Talk about a hidden gem and a great destination: The Yanke Motor Museum in Boise, Idaho is about as good as it gets. There’s precious little information on the Internet about it, but trust me, it’s worth seeing. It’s not widely publicized and you can’t just roll up and visit its treasures; admission is by appointment only. My advice is to make the run to Boise and make the effort to get an appointment. The Yanke Motor Museum contains a world class automobile, motorcycle, tractor, and musical instrument collection.
A 1924 Packard convertible is one of the first vintage cars you encounter upon entering the Yanke Motor Museum.
As you know from reading this blog, I’m a big fan of car and motorcycle museums, and I never heard of the Yanke Motor Museum. It’s the only automotive museum in Idaho, and it never appeared on my radar before. I only came across it because I Googled “motorcycle museums in Boise.” Some of the Internet services won’t tell you that it’s by appointment only, but that’s the deal. Further complicating things, some of the GPS programs get the directions wrong. We used Waze to find the address and it worked.
There is a lot to see at the Yanke Motor Museum. We were lucky: Sue and I had the place to ourselves. We made an appointment and new good buddy Tyler (one of the curators) pulled up just as we entered the parking lot. Tyler was in a silver Subaru WRX, so I liked him right away. He opened the place just for us, and then he had to walk around turning all the lights on (and he flipped a lot of switches to do that). The place is huge.
A 1957 Cadillac. This is a beautiful car. I was 6 years old when it rolled off the assembly line.
I didn’t quite know what to expect because when we entered the main display area (after walking through a collection of musical instruments), I at first saw mostly automobiles. They were impressive and they were plentiful (see the Packard and drop-dead-gorgeous pink Cadillac above), with the odd motorcycle parked here and there. There was a Ural and a couple of Harley dressers, so I asked Tyler if there were more motorcycles. He smiled and pointed me toward another hall. Wow, were there ever! In fact, my back started bothering me lugging my boat-anchor Nikon D810 and 24-120 lens around to get the photos you see here, but it was worth it.
A Ural with a sidecar. Good buddy Dan owns one of these.
Before we got to the main motorcycle hall, we saw several more interesting motorcycles and the odd trike or two. There was a ’37 SS Jag replicar. It was flanked by a stunning cherry red Harley Servi-Car and a custom flathead Ford trike with Offenhauser heads.
Sweet!A fire engine red Harley Servi-Car.A flathead Ford trike. Check out the front brake.A custom in every sense of the word. The workmanship is stunning.Offenhauser heads. Offy also made complete 4-cylinder engines. Think decades of Indy 500 dominance.One last view of the flattie trike. Even the tires are beautiful.
Susie and I were blown away by the classic cars and the multiple motorcycles we encountered at the Yanke Motor Museum, and we hadn’t even made it to the motorcycle room yet. In the main hall, classic motocross and other bikes were scattered among the cars and other vehicles.
I once had a friend who thought a Bultaco was a Mexican food item. No kidding.
There was a flatbed truck with a Harley XLCR Cafe Racer, a vintage Indian Chief, and a vintage Harley.
I could have bought a new ’77 XLCR just like this one for $3,000, but I couldn’t justify spending $3,000 for a motorcycle back then. I don’t know who I thought I had to justify it to.A 1941 Indian Chief. Those fenders!
When we entered the motorcycle room, it was like being a kid in a candy shop. No, wait, I take that back. I used to be a kid in a candy shop six or seven decades ago. This was better. Just about everything imaginable was there if you are looking for cool motorcycles. Desert racers, WW II military Harley 45s, modern bikes, custom bikes, vintage Harleys, vintage Indians, scooters, Whizzers, vintage flat track and flathead Harley race bikes, and more. The Nikon was giving me fits weighing heavily on my lower back, and leaning over to get macro engine shots was getting downright painful, but I didn’t care. Susie had an Advil, I swallowed it, and the photo safari continued. I was on a mission. Anything and everything for our ExNotes readers…that’s our mantra.
In the motorcycle room…check out the Army 45s.A 1934 74-cubic-inch Harley VLD flathead, another stunning motorcycle.A Lambretta!Whizzers! Carlos, take note!Harley-Davidson flathead flat track racing motorcycles.Ah, the patina! Check out the steel shoe!Flathead porn.An Army 45 in decidedly non-Army colors.
The Yanke Motor Museum also contained some cool military stuff, including Jeeps and a few cannons. Cannons!
A 1948 US Army Jeep.A 25mm Hotchkiss cannon.The same action as a Ruger No. 1. A classic falling block concept.Another falling block artillery action.A custom scope mount for direct fire. This thing must be a hoot to shoot. Folks at the Museum reload for it.
I thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, but when I peeked into an adjoining room I spotted several 37mm and 25mm projectiles in various stages of the reloading process. Imagine that: Reloading for your own cannons! There’s no doubt about it: The folks who own and run the Yanke Motor Museum are our kind people.
Ron and Linda Yanke started the Museum. An extremely successful entrepreneur, Ron is unfortunately no longer with us. The Yanke family started the business empire with a machine shop. Ron Yanke expanded the business holdings to sawmills, an air charter service, a firefighting equipment manufacturer, extensive timberland holdings, several real estate companies, a mechanical contracting firm, a manufactured housing company, and a couple of banks. He was one of three original investors in Micron Technology, the world’s second-largest memory chip manufacturer.
I’ll bet you thought you were looking at a Gold Wing when you opened this blog.
Wow, the world is full of surprises. On my first foray into the Chinese motorcycle industry (a trip to Zongshen’s giant manufacturing campus in Chongqing), I was blown away by the size and sophistication of that company. Since then, I’ve been to China many times (including a visit to the Canton Fair, China’s significant motorcycle industry trade show). I thought I’d seen it all, and then I found this email from good buddy Fan in my inbox:
Hi Joe:
How are you, friend?
I’d like to share a news to you, of course it’s still about motorcycles/
A motorcycle exhibition was held in Beijing from May 17th to 20th.
Most of the products were still unremarkable to me, but one motorcycle sparked interest. This is a cruiser developed by Great Wall Motors, a Chinese automobile company. Its appearance may remind you of the Honda Gold Wing. At first, I thought this was another simple imitation of another motorcycle, but when I understood its structure and parameters, I found that it was not that simple. This cruiser is named SOUO and is equipped with a 2000cc engine with 8 cylinders, while the Honda Gold Wing is 1600cc with 6 cylinders only.
The price of this motorcycle has not yet been announced, but it is said that it will start accepting reservations in August. I guess the retail price should be 250,000 yuan, about 35,000 US dollars.
For your reference.
Best regards!
Fan
Whoa! 2000cc! Eight cylinders! An 8-speed dual clutch transmission! Talk about overkill!
I wonder what it weighs.
I tried to find what SOUO translates to in English, but it doesn’t translate to anything. What I found online is that SOUO is an acronym (you know, an abbreviation that forms a word). SOUO means “Search Own, Unlimited Outlook.”
This is a huge step in the Chinese motorcycle world. How Great Wall Motors markets the bike will be interesting to watch. I would think one of their principal markets has to be the United States (where else could it be?), but I have to wonder how many they think they are going to sell. Assuming the motorcycle could meet U.S. Department of Transportation and EPA emissions requirements (it most likely would, as the bikes I assisted in guiding through U.S. certification requirements all did), and assuming someone steps up to pay the roughly $50K associated with going through the certification process, how many people are willing to drop $35K on a new Chinese motorcycle? That’s more than what a new Gold Wing, a new BMW, or a new Harley costs. It’s a steep sales hill and it will require a significant marketing effort. I think the issues are the small size of the target market, the target market’s willingness to go with a new and unproven Chinese product (instead of a Gold Wing, a BMW, or a Harley), the price, and questions about Chinese motorcycle reliability and parts availability.
No one has asked for my advice on this, but that’s never slowed me down before. Here’s what I’d do:
Lower the price dramatically to bring new folks to the table. The RX3’s initial price was a scant $2895 and none of the other manufacturers could touch that price. CSC didn’t make money on those bikes, but we more than made up for that with future sales, accessory sales, and building a loyal customer base.
Do something similar to what we did at CSC to convince people the RX3 was a superbly reliable motorcycle. CSC sponsored a series of adventure tours to demonstrate the RX3’s reliability. Zongshen sponsored the 5000-mile Western America Adventure ride, and CSC sponsored a series of Baja rides. These events served us well. With the SOUO motorcycle, I’d think they might consider working a deal with the Southern California Motorcycle Club and the Iron Butt Association and run several of their bikes in their events, to include a Four Corners Ride (a ride that hits all four geographic corners of the U.S.), the Three Flags Ride (a rally from Mexico through the U.S. to Canada), and an Iron Butt ride (a run that covers 11,000 miles in 11 days). On top of that, I’d offer a 10-year warranty, kind of like Hyundai did with its cars.
Bring in a huge spare parts inventory and brag about it. Folks will naturally worry about spares. Bring in enough to build complete bikes and let everyone know it. It’s what CSC did and it blew away any concerns about parts availability.
Build a U.S. manufacturing facility. Boy, this could get complicated fast. But Great Wall Motors needs to address the U.S. disdain for Chinese products and the ongoing U.S./China trade war. Doing so is above my pay grade, but I would think making this bike in America would get around a lot of issues.
Go balls out on a product placement campaign. The U.S. motorcycle market for big touring machines is primarily old guys, and we are dying off. One way to attract new blood is to get the bike featured in movies and streaming TV shows. You know, like BMW and Triumph have done in the Bond and Mission Impossible franchises. (“Balls out” is not an obscene anatomical reference to moving at great speed; the phrase actually comes from the old mechanical centrifugal governors used on steam and internal combustion engines.)
This motorcycle is an interesting development. I don’t think we’ll see SOUO motorcycles here in the U.S. any time soon, but I’d sure like to. In the meantime, here are a few more photos.
If I had a dime for every article and Internet post comparing the 9mm to the .45 ACP cartridge (and the guns that shoot them) I could probably pay cash for a new Ferrari. That said, I make no apologies for this being another one. In this case (and for this article), one of the variables I have sort of eliminated is the gun. Both are Springfield Target model 1911 autos in stainless steel. They’re the two pistols you see in the photo above.
Here’s a macro photo of the 9mm cartridge (designed in 1901; also known as the 9×19 and the 9mm Luger) and the .45 ACP cartridge (designed in 1904). Both of the rounds shown below are my reloads, which I prefer over factory ammo for many reasons. We’ve written a lot about reloading both cartridges, and you can find those articles here.
I like these kinds of photos. The photo shows the 9mm cartridge (arguably the most popular handgun cartridge in the world) and the .45 ACP.
For this comparison, I used the Springfield Armory magazines that came with of the two 1911s. Here’s what the ammo looks like in the magazines.
Loaded .45 ACP and 9mm magazines. The .45 mag holds 7 rounds; the 9mm mag holds 9 rounds. I’ve read that the average number of shots fired in an armed confrontation (not counting military actions) is less than two.
The Springfield target guns have nice features, including click adjustable rear sights, dovetailed and pinned front sights, ambidextrous safeties, target triggers, skeletonized hammers, and more. I didn’t like the two-piece guide rods that came with both guns (you need a tool to unscrew the two-piece guide rods for takedown). Another two-piece guide rod issue is that they constantly unscrew. I immediately replaced those in both guns with one-piece guide rods.
A few of the features included on these Springfield 1911 target models are skeletonized hammers (a useless feature, in my opinion), a click adjustable rear sight (a very useful feature), an extended grip safety (another useless feature), and an ambidextrous thumb safety (yet another useless feature). I prefer wraparound Pachmayr-style rubber grips, but the Springfield Armory exotic wood checkered grips look cool.The Springfield Target model front sights are dovetailed and pinned to the slide. The one on my 9mm still came loose when the retaining pin backed out. The .45 front sight has stayed put. You can see the one-piece guide rod below the barrel; it’s a feature I added to both 1911s.
What has been a disappointment on the .45 Springfield was that the stainless steel was not properly passivated (it came this way from the factory). The gun exhibited minor corrosion in a few spots after a while, which is unacceptable for a stainless steel firearm. It’s the only stainless steel gun I’ve ever owned that did this. The corrosion comes right off with a bronze bristle brush and the steel beneath it then looks pristine, but you shouldn’t have to do this with a stainless steel firearm, much less one purchased new.
My 9mm 1911 had a problem with its front sight. The pin securing it in place backed out under recoil. I contacted Springfield about that and they sent an oversized pin. It similarly backed out. I applied Loctite to the pin and very lightly peened the edges at the top of its hole in the front sight, and that seems to have fixed the problem.
Neither of the above issues should have been present. I’ve purchased three new Springfield Armory firearms over the years and every one of them has had an issue. My Springfield M1A rifle had two issues: The magazines were extremely tight going into the receiver, and the ejected .308 cartridge cases were striking and damaging the stock. I sent the rifle back to Springfield. Springfield fixed the magazine fit issue (that fix worked) and they attempted to address the cartridges impacting the stock (that fix did not work). The cartridge cases still hit the stock after being ejected (even after Springfield did a ham-fisted job removing wood in the impact area), so I put electrician’s tape on the stock where the spent cases impact before I take it to the range. The rifle is quite accurate, but damn, you shouldn’t have to deal with issues like this on a new gun. I believe these things speak to a generally sad state of affairs in Springfield’s quality assurance and process control. But I’m going off track a bit. Let’s get back to the topic of this article, and that’s the two 1911 Springfields.
Corrosion on the Springfield Armory .45 ACP 1911. I believe the stainless steel was improperly passivated. I removed the tarnish/oxidation with a bronze brush and it has stayed off.My .45 reloads. I’ve been shooting this same recipe for more than 50 years. It works, so why mess with it? .45 ACP brass can be reloaded many, many times (and this brass has been).
In my most recent outing with both 1911s, the .45 was significantly more accurate. I believe that to generally be the case when comparing the .45 ACP and 9mm Luger cartridges, and this range day was no exception. The 9mm load I used was a 124-grain Xtreme plated roundnose bullet over 5.5 grains of Accurate No. 5 propellant. The .45 ACP load was a 230-grain Missouri cast roundnose bullet over 5.6 grains of Unique propellant (an accuracy load that always works for me). I shot the targets shown below on the 50-foot West End Gun Club handgun range using a two-hand hold supported by a rest beneath my hands.
The 9mm 1911 grouped just over 2 inches, which is typical for this load. This same handgun has done much better with other loads, which is outlined in earlier blogs on 9mm cast bullet loads and 9mm jacketed bullets loads.
The 9mm grouped okay, but not great. I’ve shot other loads in this handgun that were much more accurate, but I didn’t have any of those loads in the ammo locker the day I went to the range. If you would like to know about this, you can read about my 9mm ammo development efforts with the 9mm 1911 (and other handguns) using cast bullets and jacketed bullets.
Groups with the Springfield Armory .45 ACP 1911. Point of aim was at 6:00 on each target. Shooter fatigue is what opened up the last group.
The .45 1911 grouped very well. It’s a funny thing: The 9mm 1911 has way less recoil than the .45 and the trigger on my 9mm 1911 has been tuned to perfection by good buddy TJ (you can read about that here), but I shoot better with a .45 (and I always have). The .45 1911 barks like a Rottweiler and it kicks like a mule, but the thing is just flat accurate.
So there you have it: Another take on the rehashed ad infinitum 9mm versus .45 ACP argument. If you have an opinion, please weigh in with a comment or two below.
If you would like to read a bit more about how to shoot a handgun well, that story is here.
Carl Bennett of the UK has contributed to the ExNotes blog before. He recently sent to us a piece related to riding gear and we thought you might enjoy it.
By Carl Bennett
One thing I never wanted to hear on a motorcycle was the Ra-ta-da-ta-da of my head, elbows, hips, knees and toes bouncing down the tarmac having come off it. Ok, you might have to be of a certain age and indeed of a more than certain pretentiousness to recognise the song and the joke in the title, if that’s not too strong a word for it, but if you ride, you’ll have thought about buying the stuff, if you haven’t already. Which I’m feeling as if everybody else in the universe already has.
Back when I started riding motorcycles, rider armour was something I read about in Bike magazine, something strictly for people like Barry Sheene, who was the nearest thing to the Bionic Man I’d ever heard of. For our younger readers, Barry Sheene dropped his bike at Daytona somewhere around 170mph when he was 24 when his tyre blew up.
“I was rolling, and I could feel all my skin coming off. I didn’t feel the leg because all I could feel was the skin tearing off my shoulders. I went to get up and looked down, and my leg was right-angled, poking under the other one.”
Barry Sheene
He broke his left femur, right wrist, forearm and collarbone, six broken ribs, and a few vertebrae, sandpapered a lot of his skin off and got himself a 40cm steel plate screwed into his leg bone to hold it together. I don’t know what it’s like to do 170 on a motorcycle, and on my antique BMW F650, it’s not something I’m likely to find out. But I do know I never want to feel anything like Barry Sheene that day. Or any other.
I’d seen a kid at school who came off his bike at something under 40mph, but as he was wearing one of those sleeveless tops with a strap over each shoulder, the kind of thing they made you wear at English schools for Games back in the days when the P.E. teacher would wander around the shower room to “make sure” everyone was washing. This kid had one big scab from his wrist to his shoulder for a couple of weeks. He’d given up gloves to keep cool.
My view back then was that the more I looked like Mad Max, the cooler I’d look, so I bought myself a leather jacket. The one I wanted was in a proper motorcycle dealer in Bath, just about affordable, padded with something at the shoulder and the elbow and bulked me up massively. It was also an unseemly shade of orange, which was probably why it was affordable. The other problem was all I had was a Yamaha FS1E. Seriously.
Instead, I got a jacket made for me by a chain-smoking hippy in a weird shop in Bath’s Walcot Nation. He got the leather from cutting up old jackets, handbags, or wherever he could find it for free, then lined the coat with an old wool blanket he’d probably dug out of a decommissioned Cold War bunker under Box Hill. I got full marks for recycling and alternative cred, but it was about as protective as the mini-skirts it was probably made from, and it stank of cigarettes for months until the wind blew the smell away.
When I got a 650 Triumph, I had to get something more becoming, so when I was on holiday and visited Truro market, I bought the Stranglers-style black leather jacket I’d always yearned for, for a massive £35. As Meatloaf used to tell us, it was long ago and far away. According to Google, that would be about £180 today, so it’s not so much better after all. When I got my Sportster, I got myself a Schott A2. Luckily, I never got to test either of these out seriously, but after that, I turned my Harley into a laser printer and a laptop to start a business that saw me around the world for 15 years or so, during which I didn’t have a bike and being dumb, gave away or sold all my kit, gloves, Ashman boots, Belstaff boots, open-face Bell 500, goggles, jackets, waxed cotton over-trousers, Rukka suit, the Schott, the lot.
Then, just before Christmas, Santa brought me a BMW 650. Before I rode it anywhere, I had to start from scratch, starting with a helmet. I drove up to Harleston on one of those crisp December days to find a shop full of bikes I didn’t even know the names of, where they totally ignored me, then on to a shed (always a sign of a better bike shop) full of guys my own age and more who tried very quietly but firmly to sell me a nice Triumph but didn’t have any helmets. When I got home, Best Beloved, who fondly recalled her tasselled leather jacket and Yamaha 650, took me to the nearest bike shop in Ipswich, marched me to the helmet racks and whipped out her bank card. She chose a flip-front helmet I’d never heard of. I tried it on in the shop, and the sales guy told me it was the right size. After talking me out of buying a Scott chain oiler, agreeing it would be ideal if I was riding Route 66 coast to coast but also pointing out quietly and firmly that, in fact, I wasn’t, she walked me to the till and then her car.
The biggest problem was my head. It’s huge. Seriously. It’s 63cm and 64 if I need a trip to the barber. I tried the shiny new, never-heard-of-the-maker polycarb (I know..) helmet on in my home office and couldn’t believe three things: How heavy it was. How much my head hurt. That the nice guy in the shop was lying when he’d told me the helmet was my size.
It clearly said 61cm on the label on the back of it, and yes, I most definitely had said 63 in the shop. Another Saturday, another trip to the store, and a full refund. I got a Bell online instead, with the Gold ACU sticker.
I’d forgotten, or rather never really knew, how fashion was now a massive part of motorcycles. This is good because it means old stock is Out Of Fashion, and the seller still has to sell it, so there’s a whole load of good stuff being sold off cheap because Oh-mi-Gard it’s last season’s gear.
The same day we went to the bike shop in Ipswich I answered an ad on Gumtree that promised leather jeans for £30. After a tour of the town’s lesser architectural gems southeast of the railway station we found the house and the guy who said he was giving up riding motorcycles. Whether or not that was true, £30 bought a fantastic pair of leather bike jeans, padded at the knee. Ok, they zip from the wrong side and possibly, just possibly the cut makes them fit slightly like jodhpurs, more as if I was going to co-pilot Amy Johnson than ride a motorcycle, but hey. £30. A significant upgrade on Levi’s for protection anyway, and I’m too embarrassed to say when I remember Levi’s were £30 anyway.
The brand new Halversen gloves donated to a charity shop on Ebay were better than the ones I used to ride with, despite the Mad Max-style knuckle dusters that seem to be a legal requirement for riding gloves these days. The Bering jacket was the best thing though. I was intending to use my old leather jacket. Not the Schott that went to Ebay about five years back but the one I bought one Christmas in Fuengirola about 20 years back when it wouldn’t stop raining. After waxing it, soaking it in neatsfoot oil, daubing it with cocoa-butter and generally stinking my office up I realised that I might as well just buy something with armour and have done with it.
The Bering was a ludicrous £89, and that’s from a man who still thinks £4.95 is a benchmark price for pheasant pie, chips and peas, which I used to get for quiet evenings on my own in Stow-On-The-Wold back when I had a 400-year old house there. It’s got armour in the elbows and the shoulders, and a slot to stuff more armour down the back. It’s blue instead of leather coloured, with a twin zip up the front and a zip across the shoulders at the back, so that in summer you can ventilate yourself on the three weeks it ever gets above 80 Fahrenheit in the U.K. It’s made of 600 denier Cordura with a woven aluminium zip-in full lining for winter, and a handy strap and a brass buckle at the throat. More to the point, despite all the protection and windproofing, it doesn’t make me look like I’m auditioning for a Mad Max film. Best Beloved, who sews for a living, took one look at it and said “That’s a £300 jacket.”
Now, maybe it’s me, but if I’m spending £300 on a jacket I’m only going to wear in one eventuality, on the back of a motorcycle or anywhere else, then I want it to look pretty special. Some lizard skin detailing, maybe, or a paisley lining. Instead I get armour and fine-spun aluminium. When I started riding the biggest deal in protective clothing was whether you could find white sea-boot socks to turn down over the top of your knee-length zip-up boots, the ones where the only armour insert was a steel plate in the right instep, for the kick-starter.
The older I get the more I realise that saying is true: the past is another country. They do things differently there. And just sometimes, at least when it comes to motorcycle clothing, they do some things a whole lot better here.
Carl, thanks much. It’s a good writeup, I enjoyed reading it, and I think our readers will, too. ExNotes readers, if you’d like to follow Carl’s blog, the link is writer-insighter.com.
Good buddy Paul recently told me about a custom crafted flintlock rifle he bought from rifle maker Tom Caster at a steep discount because the stock had been broken. A stock break sounds like a major defect, but actually it is not that uncommon and repairing the broken stock, if done correctly, makes the stock stronger than new. Paul is a serious black powder shooter and he builds custom rifles, so he knows what he is doing here. Both Paul and Tom gave me permission to share this story.
Here’s what Paul wrote to me about this rifle:
When I first saw it I had the same reaction as you. It ticked off all my boxes for a rifle of this style and caliber as I did not have a .40 caliber muzzle loading rifle. They are supposedly an accurate target rifle. He sent me a target that he shot at 25 yards and seven of the ten shots were around a 2-1/2″ cluster which is not bad for the first time the rifle was shot.
I asked Paul about the accuracy. Here’s what he said:
That flintlock target is good for the first outing of the rifle. From there you will test out different powder amounts, different patch thickness and ball diameters if you want better groupings. The .40 caliber is mostly a 50-to-75-yard gun so you would be hunting squirrels or small game up to small deer. A lot of states only allow .45 caliber and bigger for deer hunting, so the .40 caliber is used for varmints and target work.
Here’s the story on this rifle from Tom Caster:
I finished up this pretty little .40 cal Armstrong rifle last week and was putting a coat of wax on the stock when it slipped off my table and broke in two at the wrist!
Scrapping was never really considered (too much work into it) because I have always been about fixing things that happen on the job or in the shop. It was a pretty clean break, so I set it up in my two vices and glued it back together with Tite-Bond II. After that set up, I drilled a 3/8″ hole from the breech down thru the wrist 8″ deep and glued in a 3/8″ hickory RR in place. After drilling out the holes in the rod for lock screws and the sear area, I sealed the inside up with epoxy.
The crack barely shows now but it is there when you look close. The stock should be fine to use now.
Some guys would use a steel threaded rod instead of wood dowel, but I didn’t want to add any more weight to a 7.6 lb. rifle.
I plan to sell it after the first of the year at a discounted price if anyone is interested.
After another inquiry about the rifle, Tom added the following:
As far as the wood choice goes, I purchased this “in the white” from the estate of my old friend Fred Schelter. He purchased the Getz barrel and had Fred Miller (I believe) inlet it and pre-shape the stock in 2000-2001. Whether it was his wood or Miller’s, I don’t know. He had two Armstrong stocks done this way at the same time, one was a .50 cal (sold) and this .40 cal, rifle. Fred S. did the carving and inlay of the patchbox, butt, toe plate, nose cap, and trigger and guard. He had made the forend escutcheons for the barrel keys but didn’t inlay them.
Both stocks were inletted and drilled for a large Dlx. Siler Flintlock, but only one lock existed and it was curiously interchangeable. So I had to buy a second lock to complete this one. I fashioned a new trigger for a lighter pull and made a patchbox release, side plate and sights. Then I did the engraving and finish work.
…so, now you know…the rest of the story!
Tom Caster
In his email to me, Paul included several photos from Tom. As the photos show, the detail and workmanship on this rifle are stunning. Take a look:
It will be interesting to see if Paul shoots this one. I’m going to visit with him again (hopefully in the not too distant future) for a trip to the range. I’ve never fired my Colt Walker (it is a black powder revolver) and I know very little about shooting these weapons. Paul knows a lot, and I hope to get educated.
As I mentioned at the start of this blog, repaired stocks are not that big a deal. I had an experience where a seller did a poor job packaging a Ruger No. 3 he sent to me. I had the repair accomplished and the stock refinished by a competent shop, the rifle looks better than new, and it is now one of my favorites. It is exceptionally accurate, too. You can read that story here.
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.
Anyone who wants to become Vulcan must learn how to cut metal. There are many methods available like bandsaws, oxyacetylene torch, abrasive wheels, hacksaws and the old reliable, bend-it-back-and-forth-until-it-breaks. One of the relatively newer methods (in relation to the age of the Universe) is a machine called the plasma cutter.
Plasma cutters used to be very expensive. The plasma machine we use at school cost around 4000 dollars and is rated at 60 amps. The global economy (AKA China) has driven down the cost of plasma cutters dramatically. The Yeswelder cutter in this story cost me under 200 dollars and is rated 55 amps. Shipping was free.
In use, a plasma cutter works much like an oxyacetylene cutting torch. The big difference is that you don’t need any fuel: no acetylene gas to buy or bottles to rent. The only thing burning in a plasma cutting system is the material you are cutting through.
The plasma cutter uses regular compressed air and a bunch of ions and magical stuff inside the cutting head to create a super-hot, narrow stream of plasma. It’s sort of like having your own pocket-sized northern lights shooting out of the torch to cut material.
Unlike oxyacetylene, there is no waiting for the material to heat up. With a plasma cutter you set the torch near the material and pull the trigger. A jet of plasma shoots out of the torch and you can start cutting immediately. The plasma cutter cuts at about the same speed as an oxy cutter so you can move right along.
The 55 DS Pro Yeswelder plasma cutter will operate using 120 or 240 volts AC using the included adaptor. The machine auto selects for the voltage you are plugged into. At 120VAC input the machine will only go to 30 amps. You’ll need 240 VAC to access all 55 amps of metal slashing power
My air compressor is too small for the plasma cutter and is located too far away from where I cut so there’s a long air hose involved; with a long hose line pressure drops fast. I made a remote air tank out of a defunct water pump to give me a little more cut time and eliminate the line drop. I can cut 6 to 10 inches before I have to wait for the compressor to catch up. If you’re going to be doing a lot of continuous cutting with a plasma cutter you’ll need a decent sized air compressor.
With the compressor and the plasma cutter operating simultaneously, my smallish off-grid inverter struggles and spits out a low voltage alarm when the compressor starts. To get around this problem I use a fossil fuel powered 10KW Honda generator. The big V-twin Honda doesn’t even notice when I cut with the plasma torch and the air compressor kicks in.
Most everything you need to get started is included with the Yeswelder Cut-55. You’ll need to provide the air compressor and connect an air hose to the built in pressure regulator/filter on the back of the Yeswelder. Unless you cut through the torch hose or spill a Big Gulp container of Pepsi Cola inside the cutter, normal consumables are only the bits inside the torch that churn out ions.
The controls are pretty simple on the Yeswelder Cut-55. There is an amp setting, an air pressure setting, 2T or 4T trigger actuation (on-off with squeeze and release or squeeze on, release, torch stays on, second trigger pull turns off) an indicator for input voltage and not much else. It’s a simple machine to operate.
I haven’t used the machine very much; it cut through 1/8-inch steel like a hot jet of plasma through 1/8-inch steel. There’s not as much slag as with oxy cutting so clean up is easier. It should handle ¼-inch steel without a problem and I don’t work with anything thicker.
The prices on these Chinese plasma cutters are so much lower than the old line companies something must be sacrificed. I’m guessing in a full time metal shop the cheapo versions wouldn’t last long but for guys like me or you who just want to cut out a metal silhouette of a buffalo once in a while the Yeswelder looks like the goods. I give it a 5-star rating on the Hacksaw Chi-Com scale. That being said I have only one caveat: The thing may go up in a ball of exploding ions tomorrow. If it does quit I’ll be sure to report it in a follow up story.
I usually use two jack stands with a long piece of ½” rod through the wheel bearings to balance a motorcycle tire. It works ok but there is a bit of drag on the bearings that makes balancing a sticky affair. You can get the wheel close but minor amounts of weight (like ½ ounce) won’t have much effect.
Since I got the Harbor Freight tire machine I’ve been happily changing tires as needed. I’ve done around eight tire changes and I’ve got the system somewhat down. The only thing I was missing was a dedicated tire balance stand. This is where the Easyberg (no relation to Joe Berg) tire balancer comes in.
An Amazon search will return about two dozen motorcycle tire balancers, and most of them look exactly the same. The Easyberg was the cheapest at the time I bought it, but prices sway back and forth depending on which seller is having a sale or coupon deal. I paid $36 for the balancer and there is no way I could build one as nice for that amount of money.
My Easyberg came unassembled. It was Easybarrak to assemble the thing, requiring only an open end wrench and a hex wrench. A tiny screwdriver was needed to tighten the bubble level.
Once assembled, the Easyberg I received was slightly tweaked. The axle did not run parallel to the base making the tire sit crooked in the stand. The Easyfoil material is thin enough that I could tweak it straight. Any warpage of the base due to the tweaking process can be taken out by the four, adjustable feet. I used a four-foot level on top of the axle to check the bubble and it was fairly accurate. I’m not sure being perfectly level is all that critical, but I set it up that way.
Using the balancer is Easyberg as pie. You slide the axle through the wheel and snug up the centering cones using the supplied Allen wrench to lock the cones into position. This next step is where the Easyberk…I mean berg, is better than jack stands. The four ball bearings supporting the axle spin much Easyburger than the bearings found in your motorcycle wheel; this free movement allows a finer balance. ¼ ounce of weight will cause the wheel to move.
I give the Easyberg four stars (out of five) subtracting one star due to the thing being crooked. Otherwise it’s Easilyberk worth the $36. I’m now fully set up to change motorcycle tires. At the speeds I run, usually less than 100 MPH this balancer does a good enough job and my limited riding skills can’t detect any wheel vibration at highway speeds.
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.
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).
