I mentioned my Bulova Lunar Pilot watch (one we’ve done a blog on before) to one of my gun buddies, and he told me that he had the Omega version of that watch.
The Omega Speedmaster on the left, and my Bulova Lunar Pilot on the right. The Omega is a tiny bit smaller, which I prefer.A closer shot of the Omega. It has a curved crystal, which made photographing it without glare a bit of a challenge.The back of the Omega. It’s a classy watch.
Actually, it would be more appropriate to call mine the Bulova version of the Omega watch, as the Omega was the first in space and the Bulova came later almost accidentally. You can read that story here. Also, my Bulova is a reissued, modified design of the Accutron watch astronaut Dave Scott wore on his Apollo flight. My buddy’s Omega is a faithful duplicate of the original Speedmaster worn on the Moon. The Omega is a much more expensive mechanical watch, and it is a very classy item. The Omega Speedmaster sells for thousands of dollars; I paid $275 for my Bulova.
Ah, we’ve got a lot of good stuff coming up on the blog. Most significantly, Uncle Joe is thinking about getting back on the Zed resurrection. Send us your comments; we need to keep the pressure on Arjiu to make that happen.
More good blog stuff is in the works, too. Good buddy Don wrote and asked about the .257 Weatherby No. 1. I have that rifle back from Ruger. The boys in New Hampshire put a nice piece of Circassian walnut on it to replace the cracked stock, and it shoots great with a load good buddy Mississippi Dave recommended. Watch for that story soon. I’ve got more fun in front of me sorting the Garand’s habit of throwing the first shot of each clip low left, and I’ll write about it here. And a story requested by good buddy James on the XP100 Remington (I actually owned one of those in the 1970s chambered for the 30×223 cartridge). And here’s another gun-related topic: We’re thinking of a postal match…you know, a match where you shoot your target and mail it to us. If you’re interested in participating in something like that, let us know.
We’ve got a movie review coming about The Great Raid (spoiler alert…that movie was great), and a book review about A.J. Baime’s The Arsenal of Democracy (it’s the best book I’ve read this year). There’s the always moving to the right YooHoo review (hang in there, Fred; it’s coming). There’s more watch stuff coming, too. I love my Gear’d Hardware watch, and I’m becoming a real fan of the Casio G-Shock watches.
There’s more motorcycle stuff in the works, too. I’ve been dreaming about getting back to Baja again, either on one of my CSC bikes or perhaps something different. I want to look at the Triumphs again; I’ve always loved their motorcycles. I think I can talk CSC into letting me take a WIZ (whoa, that doesn’t sound right) for a ride. I won’t take a WIZ to Baja (it’s an electric scooter), but it looks like it would be a hoot to ride locally. The challenge is finding one; CSC sells them as soon as they get them in stock. It seems everyone wants to take a WIZ.
We keep talking about making a political comment or two, but hell, no matter what we say we’d upset half our readership. We had one guy actually bitch about one of the pop-up ads that appear on our site mentioning President Trump, and he had his shorts in a knot about that (off to your safe space, Snowflake, and that ain’t here). For the record, we don’t control the pop-up ads (the ads appear based on the site’s content, your location, your prior website visits, and other secret stuff that goes into a supersecret algorithm that only God and Google know about). It’s interesting but unknowable for us mere mortals, but in any event, if an ad appears talking about something that pisses you off, don’t blame us. And if you really get upset, hell, click on the ad. Then they have to pay. And do you know who they pay? It ain’t Trump!
Well, maybe all this is too controversial. I’ll go to a safe topic and not ruffle any feathers. Maybe something about Indian motorcycles and their lineage. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
Click the comments section of any post regarding the Indian Motorcycle Company and someone will be bitching that Polaris Indians are not real Indians. Within the first three or four replies you’ll see an outraged commenter laying out the perjury case on Indian. “It’s a lie!” they stammer. “Indian went out of business in 1953!” Along with constitutional scholars and threats of civil war Polaris Haters infest the Internet. Their selective-amnesia purity code and compulsion to complain loudly every time Indian tries to sell a motorcycle borders on fanatical. You couldn’t pay enough to get people so determined.
Clymer’s Enfield Indian from the 1960’s. One of the best-looking Indians ever.
Since it is presently impossible to go back in time to right all wrongs the Indian Haters would rather see Indian go out of business. Again. If the Haters are in a generous mood they may offer renaming the company as a way back into their good graces. Mind you, they still wouldn’t buy anything from parent company Polaris because they hate them too. I don’t see why Indian should give a rat’s ass about what these goofy product-junkies think. Indian is busy building motorcycles, not engaging in petty, low-effort Internet attempts to tear down other people’s hard work.
The thing that really riles the troops is when Indian puts 100-year badges on their bikes. The loonies go apoplectic. To them, an unbroken corporate line from 1903 to the present is the only acceptable scenario for Indian to exist. With the old brands like Norton, Triumph, Ossa and Benelli being bought up the Haters will have plenty of companies to be angry with for a long, long time.
Mid-1970’s Italian made Indian dirt bike.
The Haters aren’t solely responsible for the black hole at the center of their hearts. Vast quantities of intellectual capital have been expended on brand building in this country and in some cases it worked too well. We have created a monstrous humanity more concerned with defending brand-authenticity at the expense of reality. Haters have been sold to for so long that they actually care about the logo on a gas tank. It’s misplaced consumer loyalty created by Ned in the advertising department and it’s sad to see in action.
A Velocette-engined Indian that should drive the purists crazy.
Who cares what happened to Indian 70 years ago? Who cares how many times the company has passed through shifty hands? Who cares if clone engines were used or Italians made Harleys or if Clymer used Royal Enfields? Who cares about any of it? It’s a friggin’ motorcycle company, not a pledge of allegiance. When the history of the world is finally written the trinkets we bought to amuse ourselves will not even warrant a footnote. All you need to concern yourself with is that the Indian brand started in 1903 and here it is nearly 2020 and you can still buy a damn good American-made motorcycle with Indian written on the side of the gas tank. There’s your continuity, Bub.
I went to the range yesterday with two rifles, a Mosin-Nagant 91/30 and an M1 Garand. The Mosin was the Soviet Infantry’s standard rifle during World War II (it’s been around in various forms since 1891), and it’s one I’ve always enjoyed shooting. The Garand is a US weapon developed in the 1930s and first used by our troops in World War II. It is a semi-automatic rifle, which gave us a tremendous advantage over the enemy forces we fought (their rifles were bolt action).
My Mosin-Nagant 91/30. I refinished the stock, glass bedded the action, and developed a load shown in the photo below. This rifle is superbly accurate.
I enjoy getting out to the range, and yesterday was a beautiful day. Sunny, cold, and not too windy. I shot on the 100-yard range, first with the Mosin and my standard load for that rifle.
There are only four holes, but the one just below the “10” is actually two shots. This rifle is so accurate it is almost boring.
After five shots, I put the Mosin away. It’s almost too easy with that rifle. I had a good target, I thought I would get a photo for the blog, and I was eager to try the Garand.
My Garand is kluge rifle assembled with parts from a series of mismatched manufacturers. The receiver is a CAI (considered to be of inferior quality to the ones made by the standard US suppliers Winchester, Harrington and Richardson, and Springfield Arsenal), the trigger group is from Beretta, and the barrel is a 1955 RSC (presumed to be Italian). I’ll state up front I don’t know a lot about Garands, and the reasons I bought this one (my first and only Garand) is I liked the finish, the price seemed right, and the money was burning a hole in my pocket that day.
My mutt Garand. I enjoy shooting this rifle. There’s a lot going on with each shot, and it’s powerful.
Shooting the Garand well has been a challenge for me. I like shooting with iron sights, but I’m a post-and-slot guy. I haven’t had a ton of experience with aperture sights, and that’s taking some getting used to. Then there’s the issue of a decent load. I’ve been playing with different loads for the Garand, and I found three loads that work well. On my last outing, I had a few shots that were low left on the target outside the bullseye, and one of our readers asked if those shots were either the first or last shots from each clip. I didn’t know at the time because I shot each en bloc clip of 8 rounds without looking at the target after each shot.
My objective yesterday was to answer the above question, and sure enough, I did. My shots grouped well except for the first shot from each clip. I shot three clips (for a total of 24 rounds), and in each clip, the first shot hit low left.
My Garand’s performance at 100 yards. There are 24 shots on this target. The rifle groups well with this load, but the first shot from each en bloc clip of 8 rounds goes low and to the left.
The challenge now is to determine the reason why that first shot from each clip is going low. I posted the target you see above in a Garand group asking for input on why the first round from each clip went low, and as you might guess, the answers were all over the map. Most responses served only to illustrate that people don’t read very well, but a few were informative. A couple said their rifles behaved the same way and it was predictable enough (as is the case with mine) to allow for simply aiming high right for the first shot from each clip to put all 8 rounds in the black. One response suggested that the bolt may not be closing fully, as the first round is chambered by manually releasing the op rod, while all subsequent rounds are chambered when the action is cycled by the gun gases. I think that guy is on to something, and that will be where my future focus is going to be. If you have any ideas, I’d sure like to hear them. Leave a comment if you have the answer, and thanks in advance for any inputs.
This is the next installment of our series on Death Valley, and it’s about the Hell’s Loop Rally organized by Alan Spears and the Motor Scooter International Land Speed Federation. We rode it in November of 2011, and while it was sunny that day, it was plenty cold. It was a scooter endurance run of 400 miles in a single day. You might be thinking that’s not too many miles. Try it on a 150cc scooter and tell me if you still feel the same way.
I was working with CSC Motorcycles at the time and the thought was we could ride the event with our 150cc Mustang replicas. The team included good buddies TK, Arlene, and yours truly. It was grand fun and CSC garnered good exposure from that event. I had a blast, and for me, it nailed three birds with one stone: A great motorcycle ride, another chance for a ride through Death Valley, and a chance to get more cool stuff to write about (and photograph) for the CSC blog.
With that as a backdrop, here’s the story.
A Cold Day In Hell
Arlene B (of Go Go Gear fame, and a California Scooter rider) and TK. TK and I both worked at CSC Motorcycles. That’s my red CSC 150 motorcycle.
Hell’s Loop, that is…the Motor Scooter International Land Speed Federation (MSILSF) and Alan Spears’ latest event. You’d think an event named after a place known for warmer temperatures would offer toasty riding, but it sure was cold!
The Death Valley Loop
This event was all about endurance riding, and Alan and the MSILSF team sure outdid themselves on this one. The route took a big round trip from Barstow, California, east on the 15, north on the 127 along the eastern edge of Death Valley (think Ronald Reagan, the old Death Valley Days television show, and 20-mule teams hauling borax), west on 190 through Death Valley, a long loop down through Death Valley’s center to a delightful little town called Trona (just kidding about that one, folks), back to the 395 south, and then Highway 58 back to Barstow.
The Hell’s Loop event was billed as an endurance rally, but in actuality it was a race. You and I both know you’re not supposed to race on public highways, but on scooters and small motorcycles, “racing” is not what it would be on bigger bikes. We ran this event with our throttles wide open a good 95% of the time. No kidding. The twist grips were pegged. That doesn’t mean we were speeding, though. Sometimes a wide open throttle meant 65 miles per hour when we were on the flats with no headwinds, and sometimes it meant 35 mph when we were climbing a long grade. Another aside at this point…the bikes performed flawlessly. This was another event in which we beat the, uh, Hell’s Loop out of our California Scooters, and they ran great.
The guy who won the event, Tom Wheeler, won it on a 49cc Kymco motor scooter. Yep, you read that right. 49 cubic centimeters! We’re sure not in the business of publicizing other brands, but hey, we’re more than happy to give credit where credit is due. Tom drove out from Arkansas for this event and he finished first on his 49cc Kymco, beating machines with nearly 10 times the engine displacement.
The Ride
The weekend started with TK and I rolling into Barstow Friday afternoon for a great lunch at Del Taco. Those of you who know Del Taco might be tempted to laugh (it’s a fast food Mexican chain not usually known for their fine food), but the Del Taco restaurants in Barstow are different. Ed Hackbarth is the entrepreneur who started Del Taco, and he did so in Barstow. Ed sold the Del Taco chain to a conglomerate after building it up into a huge business, but he kept the original three Barstow restaurants. Here in southern California, we know that if you want good Mexican food, Barstow’s Del Tacos are unlike any others. Everything is fresh, everything is bigger, and it’s not unusual to see Ed himself working in the kitchen preparing your lunch. Trust me on this one, folks….if you’re ever passing through Barstow, you need to stop for a meal at Del Taco.
Our Motel 6 room…where old Tom Bodette left the light on for us…$35 a night, and it might have been the most expensive hotel in Barstow! It was raining and we didn’t want to leave the bikes out in the cold, wet weather. A lot of the Hell’s Loop riders slept with their bikes Friday night.
On Friday we had a bitter cold rain, but the forecast was for sunny warm weather on Saturday. Well, they got half of it right. I once heard one of those radio political talking heads say that the reason economists exist is to make weather forecasters look good. I think that guy might have had it backwards. It was sunny, but wow, was it cold when we woke up on Saturday morning. I wasn’t too worried…I had my California Scooter motorcycle jacket, a pair of warm motorcycle pants, and my Haix Goretex boots (they’re made in Austria and they’re great), but it was still cold. Really cold.
After a great 6:00 a.m. breakfast at IHOP Saturday morning, we rolled out onto Interstate 15 on our California Scooters and headed north. Wow, was it ever cold!On California 127, headed into Death Valley. We rode under beautiful blue skies along Highway 127…it was a glorious day to be out on a motorcycle!
It sure was cold Saturday morning. As in maybe 40 degrees. Teeth chattering cold. I know all of our friends on the east coast would view this as something of a heat wave, but I gotta tell you, when you do 400 miles in one day through this kind of weather, it’s cold.
Before I get too much further, let me give you a warning about the photos. They’re not my best ever. We didn’t stop to smell the roses on this one, boys and girls, and most of these shots were from the saddle of my CSC motorcycle at high speed. That’s why a lot of the angles are off, and it’s why they might be a bit fuzzy. This ride was all about getting back to Barstow first. We stopped for fuel and restroom breaks, and that was it. We didn’t even eat. 400 miles on a motorcycle, in 40-degree weather, with no messing around. Riding…that’s what this run was all about. And in the cold weather, our CSC motorcycles were running strong. We thought we were gonna set the world on fire, until we heard about Tom Wheeler on that 49cc scooter. But I’ll come back to that. So after rolling along on Interstate 15 for about 60 miles, we took a left at Baker and headed toward Death Valley. The skies were clear, the riding was glorious, and we froze our tootsies off.
A 60-mph shot from the saddle…riding through the Mojave Desert!
We weren’t too sure about where we’d be able to buy gas, so we each carried a spare gallon or two. Turns out we didn’t need the extra gas, but we stopped nearly every place we saw a gas station just to make sure.
When we rolled into Shoshone, I was blown away by the gas prices. Believe it or not, these were not the highest gas prices we saw on this trip! I was sure glad I was riding a 100mpg California Scooter when I saw those prices. Ah, the glory of price gouging.
Every time I see something like what the photo above shows, I want to confront the owner and ask him if his mother knows what he does for a living, but I know it would be a futile gesture. And another 100 miles up the road, we paid prices that made what the photo above shows seem cheap.
Barney Fife
While we were topping off in Shoshone, I saw a National Park Service HumVee that I thought was pretty cool. I had never seen one of these in use by a law enforcement agency, so I snapped a quick photo of it while I was on my California Scooter. I guess the NPS ranger who was in it didn’t like that. As I kid, I always had a mental image of park rangers as pretty cool guys who took care of the bears and stuff like that. This guy was decidedly unfriendly…there’s no nice way to say it. Maybe it was a slow day for him and he wanted to harass some rough-looking bikers like me, Arlene, and TK. He wanted to know about Alan, who rolled through Shoshone earlier on his two-stroke Kymco burning “exotic fuels.” A park ranger. I chalked it up to another instance of our tax dollars at work. Go figure.
A National Park Service Hummer.
Continuing the Ride
After the fuel stop in Shoshone, we were on the road again. Here are a few more shots from the saddle.
On the floor of Death Valley, about 100 feet below sea level.After we climbed out of Death Valley’s floor, it was a fast downill run west…you can see the flare from shooting into the sunHeading west to Panamint on the western edge of Death Valley. The bikes were running just great in the cold weather. Here’s a quick shot of my speedometer as we rolled through Death Valley. Smoking right along on the Baja Blaster!Arlene’s California Scooter ticked over the 9,000-mile mark on this ride, and we stopped for a quick photo.
9000 miles, including great California Scooter rides up and down the California Coast, the Sierra Nevadas, the entire length of Baja, and Death Valley! Arlene may well be our highest mileage California Scooter rider.
Our next stop was Panamint. There’s a gas station and a convenience store out there (but not much else). This place set a new record: $5.79 per gallon! It’s the most I’ve ever paid for gasoline in my life!
$5.79 a gallon….but what a cool photo op!
Wildrose Canyon Road and Trona
While we were stopped, I pulled out an extra T-shirt and added it to the several layers of clothing I already had on under my California Scooter motorcycle jacket. To my surprise, that one extra layer did the trick. I stayed relatively warm for the next 130 miles back to Barstow. After our Panamint gas gouging, we turned the bikes east for a quick three miles back down the road to Wildrose Canyon. That was our route out of Death Valley, and here’s a shot looking east across the valley floor.
Death Valley’s floor, as seen from the saddle, looking east from Panamint
We negotiated Wildrose Canyon Road, fought the wind downhill, and then we rolled into Trona. Trona is a mining town (they mine potash or some other such chemical), and there isn’t too much else out there. And I gotta tell ya, when they built “no place” they must have centered it around Trona (because that town sure is in the middle of no place). It’s an interesting place, though…a collection of white chemicals, brown hills in the distance, blue skies, and industrial processing equipment.
A late-in-the-day, shot-from-the-saddle photo of Trona. Some day, I’d like to ride out to Trona just to take photos.
Returning to Barstow
After Trona, we cranked the bikes wide open for the run home. It was a burst out to the 395, a speed run down to Highway 58, and then a left turn for the last 32 miles back to Barstow. We pulled in to the Motel 6 parking lot just after dark. And it was even colder. Did I mention earlier that it was cold?
Alan Spears, his friend Kathleen, and Dennis did a great job organizing this event.
When we returned to the Motel 6 rally headquarters, the good folks from MSILSF had good food and drinks waiting, and that was a good thing. We hadn’t eaten all day, and I was hungry. And cold. It sure was nice to return to a warm welcome. And it sure was interesting to learn about the winning bike and rider…that would be Tom Wheeler from Arkansas.
Tom Wheeler, a Kymco dealer from Arkansas, accepting one of his trophies for the Hell’s Loop Endurance Rally.
The Winner: A 49cc Kymco!
As I mentioned earlier, Tom won the event on a 49cc Kymco. Good Lord! A 49cc Kymco! My first thought was that the bike had to have had a couple of superchargers and maybe it was running on nitro, but no, that wasn’t it at all. Tom is obviously an experienced endurance rider, and he had the problem sorted. When I asked Tom about the top speed on his 49cc sizzler, he told me that it might see 45 mph on a flat road under ideal conditions. We sure didn’t have ideal conditions, and what that meant to me is that Tom ran a lot of the day’s 400 miles at something between 30 and 40 mph. The trick is to not have to stop. Tom had an auxiliary gas tank on his Kymco, and he only had to make one stop for gas.
Alan and crew sure did an outstanding job pulling this event together, which didn’t surprise me at all. MSILSF is the same outfit that organized the November 2009 Land Speed Record trials and last year’s Salton Sea Endurance Rally, and both of those events were wonderful.
I am more than a little intrigued by all of this, and by MSILSF. You might be, too, folks. Think about it. Motor competition. Real competition. Speed trials. Endurance rallies. All with scooters. You can get into it, real motor competition, for peanuts. And a California Scooter is a great way to do so.
Here’s a shot of Tom Wheeler’s winning 49cc scooter. 400 miles in one day on a 49cc motor scooter! Can you imagine!
So that was it, folks. 400 miles in one day, we won the 150cc class, and we had a great time.
We just returned from a trek through Death Valley a few days ago, which prompted our series of blogs about prior Death Valley trips. You can read the first two Death Valley blog installments here.
And, oddly enough, the Los Angeles Times ran a story in 2017 about a trip that almost exactly described the ride you see in this blog. You can read that one here.
I’m not a huge fan of Georgia O’Keeffe artwork. Her realistic paintings are well done but the fluffy subjects and flower erotica don’t appeal to my mechanical mind. The bright colors and simple shapes of her later work seem too easy, like anyone could do it. Except anyone didn’t. I suspect art is more complex than a watery brushstroke or an eye for color. It takes a lived life to steer that brush and experience to make the strokes tell meaningful stories. Art matters if people believe it matters and O’Keeffe’s stuff mattered to a lot of people.
Tradesmen like me are work-blind to creation. Wiping a solder joint to leave a clean copper pipe, or combing a bundle of wire so that each conductor peels off in the correct order is as close to art as we get. It’s a tunnel vision that divides hours into effort, a relentless pursuit of money and the next job and then the next. Until you either break down or die.
You can train a tradesman, repetition is the secret to success, but an artist must be born. O’Keeffe was an artist and the way she lived her life was a sort of performance art. She moved to New Mexico in 1949 at the then ripe old age of 62 and spent the next 36 years doing just what she wanted to do. Abiquiu, her home west of Santa Fe was a crumbling wreck when she bought it. The places she stayed became famous simply because she stayed there. She bequeathed to New Mexico a bounty of tourism and spawned museums and visitor centers all around the Santa Fe area.
Her place in Abiquiu is a traditional New Mexico adobe house. It has no interior hallways. To get from one room to the next you have to go through another room. Or maybe 4 other rooms depending on how far you are going. It’s not unusual to go through a bedroom, a kitchen and a pantry to get to a main salon. Every room has a door that exits to the outside: You never get trapped in an adobe. A central courtyard open to the sky lies in the middle of the house and the roof slopes towards this courtyard.
The houses were built this way in stages. Maybe one or two rooms to start off with then tacking on extra rooms as money and demand became available. The oldest section of O’Keeffe’s place is from the mid-1800s and the newest probably the 1970s. That’s over 100 years of creeping progress. The flooring transitions from from original smooth dirt soaked with egg yolks to bind the granules all the way to concrete with rug.
In the recent past people started restoring adobe houses with wire mesh and a Portland cement based plaster. It turns out this is the worse thing to do to adobe. The concrete pulls away from the adobe taking the wall with it. Then moisture and mineral salts wick up into the wall because the concrete doesn’t breathe like mud or lime. It turns into a crumbling mess. If you don’t want the expense of lime plaster, the only way to restore adobe is with more adobe. You slather fresh mud onto the exterior walls on a regular schedule to replace the mud that was ablated during wind or rainstorms. It’s a never ending process but if you stay on top of it your adobe house can last thousands of years. O’Keeffe’s place was concreted at some point. I fear the walls will turn to mush and salts will bleed through the interior walls.
Nothing lasts forever and one day Abiquiu will melt back into the same earth it came from but I hope the artwork created there leaves behind traces, a slight disturbance, a vibration that makes some future traveler pause and wonder what grand endeavors took place way out here in the New Mexico desert.
US Army Captain Colin D. MacManus, Rutgers University ’63.
Captain Colin D. MacManus, a US Army Infantry officer and an Airborne Ranger, graduated from Rutgers University in 1963. He was killed in action in Vietnam in February 1967. A synopsis of his Silver Star citation follows:
Captain (Infantry) Colin David MacManus, United States Army, was awarded the Silver Star (Posthumously) for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in connection with military operations against the enemy while serving with Company C, 1st Battalion, 22d Infantry Regiment, 4th Infantry Division, in the Republic of Vietnam.
The New Jersey Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial Foundation assembled this tribute to Captain MacManus:
Colin D. MacManus was born on August 29, 1941 to Mrs. Barbara MacManus in Elizabeth, NJ. He lived in New York and Quincy, MA before moving to Newark, NJ. He graduated from South Side High School in 1959. He attended Rutgers University and graduated in 1963 with a bachelor’s degree in sociology and an award as a distinguished military student. While he was an undergraduate, he was a member of the university’s track team, and Scabbard and Blade, an ROTC honor society.
Following graduation, the captain attended Paratroop and Ranger schools at Fort Benning, Georgia. He was then stationed with the 3rd Armored Division “Spearheaders” in Frankfurt, Germany. While there, his mother explained, Captain MacManus led the rifle team representing the United States at the 1965 Central Treaty Organization games in Istanbul, Turkey. The squad finished second in the contest and received special honors from the U.S. commander.
In a February 22, 1967 article from the Newark Evening News his brother, John, stated “Colin was always very proud of the work he was doing. When we tried to sway him from volunteering from combat duty, he simply said that he had the training necessary to do the job–the type of training ‘those young boys’ with fear written on their faces didn’t have.”
MacManus was planning to marry Linda Neeson, the secretary of his commanding officer in Germany. The couple postponed their plans when he received his orders to report to Vietnam.
He entered the US Army from Newark, NJ and attained the rank of Captain (CAPT). MacManus was killed in action on February 16, 1967 at the age of 25. He was serving with C Company, 1st Battalion, 22 Infantry, 4th Infantry Division.
Captain McManus’s mother stated that her son wrote in his last letter that he was going out in the boondocks and had just reached his goal of being named a company commander, and that he would be unable to write for a while. His mother said that he never mentioned the fighting at all. He received a full military funeral.
There is a memorial at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ dedicated to the graduates who were killed or missing in action from the Vietnam War. MacManus’ name is listed among those killed in action.
To commemorate his life, each year the MacManus family awarded a Colt .45 Auto to the graduating senior who held his Rutgers Corps of Cadets assignment. In 1973, that was me. I never had the honor of meeting Captain MacManus (he graduated before I started my engineering studies at Rutgers), but I felt like I knew him through the Rutgers Reserve Officers Training Corps. We all knew of Captain MacManus. I met the MacManus family when I graduated in 1973, and his brother John (the same one mentioned above) presented the 1911 to me. It was a Series 70 Government Model Colt (the US Army sidearm back then), and receiving that award was a very big deal. It was a big deal to me in 1973, and it’s still a big deal to me today.
My first handgun: The Colin D. MacManus 1911 and a couple of 5-shot, 25-yard hand held groups I fired with it. I had it accurized in the 1970s, and it is still a tack driver.
That 1911 was the very first centerfire handgun I ever owned. US Army Sergeant Major Emory L. Hickman taught me how to shoot my .45 while I was a grad student at Rutgers (you can read about that here). I had a gunsmith accurize the 1911 a few years later when I lived in Fort Worth, and I still shoot the MacManus .45 on a regular basis. I most recently had my good buddy TJ (of TJ’s Custom Guns) go through it to make sure everything is in good working order (and it is). The MacManus 1911 and I go way back. It means a lot to me.
Somewhere along the way during the last 46 years, the MacManus Award fell by the wayside, and when I heard about that, it just felt wrong. So I called the ROTC detachment at Rutgers and spoke to the Professor of Military Science (the commander there). Colonel Cortez agreed: The MacManus Award is something that needs to continue. I did a bit of sleuthing online, one thing led to another, and last night I had a nice conversation with a young man from the MacManus family (I spoke with Colin D. MacManus, who was named after his uncle). We’re going to revive the Captain MacManus Award, and I’ll keep you posted on the status of our efforts right here on the Exhaust Notes blog.
Brown Motor Works in Pomona, California, hosted a chili cookoff in March 2008, which was immediately followed by a weekend trip to Death Valley. At the time, I’d been a California boy for 30 years, but I’d never been to Death Valley. I always wanted to go. And, I love chili. Free chili…lots of photo ops…good weather…and a motorcycle ride to a place I’d never been before. It seemed like a no-brainer to me. It was a ride I had to make.
Kawasaki’s KLR 650
I had purchased a 2006 KLR 650 a year or two earlier from my good buddy Art at the Montclair Kawasaki dealer, and something strange happened: I found I was enjoying the little KLR more than the other big roadburners I owned. At that time, I had gone way overboard in acquiring motorcycles. I had a TL1000S Suzuki, a Harley Softail, a Honda CBX, a Triumph Daytona 1200, and a Triumph Tiger 955 (and I think I owned them all at the same time). There was something about the KLR, though, that I liked, and I found myself riding it more often than not. All the guys I rode with either had BMWs, Harleys, or Triumphs, and my KLR was the smallbore of the bunch. I didn’t care. I liked riding it. To my surprise, I found that riding a smaller bike was more fun.
A lone KLR in a sea of BMWs. Nearly all of my friends rode BMW motorcycles in those days. I had a lot of fun with my KLR.
The Chili Cookoff
Good buddy Dennis, shown here immediately after taking top honors in the chili-eating contest. Dennis is an Iron Butt rider and he rides a BMW. The rules were different than what I expected. You weren’t allowed to lift the bowl off the table, so the serious competitors simply dove in. BMW riders are a particularly sophisticated bunch.
On To Mojave
The guys at Brown Motor Works planned to leave at the end of the day, but I didn’t want to hang around until then. Immediately after grabbing a few photos from the chili contest, I was on the KLR headed east and then north into the Mojave Desert.
I took my KLR and found my way along Old Route 66 into the Mojave Desert.I took I-40 over to Kelbaker Road and then headed into the Mojave National Preserve. The group planned to meet in Baker, and I figured if I timed it right I would get there right about nightfall.I grabbed this photo along the Kelbaker Road. I didn’t know too much about motorcycle photography. This is the shot magazine editors always hate…the motorcycle by the side of the road.
Baker and The Mad Greek
Baker is a wide spot in the road along the I-15, and it’s a jumping off point for Death Valley. It is a funky place with a couple of poorly-maintained and overpriced gas stations, the world’s tallest thermometer, and a cool restaurant called The Mad Greek. The Mad Greek is a place that seems to always show up in any movie about a road trip to Vegas. I have yet to find a Greek in the place, but the food is good and the staff is friendly.
We had dinner at the Mad Greek in Baker along the I-15. We spent the night in Baker, and then had breakfast at the Mad Greek the next morning, too.
Into the Valley of Death
After a breakfast at the Mad Greek the next morning, we road north toward Death Valley. There’s nothing out there but great roads and the Mojave for the 80 miles or so to the park entrance, and the Beemer boys were riding at speeds well in excess of 100 mph so I couldn’t keep up. The KLR might see 100 on a really good day, but I didn’t care. I wanted to stop, smell the roses, and get good photos. Riding by myself didn’t bother me at all. I preferred it.
Entering Death Valley the next morning.My reaction was simple upon entering Death Valley: Wow! It was what I hoped it would be.Another shot of my KLR.At some ruins in Death Valley.My friend Eddie and his GS.
Artist’s Palette
One of the cool spots to stop in Death Valley is a hilly area called Artist’s Palette. Each hill has a different dominant mineral (and a different color), and the result is something that looks like an artist’s palette. It’s a very cool thing to see.
Artist’s Palette in Death Valley.My friend Joseph and his Triumph Sprint.
High Prices and Photo Ops
Death Valley’s claim to fame is that it’s one of the lowest spots on the planet. It’s also in one of the more remote places on the planet, which meant that fuel costs were unusually high. All made for interesting photos.
This was a gas station in Furnace Creek. At the time (this was in 2008), the gasoline prices here were the highest I had ever seen.An obligatory shot along the road in Death Valley.
Wildrose Road and the Charcoal Kilns
My friend Bob told me about Wildrose Road, a road that cut through some canyons on the way out of Death Valley.It was a great ride. While I was on Wildrose Road, I saw signs for the Charcoal Kilns, so I took a short detour. On the way up to the Charcoal Kilns, I stopped to take the picture above. A guy and his wife were coming from the other direction and he asked if I wanted a picture of me with my KLR. Death Valley was cold. I had on every piece of clothing I brought with me.The Charcoal kilns. These were built in the 1870s. They are 25 feet tall and 30 feet in diameter.Wildrose Road. You could probably get through it on any motorcycle, but I was glad I had the KLR. Bob was right…Wildrose Road was a great ride.
The Gear
I had a Nikon D200 digital camera when I did this trip and the first-generation Nikon 24-120 lens with a polarizer, and it did a good job for me. I think it was a 10 megapixel deal and that seemed like a lot in those days. I kept the D200 for a long time and I had a lot of fun with it. I used it for all of the photos you see here. It was big and bulky, and as I recall, it took all of the space in one of the Kawasaki saddlebags I used with my KLR. It was only a weekend trip, and the other saddlebag was enough for my other stuff. I like to travel light and the arrangement worked fine for me.
Death Valley: The Bottom Line
If you’ve ever thought about taking a ride to Death Valley, do it. Take a camera, too. Trust me on this: You won’t be disappointed. As a rider and a photography enthusiast, I had a great time. The KLR 650 was more than enough motorcycle, I felt it was a good bike for a trip like this, and I concluded that Death Valley is doable on just about any motorcycle (especially if you mostly stick to Death Valley’s paved roads, as I did). The photo ops in Death Valley are stunning. If you live in southern California, it’s an easy weekend trip.
One day was not enough, though. There was a lot of Death Valley left to see, and I knew I’d be back.
There’s more coming on Death Valley and a bunch of other great rides. Sign up here and never miss an Exhaust Notes blog!
Leaving Death Valley headed to Shoshone, California.
I just returned from a road trip and our last day was in Death Valley, California. I’m embarrassed to admit that I had lived in California for more than 30 years before I ever made the trek to Death Valley (that first trip was on my KLR 650). I’ve been there five times now, traveling on different bikes and in different cars. Death Valley is probably my favorite California destination. I thought I would do a blog about this latest trip and then I realized: Death Valley is a story that takes more than a single blog. To get things started, here’s a link to a Destinations piece I did on Death Valley 11 years ago for Motorcycle Classics magazine. There’s lots more coming, folks, so stay tuned.
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Okay, we’re not becoming a movie review site. Gresh did that one on Ford vs. Ferrari, I offered The 24 Hour War, then I watched The Irishman and reviewed it, and good buddy Gonzo recommended the new Mr. Rogers movie with Tom Hanks, A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood. We hit a lot of rain and snow on a recent trip, Susie suggested seeing the Tom Hanks flick, and off to the movies we went. And this is a review of that movie. But, like I said, we’re not a movie review site.
A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood was not what I was expecting, and it was way more than a movie about Fred Rogers’ life. Hanks was superb in the role (that guy has never let me down in any movie, ever…he’s one of the best actors who ever lived, in my opinion). A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood was intense and it was emotional. But it was good. Really good. There’s a masterfully executed subway scene that I particularly enjoyed, and I’m pretty sure you will, too.
The downsides? I thought a lot of the movie was out of focus (literally; the images were a bit on the blurry side). Some of that was intentional for artistic effects, but the producers went too far with it. Better to get things focused, I think. I found the Esquire article that inspired the movie and, to be blunt, I didn’t think the article that started the ball rolling was very good. That’s not intended to be a slam on the movie, though. The movie was great.
We ducked into a candy store in Sonora while exploring a very wet Highway 49, and I thought of you, Fred. The YooHoo review is in the queue, my friend.
It was not intended to be an inclement weather Subie road test, but that’s what our Bay Area/Yosemite/Tahoe/Bishop trek has become. Talk about weather…wow! It’s either been rain or snow with only one day of sunshine, but it was sunshine below freezing at high altitudes on Highway 88 into Lake Tahoe. The rules said I was supposed to have tire chains or 4WD with snow tires, but hell, I’ve never been too good with rules. I’m talking slick roads with walls of snow taller than the top of my Subie Outback. We rode the ice nearly all the way. It was grand fun, and the Subaru hasn’t missed a beat. Chains? We don’t need no stinking chains!
We only ventured about 10 miles into Yosemite when discretion won out over valor. The visibility was low and the snow was high, so we called it a day and turned around. We stayed in Groveland at a grand old hotel and had dinner in the oldest bar in California (the Iron Door Grill). It used to be a sporting palace back in the day (I asked, but all the sports ladies had long since retired). The Gold Rush Highway the next day was grand even in the rain, but the ride up to Lake Tahoe was a bit on the scary side. And then the ride down the Kingsbury Grade from Tahoe down to Highway 395 was just flat terrifying…it was 20 miles per hour all the way down in a heavy snowfall. The 395 was daunting, too, with most of it in the snow. But hey, we’re here in Bishop, we’re warm, and we’re ready to continue in the morning.
Tomorrow it’s Death Valley and then home. The weather is supposed to be nice and that almost seems like a letdown after what we’ve driven through. The Subie is a star in the snow and we’re loving it.
Click the comments section of any post regarding the Indian Motorcycle Company and someone will be bitching that Polaris Indians are not real Indians. Within the first three or four replies you’ll see an outraged commenter laying out the perjury case on Indian. “It’s a lie!” they stammer. “Indian went out of business in 1953!” Along with constitutional scholars and threats of civil war Polaris Haters infest the Internet. Their selective-amnesia purity code and compulsion to complain loudly every time Indian tries to sell a motorcycle borders on fanatical. You couldn’t pay enough to get people so determined.
This is the next installment of our series on Death Valley, and it’s about the Hell’s Loop Rally organized by Alan Spears and the Motor Scooter International Land Speed Federation. We rode it in November of 2011, and while it was sunny that day, it was plenty cold. It was a scooter endurance run of 400 miles in a single day. You might be thinking that’s not too many miles. Try it on a 150cc scooter and tell me if you still feel the same way.
