say it all: America, Model 43, Winchester, and .22 Hornet!I pointed this out in an earlier blog, but it’s so cool I’ll mention it again. That front sight is not a separate part grafted on to the Model 43’s barrel; it and the barrel are machined from one piece of steel. Think lots of machine time and big production expense. Check out the stippling on the sight ramp (it cuts the sun’s glare). That would have all been done by hand.
So, back to my pining over the Model 43. I stopped in at Turner’s for maybe the sixth time to look at the Hornet again. I mean, the thing was on my mind. I was thinking about it at night when I went to sleep, it kept me up, and then when I finally dozed off, I was still thinking about it the next morning. To be a complete human being, I realized, I needed that Model 43. I suspect that if you’re reading this blog, you understand.
If the Hornet was still on the rack at Turner’s, I reasoned, the guy who had it on consignment might be willing to negotiate. I was going to offer $950. The rifle was easily worth the $1000 they were asking for it; $950 would be a killer deal. So I stopped in on the way home one day and asked to look at the Hornet again. I sensed that the guy behind the counter (the Turner’s gun department manager) was a little hesitant to show it to me, but he handed it over after opening the bolt.
I looked at the attached tag. The price had been reduced to $850.
I’ll take it, I said. The gunstore guy sighed. He told me he had wanted to buy the rifle (he was an older guy, like me), but that wasn’t my problem. I filled out all the paperwork, and 10 days later, I took my 1949 Hornet home. I was a complete human being. I could sleep now. All was well with the world.
I have no idea why Winchester stopped making these rifles, but I suspect it was because they were expensive to manufacture and the Winchester Model 70 was selling better. Whatever. And the cartridge itself? The .22 Hornet was first fielded in the early 1930s and when it hit the market, it was a sensation. It was a wildcat cartridge designed at the Springfield Arsenal and its focus was high speed (in those days, the 2400 fps Hornet was fast). The Hornet’s low recoil, relatively flat (for the day) trajectory, and accuracy made it the hot ticket for sending critters to the Great Beyond. I’ve been with Hornet-armed guys chasing jackrabbits and coyotes in west Texas; there is no better cartridge for this kind of hunting in the desert surrounding El Paso. There are more powerful .22 centerfires available today, but the Hornet is the one that started it all. It’s one of the world’s all-time great designs.
Winchester offered the Model 43 in two flavors – the Standard and the Deluxe. My 1951 Stoeger catalog shows that a new Deluxe sold for $66.95 that year; the Standard was $12 less expensive. Mine is a Deluxe, with checkering and a deep blue highly polished finish. And wow, it does its job well. It has iron sights, and I shot some amazing groups with it at 50 yards. I’ll share the load data with you in a subsequent blog.
50 yards, the right load, open sights, and a well-mannered Model 43 all came together on this fine day. Any time I can get under an inch at 50 yards with open sights, I’m calling it a good day.But wait, there’s more! This old Model 43 gets the job done!
I bought the Model 70 .300 Weatherby rifle in the 1980s. I was an aerospace engineer working at Honeywell in Covina (we did naval gunfire control systems for one of the first cannon-launched laser-guided munitions), I met my wife Sue when I worked at Honewell, and I hung out with my good buddy Ralph. Ralph, as it turns out, had the same affliction as me: He was a gun nut. Ralph told me about Turner’s. I was new to California, and I had never heard of Turner’s.
You can guess where this story is going. I went to Turner’s on my lunch break and I saw the Model 70. I knew enough back then to know that a factory Model 70 chambered for a Weatherby round was an unusual rifle, and I also had a taste for fancy walnut (my Dad made custom gunstocks, so I guess the walnut thing is genetic). The rifle was marked for something like $429 or $439 if I recall correctly (I might be off a little, but it was somewhere in the just-north-of-$400 range). I knew that it was tough to lose money on a gun (not that I had any plans to sell it), but it was the wood on that Model 70 that cinched the deal for me. I paid what they were asking because I wasn’t much of a negotiator back then. Today, I know that gun shops always put the rifles with the most beautiful wood on display. By definition, that’s the one I want and I’ll work hard to get it. But now I always ask for a discount no matter how stunning the stock is, because, you know, it’s the display model. Don’t laugh. It almost always works.
Sweet. The Model 70 in .300 Weatherby Magnum. The time to buy a gun like this is when you see it. They don’t come along too often, and I’ve never seen another one like it.
Winchester introduced the Model 70 in 1936. They value engineered the Model 70 in 1964 (that’s a nice way of saying they cheapened its looks and feel), and the pre-64s used to be far more desirable. But that’s all changed. I’ve owned pre-64s and modern Model 70 Winchesters, and I can tell you from personal experience the current production Model 70s are better guns. You can argue the point, but like I’ve said, I’ve owned both, and you won’t convince me. I’ve got the targets to prove it.
The funny thing about this particular Model 70 is that after I bought it, I didn’t shoot it but once or twice over the next 35 years. I was happy just knowing I owned it, and truth be told, I was a little intimidated by the .300 Weatherby cartridge. Yeah, I know, real men don’t flinch, but let me tell you, those .300 Weatherby rifles kick. I started getting serious about mastering this cartridge recently, though, and that’s what led to my Three 300s blog a couple of weeks ago. I guess I’m getting used to the recoil (a .300 Weatherby will rattle your fillings), because on this most recent range visit, the Model 70 graced me with a couple of 100-yard groups I found astonishing. I can’t do this with a .300 Weatherby all the time, but when I do, I’ll brag a bit. And I did. And I’m bragging a bit.
100 yards, a Weaver T-10 scope, and flinch-free trigger time all came together for a half-minute-of-angle 100-yard group. I shoot 3-shot groups when developing a hunting load. I’ve never been a fan of 5-shot groups, as I’ve found it’s very hard to get an animal to stand still for five shots.Maybe that 0.519-inch group isn’t good enough? Hey, the very next one measured 0.371. This is from a .300 Weatherby, mind you, at 100 yards. I’m good to go!
The Model 70 Winchester has been called the Rifleman’s Rifle, and for good reason. Model 70s have the right look and they are just flat accurate. I guess you could go wrong with a Model 70, but I never have, and I’ve owned a few over the years. And the .300 Weatherby cartridge? There’s no question: It’s a bruiser. Developed by Roy Weatherby in 1944, it’s still one of the fastest 30-caliber rounds ever and as you can see above, it can be very accurate.
All right, on to the last one, and that’s the .416 Rigby. Wow, what a cartridge that monster is. It was the third rifle I brought to the range with me. I was about five bays away from the rangemaster when I fired the first round. He immediately came over to ask what I was shooting. I thought he was intrigued by the thump (something that might have registered on a Richter scale somewhere), and I guess in a way he was. I proudly answered that it was a .416 Rigby. Then he asked me to move further away from his observation post. The further the better, he said.
The rhino thumper. Big bullets, big bore, big rifle, big muzzle blast, and big recoil! One box of unprimed brass (that’s just 20 pieces) costs $43!It just looks cool, doesn’t it?
The .416 Rigby is a cartridge with an interesting pedigree. It was first developed in 1911 by John Rigby and Company, the folks in England who made safari rifles for folks who liked to throw money around. The cartridge was designed for dangerous game…big things that can bite you, stomp you, gore you, and maybe even eat you. Over the years, Rigby built approximately 500 rifles chambered for its mighty .416 cartridge, and then it fell out of favor after the .458 Winchester Magnum entered the market. The .416 Rigby probably would have died a graceful death had Ruger not stepped in with their .416 Rigby Model 77 RSM (the rifle you see here) nearly 30 years ago. All told, Ruger built about a thousand of these rifles from 1991 to 2001. Then, presumably because of the manufacturing expense and fewer guys going to Africa to chase the things that bite back, Ruger discontinued the rifle.
I bought the Ruger at Turner’s, and it was a repeat of the Hornet story. The Rigby was on consignment (at the very same Turner’s in West Covina), and it was marked $1400. That was not a bad price, and these Ruger Express Magnums are an investment (you see them now for numbers approaching $2000, sometimes even more). I keep telling my wife that (you know, the line about collectible guns being investments and all). She keeps asking me when I’m going to sell.
Like the Model 43, the barrel and sight are machined from one blank (it’s the rear sight on the Ruger rifle). That means Ruger had to hog the whole mess out of a single piece of steel. Think excessive machine time, and think high manufacturing cost.
The rear sight ramp is the same piece of steel as the barrel, similar to the approach Winchester used for the Model 43’s front sight ramp. The three leaves are for close, mid-range, and long-range game. This is an expensive way to go, but it makes for fast adjustments for someone pursuing dangerous game. It was a common approach on high-dollar safari rifles back in the day. It’s elegant.
This .416 Rigby Ruger had an exceptionally well-figured Circassian walnut stock. All of the Ruger RSM Express rifles had Circassian walnut, but I’ve only seen a few as fancy as this one, and when I saw this one, I knew I had to own it (it’s a disease, I know). And this is another rifle in as-new condition. I can guess what happened…somebody bought it dreaming of Africa, the trip never materialized, the prior owner found out what .416 Rigby ammo costs (north of $200 for 20 rounds of factory ammo), the guy fired one or two rounds and felt the wrath of Rigby recoil, and shortly thereafter the rifle found its way to the consignment rack. It happens more often than you might imagine.
Stunning Circassian Walnut. As supplied by Ruger, Circassian has an almost orange hue to it. This one is beautiful.
I offered the Turner’s dude $1200, and he said he couldn’t do that without talking to the person who had the rifle on consignment. I looked at him and he looked back at me for several seconds. I guess it was a standoff. Finally, I spoke: Give the guy a call, I said.
He did, and yep, 10 days later the big Ruger came home with me. It’s a monster. It weighs more than any rifle I own, and a big part of what drives the weight is that monstrous hogged out .416 barrel. But when you light one off, that weight is your friend. It soaks up the recoil, of which there is plenty.
The Ruger was not nearly as accurate as the other two rifles I had on the range that day, but it still wasn’t too bad. I was shooting at 50 yards initially, and this is the best group I could get…
.416-inch holes at 50 yards. This rifle will do better. I just didn’t have it in me that day.
After shooting five 3-shot groups at 50 yards, I had five rounds left in the box of 20. I wanted to see where the bullets would hit at 100 yards, and I used a pistol silhouette target to make that assessment.
Meh, I could do better. With other rifles, I have on occasion shot groups under an inch at 100 yards with open sights, but it wasn’t going to happen that day (for me or the .416 Rigby).
I held at 6:00 on the target’s orange center, and I used that larger target because I didn’t know where the rounds would land at that distance (I wanted lots of paper around the point of aim so I could see what was going on). I put all five shots on paper, but the group size was a disappointing 6.6 inches. Oddly enough, the rifle was printing very slightly to the left at 50 yards, but it clearly grouped to the right at 100 yards. I need to think about that a little bit. Maybe it was the way the sun was hitting the front sight (that can make a significant difference), as I shot the 100-yard group later in the day. I found the v-notch on the Rigby’s rear sight to be a bit difficult to use (I could not form a consistent sight picture). I guess it’s okay for a charging rhino, but it’s not conducive to the accuracy I sought. I’m not done with the Ruger Express rifle yet, and truth be told, I ‘m kind of glad the results weren’t stellar. Half the fun with these things is searching for the perfect load. Once you find it, for me at least, a lot of the excitement goes away. I figure there’s still plenty of excitement left in the Rigby.
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That was my reaction when the photos you see below popped up on my Facebook feed, telling me it had been four years since I posted them. Yep, it was in July of 2015 that yours truly, Joe Gresh, and riders from China and Colombia descended on CSC Motorcycles to christen the RX3 with a ride through the great American West. So Cal to Sturgis, due west to Washington and Oregon, and then a run down the coast home, hitting every National Park and site worth seeing along the way. It was an amazing adventure, and truth be told, I was shocked that it has been four years already. That meant it was about four years ago that CSC brought the RX3 to America, it was four years ago that I first met Joe Gresh in person (a living legend, in my mind), and it was four years ago that we took a ride that made the entire motorcycle world sit up and take notice. A dozen guys, a dozen 250cc motorcycles fresh off the boat from China, 5000 miles, and not a single breakdown. Tell me again about Chinese motorcycles are no good? Nah, don’t waste your breath. I know better.
It was a hell of a ride, and good buddy John Welker did a hell of a job as our very own Ferdinand Magellan, defining the route, making all of the hotel reservations, keeping us entertained with great stories, and more. These are the same photos (I took them all) that popped up on Facebook. They represent only a small portion of the ride, but they give you an idea of what it was like. It was grand.
Somewhere along Highway 89 in Arizona. The guy in the foreground is our very own Baja John Welker. That’s Joe Gresh way at the other end of this row of motorcycles.Same location, with Hugo out front. Hugo is the Zongshen factory rep. He’s a great guy who kept us constantly entertained.Mr. Tso, posing for me in Zion National Park. This guy makes for a great photograph. He rode with us in China, too!We stayed in Panguitch, Utah, the night before we visited Bryce Canyon National Park. Dinner that evening was at the Cowboy’s Smoke House. I liked it so much I later returned with my wife just to have dinner there.Tony and his mascot inside Cowboy’s. Great times.Bryce Canyon National Park. Everyone was captivated by this place. It was awesome.Kyle, one of the Chinese riders, and Big John, our chase vehicle driver. Good guys both.Tony and Kyle, posing at Bryce.The crew when we returned to So Cal. From left to right, it’s Juan from Colombia, Joe Gresh, Tony from China, Mr. Tso from China, John Welker, Lester from China, Kong from China, Big John Gallardo, Hugo Liu, Gabriel from Colombia, and Kyle from China.The obligatory photo at Roy’s in Amboy, somewhere in the Mojave Desert. God Almighty it was hot that day.The guys at the Grand Canyon…Lester, Kong, Tso, and Hugo.In Capitol Reef National Park in Utah, at an impromptu photo stop.I grabbed this photo of Joe Gresh along the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. It looks like he’s Photoshopped into the picture, but he’s not.Same spot, different guys: Gabriel and Juan from Colombia. Juan later invited me to ride with him in Colombia, and I went. That, too, was an incredible ride.
So there you have it, or at least snippets of what was one of the greatest rides I’ve ever done. I’m hoping Facebook has more of these anniversary photos pop up for me, as the ride lasted 19 days and I know I posted more on that ride. Good times. Great riders. Superior camaraderie.
As always, there’s more good stuff coming your way. Stay tuned!
Hey, the whole story of that ride is here. You can get the whole nine yards by buying your own copy of 5000 Miles At 8000 RPM. There’s a lot more good information in there, too, like CSC’s no-dealer approach to market, how we dealt with the Internet trolls who tried to hurt the company, the first CSC Baja trip, the RX3’s strengths and weaknesses, and much, much more!
I must have been around 15 years old the first time I saw an Ossa Pioneer. It was at Haines City motocross track. Mike Mills’ mom was divorced and her boyfriend gave us a ride way out to Chrome Avenue in his boat tail Buick Riviera . What a car! The Riviera smelled great inside not only because it was new, but because the boyfriend wore cologne. This was the first time I had been around a grown man that used cologne. All the other adult men I had known up to that point smelled like dirty socks. I smell like dirty socks right now.
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“Burn the tires, c’mon!” we pleaded. It was a strange experience sitting in the plush, perfumed Riviera as the big V-8 engine effortlessly spun the tires into clouds of cotton candy. “Want to stop at the hobby store to pick up some sniffing glue, boys?” Damn we laughed and had fun with that guy. He treated us like equals, like he cared what we had to say. I wish I could remember his name. It was like going to the motocross races with Hugh Heffner.
He drove 90 miles per hour every chance he got and it wasn’t long before he was dropping us at the motocross track. He spun the Buick around and said, “I’ll be back at five.” And then lit the tires up again on Chrome Avenue. He was exactly what we wanted to be when we grew up.
Mostly Bultacos and Maicos were racing in Haines City back then but one guy had an Ossa Pioneer with the lights removed. The rider was good. He would get crossed up over the jumps and finished in the top 5 against real race bikes. I loved how the rear fender blended into the bike. That fiberglass rear section had a small storage area inside. One of the bike magazines of the era tossed a loose spark plug in the storage and went scrambling. The plug beat a hole in the rear fender and they had the nerve to bitch about it. Hell, I knew at 10 that you have to wrap stuff in rags on a motorcycle.
It rains most everyday in Florida and it started pouring. The races kept going for a while but finally had to be called because it was a deluge. You could hardly see to walk. There was no cover so we huddled in the leeward side of the ticket stand out by the entrance. It rained harder, the wind was howling. Wearing only shorts and T-shirts we were getting colder and colder. My lips were turning blue, man.
It was like Niagara Falls, a solid sheet of water that the Riviera emerged from. Man, I was so glad to see that car. “How were the races, boys?” Soaking wet and shivering we piled into the Riviera’s soft leather seats. I thought he’d get mad but boyfriend just laughed. You got the feeling he could go buy another Riviera if he wanted to.
As you may know, Joe Gresh started a Facebook group he called COMA. That’s an acronym for Crappy Old Motorcycle Association, and the intent is for folks to post photos of old and crappy motorcycles. That’s all fine and dandy, but it presents me with a dilemma: What do you do with photos of a motorcycle that’s old but most definitely not crappy?
Behold: The 1982 Yamaha Seca. This particular motorcycle is nearly 40 years old, and it’s just barely broken in. Sweet!
That surely is how anyone would describe Steve Seidner’s 1982 Yamaha Seca. When Steve bought it almost a year ago, it had a scant 1700 miles and change on the clock. I tried to buy it from Steve when he bought it, but it was no dice. Steve knows what he has: A motorcycle manufactured when Ronald Reagan resided at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, a nearly-40-year-old motorcycle in absolutely pristine condition. This is what I would call a New Old Stock motorcycle. It’s not been restored, and it’s essentially in as new condition.
The cockpit. Tach, speedo, and more. Check the odo reading. I’m the guy who bumped it over 1800 miles. Sweet!
Okay, I can take no for an answer. Steve didn’t want to sell, and sometimes you have to just suck it up and move on. But Steve wasn’t riding the thing, and a slippery 4-cylinder, fire engine red, 550cc motorcycle is a machine that cries out for abuse in the San Gabriel Mountains. I explained all of this to Steve, I threatened to expose some of his darkest secrets on the ExNotes blog, and a couple of days go, Steve gave me the keys to the kingdom. The kingdom being, of course, one 1982 Yamaha Seca with just over 1700 miles on the odometer.
Starboard. That means the right side. Of course, on this bike there really is no wrong side.
Well, the odo now reads over 1800 miles. Who done that? Me? Guilty as charged. It was a blast. I grabbed a few photos and I’ll share them with you here. I’m doing a more in depth road report on the Seca that will be in print somewhere down the road, and you’ll have to read that to get the full story. For now, enjoy these teasers.
The radical Left. As in the left side of a motorcycle that, in 1982, was a radical departure from the norm. This bike is beautiful.
So what was it like riding this blast from the past? Truth be told, it could have been a modern motorcycle. It handled flawlessly, it made good power, and it has good brakes. I loved it. I had the San Gabriels all to myself when I was up there on Steve’s Seca. It was a glorious day.
Yeah, this is a tough job. If not me, who would do this sort of thing?
There are some things on the Seca that were cutting edge in ’82, and others that we might regard as quaint today. But it all worked. A single disk up front and a drum (gasp!) in the rear (nobody told that drum brake it wasn’t supposed to work as well as it did). And what was the state of the art in 82…a four-cylinder engine with four carbs and a fancy cross induction system that was supposed to increase combustion chamber swirl for more power. I guess it worked, because the bike felt fantastic. It matched its looks, which are, well, fantastic.
Cast aluminum wheels, and a single disk up front…And a drum in the rear. It worked just fine.Bright, bright red, silver and black accents, and a state of the art 550 YICS engine. More on that YICS business later…
The view from the saddle was glorious, the Seca had a marvelous ExhaustNote (I love that word), and I was in my element up in the San Gabriels. I enjoyed the ride tremendously.
The view from Command Central. If it looks like it was a great day for a motorcycle ride, I’ll let you in on a little secret: They’re all great days!
It’s not often you see low-mileage, 4-decade-old-bike in as new condition. Steve’s Seca takes that description up a notch. How about a bike that has the original owner’s manual and tool kit?
The original tool kit. The original owner’s manual. It doesn’t get any better than this. A Yamaha time capsule, circa 1982.
When I returned to the CSC plant, Steve wanted to know all about the ride and how the bike felt. “It started missing a bit at around 110 mph,” I said, and Steve just smiled. He knew. I never took the Seca above 55 mph, partly because all my riding was in the San Gabriel’s tight twisties, and partly out of respect (both for the bike and for the man who allowed me to experience it). Good times.
The Man, The Machine, the Legend…Steve Seidner, the CSC Founder and CEO, and the Seca’s owner. Steve, thanks very much!
You know, it really is amazing how much technology has changed in the last 40 years. To be perfectly honest, the Seca’s performance below 55 mph (which is the only region I rode it in) was good, but it was not too much different than my trusty 250cc RX3, and at low speeds, I think the RX3 actually has a bit more grunt. That’s understandable, I suppose, as the RX3 is a single and the Seca is a four. I imagine the Seca has more top end and probably a bit more of a rush accelerating at freeway speeds, but the time-capsule Seca ride reminded me just how good a motorcycle the RX3 is. If you want to buy a Seca like the one featured in this blog from Steve, you’re out of luck (believe me, I tried). If you want to buy a new RX3, though, I hear Steve can help you make that dream come true!
Steve has some cool toys. Some time ago he let me swing a leg over his Norton Commando for a similar ride. You can read that story here. Steve has a pretty cool mid-60’s Mopar, too. I’m still working on getting the keys to that one.
That’s it for now, folks. I’ve got some more photos to process for another blog in a day or two on yet another toy, one that is a cool 101 years old. Stay tuned!
Adios, my friends. Stay tuned for another Prancing Pony tale!
I thought it might make for a nice change of pace if I actually posted something about motorcycles on this here motorcycle blog, so yesterday I fired up my faithful old RX3 and rode over to CSC Motorcycles. Steve has a very cool 1982 Yamaha Seca that he said I could ride, and I wanted to experience what it’s like to ride a nearly-40-year-old motorcycle, built during the Reagan Administration, with only 1700 miles on the clock. I’ll have a story on that later (Spoiler Alert: The RX3 is a nicer motorcycle). For today, I grabbed a few photos of my RX3 and I wanted to talk about my bike and its decals a bit.
Restaurants, Baja Runs, and more…my RX3 wears its decals like campaign ribbons. In a very real sense, that’s exactly what they are.
My RX3 is one of the very first ones delivered to America when CSC starting importing the bikes, and the story behind that is well told (if I do say so myself) in 5000 Miles at 8000 RPM. It’s orange, which became sort of a nice orange-yellow over the years, and I like the look. I also like the look of a lot of decals. I always thought that was a cool aspect of the whole ADV thing, telling folks where you’ve been and (with the help of a little artwork and adhesive) bragging about it a bit. And my RX3 and I have covered a few miles.
My first big RX3 ride, and one of the things that I think put CSC and the RX3 on the map was the 2015 Baja Run (our first, and maybe a first in the motorcycle industry for a new bike introduction). I didn’t know how that would go, I was nervous as hell that the bikes wouldn’t fare well, but my fears were unfounded. It was an incredible ride. And, it was our first decal. That’s the big round one you see just above the my saddle in the photo above.
Next up: The Chinese and a couple of cool guys from Colombia wanted to come to the US and ride with us. And I got to meet a cool guy named Joe Gresh, who Motorcyclist magazine sent to ride with us. You need to read 5000 Miles At 5000 RPM to get the full story on that adventure tour, too. It was grand. Azusa to Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota, ride west across Wyoming, Idaho, and Washington, and then a turn left at the ocean to ride the western US coast back to So Cal. The relevant point here is that ride made for a bitchin’ decal, which you can see in the photo below.
The Western America Adventure Ride. It was grand. 5000 miles, lots of bikes, and not a single breakdown. Gresh staged a burnout with his RX3 in Port Orford, Oregon…the burnout heard around the world. John Welker planned our stops and navigated for us. It was a magnificent ride.
Then we did a bunch more CSC Baja rides, and with each one came another decal. Then I did a ride across China with Gresh on a couple of RX3s we borrowed from Zongshen (I wrote a book about that one, too). Then it was a ride around the Andes Mountains in Colombia with my good buddies Juan (who was on ride across America with us) and Carlos, both supercool guys who took great care of me in Medellin, Barichara, Mompos, and a whole bunch of other magnificent Colombian destinations. Yep, that resulted in yet another book.
Luggage decals…Mama Espinoza’s in El Rosario (incredible lobster burritos), BajaBound Mexican insurance (the best), and the Horizons Unlimited Rally in northern California.My Chinese buddies gave me a Chinese flag to put on my bike, I had to add a US flag to show where my loyalties lie, and a decal good buddy Juan’s Colombian motorcycle magazine, DeMotos.com.co.
I could ask if you knew how many RX3 breakdowns I experienced in all those miles, but I know you already know the answer: Zero.
Yep, that little 250 has taken me to hell and back, and my RX3 just keeps running and running and running. An added benefit? Mine is orange (it’s the fastest color, Orlando).
And that brings us to now, and the latest decal to adorn my well-broken-in, trusty, faithful and fearless companion. It’s the supercool ExhaustNotes.us decal, and it’s perfect on my RX3.
Joe Gresh had a magnificent idea in creating an ExhaustNotes.us decal. I had just enough real estate to add it to my RX3!
So there you have it. Imagine that: A motorcycle story on a motorcycle blog! And there’s more motorcycle stuff in the pipeline. Truth be told, I enjoyed my RX3 sprint this morning, and it helped me realize I need to ride it more. Welker called me about Sturgis a couple of says ago. That might be fun. If I go, I’d do it on the RX3. I’d forgotten just how magnificent a motorcycle the RX3 is.
Stay tuned, folks…there’s more coming!
Would you like your very own ExNotes decal? Hey, sign up for our automatic email updates, and we’ll shoot a couple out to you!
The word “wow” might have been invented in anticipation of the .300 Weatherby Magnum. It’s that impressive. I’ve owned and fired a lot of different cartridges over the years, and the one that I find the most interesting, the most intimidating, and the most coolest ever is the .300 Weatherby. For a lot of years it was the most powerful .308-caliber cartridge on the planet. Roy Weatherby, my personal hero, created the cartridge in 1944 and it’s only been in the last few years that two or three more powerful .30-bore cartridges emerged, but these new .30-caliber cartridges are overkill. In fact, I could make a good argument that the .300 Weatherby is overkill. But I won’t. I love the round and I love the fact that it scares me a little every time I shoot it.
A sense of scale. From left to right, it’s the .22 Long Rifle, the .45 ACP, the .223 Remington (essentially, our M-16 round), the .30-30 Winchester (America’s premier deer cartridge), the mighty .30-06, and the last two are .300 Weatherby Magnum cartridges. Every cartridge shown here (with the exception of the .22 Long Rifle) is a reloaded round.
The first rifle I ever bought chambered for the .300 Weatherby, oddly enough, was not a Weatherby. It was a Winchester Model 70 that I bought maybe 35 years ago. It was a limited production item and that might have been a good reason to buy it, but the thing that grabbed my attention on this particular rifle was the walnut. You just don’t see factory Model 70s with fancy walnut, but this one had it in spades.
A 1980s Model 70 Winchester in .300 Weatherby Magnum, wearing a Weaver T-10 telescopic sight.The right side of the .300 Weatherby Model 70.Ah, that beautiful walnut. It’s not often lumber like this appears on a Winchester.Both sides, too! When I saw this rifle I was still in my 30s. I really couldn’t afford it, but I couldn’t afford to let it get away, either.
I think I paid just over $400 for that rifle back in the 1980s, which is what they were going for then. I had a Weaver T10 target scope I had used when shooting metallic silhouette and it went on the Model 70. It’s most definitely not the scope for a .300 Weatherby, but it’s what I had at the time. The scope is a collectible item all by itself…it’s steel and it was manufactured when Weaver made their scopes in El Paso.
So that’s the first rifle in this trio of .300s. The next is one I bought exactly 10 years ago, in 2009, at the height of the Great Recession. I was lucky in 2009…I was working, and lots of folks were selling things to raise cash, including more than a few gun stores. An outfit called Lock, Stock, and Barrel advertised a new-in-the-box Mark V Euromark on Gunbroker, and I was on that in a New York minute. The store was in the upper Midwest somewhere and they stated in their ad they would not sell to California (our state commissars make life difficult in a lot of ways, and more than a few sellers simply won’t ship to California). But I wanted that Euromark something fierce (the Euromark is a Mark V Weatherby with a satin oil finish, rather than the Mark V’s usual high gloss urethane finish). I called the guy, did my “woe is me” routine, and he agreed to ship the rifle to my FFL-holder here in the Peoples’ Republik.
Saw it on Gunbroker, saw the wood, and I couldn’t say no.It was nice on both sides, too. Rosewood accents, beautiful walnut, and the mighty .300 Weatherby Magnum in a Mark V. What’s not to like?
I bought a new Weaver 4×16 scope, put it on the rifle, and then I put the Mark V in the safe. It stayed there for 10 years. I fired it for the first time this weekend, for this blog.
You know, the funny thing is my good buddy Marty saw the Weatherby before I put it in the safe and he decided he needed one, too. He tried calling Lock, Stock, and Barrel a week after I received mine, but they had already gone out of business. The Great Recession was rough. My grabbing that rifle was a lucky break.
These photos impart a bit of an orange hue to the Mark V’s stock. It’s really a bit more subdued.Like the Model 70, this Mark V is pretty on both sides. The stock profile is the classic Weatherby Monte Carlo look, which actually works very well in reducing felt recoil.Unlike the other Deluxe Mark V rifles, the Euromark has a classic, low-sheen satin finish. It works well with the rosewood accents.It was sunny when I was on the range this weekend. I get better photos when it’s overcast, but you get the idea. The 4×16 Weaver on this rifle is a magnificent optic.
The last .300 Weatherby I’m going to talk about today is my Vanguard. It’s one of the original series Weatherby Vanguards, and it has what we tongue-in-cheek refer to as the Tupperware stock. I’ve written about this rifle on the ExNotes blog before. I wasn’t looking for a Vanguard when I bought this one, but I saw it at the Gunrunner gun shop in Duarte, the price was right, and, well, you know how these things go. It came home with me.
My Series 1 Weatherby Vanguard with the plastic stock. It’s accurate. And it’s hard-hitting (on both ends).A view from the port side. You can see the profile similarity between the Vanguard’s composite stock and the Mark V’s walnut stock above.The Vanguard came from the factory with a Bushnell 3×9 scope. It needs more eye relief. Before I go into the field with this rifle, I’m going to replace the scope.
The deal on the Vanguard rifles is that Weatherby wanted to bring a lower cost rifle to market without cheapening their flagship Mark V, and they contracted with Howa of Japan to build the Vanguards. The principal difference is that the Vanguard has a 90-degree bolt lift compared to the Mark V’s 54-degree bolt lift, and the Mark V sells for about $1400 more than a Vanguard. I’m here to tell you that the Vanguard is an outstanding rifle, every bit as good as the Mark V, and in many cases, more accurate.
So how do these three puppies shoot?
Like I said at the beginning of this blog, the .300 Weatherby is intimidating. I like to think I’m not recoil sensitive, but the .300 Weatherby is right on the edge of what I think I can handle shooting from the bench. It’s not an easy rifle to shoot for accuracy. To get the best groups from any rifle, I like to minimize contact with the rifle. I let the rifle lay in the benchrest, lightly hold the fore end with my fingers, barely touch my cheek against the stock, move my head to an appropriate position to get a full image through the scope, and just touch the recoil pad with my shoulder. The idea is that I don’t want to exert any force on the rifle, as that can move the rounds around on the target, and I’m shooting for the tightest group. That works with rifles that have light to moderate recoil, say, up to the .30 06 level. Try that with a .300 Weatherby, though, and you’re going to get popped in the face by the scope when you drop the hammer. Really. Trust me on this; I know. Nope, when you shoot the .300 Weatherby from the bench, you need a solid grip on the rifle, and you need to pull it firmly into your shoulder. It’s a little harder to get tight groups doing that. But it’s easier than getting smacked by the scope.
Before I get into the accuracy results, I’ll share my impressions of the three rifles based on trigger pull, felt recoil, fit, and optics.
The Mark V has the best trigger. I broke cleanly at about 3 lbs, and it made shooting the rifle easier. I guess that’s to be expected with a rifle that has a price tag like the Mark V (these things ain’t cheap). The Model 70 had a crisp (no creep) trigger, but it was heavy. That made it a little harder to shoot well, especially when shooting it right after I shot the Mark V (I got spoiled; it’s pretty hard to follow the Mark V act). The Vanguard trigger had a bit of creep in it, and it was about as heavy as the Winchester’s trigger, which is to say both the Vanguard and the Winchester triggers were heavier than the Mark V’s trigger.
The Mark V is a clear winner from a felt recoil perspective. There are several reasons for this. One is that it is the heaviest of the three rifles, with its dense walnut stock and 26-inch barrel. Another is the Weatherby stock profile. Folks make fun of it, but it works. When the gun recoils, it draws away from your cheek, and the perception is that it has less recoil. Another factor is Mark V’s recoil pad. And the last one is the Weaver 4×16 scope’s eye relief. Head position isn’t critical, and you’re far enough back from the scope that it doesn’t hit you in recoil. Don’t get me wrong: The Mark V still packs a wallop. It’s just easier to shoot than the other two. The Winchester Model 70 was a close second, most likely because it also has a real stock (read: walnut), but it’s thinner recoil pad made it slightly more punishing than the Mark V. Third place from the felt recoil perspective was the Vanguard. It has a big recoil pad like the Mark V, but the plastic stock and 24-inch barrel make the gun lighter, and like we say in the engineering biz, f still equals ma. Also, the Vanguard’s low end Bushnell Banner scope does not have generous eye relief, and I got smacked a couple of times. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to get my attention.
I’ve already started talking about scopes, so let me continue that discussion. The Weaver 4×16 I purchased for the Mark V is a killer scope. It’s incredibly bright, crisp, and clear. In fact, it’s so good I didn’t realize I had it turned down to 4X for the first couple of groups I fired. Eye relief on this scope is generous enough for a bucking bronc like the .300 Weatherby. It’s the clear winner.
The Weaver T-10 on the Model 70 was out of its element. It’s a target scope. Eye relief was good enough, but alignment and distance were hypercritical; move just a little too far forward or backward, or left or right, and you’ve lost the image. I like the scope (I’ve owned it for over 40 years), but it’s in the wrong place on a hunting rifle.
The Vanguard’s Bushnell Banner…what can I say? Maybe this: Halitosis is better than no breath at all. I played around with the focus adjustment, but the Bushnell just isn’t as clear or crisp as either of the Weavers. That said, it’s considerably less expensive than the other two scopes. When I bought the Vanguard, it was essentially in as new condition, and the Bushnell was part of a factory package (it came with the rifle). If I was do it over, I’d get the Weaver 4×16, or maybe a Leupold, for this rifle. I may do that anyway. I know this is heresy, but I actually think the Weaver has a crisper image than a Leupold scope.
Of the three rifles, the Mark V fits me best, with the Vanguard a close second. I like the Weatherby profile. It just works for me. If I had to choose one of these three rifles for a hunting trip in the mountains (and I do, as I’m chasing deer with good buddy J later this year in Idaho), it would definitely be the Vanguard. It’s lighter, and that counts on a hunt like the one I’m headed into. Yeah, I know…a .300 Weatherby is a bit much for deer. You take what you want when you hunt. I’m taking my .300.
Okay, so the big question emerges: How about accuracy?
I almost didn’t include this. I did a bit of accuracy testing, but my advice is to take my results with a grain of salt. A big grain. Maybe a barrel of salt. I hadn’t been on the rifle range in a month or two, and firing 50 or 60 rounds of .300 Weatherby Magnum ammo in one sitting is not the best way to do this kind of shooting. Stated differently, I was not really giving these rifles a fair shake in this test. The first few groups you see below are me getting settled in, and the last few groups you see below are more likely than not me deteriorating after getting smacked around all morning. These rifles are better than what the results below indicate.
That said, here we go. All groups you see in the chart below were 3-shot groups at 100 yards from the bench. There was no wind, it was a bit warm, and conditions were about ideal.
The loads. Don’t take my word for this stuff; get thee to a load manual, study it, and do your own testing. Start low and work up.
I knew from past dealings that IMR 7828 propellant is good stuff in the big magnums, and I think that my 76.5 grain load with the 180-grain Remington jacketed softpoint bullet is a great load. I was a bit off on the first group I fired with this load (two shots were touching; the third was a flyer most likely induced by me) and then the other two groups with this load were at minute of angle. I could do better if I shot this rifle more (yeah, that’s another factor; this was the first time I had this rifle out and the barrel is not broken in yet). This is not a max load (I could go hotter) and the group size was smaller with the warmer of the two loads I tried with 7828 and the Remington 180-grain bullets. That suggests an even warmer charge of 7828 under this bullet is where greater accuracy lives, but I just don’t feel a need to go there. No animal on the planet would be able to tell the difference from an energy-on-target perspective and minute-of-angle accuracy is close enough for government work (especially for the game I plan to hunt). Dead is dead. There’s no sense getting beat up by more recoil to make an animal more dead.
The 80 grains of 7828 with the 165-grain Hornady bullet I show in the table above is near a max load, and I think it’s obvious I was losing my edge toward the end of this range session. I shot a 0.507-inch group at 100 yards with that same load in the Vanguard a couple of years ago; I just couldn’t duplicate it near the end of my range session this past weekend.
Yeah, this dog will hunt.
The difference between a cup of coffee and my advice is you might have asked for a cup of coffee, but I’ll give you my advice anyway. If I was going to get one rifle in .300 Weatherby, I’d get the basic model Vanguard with a walnut stock, and I’d put either a Weaver 4×16 or a Leupold scope on it. You’d be getting the Vanguard’s accuracy, with the walnut stock you’d get a little added weight to soak up the recoil, and you’d save a cool $1400 over the Mark V. I think the Weatherby Vanguard is the best rifle value on the market today. Shop around on Gunbroker.com for a bit and you can find new walnut Vanguards for about $600. That’s a phenomenal deal and owning a Weatherby will make you thinner, taller, and better looking. It will make you a better man. Trust me on this.
One last comment: The results you see above regarding different loads are my loads in my rifles. Your mileage may vary. Consult a load manual, and always work up your own loads starting at the low end of the manual’s recommended propellant charges.
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It’s another one of those stream-of-consciousness blogs, folks…things I’ve been meaning to mention but forgot, new stuff that’s cool, and more.
For starters, you all will remember my good buddy and former US Army paratrooper Mike. I first met Mike on one of the CSC Baja rides and we’ve been friends since.
Airborne all the way…that’s Mike.
Mike posted a photo on Facebook over the weekend of himself and, well, take a look…
Hmmmm….
I saw that photo, and I realized: This is an image that cries out for a caption. So, we’re having a caption contest. There’s no prize, other than seeing your entry posted here on the ExNotes blog. There’s all kinds of possibilities with things related to being Airborne, being a turkey, sitting under a turkey, that “almost airborne” T-shirt Mike is wearing, and on and on it goes. Let’s hear your thoughts in the Comments section, or shoot us an email.
If you missed this one, you gotta go back. And if you didn’t miss it, read it again. I have. Several times.
More good stuff…I keep returning to Gresh’s blog on the BMW R18. I first read it when I was enjoying an Einstein’s bagel in the Denver airport a couple of nights ago, and I realized that folks were looking at me because I was laughing out loud. The writing is classic Gresh. Funny as hell. My good buddy Arjiu can write.
Another one…you might remember my blog on the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site a few weeks ago.
Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site. It’s in southeastern Colorado and it’s worth a visit.
While I was out there, I asked the US Park Ranger which of the several books they offered for sale he would recommend, and he suggested A Misplaced Massacre by Ari Kelman.
The Ranger’s book recommendation was solid, and A Misplaced Massacre was a fascinating read. Part of the book was about the massacre, but most of it was about the controversy in contemporary Colorado associated with recognizing that Sand Creek was a massacre (and not an heroic battle, as claimed by the cowardly cavalry officer who led it). Another aspect to the story I had not heard before was the uncertainly associated with the actual massacre site (since resolved, but the effort involved in finding it was one hell of a story that resulted in the title of this fine book). And yet another aspect was US Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell’s involvement in designating the site as a national historic site. I met Senator Campbell over 20 years ago at the Laughlin River Run. Yep, Senator Campbell is a motorcyclist.
Gordon Smith as the XO of VA-152 during a deployment in Southeast Asia.
More good stuff…30 years ago, I managed the Sargent-Fletcher plant in El Monte, California, where we designed and manufactured aerial refueling equipment and combat aircraft fuel tanks. It was a fabulous place to be and I had a wonderful team, but the best part was that I worked for Rear Admiral Gordon Smith, one of the best bosses I ever had. I learned more about leadership working for Gordon than I did in any other job, and I’ve worked for several truly outstanding leaders. Sue and I reconnected with the Admiral a few weeks ago, and we’re having dinner with him this week. I’m really excited about that. It’s a story we may share here on the ExNotes blog.
A 2014 L.A. Cetto Malbec. This, all by itself, is worth a trip to Mexico.
Another random thought…Joe and I did a Baja run a few weeks ago for Royal Enfield, and I mentioned that story is running in the current issue of Motorcycle Classics magazine. On our way home, as I always do on any Baja run, we stopped at the L.A. Cetto vineyard along the glorious Ruta del Vino between Ensenada and Tecate. It turns out that I am somewhat of a wine snob. Well, not really a wine snob…that implies a degree of sophistication I don’t possess. What I am is a guy who appreciates a good Malbec, a wine I learned about on a business trip to Colombia 15 years ago (I had never heard of Malbec before then). When you re-enter the US from Baja, you can only bring one bottle of wine, and when Joe and I visited the L.A. Cetto vineyard, I asked if they had a Malbec. It turns out they had a couple, and the guy there recommended the 2014. It cost a little more than the other one so I figured it must be good (like I said, being a real wine snob requires a level of sophistication I don’t have). Based on my wine selection logic (more expensive must be better), I bought it. Susie and I barbequed salmon last week and we opened the Malbec (another demonstration of my lack of sophistication…drinking a red with fish). Good Lord, it was wonderful. I checked, and you can’t buy L.A. Cetto Malbec in the US. You know what that means: Another trip to Baja!
And finally, I was out on the rifle range yesterday, and we’re working up a good story tentatively titled A Tale of Three 300s.
Winchester made a small number of Model 70 rifles chambered in .300 Weatherby in the 1980s, and I managed to get one. Nope, it’s not for sale.
A Tale of Three 300s will be up in another day or two after my shoulder recovers from the recoil. In the meantime, if you need more gun stuff, just mosey on over to Tales of the Gun!
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Our last blog on German Military and Police Motors: Part I ended with a photo 0f good buddy Ben’s his personal bike, and I thought a good way to start Part II would be with another photo from Ben…one showing a vintage Swedish police BMW…
Nothing slowed these guys down…check out this Swedish ski-equipped BMW!
When I wrote the Complete Book of Police and Military Motorcycles, I guess the word got out and I received a number of police motorcycle photos. As you might imagine, many of these photos were of police BMWs, as BMW has been a dominant force in the police motorcycle world for decades. BMW has offered several engine configurations over the years, and nearly all are represented in their police motorcycles.
BMW’s early K-bikes used 3 or 4 cylinder engines (the photo below shows a 4-cylinder model) that were oriented in an unusual manner. The crankshaft was parallel to the frame, and the engine was oriented with the pistons moving in a horizontal plane (the engine laid on its side). The cylinder was on the bike’s left side. BMW tried to enter the US market with these motorcycles, but they made little progress until they offered the 1100cc boxer twin.
An K1100LT BMW formerly in service with Belgium’s federal police. Ruud Willems sent this photo to me.Another cool photo from Ruud, this time showing an 1100cc BMW boxer twin formerly in service with the Belgian federal police.
The photos came in from all over the world. Here’s one from good buddy Ian in the UK…
A cool photo from Ian showing police BMWs in Birmingham, England.
And another from my old stomping grounds in New Jersey…
An F650 BMW police bike with ABS in service with Egg Harbor Township in New Jersey. The Egg Harbor PD likes this bike’s ability to go off road. They also use the larger R1200RT-P BMW, which you can see in the background.One of Egg Harbor’s Motor Officers on the F650 BMW providing an escort to the Police Unity Tour.
Here’s a great photo from my CBX friend Ian Foster of Hong Kong showing two BMW R1100RT-Ps and two Honda VFRs in Hong Kong. How about that…Honda VFRs as police bikes!
Hong Kong police motors…Beemers and VFRs.A Hong Kong BMW in Causeway Bay, sent to us by Ian.
And good buddy Danny send us a several photos from the Netherlands…
A cool shot of a 1200 cc BMW police bike in the Netherlands from my friend Danny Hoek.Danny also sent this shot, along with detail photos below of the Netherlands-based BMW police bikes.An 800cc twin BMW police bike in the Netherlands from Danny Hoek.And Danny’s shot of the BMW R1200RT-P police bike in the Netherlands
When I wrote Motors for Rider magazine back in 2009, I took a bunch of photos of police motorcycles. Here’s a cool shot that made the cover of two BMW-mounted Motor Officers in La Verne, California…
A pair of La Verne, California’s finest…on their BMW R1200RT-P police motorcycles in 2009.
When police BMWs are retired from service, they are picked up by civilian motorcyclists. Although the bikes may have a few miles on them, they have usually been meticulously maintained, and they in excellent condition. Converting a police BMW to civilian use is straightforward…the blue and red strobe lights, the police radio, and the insignia come off, and it’s ready to go. Most civilian riders also remove the police BMW’s extra battery to save weight.
This is a photo of my good friend Bob staying two steps ahead of Hurricane Norbert in Baja, Mexico, on his “demilitarized” R1150RT-P.
So that’s it for now, folks. Our next bit on police motors will feature Kawasakis, but that’s another time and another blog. In the meantime, if you would like to see our other police motorcycle articles, please check out the ExhaustNotes Police Motors page!
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I must have been around 15 years old the first time I saw an Ossa Pioneer. It was at Haines City motocross track. Mike Mills’ mom was divorced and her boyfriend gave us a ride way out to Chrome Avenue in his boat tail Buick Riviera . What a car! The Riviera smelled great inside not only because it was new, but because the boyfriend wore cologne. This was the first time I had been around a grown man that used cologne. All the other adult men I had known up to that point smelled like dirty socks. I smell like dirty socks right now.
Mostly Bultacos and Maicos were racing in Haines City back then but one guy had an Ossa Pioneer with the lights removed. The rider was good. He would get crossed up over the jumps and finished in the top 5 against real race bikes. I loved how the rear fender blended into the bike. That fiberglass rear section had a small storage area inside. One of the bike magazines of the era tossed a loose spark plug in the storage and went scrambling. The plug beat a hole in the rear fender and they had the nerve to bitch about it. Hell, I knew at 10 that you have to wrap stuff in rags on a motorcycle.
It rains most everyday in Florida and it started pouring. The races kept going for a while but finally had to be called because it was a deluge. You could hardly see to walk. There was no cover so we huddled in the leeward side of the ticket stand out by the entrance. It rained harder, the wind was howling. Wearing only shorts and T-shirts we were getting colder and colder. My lips were turning blue, man.
