Thoughts on the 9mm Double Charge Issue

By Joe Berk

A few days ago I blew up my 9mm Springfield Armory 1911.  It was hellaciously frightening. I wrote a blog about it and I’ll provide a link at the end of this post.  My initial conclusion was that I had committed the cardinal reloading sin:  I double charged a case.  Instead of the intended 5.4 grains of Accurate No. 5 propellant, I cycled the round twice at the charging station and I inadvertently loaded 10.8 grains.  I know what you are thinking and that’s okay.  If I read about somebody doing this, I’d think they were a dumbass, too.  I’ll get back to that later.

5.4 grains of Accurate No. 5 behind a 125-grain powder coated bullet is good. 10,8 grains is not.

Thinking about the double charge issue more, several additional thoughts emerged.   Were there other possibilities?

One other possibility is that instead of the failure being due to a double charge, it might have been a squib charge (which would lodge a bullet in the bore) followed by another round.  This was dismissed for several reasons:

      • I knew it wasn’t preceded by a squib charge because the prior round felt normal.
      • If it was a squib charge, the following round probably would not have chambered.  Squib charges resulting from no powder and pressure being provided by the primer only (in a handgun) tend to push the bullet into the barrel a very short distance (the bullet doesn’t go into the barrel far enough to allow another round to chamber).
      • The were 5 holes on the target, which is the number of rounds I had fired.
      • The barrel was not bulged (TJ inspected it and pronounced it good).
Count them: 5 holes on the target. The fifth hole is the one at the bottom. This bullet was tumbling due to its low velocity. When the case blew out, the pressure vented elsewhere.

A friend asked if I could have seated two bullets in the case.  I set bullets (one on top of the other) next to a cartridge case.  I think you can see that seating two bullet in the case is not possible.  The bottom bullet would set higher in the case than you see in the photo below (the web near the case base and the thickness of the case “floor” would cause it to seat much higher in the case).  I would not have been able to seat the second bullet even if there was no powder in the case.

A photo showing that two bullets in a single case is not possible.

I pulled the bullets in the photo above from two cartridges using an inertia bullet puller.  Both had exactly 5.4 grains of Accurate No. 5 propellant, which is what I intended.  These are the pulled bullets on top of their cartridge cases:

125-grain powder coated bullets pulled from their cases and then placed back on top of their cases.

After I pulled the bullets and put the powder back in each case, you can see the level at which the right amount of propellent (5.4 grains) sets in the case.

5.4 grains of Accurate No. 5 in 9mm cartridge cases.

I wondered:  Would a double charge (i.e., 10.8 grains of Accurate No. 5) fit in a cartridge case without it spilling out of the case?  The answer is yes.  I took the powder from one case and poured it in the other.  The case can easily hold 10.8 grains of Accurate No. 5.  Take a look:

10.8 grains of Accurate No. 5 in a 9mm cartridge case.

It would be better if the powder was bulky enough that it would spill over the case rim if I double charged it.  I know that my 9mm Unique load sits higher in the case (my Unique load for the 125-grain bullet is 5.0 grains).

Trickling 5.0 grains of Unique onto the powder scale.

Here’s what 5.0 grains of Unique looks like in a 9mm case:

5.0 grains of Unique in a 9mm cartridge case.

The question then was how much Unique can a cartridge case hold?  I was specifically interested in determining  if a double charge of Unique would overflow the case.  To answer this, I completely filled a 9mm case with Unique and weighed that amount of propellant:

A 9mm cartridge case completely filled with Unique.

I weighed the amount of Unique held by a completely-filled 9mm cartridge case.  The filled 9mm case held 7.9 grains of Unique.

Weighing the Unique held by a completely-filled 9mm case.
A completely-filled 9mm cartridge case can hold a hair over 7.9 grains of Unique propellant.

A double charge of Unique would be 10.0 grains.  I concluded that a double charge of Unique would overflow the 9mm case, and this would provide an additional safeguard against an inadvertent double charge.  I was careless enough to not notice a case double-charged with Accurate No. 5.  I’d like to think I wouldn’t be careless enough to miss powder spilling out of the case, as would occur with Unique.  The next time I load 9mm ammo, it will be with Unique.

You might be wondering about the numbers here.  Bear in mind that Unique is a less dense propellant than Accurate No. 5.   10.0 grains of Unique occupies more volume than does 10.8 grains of Accurate No. 5.

The challenge now is what to do about the approximately 1400 rounds of 9mm and .45 ACP I already have loaded on the Lee Turret press.  I thought I might be able to quickly screen the rounds by weight, but that’s not going to work.  The weights of the powder, the brass case, and the bullet all vary, with the bullet (as the heaviest item) having the greatest variation.  On the 9mm cartridges, I found that the weight variation of the completed 9mm cartridges varies from 192 grains up to 198 grains.  The powder charge is 5.4 grains.  If a cartridge weighs 198 grains, would it just be at the upper edge of the weight distribution with the correct single charge, or would it be a 192-grain cartridge with a double charge?   It’s even worse on the .45 ACP rounds, because the weight variability of the completed cartridge is more than the 9mm, and those powder charges are in the range of 5.0 grains or 5.4 grains (they are lost in the case compared to 9mm ammo).  I can’t take the chance that there’s another double charge in there.  I’m breaking down and checking every cartridge.  It’s a lot of work, but it’s better than blowing up a gun.

This is the .45 ammo I loaded on the Lee turret press.   It’s 700 rounds. I have another 700 rounds of 9mm ammo similarly loaded.

You might be wondering what it’s like to get back on the range after blowing up a gun.  I was afraid I might return with a very serious flinch (you know, when you jerk the gun in anticipation of it firing).  I’m happy to report (and maybe brag a little bit) that I’m just fine.  I had my 9mm S&W Shield out with ammo that I tore down, checked, and reloaded, and I also had my Colt Python (in which I shot .38 Special wadcutters).

An S&W 9mm Shield target shooting the 5.4 grain Accurate No. 5, 125-grain powder coated bullet load described in this blog.
A Colt Python target shot with 148-grain powder-coated wadcutters.  I’ve done better and I’ve done worse.

At this point, I’m convinced that I screwed up and double-charged the 9mm round I wrote about last week.  TJ (of TJ’s Custom Gunworks) disassembled the gun and pulled out the case you see in the photo at the top of this blog.  There was a lot of pressure in there (about 10.8 grains of Accurate No. 5’s worth, actually).   Like I said in the earlier blog, it’s an opportunity.  More good news is the barrel wasn’t damaged.  Even more good news is that TJ is doing an action and reliability job on my 1911.  TJ is replacing the two piece guide rod (two-piece guide rods are a solution to a problem that doesn’t exist) and doing a few more good things to this pistol.  I’ve already purchased and received replacement grips and a new 9mm magazine.  I’ll provide an update in a couple of weeks after I get the 1911 back, and I’ll do another blog on what it’s like disassembling and reassembling 1400 rounds of reloaded ammo.

Stay tuned!

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ZRX RX: An ExNotes Resurrection

By Joe Gresh

The Carrizozo Mudchuckers have too much disposable income. Just in the last few months they’ve bought a Husaberg 400, a gas-in-frame Buell, a KTM 890, and a Kawasaki Vulcan 750. The boys want to do some high speed touring, like going to the Sacramento mile in California, and they are talking 500-mile days in the saddle. As I look over my operational motorcycles I don’t see anything I’d like to sit on for 500 miles.  But if I include the non-ops there is one that is capable of reeling off 500 miles without breaking a sweat.

I’m talking about the long dormant Kawasaki ZRX1100. The bike is a road burner of the highest order and looks cool as hell to boot. The only problem is the ZRX has sat for 9 years as CT and I wandered the world. Nothing on the thing works.  The last time I rode the bike was on the Christmas toy run in the Florida Keys in 2014. It’s time I changed that.

The ZRX front brake caliper kit, available on Amazon.

This resurrection might take a while because I’m knee deep in concrete projects but at least I can start ordering parts as my Social Security checks roll in.  I’m starting with the brake systems and forks. The front brakes on the Rex are 6-piston jobs and there are two calipers which means I have to deal with 12 pistons. The brakes are great on the Kawasaki but 12 pistons are a bit much.

The rear brake caliper kit, also available on Amazon.

Both master cylinders are frozen, probably full of crystalized brake fluid. I’m going to try and get away with cleaning up the master cylinders as I have not been impressed with the quality of aftermarket junk and I don’t feel like looking up a bunch of part numbers on the Kawasaki sites. I mostly stop with the front brake anyway; hopefully that master will be in good shape. A failure of the rear brake won’t slow me down…that doesn’t sound right.

The ZRX fork seal kit.

I will rebuild the rear caliper using new seals. Don’t try to follow the logic. In addition, the fork seals need replacing and new fork oil dumped in. I might take a stab at greasing the steering head bearings while the front end is apart.

Maxima fork oil. It’s good stuff.

Due to its long slumber there are many, many issues with the ZRX, like:

      • Cooling system leaks, probably from the water pump
      • Broken throttle cable at twist grip housing
      • Chain is worn out
      • Carbs are gummed up
      • Gas tank is full of smelly, gooey gasoline
      • Clutch lever is frozen
      • Clutch slave cylinder is leaking
      • Battery is not there
      • Valves need adjusting

And I’m sure other things will crop up as I get into the project.

Barely broken in, my ZRX is.

I’ve really let this bike down. Believe me, I feel bad about it. Nine years of neglect have taken a huge toll on anything rubber. The good thing is the Rex has relatively low miles (25,000) and has never gone under water so I’ve got good bones to work with. The paintwork is mostly perfect and there are no dents. The bike will clean up and be a stunner. I rode the ZRX from Florida to New Mexico years ago and it will be bookoo-maximus karma if New Mexico is the place where the ZRX1100 rises up to snarl across the rust-red landscape again. Watch this space for updates.

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A Portuguese Norton

By Joe Berk

I’d like to be able to tell you more about this classic Norton single I spotted recently in Porto, Portugal, but I can’t.  I was in a hurry to hop on a boat ride, the owner wasn’t around, and after snapping a couple of photos I had to run.

Here’s a view from the bike’s left side.

I thought I might find info on the bike’s headstamp, but in the photos I have I couldn’t find anything.  I’d sure like to know more about it.  If you have any info on what this bike is, please leave a comment and let us know.

Thanks much.

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KABOOM!

By Joe Berk

It occurred in an instant, on the fifth and last round in the magazine.  It was as if a cherry bomb had gone off in my face.  I heard a voice yell “whoa!” and I realized the voice was mine.

I stared at the smoking Springfield Armory 9mm 1911 in my hands, waiting for the pain, the blood, and whatever might follow.   My hands, still wrapped around the grips, were stinging.  I knew something bad happened, but I didn’t know how bad it was and I wasn’t especially looking forward to finding out.  My gun had blown up.   The entire gun was smoking and smoke continued to waft from places it wasn’t supposed to:  The grips, the line between the frame and the slide, the trigger, around the hammer, and the ejection port (which was closed; at this point, I didn’t know if there was a live round in the chamber).  Gray smoke curled out everywhere.

I slowly relaxed my grip and looked at my hands.  There was no blood, but my palms stung like they had been slapped with a baseball bat. As I eased my hold, the 1911’s left grip fell away in two pieces (as you can see in the photo at the top of this blog).  There were no cuts and there was no bleeding, but I had powder tattoos all over both hands.  I returned my focus to the gun.  It was still smoking.  It smelled funny, too.  Was that burnt flesh or just the powder and residual oil?

The first four shots from that magazine were delightfully tight, and I ordinarily would have felt good about seeing that.  On each of the preceding four shots (and the fifth one, for that matter), the front sight had been outlined against the blurred rear sight and the bright orange muzzle flash, the way things are supposed to look when the hammer drops.

The first four rounds were forming a nice group. The fifth was a disaster.

I was still afraid to look at my hands.  My face was now tingling and I knew I’d caught something.  I had safety glasses on and I could see okay; that was good.  I worked up enough courage to put the gun down and look at my hands more closely.  They seemed okay.  I knew from previous bad things happening that sometimes you don’t feel anything for a few seconds (the golden minute, I think they call it), but I looked again and I was okay.

The 1911’s right grip appeared to be intact (but it wasn’t; more on that in a second).  The slide was locked forward.  I tried to pull it back but it would only move about an eighth of an inch.  I pressed the magazine release and nothing happened.  I pulled on the magazine and it came out.  It was mangled; the front was bent in and the follower angled upward.  I still wasn’t sure if there was a live round in the chamber.  I cocked the hammer and dropped it a couple of times…and there was nothing.  I concluded it was safe to put the 1911 in its case.  I scooped up my marbles and left.  I didn’t even pick up my brass, and this was Remington brass that had only been reloaded once…that’s how shook up I was.

When I got home, I looked in the mirror.  I had one little spot on my right cheek that bled and had already stopped (I’ve done worse shaving).  I washed my hands to get the powder residue off (that took a while).  There were no cuts.  Dodged a bullet, I did.  Figuratively and literally.

Once home, I examined the 1911 more closely.  The trigger was too far forward in the frame.  The event probably screwed up the trigger mechanism.  The right grip, which I thought was okay, had a hairline crack along its length.   Not that it matters; you can’t buy just one grip (you buy them in pairs).   The slide would not move to the rear more than a little bit; it was not coming off the gun.

The trigger moved far forward. You can see the outline on the trigger denoting where it was normally positioned.
The left grip fell off the gun when I released my grip. The right grip had cracked, but it remained in place.

What could have caused this?  There are a lot of possibilities.  The first (and most likely) is that I double charged a cartridge case when reloading.  In other words, I put twice as much propellant in the case as I should have.  Of all the reloading equipment I’ve ever used, it’s easiest to do this on the Lee turret press I’ve been raving about.  I’m not badmouthing Lee or their turret press; I’m simply making an observation.  If that’s what happened, it was entirely my fault.

I could have fired a squib load, had a bullet lodge in the bore, and then fired another bullet on top of it.  I’m pretty sure that is not what happened because of the holes on the target.   There are four clean holes from the first four rounds, and one lower, oblong hole from the fifth round (when the gun blew up).  You can see this on the target above.  The bullet didn’t have as much energy behind it and it had started to tumble.

I could have experienced a case failure in which the rear of the case tore off, which would have allowed the hot gases to impinge on the gun internally.  There’s some evidence to suggest this.  I can look into the bore and see that the cartridge case is still present, but the interior of the case is partly torn away.   The lower third of the case’s base is gone (the upper two thirds are present).   In the area where the case’s base is gone, I can see the breech face and the firing pin.  I later found part of the cartridge case inside the magazine.

This was a tough photo to get (mea culpa on the image quality). You are peering down the barrel from the muzzle end. The upper arrow points to what’s left of the cartridge case; the front of the firing pin is visible. The lower arrow points to the breech face.

The gun could have fired out of battery.  That is to say, it may have fired without the slide being fully forward.   I can move the slide back about 1/16-inch, cock the hammer, and the trigger will release it.  I don’t know if it is doing that because the internals are damaged, or if it could do it before the event.  Or, there could have been grit in the chamber that prevented the cartridge from chambering completely.  When I look into the bore, I can see residual blue powder coating from the bullet that seems to be lodged between the case mouth and the forward edge of the chamber.

I cast around on the Internet a bit and I found several references to the 9mm 1911 Springfields having tight chambers.  I know mine has a very tight chamber.  Maybe a cartridge wasn’t resized completely and it failed to completely chamber?  If that happens, the slide won’t go all the way forward and the gun shouldn’t fire so I don’t think that’s likely, but who knows.

After I returned home, I examined the magazine again and I could see what I thought was an imprint of the primer on the magazine.  I shook the magazine and felt something rattling around inside.  It was the primer.  It had been flattened, and there was a hole where the firing pin had struck it.  I’m guessing the hole was caused by the excess pressure.

A mangled magazine. The left arrow points to the primer imprint. The right arrow points to the distorted follower.
The primer and a bit of brass residue.   These were inside the magazine.
An inside view of the primer. Note the circular cutout where pressure sheared the brass against the firing pin hole.

My Springfield 1911 is toast, at least for a while.  I have two ways I can go on this (well, three, if you count scrapping the 1911 altogether, but that’s not a choice I want to consider).  One option is to return the gun to Springfield Armory, but I don’t want to do that.  If the failure was a problem with the gun, I don’t want to have the same guys who screwed it up attempt to fix it.  Every gun I’ve ever bought from Springfield has required at least one warranty repair (including this one, but for a different issue).  Two of my friends bought 1911s from Springfield and they’ve had to go back for warranty repairs (one had to be returned twice when they didn’t fix the problem the first time).  I don’t know what Springfield’s warranty repair turnaround times are these days, but it’s probably measured in weeks or months.   The last thing that ruled out a warranty repair was that this event occurred with my reloaded ammo and that voids the warranty.  I’m not in denial here; it is likely my reloaded ammo is the reason this happened.

Nope, I’m going to go with the approach that’s always worked for me.  It’s the silver lining in this sad tale (that and the fact that I wasn’t injured).  I’m bringing the 1911 to TJ’s Custom Gunworks tomorrow.  I’ve already talked to TJ and he tells me my 1911 can be repaired.  The repairs will be on my dime, but I know the work will be perfect and I know the gun will literally be better than new.  I’ll have TJ do a bit of custom work while he has the gun, too.  TJ told me he’ll have to cut slide release off to remove the slide from the frame, and when he disassembles it, we’ll learn more.  I’m thinking a double charge is the likely culprit (which would be my mistake), but maybe TJ will find otherwise.  I’ll keep you posted.

I had a serious debate with myself about posting this blog.  It’s an interesting story; that puts it in the plus column. If I double-charged that case, that’s an admission of carelessness on my part and that puts it in the minus column.  In the end, if it helps other people from making the same mistake (assuming the fault lies with me), this blog will have served a purpose and that is why it is here.

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Fishing the Florida Keys: We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Motorcycle

By Mike Huber

So, I figured using a slightly amended line from the movie Jaws for this title would fit nicely since this story is a step up from fishing off the BMW GS1200.  My friend Sal (who is a new owner of a Can Am) and his brother Mike had just invited me out to go deep sea fishing off the Florida Keys. It was time to take my amateur fishing skills to the next level.  Having been hooked (no pun intended) into fishing last month, this opportunity was timed perfectly and would allow me a chance to catch some really big fish.  Fish large enough that I would need a Can Am to transport them.

One of my objectives in life is to hit all the National Parks and living primarily off my BMW GS1200 has really provided me the opportunity to rack up those numbers.  Florida is just so flat and straight that even the thought of riding to knock out the five National Parks there grew the chicken strips on my tires.  The main focus of this trip would be on relaxation and fishing, so I wasn’t overthinking the National Parks objective.  There will be another trip for those.

Well, it turned out we would be fishing in Everglades National Park. I totally love it when you can combine two objectives into one; it’s probably the project manager in me.  Either way we were on a 21-foot boat westbound out of Islamorada Key. Our first day on the water was pretty impressive, mostly with how the captain yelled at me almost nonstop.  This provided endless entertainment for Sal and Mike.  I think the only reason he yelled at me more is I was catching more fish and was volunteering to help with tasks around the boat, which put me in the spotlight (or I just screwed up a lot).  Either way I got more than one chewing out that day.  For example, the captain wasn’t too thrilled when I tried to wind a 6-foot shark into the boat instead of taking the hook out of its mouth outside the boat. That action racked up my fourth chewing of the day, but who’s counting (Sal and Mike were).

The second day out we each took a chewing but for me it was more personal.  The captain, Mark Gibson, who was former UDT (Navy Underwater Demolitions (SeALs before there were SeALs)) happened to have known my uncle who was also UDT.  So, he took it upon himself to ensure my “Army” ways were wrong every time, even if they weren’t. In between our constant bickering and putting each other down (all with love, of course) and catching fish, he began to explain to me his true passion, which is helping veterans with PTSD.  He runs a nonprofit called Fish With A Hero that takes veterans out on excursions to fish, heal, talk, and, well just be themselves with their brothers and sisters in arms. That day was beautiful.  The company was great, the water was like glass, and there was no wind while we fished Florida’s gin-colored waters. We each caught our trout limit that day and we had several larger fish we couldn’t land.

At the end of each fishing excursion, we took our fish to the Lazy Days Restaurant.  For a small fee they prepared our catch any way we liked. This was a perfect spot to watch the sun setting over the water as we devoured freshly caught fish with a cold beer and joked over the mishaps and successes experienced that day.

Overall, it was a solid week in the Florida Keys, which is a new area of the world for me.  If you like fishing and taking time out from the world this is a perfect place to visit with friendly people in a laid-back environment (outside the fishing captain yelling at me).  As far as purchasing a larger moto to carry an 80-pound shark or a 35-pound hammer jack, I think that may require a Can Am.  It was odd that on this trip Sal received a few prank phone calls about his Can Am.  Somehow, I got blamed for that too, even though I was sitting right next to him when the calls came in. Who knows, maybe a Can Am will be in my distant future to knock out the remaining four National Parks in Florida, and for loading heavy fish for the Lazy Days  cooks.  Until those days arrive, it is back to freshwater fishing in Arizona with the BMW GS1200.

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Lisbon

I should have paid more attention in my elementary and junior high school geography classes. I remember studying Christopher Columbus (the guy who “discovered” America), but the other explorers’ names are lost among my fading neurons. And here we were, in Lisbon, where Vasco de Gama, Magellan, Henry the Navigator, old Christopher C. himself, and others hung out five or six centuries ago.  I wish I could repeat my 7th grade geography class with Mr. Costa for just that reason.  Being 12 years old again would be cool, too.

My new good buddy Ibrahim, one of our fellow tourists on this adventure, is a serious photographer.  He used my consumer grade Nikon to take the photo below at the Parque Eduardo VII .  It was one of the first places we stopped in Lisbon, and the statue at the end is Christopher Columbus. Look at those hedges and think about how much labor is needed to keep them looking this good. By the time you get to the end trimming them, you’d have to go back to the beginning and start over. That’s the Tagus River in the background. Lisbon is right on the Atlantic Ocean. A lot of 14th and 15th century New World explorations started right here.

Susie and yours truly at the Parque Eduardo VII in Lisbon. Photo by Ibrahim Alava.

The photo below is from one of many churches we visited (we saw many churches and a couple of synagogues in Spain and Portugal; before the Spanish Inquisition, there was a thriving Jewish community on the Iberian Peninsula).

Blue and white tiles were a common decor in Spain and Portugal.

Blue tiles were everywhere in Lisbon.  Spain and Portugal were occupied by the Moors for centuries. The Moors brought their art, their architecture, and their style (including blue tiles) to the region.  The Moors were ultimately driven out, but the tiles remained. I could spend a month in Lisbon just photographing the tiles. The tiles get their blue color from cobalt, which is locally mined.

We wandered through Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood to a church at the top of a hill, led by a local guide. Our walk here involved a steep uphill climb through narrow streets and alleys. When Sue and I first joined up with our tour group two days earlier, I felt good seeing that the group was mostly made up of old people (I called our group the Portugueezers). I figured our age would hold the walking and climbing to a minimum. I was wrong. We did a ton of walking and climbing. My iPhone told me one day I did over 17,000 steps. Most days were at least 10,000 steps.

A colorful door in Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood.
An interesting doorknob.

I took a lot of artsy-fartsy photos of doors, doorknobs, door knockers, and other things as we climbed the twisting and narrow streets of Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood.  My fellow Portugueezers thought I was a serious amateur photographer when I frequently stopped to grab a picture, and I didn’t say anything to persuade them otherwise (the stops were so I could catch my breath).

I noticed that a few of the homes had printed tiles with photos of older women on their exterior walls. I tried to find out more about this on Google but I struck out (I should have asked our guide while we were there, but I was huffing and puffing too hard to ask). Maybe these women were famous Portuguese mountain climbers. Sue later told me our guide said the tiles tell a bit about the residents of each home.  Say hello to Ms. Delmira and Ms. da Luz.

Ms. Delmira, an Alfama neighborhood denizen.
Ms. da Luz, known as Maria to her friends.

We were in an area frequented by tourists and there were lots of shops selling things. Where there were colors, I took a photo or two.

Dresses for sale in Lisbon.

We then went down to the waterfront Belém area along the Tagus River. The statue below is a monument to Henry the Navigator.

An interesting monument to Henry the Navigator in the Belém area.
A closer view of statues on the Henry the Navigator monument.

The Hieronymites Monastery was across the street from the Henry the Navigator monument. Jose, our guide, told us that nuns in this monastery (I didn’t think they had nuns in a monastery, but what do I know?) were famous for their Pastéis de Belém. Jose disappeared for a bit and then reappeared with samples for us to try. They were excellent.

James (one of our fellow travelers) and Jose, our tour guide.

Like Porto and other big European cities, downtown Lisbon was a hotbed of scooter activity.  At any traffic light, scooters filtered to the front of the queue, and when the light turned green, it was a multi-scooter drag race.  It was fun to watch.  I guess Portugal has a helmet law; everyone wore one.  But that was it for protective gear.  Think full face helmets accompanied by t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops (all the gear, all the time).  I’m guessing I saw a hundred scooters for every motorcycle, and when we did see motorcycles, they were mostly 125cc machines.  Many appeared to be of Chinese origin, with Honda and Yamaha motorcycles making up the balance.   There were a few big bikes; I spoke to a guy at a rest stop who was on a BMW GS.  He told me he liked his GS and it was a good machine, but he had another motorcycle that was his pride and joy:  A Harley Sportster.  “It has a carburetor,” he proudly told me (an obvious vintageness badge).  I thought I might refer him to our earlier ExNotes post, 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster, but he was in a hurry and I had already run out of ExNotes business cards.

Check it out: 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster.

There’s more, but this blog is getting long enough. You get the idea. After two days in Lisbon, it was on to Évora and then Spain.

Stay tuned, my friends.

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Chaco Canyon, New Mexico

By Joe Gresh 

In 2019 we booked a campsite at Chaco Canyon in northern New Mexico. Chaco Canyon was a fairly large Native American city that served as the capital for the Chaco people a thousand years ago. Strung out along the canyon within walking distance of each other there are several large, condominium-style structures, some reaching 5 stories high and all of them with courtyards, living areas, kivas, and storage rooms. The condos were built with fantastically intricate stonework consisting of millions of large and small stones. Chaco society was well organized and their mathematics and architectural engineering were well advanced, as it would need to be in order to produce such big, complex buildings.

Also in 2019 the plague hit and Chaco Canyon was closed to visitors, so we never made it to the campground. The same thing happened in 2020, so we missed Chaco that year and instead spent our time arguing on the Internet about masks and vaccines with medically-trained basement dwellers. In 2021 we had a reserved campsite near the cliffs of the canyon and not long before we were due to arrive the cliff calved, covering our campsite with boulders. The campground was closed in order to clean up the rubble. The section where we were booked is still closed.

In 2022 we again called the ranger station at Chaco Canyon and reserved a site.  All looked well in 2022 but a day or two before we were to leave CT came down with a nasty cold and we decided camping would be no fun with one of us sick in bed. Reluctantly, we cancelled our reservations yet again. Our efforts to see Chaco Canyon seemed cursed. We decided to try again in 2023 and figured March would be a good time to go. We wanted to avoid the hot summer months. Building up to March everything was going swimmingly; this would be the year we finally made it to the historic Native American site.

And then the rain started. We watched the weather reports coming in from Chaco Canyon: rain, snow, hail. It rained at Chaco Canyon every day the week before we were to go. All roads leading to Chaco Canyon involve quite a few miles of dirt. The rougher, south entrance to the canyon was closed due to the muddy road being impassable. We didn’t care: we were going to Chaco even if we drowned in mud. Farmington was our staging area for the camping expedition and we drove in spotty rain all day to get there. Turning north out of Albuquerque on Highway 550 we stopped for gas. While I was filling the gas tank it started snowing. Then the wind picked up to a brisk gale. The last 50 miles to Farmington were in a drizzly rain mixed with sleet. We made it to our motel where it rained all night long. The normally well-maintained north entrance road to Chaco Canyon was starting to look a bit iffy.

The next day was overcast and rain threatened, but the morning was drama free with only a light dusting of snow on our way to the entrance to Chaco. If you’re going to visit Chaco Canyon you’ll no doubt read horror stories about how rough the road is leading to the canyon. Keep in mind the people fretting about the road are driving giant RVs held together with staples and chewing gum. You may lose a kitchen cabinet or an ill-considered propane tank. If you are driving a car or truck you’ll be fine. Unless it has rained five days straight before you arrived.

Turning off Highway 550, the first 8 miles to Chaco Canyon are paved and then the road turns into wide, graded dirt. This section was very muddy and CT put her Jeep in 4-wheel low and locked the front and rear differentials. She couldn’t go very fast because the Jeep wanted to spin into the ditch at the slightest sign of ham-fisted steering. Down hills were exciting; the Jeep kind of drifted to the bottom in a semi-controlled slide. The mud wasn’t deep, only a few inches, but it was like driving on ice covered with ball bearings and oil.

We saw two other vehicles on our 23-mile ride and one of them was stuck in a ditch. CT is a big believer in recovery gear so she has straps and chains onboard at all times. Unfortunately this means we have to stop and help people who get stuck in a mud bog. The guy was so glad to see us. We came to a gentle stop 30 feet past the deepest part of the mud hole. “You got a rope?” I asked Mr. Stucky.

“No I sure don’t,” he said. I gave a dejected look at the mud.

“Do you guys have anything we can use?” he asked.

“Yeah, we got something.” I stepped into the mud and pulled CT’s clean ARB tow strap out of its clean zipper case.

“I think if you can pull me back onto the road I’ll be ok. I was going too fast and spun out.”

I was only half listening to Stucky.  All I could think of was that this means we have to get CT’s ARB tow strap muddy with this sticky goo and then I’ll have to clean it later.

Walking was hard due to the mud sticking to our boots and the slipperiness, but we managed to connect our nice, clean, tow strap to Stucky’s SUV and pulled his rig backwards towards a less muddy area. Stucky’s mini SUV didn’t want to leave the ditch and it crabbed along spinning wheels and slinging mud for 100 feet before it popped out of the rut and onto what passed for the road. I started to wind up the tow strap when Stucky, sensing my disappointment, said, “Here, let me get that. No need for you to get any muddier.” I was muddy already, but I handed Stucky the strap. I wanted him to feel like he had a stake in not getting stuck again. As Stucky coiled the ARB tow strap mud oozed between each wrap. We were only a few miles to the campground from this point.

Once you make it to Chaco Canyon the roads are paved so we had no trouble finding the ranger station or our campsite. The place was nearly deserted. Stucky’s little teardrop trailer was the only other camper at Chaco that day. Fast moving clouds scudded from west to east bringing alternate periods of sunshine, snow, rain and hail. During a sunny spell we set our Campros tent up on the nice, raised tent platforms provided to each camping spot. The raised tent spots are built from pressure treated 8×8 beams laid out in a square totaling 14 feet by 14 feet. The squares were filled with nice, soft dirt and we were damn near glamping, you know? I guess if I were more observant, the tie down clevises screwed into the pressure treated lumber would have given me a hint about wind speeds in Chaco Canyon.

We watched the looping, 15-minute Chaco Canyon video at the ranger station’s little movie theater and then decided to set up and get our junk sorted out. It was windy and cold but we had plenty of warm clothing to wear. CT brought along 6 jackets, 7 hats, and 3 duffle bags full of thermal underwear. The tent was heaving and snapping; it took two people to hold it still long enough to assemble the thing. The temperature started dropping as soon as the sun went down. A campfire was out of the question in this wind so we made our bed, ate a little cold-cut snack for dinner, drank hot, Dancing Goats coffee and sat at opposite sides of the tent holding the corners down.

Moving all the heavy gear to the perimeter of the Campros tent seemed to keep it from blowing over. We were able to snuggle together in the sleeping bag and kept from freezing, which was the whole reason I wanted to go camping with CT in the first place. We saw 27 degrees that night and the wind never stopped blowing. The next day was slightly warmer and the sun was peeking out from the clouds, but it was even windier.

Due to the weather all the ranger presentations were cancelled. We signed up for a Chaco tour led by a Navajo business called Navajo Tours USA. We used these guys before at the Bisti Badlands and they are great fun. The tour started at 10 a.m. and we went to each condominium and wandered around while our guide told us about the different stone patterns and construction details of the buildings. Usually Chaco great houses have a basement level and many of the places we were walking had filled in with dust and sand over the preceding thousand years.

Above the basement there were three or four stories. Each level was accessed by a ladder from the level below. This system continued on until you reached the roof. The floors were made from large wood beams, called vigas in Spanish.  Over the beams were placed smaller sticks and an adobe floor. The vigas hauled to Chaco came from the mountains many miles away. I figure there must have been some sort of money or economy that would have allowed workers to drag those beams and still be able to sustain a living wage.

The walls of the condos were fairly thick. Starting at the bottom the walls were three feet thick or more. The walls tapered as they rose, becoming thinner floor-by-floor.  Top-floor walls might only be one foot thick. Originally, the inner walls were plastered smooth with some sort of lime coating. In a few spots you could still see the factory stucco. There were windows that let light into the rooms.  Inner rooms were dark but they had openings that aligned with outer windows that allowed outside light to penetrate several rooms deep. The outside windows had wooden shutters for winter use.

The winds, strong already, were picking up and at times you’d be blown off balance. Each gust brought a stinging blast of sand and my eyes were getting full of grit. The Chaco people situated their buildings according to astronomical events. Usually one long, straight wall aligned with the rising sun at the solstices. Sometimes the wall pointed towards a particular star. The building was a giant calendar.

There is a lot more to the Chaco culture, the long, straight roads they built, where their food came from, and why the city was abandoned after only a few hundred years, but it was late in the afternoon and getting colder. The wind was so strong I couldn’t hear our guide very well. Light hail was falling and wisps of snowflakes juked and stutter stepped in the air. As much as I enjoyed the lecture I was glad when it was over. I like it outside but there is such a thing as too much outdoors. We went back to the campsite to have a little hot tea.

Camp was a disaster. Our Campros tent looked like a downed weather balloon. Tent poles had broken, stakes were pulled out and the rain fly was detached and flapping in the breeze. Inside the tent everything was covered in dirt blown in through the screened roof.  We tried to get the tent propped back up but when I pulled on it things started ripping. We managed to get the rain fly back over the wreckage and placed large boulders on the corners to hold it in place. It was snowing again. There was nothing to be done with the wind blowing so we went to the ranger station and loitered. I bought a ceramic coffee cup with a Chao Canyon logo; it was good to be out of the wind.

By 7 p.m. the wind eased up a little and we went back to camp to try to salvage what we could. Our first chore was emptying the Jeep before it got dark. The idea being if we couldn’t fix the tent we could retreat to the Jeep and sleep in the back. Sure it would be cramped but at least we had a heater in the car. And the car wouldn’t blow over. Maybe.

We managed to get the tent propped back up with the short, broken poles. The short poles made every other dimension wrong. The main ridge pole had a huge S curve and there were wrinkles all over the place. It wasn’t a thing of beauty. Besides the broken poles, the upwind corners were ripped where the tent stake loops attach. We propped heavy stuff in those corners to hold the tent’s shape. Next we cleaned up all the sand as best we could and finally got organized enough to have another cold dinner and hot coffee. A campfire was out of the question because neither of us wanted to bother.  In retrospect, when we left that morning we should have lowered the tent and placed rocks on the rain fly to hold it down. I believe it would have survived without a problem. I have no gripe against the tent: it went through a hurricane.

The jury-rigged tent stayed up all night long and by morning the sun was out and it was a relatively warm 40 degrees. Blue sky shined in through our open tent door and the wind was a gentle breeze. If our reservations were made just two days later we would have had a totally different feel for Chaco Canyon. It would have been nice Chaco Canyon instead of mean Chaco Canyon. The muddy road had dried up and was now passable by standard automobile. The campground started filling up as we packed our gear. Old Joe would have folded up the battered tent with the broken poles and torn corners, taken it home and stored it for 43 years thinking he was going to fix it one day. New Joe tossed it in the dumpster.

Those long-ago Chaco people had it much better in their thick stone buildings. Maybe the climate was different then, but I suspect not that much different. And it was an unusual weather pattern that saw all the other campers cancel their reservations leaving only Stucky, his dog and us in the entire joint.  The campgrounds were nice with clean bathrooms, flush toilets and heat, but no showers. We never did get to see all the buildings because it was so windy and cold. CT and I want to back to Chaco Canyon and explore more but maybe next time we’ll go when the weather is more clement.

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Three Favorite Sedona Hikes

By Bobbie Surber

Arizona’s Sedona area offers fantastic hiking.  This blog describes three of my favorites.

Bear Mountain Trail

Bear Mountain provides fantastic red rock views. The start of the trail is at about 4600 feet in elevation from the parking lot. At the final summit, the elevation reaches 6150 feet.  At the summit of Bear Mountain, you can see the San Francisco Peaks in Flagstaff, views of Bell Rock in the Village of Oak Creek, Verde Valley, peaks of Sycamore Canyon, and all West Sedona.

Bear Mountain hiking trails. From top left, going clockwise: Bear Mountain Canyon views, start of the Bear Mountain Trail, the Bear Mountain trailhead, and me atop Bear Mountain.

A warm spring day found me on the Bear Mountain Trail with a new friend I met during a Sedona Meet Up Hiking event. Linda is from New Jersey and is an avid outdoorswoman, hiker, and yoga devotee. I enjoyed Linda’s company as we marveled at the views and shared about our lives, family, and career paths.

I was happy that the Bear Mountain Trail DID NOT kick me in the behind. A challenging hike with an 1800 ft gain over the course of 3 levels of summits. This is a designated wilderness area, so there aren’t any trail markers once you enter the designated area. Watch for trail markings carefully and pay attention, as you will encounter several false summits before reaching the peak. Views along the way revealed stunning red rock slot canyons and an area resembling a mini Grand Canyon. This is a steep trail with some rock scrambling. Please pay attention to the trail, as it is easy to get off track. 2 liters of water is the minimum recommended for this strenuous hike, more on a hot day. A hat and walking poles are also very helpful.

This hike is advanced and difficult. You should be prepared with proper footwear, water, food, and layers of clothes.

Sugarloaf to Lizard Head to Chuck Wagon to Brins Mesa, returning via Jordan Trail

Sunday morning started with a chill in the air and an overcast sky. I postponed getting out of bed and decided on another cup of coffee; my favorite, extra dark roast made strong enough to curl your hair worked its magic as I continued to procrastinate a few moments longer with a leisurely read of the Sunday paper. My hiking shoes waited anxiously beside my bed for the impending long hike. Not sure if it was the regret of a wasted Sunday or the sudden clearing of the clouds, whatever it was, I surrendered, dumped the remainder of my brew, got the hiking shoes on, and headed out the front door.

Coffee Pot Rock.

My goal was to try out Day 1 of a planned 3-day hike in Sedona and the Village of Oak Creek. I headed to the Sugarloaf Trailhead catching the Andante trail over to Chimney Rock Saddle to connect to the Lizard Head trail. This is where I was momentarily lost. OK, not momentarily lost… but I could not locate the %&# trail for about an hour! Man, talk about the embarrassment of getting lost in my backyard!

After bushwhacking and following a new chain-link fence, I found Lizard Head and started the ascent. Within a half hour, I was high up on the side of the mountain, and sure, I was too high for this trail. Thank goodness for cell phones and a call to my friend Doug, the master of all things related to Sedona trails, who knew exactly where I was and assured me I only needed to butt-scoot down the rocks about 100 ft and begin my descent to the bottom of the trail. He was dead on!

The Brins Mesa marker.

Besides my inability to navigate easy-to-locate trails in my backyard, I did not care for this section due to road noise off Dry Creek Rd. This, however, was short-lived as Lizard Head connected to Chuck Wagon trailhead with a lovely new picnic area, maps, and toilets. A fast rest and lunch, and I was back on the Chuck Wagon trail heading to the Brins Mesa trail. Chuck Wagon trail meanders through open vistas and dry gullies with views over Boynton and Secret Canyon. A wonderfully easy trail with outstanding red rock views. By 3 pm, I was at the trailhead of Brins Mesa with the much-needed forest to cool me off. Brins Mesa is always my favorite. Not sure why; perhaps it is the rebirth after the fire of 2006 or the feeling of others that have walked this Mesa for hundreds of years. Whatever the reason, I had a surge of endorphins firing off in my brain, and I was in complete bliss despite a longer-than-expected day of hiking and a start of a dreaded blister on my little toe.

After an enjoyable day of hiking, one might think that nothing could top it. However, heading to the Oak Creek Brewery from the Jordan trailhead for a delicious hotdog and refreshing beer further elevated my experience in Red Rock Country. Spending a Sunday in this manner gives a new meaning to Sunday Funday!

This 12-mile hike is moderate difficulty. Bring plenty of water.

West Fork Trail in Oak Creek Canyon

The West Fork Trail is a moderate hiking trail known for its picturesque views of the red rock canyons and the crystal-clear waters of Oak Creek. The out-and-back trail follows the creek for about 6.4 miles and takes around 2 to 4 hours to complete. It is suitable for hikers of all levels, including families with children. Hikers should wear appropriate gear and bring plenty of water and snacks. You will make numerous water crossings and find that water shoes make the trail more manageable; check the weather forecast for storms and potential flooding.

On the West Fork Trail.

My morning could not have been more perfect. Hot coffee served bedside, the sun shining brightly, two soft-boiled eggs just the way I like them, and an 8 am date with Elaine to hike the Oak Creek Canyon.

West Fork leaves, and the West Fork trailhead.

What I did not expect was to hit the famed West Fork Trail at the perfect date and time to see our Arizona fall leaves at the most glorious time of year. The morning light was enchanting as it filtered into the canyon, backlighting the trees and setting the red rock cliffs glowing with burnt orange with soft buttery yellows and rust red. Childhood joy resurfaced as we worked our way back and forth across Oak Creek; with each turn along the trail, nature revealed yet another excellent view of the Canyon.

West Fork Trail scenes.

It is difficult to describe this trail’s beauty in the fall. The experience goes beyond language; one must turn inward and fully immerse themselves in the earth’s magic beneath their feet. The power of the running creek and the ever-changing red rocks add to the enchantment of the surroundings, creating a truly indescribable experience. The company was as wonderful as the views along this hike.  It was so nice to have some Elaine time and, for a moment, remember what it is like to be removed far from our hectic busy lives and reacquaint with an old friend in an enchanted setting such as this.

Be prepared to face water crossings.

Sedona and the surrounding areas have an abundance of hiking opportunities. Thirty-seven years of living in this Red Rock paradise, and I still have hikes on my list yet to be explored. If you are planning a trip to Sedona, consider using All-Trails and stopping by the Forest Service office for up-to-date restrictions and trail conditions.  If hiking is what gets your mojo on, then Sedona will not disappoint!

Spain and Portugal

By Joe Berk

Never heard of Antoni Gaudi, the man who designed Barcelona’s La Sagrada Família Basilica?  Don’t feel bad; I had never heard of him, either.  His work is the wildest architecture I’ve ever seen…think Dr. Suess meets George Lucas, except this guy predates both.

How about scooter-borne motor officers?  Scooters and small motorcycles make way more sense than the gigondo police bikes we use here in the US.  The photo below shows a Policia moto cop we watched roll up on criminal activity (0utside a cathedral, no less), and the bad guys simply evaporated.

Enjoy majestic cathedrals and stained glass?  Hey, there’s a lot of that coming your way, too. We were in so many cathedrals I had to check the itinerary just to get my photos organized.

Did I mention the Flamenco dancers?  Here’s another teaser.

Take my word on this:  If you enjoy photography and motorcycling, fine dining, good wine, beautiful people, and the good life, Spain and Portugal are tough to beat.

Sue and I just returned from a couple of weeks over there and it was awesome.  I left the big Nikon at home and carried a much lighter D3300 Nikon (the same one I used on the China, Colombia, and Baja rides), and life was a lot easier.  The photos are about as good as those I get with the boat anchor D810 and I minimized the wear and tear on me (I’m so spring chicken, you know).  I took three lenses with me:  the 18-55 kit lens that came with the camera, an inexpensive and lightweight Rokinon 8mm fisheye (using it required manual everything, as it doesn’t interface with the D3300’s auto focusing and metering capabilities), and a very sharp Nikon 35mm f1.8.  Even though the 35mm Nikon lens was the best in the bag, I never put it on the camera.  I used the 18-55mm for the bulk of my shots (it was easy to use and I think it did a good job) and the 8mm fisheye for just a few (like that big photo in the Gaudi basilica at the top of this blog).

There’s more content in the ExNotes queue on our visit to the Iberian Peninsula, with a little bit of moto content in each.

Stay tuned, my friends.