Reading good buddy Airborne Mike’s javelina story brought back memories. I’ve been chasing pigs for more than 50 years and I only ever got three. Two were captured simultaneously via film (the two you see above); the other was nailed in Arizona and brought home for consumption. Yeah, I’m a Jewish kid who ate pork. Don’t tell anyone.
I’d been on javelina hunting trips numerous times when I lived in west Texas, and on every one of those trips, we never even saw a javelina (we could have just as easily described those expeditions as T-rex hunts, because we saw about as many of them). Good buddy Jose commented on Mike’s previous post that javelina make for good eating, but I’ve never had the pleasure and if offered, I’d politely decline. Although they definitely look piggish, javelina are actually not in the pig family. I’m told they are rodents. No thanks. I’ll forego rat tacos.
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About that Mama Javelina and baby photo you see above: All those javelina hunting expeditions when we didn’t see a single javelina? Well, we stayed on an Arizona guest ranch one year (not hunting anything except good times) and there were javelinas out the gazoo. We heard them snorting and grunting up a storm outside our cabin one night, so I went outside with my manual focus Minolta 35mm film camera and took a bunch of flash photos, moving the focus ring a little bit each time because I couldn’t see to focus in the dark. I got lucky with one of them. I didn’t know there was a baby javelina in the mix until I got the prints. The mama and her baby were only about six feet away (I was using the Minolta’s standard 50mm lens). A guy who saw that photo told me I was lucky Mother Javelina didn’t go after me.
I’ve been on three wild pig hunts (not javelina, but actual wild pigs). On the first one, we spent three days rooting around in northern California and we didn’t see a single pig. Our guide pointed out what he claimed was pig poop, but hell, it could have been any kind of poop. What do I know from pig poop?
On a second northern California wild pig expedition, we were skunked again. Not one pig and not one pig sighting. Not even pig poop this time. All I came home with was the worst case of poison oak I ever had. The itching was intense raised to an exponent, and nothing seemed to work except consuming large amounts of Budweiser, which I did for the three days it took to get over it. After that episode, I stayed away from hunting pigs for the next 30 years. Then, I got the bug again.
My pig and I, taken near Kingman, Arizona. That rifle (a maple-stocked SuperGrade Model 70 Winchester in .30 06) will shoot quarter inch groups at 100 yards.
About five years ago good buddy Paul and I hunted wild pig in Arizona and we both scored. Our guide told me mine weighed about 130 pounds; Paul’s was a monster at well over 200 pounds. I got an education on that trip. The butcher asked us about the cuts we wanted, but I really had no idea (it was my Jewish ignorance about all things of the porcine persuasion). I let the butcher recommend what to do. When we reached the end of the list, I realized we hadn’t added bacon to the list and I asked about it. “There’s no bacon on wild boar,” he patiently explained while looking at the top of my head (I think maybe he was looking for a yarmulke, or maybe where I had my horns removed). “Bacon is belly fat, and wild pigs don’t have any.” Hmmm. Whaddaya know.
That butcher’s guidance about wild pigs lacking fat had further implications. The meat had absolutely no flavor. Zip. Nada. Zilch. No fat, no flavor. I made a lot of chili with that meat over the next year (cumin, red chili flakes, and Anaheim chiles bring their own flavors). But one of the “cuts” was sausage and that was good because it included a little fat. I found a recipe for and made a wild mushroom and pork sausage barley casserole. It was outstanding, so much so it has me thinking about going pig hunting again.
I know what you’re thinking: This is going to be a blog either for or against conservatives.
Nope. It’s not. We don’t do politics here on ExhaustNotes. This story is about a Ruger No. 1 that shot far to the right and how I fixed it. If you want politics, watch the news or pick up a newspaper and take in what passes for journalism these days.
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One of my good buddies bought a very slightly used Ruger No. 1 several years ago (it appeared to be unused) after hearing me rave about how classy these rifles are. It’s the one you see in the photo at the top of this blog. This Ruger No. 1 is particularly desirable. It is chambered in .22 250 (a wonderful cartridge), it has fantastic wood, it is an early production model (the serial number dates it to 1971), it has the early style checkering pattern, it has a red pad, and it is a pre-warning gun. My buddy and I both bought Ruger No. 1 rifles that day. His was the .22 250 you see here, and I bought one chambered in .22 Hornet.
Highly-figured walnut, a red ped, and old style checkering…it doesn’t get any better than this.
Both the .22 250 and the .22 hornet are stellar cartridges, but the .22 250 holds a special place in my heart. The first Ruger No. 1 I ever saw was in a sporting goods store in Bound Brook, New Jersey, and it was chambered in .22 250. The Ruger No. 1 had only recently been introduced, and my father really wanted the one we saw that day. Like all Ruger No. 1 rifles it was elegant, and as a varmint hunter Dad was in love with the .22 250. We didn’t get it, but seeing how excited Dad was left me with a lifelong appreciation for any Ruger No. 1 and the .22 250 cartridge.
The flip side.A close up of the original Ruger No. 1 checkering pattern.
So my friend bought the .22 250 (as I mentioned above) but on our first trip to the range his .22 250 was a disappointment. It shot way to the right at 50 yards, even with the scope’s adjustment all the way to the left. It was a frustrating day for him. My buddy removed the scope rings and found that one of them had been bubba’d (the victim of incompetent gunsmithing). It had been crudely filed in an apparent attempt to get the rifle on target. Bubba (the guy who did the work) didn’t understand what he was doing (or how Ruger’s ring design worked) because the material he had removed didn’t shift the scope alignment with the bore (if ignorance is bliss, Bubba was indeed a happy guy). My friend bought a new set of Ruger scope rings and remounted the scope. It made no difference; the rifle still shot far to the right. I was starting to understand why the rifle looked like new. Whoever owned it before encountered the rifle’s bias to the right, couldn’t fix it, and gave up on it.
Resized, polished, and trimmed .22-250 brass waiting for powder and bullets. This is a great cartridge.
At that point, my friend lost interest in the rifle, too, and I picked it up from him. It made for an interesting project. I put a different scope on the rifle (a Leupold I had used on other rifles), but the problem was not the scope. The rifle still shot way to the right.
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In the past when I had encountered this problem, it had always been due to poor forearm bedding. I closely examined the Ruger and determined that the rear of the forearm had clearance between the forearm and the receiver on the right side, but it was contacting the receiver on the left side. That would push the barrel to the right, and it could cause the strong rightward bias this rifle exhibited. You’d be surprised; it doesn’t take much pressure on a rifle barrel to push the point of impact significantly off center. I removed the forearm, delicately sanded it at the rear to have the same forearm-to-receiver clearance on both sides, and remounted it. At the next range session, I saw that my efforts had no impact. The rifle still printed far to the right and the group size was running 2 ½ to 3 inches at 100 yards. It was terrible.
A closeup photo showing intimate contact between the rear of the forearm and the front of the receiver on the left side. On the right, there was clearance. This could have been the cause of the problem, but it wasn’t.
I next tried shimming the scope. Using thin metal shims, I angled the scope enough in its rings to get its range of adjustment on target. But I still had to have the scope cranked all the way to the left, and the rifle still grouped poorly. The scope shims were a Mickey Mouse, Bandaid approach. I knew this wasn’t the solution.
Sometimes when you can’t find the answer to a problem, the best thing to do is ignore it for a while. I put the rifle in the safe and forgot about it for a few weeks. Then one day when I was driving back from one of our adventures, my mind drifted back to the Ruger. The Ruger No. 1 has a very slick quarter rib at the top rear of the barrel. The scope rings attach to it, and the scope mounts in those rings. I wondered: What if that rib was mounted at an angle to the barrel’s bore? The solution, I thought, might be a new quarter rib.
I called Ruger’s customer service (a marvelously responsive organization) and told them about my problem and that I thought I needed a new quarter rib. A few days later, I had one. At that point, things became even more interesting. The older Ruger No. 1 rifles (including my .22 250) had quarter ribs that mounted with two Allen-head screws, and the barrel had a pin that fit into a hole in the quarter rib. The quarter rib Ruger had just sent to me had two holes for the mounting screws, but no hole for the pin on the barrel. I thought about that and it made sense; the barrel pin was a belt-and-suspenders feature and it was unnecessary. Ruger made the right engineering decision to eliminate it. I thought I could just drill a hole in the new quarter rib or I could pull the pin from the barrel. I would soon learn that neither one of these solutions was going to happen.
My first step was to remove the Ruger’s quarter rib. That’s when the fun began. As I mentioned earlier, the quarter rib is secured to the barrel with two Allenhead screws. The problem I immediately ran into was that the Allen socket is very small, and those screws were originally installed with a lot of torque. I put a small Allen wrench on each screw and both wouldn’t budge. I had an Allen socket head and a ratchet that would give me more leverage, but the screws were so secure I was afraid I would round out their Allen sockets trying to remove them. I was getting nowhere with the little Allen wrench. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. I mounted the Allen socket on my ratchet and, with great trepidation, starting putting more torque on each screw. It worked. Both screws came out with their Allen heads intact. They hadn’t been Loctited; they were just torqued by a madman (or a madwomen), or more likely, somebody at Ruger with a power tool.
The Ruger No. 1 scope mounting system.
Okay, the screws were out, so I thought I could now remove the quarter rib. “Thought” is the operative word in that sentence. That quarter rib wasn’t going anywhere. It was wedged onto the barrel like it was welded. There is a small gap between the bottom of the quarter rib and the top of the barrel (you can see it in the photo above), but I didn’t want to stick a screwdriver in there to pry the quarter rib off. It would have scarred the barrel or the quarter rib or both. I needed something softer that wouldn’t mar the barrel or the quarter rib.
If you’re like me, you save old toothbrushes and use them when cleaning your guns. I thought I could use one of mine. Its plastic handle wouldn’t damage anything. The toothbrush handle was too thick to fit in the gap, so I filed it down to create a wedge. That got the handle in between the quarter rib and the barrel, but the quarter rib wasn’t going anyplace. I worked on it for 20 minutes until I broke the toothbrush handle in two. So I filed down another toothbrush handle. Three modified toothbrushes and an hour later, the Ruger’s quarter rib came off.
My initial thought was that what had made the rib so hard to remove was that its rear was interfering with the front of the receiver. That was sort of the issue, but it wasn’t induced by the quarter rib’s length or the receiver’s dimensions. I looked closely at the quarter rib and then I was really surprised. The hole for the barrel pin was off center. By a lot. Wow, I thought. That would certainly push the barrel to one side. It was what had been causing the rifle to shoot way to the right. It was a subtle anomaly. Who would have thought this had been the problem?
Whoa…something slipped while this part was being machined!
I was surprised that Ruger was able to assemble the rifle, but then I remembered what I had thought about earlier. Ruger probably used a powered screwdriver when installing the quarter rib’s Allen screws, and the technician who assembled the rifle probably did not notice the increased torque required to install the screws. The conversion of screw torque to linear force is extreme; I once participated in a fatality investigation where an operator sheared a munitions safety pin screwing on a submunition parachute without realizing what he had done (and the device detonated). But I digress; back to the Ruger story.
Older Ruger No. 1 rifles used a guide pin on the barrel. This was an unnecessary feature and it was later eliminated.
I examined the barrel pin (the pin that fit into the barrel to help locate the quarter rib). It was a press fit in the barrel, and it was obvious it wasn’t going any place. I thought about trying to pull it out with a pair of visegrips, but again, I didn’t want to bubba up this beautiful rifle. That meant I wasn’t going to use the new quarter rib Ruger had sent to me. When I tried to put the old quarter rib back on the barrel, the misalignment between the barrel rib hole and the screw holes was obvious. After thinking about this a bit (and realizing the barrel pin was unnecessary), I concluded that the best fix would be to simply enlarge the offset rib hole so that it allowed clearance between the barrel pin and the quarter rib hole.
I took a small circular file to the quarter rib hole and got nowhere fast. The quarter rib had been hardened to about two million on the Rockwell C scale. To enlarge the hole, I would have to grind it. I mounted a small rotary stone on my Dremel tool and went to work like a demented dentist. It took a while, but I finally enlarged the hole enough so that the quarter rib and its mounting screws could be installed and removed from the barrel easily. I used cold blue to blue the quarter rib’s hole inside diameter (where I had removed material), remounted the quarter rib, reinstalled the Ruger scope rings, remounted the scope, and headed to the West End Gun Club.
Three-shot groups at 100 yards. This is a very accurate rifle.
The trip to the range was extremely satisfying. The rifle’s extreme right bias completely disappeared, and after a few adjustment shots, the holes on the target were in the black. More surprisingly, the Ruger’s groups shrank dramatically. The No. 1 had been a 2 ½ to 3 minute of angle shooter before I corrected the quarter rib mounting issue; now it was a sub-MOA rifle. Life was (and still is) good. I love my Ruger No. 1 rifles, and I especially love this .22 250. I have two other Rugers chambered in .22 250. One is an unfired 200th year No. 1 with even better walnut (see below). The other is a tang safety Model 77 with the heavy varmint barrel (also see below). I could be talked into selling these two rifles, but not the .22 250 featured in this blog. I’m keeping that one for the duration.
My other .22 250 No. 1. It’s unfired. Nice wood, wouldn’t you say?A Model 77V tang safety. It’s a pre-warning, heavy barreled .22 250 that is extremely accurate.
It’s been a little while since we posted a phavorite photo (thanks for the series suggestion, Peter), so I thought we were due. Usually the pics in our Phavorite Photo series are pics I took, but I can’t take credit for the photo you see above. Susie was with me when we visited Zongshen to negotiate CSC’s first RX3 order, and during those meetings, Zongshen asked about sending Chinese folks over to ride with us in the United States. The idea was Zongshen would provide the motorcycles and pay all expenses for a dozen or so riders if we would plan and lead the ride. During our meeting, good buddy Thomas Fan asked if I had any destination suggestions (Fan is Zonghsen’s marketing director; in the photo above he’s the first guy seated on my left). Boy, did I ever. I had a bunch of photos on my laptop from my rides to US National Parks, Baja, and more. I pulled up the photos, told tall tales about each, and our Chinese hosts were mesmerized. Sue had the presence of mind to grab my Nikon and snap the photo you see above. It became an immediate favorite.
Zongshen came through on their promise, and we had a hell of an adventure. We rode from southern California to Sturgis, cut across the country headed west to the Pacific Coast, and then followed the coast back down to So Cal. It was a 5,000-mile ride we dubbed the Western America Adventure Ride. Folks in the US who had purchased RX3 motorcycles joined us on portions of the ride. It was where I first met Joe Gresh (Motorcyclist magazine sent Joe and he wrote a wonderful story). The Western America Adventure Ride was a key part of our CSC marketing strategy and it worked. You can read all about in 5000 Miles At 8000 RPM. Buy the book; don’t wait for the movie.
About those destinations: What Fan didn’t know when he asked if I had any suggestions was that I write the “Destinations” column for Motorcycle Classics magazine. We did a book on that, too. You should buy a copy. If you buy a thousand copies, I’ll ride my Royal Enfield to your place and sign every one of them.
Earlier Phavorite Photos? You bet! Click on each to get their story.
One of the advantages of living in Arizona most of the year is that you can ride every day, comfortably (I added “comfortably” because I know there is some guy or gal in Maine riding year-round in sub-arctic temps with snow). We in Arizona can enjoy our passion for camping in all four seasons because of the extreme elevation changes, which allow moving to different climates with a one or two hour drive.
Arizona has an endless amount of camping areas, both dispersed and in formal campgrounds. I thought highlighting two ends of the spectrum in would be a great way to convey the vast diversity Arizona offers.
Forest Road 300: Mogollon Rim
Forest Road 300 begins in the west off Arizona State Road 260 and ends 42 miles later near Payson’s Arizona State Road 87. The Mogollon Rim is home to the largest ponderosa forest on earth. Although there are maintained campgrounds along this road, I prefer to disperse camp. This provides one with the rare opportunity of awaking to an overlook in which you can see for over a hundred miles. This spectacular view is something that a formal campsite cannot provide. The road for the most part is in decent shape (excessive rains this year may have changed this however) and can be completed without a 4-wheel drive vehicle.
When traversing the 7,000+ ft elevation of the Mogollon Rim I will usually just ride down the many side roads until I come upon a campsite that isn’t too crowded or exposed, which I can then call home for the evening. One of the main risks as you are indeed so exposed is that of lightning strike. You may be able to find a perfect cliffside dispersed campsite but be aware that weather changes frequently and it is never okay to set up camp outside the tree line in this area. In fact, as you scout out your site it is wise to look up at the trees. If you see many that have been damaged from previous lightning strikes, this is not a location in which you want to camp.
Another benefit to this area is the cooler weather at these elevations, which makes for a perfect Arizona summer trip. The temperatures can be easily 20 degrees cooler than it is in Payson, which sits at 5,000 feet. The refreshing temperatures and light breezes in the summer make this a perfect location for spending an evening around a campfire with friends while you enjoy the endless views.
Lake Roosevelt: Cholla Campground
I was hesitant to write about this location as it is my go-to happy place in winter and probably one of my favorite campgrounds in the southwest. In winter it can be a cold drive if you are in northern Arizona until you drop into Payson, where the temperatures quickly gain 15 to 20 degrees and provide reassurance you’ll experience a perfect lakeside camping night (lakeside camping is a rare treat in Arizona).
Cholla Campground is part of the National Park Service so if you have a Senior or Veterans pass the fee is only $12 ($24 without the pass). The site provides water, showers, toilets, and a beautiful lakeside view with an abundance of wildlife. Having an elevation of just over 2,000 feet assures that on most nights, even in winter, it doesn’t get uncomfortably cold.
Another advantage to this campground is there are “tent only” loops so you can distance yourself from those noisy generators and the RV crowd if you choose to. Choosing these loops provides a quiet night as you watch eagles fly by in the evening with their dinner in their talons while you cook a steak over hot coals while having a 360-degree view of the best sunsets.
Arizona is a much more diverse region than most people think it is. This unique state isn’t all cactus and barren desert, and the above two locations highlight this diversity. Motorcycle camping in Arizona can be a year-round pastime without being smothered in heat or waking up with a frozen water bottle (both still seem to happen to me all too frequently).
What are your favorite camp locations in your home state?
This Wayback Machine post goes back to a blog I wrote for CSC Motorcycles in December 2014. The nine years between then and now has been quite a blur. A bit of background…CSC was transitioning from production of its Mustang replica bikes to importing the about-to-be-released Zongshen RX3. Susie and I went to Chongqing to help finalize the deal, and this was a blog I wrote while I was in that city.
I guess I’ll start by telling you that riding my CSC-150 Baja Blaster, Steve Seidner’s resurrection of the venerable vintage Mustang, has been good practice for me and this visit to Chongqing. When you ride a CSC motorcycle, you collect stares wherever you go (we call it the rock star syndrome, and we even had a CSC custom in the early days we named the Rock Star). The photo at the top of this blog is Steve’s personal CSC-150, the Sarge, and it draws stares wherever it goes. That’s sure been the situation with Susie and me here in Chongqing. Susie and I are the only non-Chinese folks everywhere we’ve been, starting with our getting on the airplane in Beijing, and people are naturally curious. It’s like riding the CSC…we’re drawing the stares. Like the title of this blog says, we’re well off the tourist trail on this trip.
The view from our 21st floor hotel room…it stays misty in this mystical city!
After a great breakfast this morning (see the blog below), we asked about the things to see and do in Chongqing, and our sights this morning settled firmly on a cable car ride across the Yangtze River. We started by grabbing a cab…
I hope this guy knows where we want to go, I thought to myself as we got in his cab…
It’s strange…the cabbie spoke no English, so the guy at the hotel had to explain what we wanted. Then he gave us a card so that when wanted to return, we could show it to the next cab driver. Another sign of not being in Kansas anymore.
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It’s a bit on the cold side over here, but riders ride and the Chinese are no exception to that rule. These folks use their motorcycles as transportation, as trucks, as cabs, and more.
This guy would make a good KLR rider…looks like this bike gets washed about as often as my KLR!
If you take a close look at the photo above, you’ll notice something that’s pretty common here in Chongqing…a set of handwarmers. These are no-fooling-around, guaranteed-to-keep-your-paws-toasty, sure-fire handwarmers, folks! They go way beyond the heated grips that BMW brags about (and that we’ll be offering as options on the Cyclone, by the way). I’ll show you a few more motorcycle photos; be sure to check out the handwarmers on many of these bikes.
Here’s another shot…a Chinese scooter equipped with what has to be the ultimate luggage rack…
The world’s ultimate luggage rack?
The Yangtze River cable car ride was awesome. It’s about 4,000 feet across the river, and we were packed into that little box like sardines. Going up to the cable car in the elevator gave a hint of what was to come…we were squeezed in with folks I’ve never met before, and I was already more intimate with them than I had been on most of my high school dates. I guess that’s just a natural consequence of being in a city with 34 million inhabitants.
A scene vaguely reminiscent of a James Bond movie…that’s downtown Chongqing in the mist
In the photo above, just to the right of us is where the Yangtze and the Jialing rivers meet. It’s the downtown area that you’ll see in the following photos. 34 million people live here. I’m pretty sure we met about half of them this morning.
First, a photo of a Chinese postal service motorcycle. They paint their postal service vehicles green. Zongshen is a big supplier of motorcycles to the Chinese postal service. Check out the handwarmers on this rig!
A postal service motorcycle in downtown Chongqing…check out the handwarmers and the parcels
Here’s another bike we spotted while walking downtown.
Live to ride…ride to live…and loud pipes save lives.
There were a lot of people out and about. There were so many people on the sidewalks we were starting to get a little claustrophobic. It’s way worse than New York City. You won’t get a sense of that in the photos that follow, mostly because I waited until there were brief instances when the crowds parted to give me a less-obstructed photo.
Fresh fruit delivered the old-fashioned way.Another fruit transporter.
I grabbed a few more scenes on our walk downtown.
This fellow was making and selling necklace pendants from animal teeth…those are skulls on the ground in front.
Sidewalk art.Colors abound in downtown Chongqing.
Here’s a cool shot of a youngster who wasn’t too sure about this old guy in an Indiana Jones hat taking his photograph…they don’t see too many people like Susie and me in this neighborhood.
Why is this guy taking my picture?
And of course, the food vendors. We did a lot of walking and bumping into people (literally; the sidewalks were jam packed…it was wall-to-wall humanity). It made me a little hungry. Check out the food photos.
Feeling hungry?
Top Ramen?I’ll bet it tastes good.
Oranges being delivered the hard way.
Chongqing used to be known in the West as Chun King. The way the Chinese pronounce it, it almost sounds like Chun King. When I was a kid, my Mom used to buy Chinese noodles and the name of the company on the can was Chun King. Little did I know that it was a real place and one day more than a half century later I’d be visiting it!
People…lots of people…and motorcycles…lots of motorcycles!
Another Chinese rider in downtown Chongqing.
Just another photo or two, folks. The Chinese use these three-wheel vehicles that I guess are cars, but they are based on a tricycle design. I had not encountered this particular model before, so I grabbed a photo…
A three-wheeler…it’s a cool concept!
I looked inside of one of the three wheelers and it actually looked pretty nice in there. They are used as taxis. Maybe we’ll grab a ride in one before we leave Chongqing.
I told Susie that I was getting a bit tired (we’re still fighting the time change). I think I said I wanted to stop monkeying around and head back to the hotel. That’s when she pointed this scene out to me…
Monkeying around in downtown Chongqing…
I think that’s probably enough for now. Tomorrow’s the first day of this visit with the good folks from Zongshen. I’ve been following all the stuff on the forums and in your emails to me, and I’ll address many of the things you’ve written about. I won’t be able to post all of it here, but keep an eye on the blog and maybe I’ll get a photo or two of the factory. I’m pumped, and I’m looking forward to our discussions tomorrow.
That was quite a visit. I’d been to Chongqing once before, but that was an in-and-out trip, and on the visit described above, Sue and I poked around the city a bit. I loved it. It was one of the most beautiful and exotic places I’d ever been. It was fun because we were in a place most Americans don’t get to visit, I made great friends in China, and it was cool being in on the ground floor of the effort to bring the RX3 to America. I know there are a lot of people out there who hate China and who think anything that comes from China is of low quality. I’m not one of those people and I make no apologies for it.
The RX3 was a watershed motorcycle. It was the only small displacement adventure touring bike in America until BMW, Kawasaki, and others tried copying the RX3. The RX3 was still the better motorcycle, and I had a lot of fun on mine.
If you’d like to know more about the RX3 and CSC Motorcycles bringing the bike to the US, pick up a copy of 5000 Miles at 8000 RPM. I’ve been told it’s a good read.
Needing another vacation and a break from the day-to-day boring humdrum of life (I usually ensure that doesn’t go on for very long) my girlfriend and I decided to head to Portugal and Spain. It was coming up on my 50th birthday and wanted to do something unique to celebrate this milestone. As we traversed and meandered through both countries I was still trying to come up with that unique idea when a friend had texted me to go to Gibraltar and summit the rock. That was an outstanding idea. Next stop: Gibraltar!
I Know What I Don’t Know
I only knew two things about Gibraltar: It was an island between Spain and Morocco, and they drive on the opposite side of the road since it is a Territory of Britain. Both these things I “knew” were incorrect. Gibraltar is a peninsula, not an island, and although it is indeed a British Territory they do not drive on the opposite side of the road as in other British Territories. The peninsula is just 3 miles long and not even 1 mile wide and most of the peninsula consisted of the giant Gibraltar rock with a lot of narrow winding roads that meander as far as they can go up around that Gibraltar Rock. Which had me wondering why there was a Ferrari dealership on the peninsula (I am certain it has to do with less taxes there than in their England motherland).
Entering The Territory
Crossing into Gibraltar from Spain was more of a formality and simply consisted of showing our passports at the border, a quick stamp by the immigration officer, and walking into the Territory. Once leaving immigration we walked across the Gibraltar Airport tarmac. It felt like we were trespassing, other than the traffic lights to alert you when a plane was taking off or landing. Those were not traffic lights you’d want to run.
Once across the tarmac it was a short quarter mile walk to our AirBnB, which happened to be a 30-foot boat in the Gibraltar Marina. I thought this would be a distinctive place to stay instead of some high-rise hotel where you would be disconnected from the heartbeat of the Territory. This choice turned out to be perfect and we slept great that night with the boat rocking us to sleep in the gentle marina waters.
The Rock
The next day we made our way towards the base of the Gibraltar Rock. Sadly, you cannot climb to the top of it as it is a military installation. Disappointed, we took the gondola instead of hiking to the highest point we were allowed to go.
I had read there were some monkeys that lived up on top of the rock that made their way from Morocco via a network of underground caves that went under the Strait of Gibraltar. We were told not to pet or touch them as they are wild animals. Of course, me being one to always follow rules it took under two minutes to befriend one of these little guys and I walked around with him on my shoulder on the observation deck. Clearly, my maturity hadn’t caught up with my now being 50 years old. It didn’t take long before one of the rangers scolded me and stated that they would bite me. Why would he bite me? We were friends. Ugh. People are always trying to ruin my fun.
We opted to walk down the path instead of taking the gondola back. This was a wise choice as there were a lot of hidden bunkers from WWI along the way and a really interesting stop called St. Michael’s Cave. This is a huge, impressive cave that ultimately led down to the Strait. We only walked in the upper portion of this maze for about 20-minutes since the longer tunnels are closed to the public. As we toured the cave there was a light and sound show to provide more entertainment and the history of this hidden gem. It was a fun detour to take.
Once we wrapped up the cave experience, we continued down the two-mile path looking over magnificent views as monkeys leaped from trees onto the tops of passing cars to hitch a free ride. Every time one leaped it would create the loudest “boom” as they carelessly but somehow successfully landed on a car’s roof. This made for great entertainment for us, but I can’t imagine what the people inside the vehicles thought hearing that noise. Once back at the marina we were hungry and it wasn’t difficult to find a waterside restaurant, an order of fish n’ chips, and a cold beer to wrap the day up in style.
Overall Gibraltar was worth going to visit as we were in the neighborhood. The territory is more of a winter getaway for the British than a destination one would otherwise visit. This Territory did indeed make for a fun two days, a unique experience, and a few entertaining stories that I am happy to be sharing with you.
One of the best things that’s happened to me is the MacManus Award, which I received in 1973 (50 years ago this year). Captain Colin D. MacManus was a Rutgers graduate who was killed in action in Vietnam in 1967. His memory lives on with this award, and CPT MacManus continues to inspire young Army officers.
US Army Captain Colin D. MacManus, Rutgers University ’63.
Each year the MacManus family presented a Colt 1911 to the graduating Rutgers ROTC cadet who held Captain MacManus’ position in the Corps of Cadets, and in 1973 that cadet was me. It was quite an honor. We’ve kept the tradition alive, and I’m happy to report that another graduating cadet has been selected and will receive his Colt 1911 this year.
I still have and I still shoot my MacManus 1911, and 50 years after I received it, I can still hit the target. I had my MacManus 1911 out just last week.
The groups have grown just a bit over the last half century, but I can still do well with my MacManus 1911.
We’ve reported annually on the MacManus award, and if you’d like to read the earlier posts, here they are:
The Dingle Way trail in Ireland was an epic adventure that left me feeling invigorated and alive. As a lover of hiking and long-distance walking, I knew that Ireland would offer the perfect landscape to immerse myself in nature and challenge my physical limits. I was torn between the Ring of Kerry and the Dingle Way, but after much research and the advice of a dear friend, I chose the latter for its remoteness and stunning vistas.
The Dingle Way is a long-distance walking trail that spans approximately 115 miles across the southwestern region of Ireland. The trail begins and ends in the charming town of Tralee, passing through the picturesque town of Dingle and the stunning Dingle Peninsula. The views along the way are nothing short of breathtaking, with panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean, the Blasket Islands, and the Macgillycuddy’s Reeks mountain range.
After a long train ride from Dublin, I arrived in Tralee, a charming town in County Kerry. The town is known for its friendly locals, rich history, and stunning natural beauty. It serves as the county seat of Kerry and is the starting point for both the Dingle Way and Kerry Camino trails. After checking into my room for the night, I took advantage and visited the famous Roses of Tralee, the nearby Tralee Bay, and the breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean, rugged cliffs, and rolling hills. My day ended with a hearty bowl of vegetable soup and my newfound love of Red Breast single pot Irish Whisky. Aided by a wee drop of Red Breast, I returned to my lodging and fell into a dreamless sleep.
I woke early the next morning in time to see the light break through a brooding overcast sky. As I sat enjoying the conversation of my host, Veronica, I could not help but linger over my stellar Irish breakfast and excellent strong coffee. Reluctantly I said my farewells and set out for the official first day of my journey. I felt a wave of nostalgia for my past adventures and growing excitement for this one. The weather was typically Irish, with epic wind and rain pounding the trail, but I relished the challenge and pushed myself to keep going. The dark sky contrasted sharply with the emerald foothills, and the wind dared me to remain upright with the weight of my backpack. But I felt alive with the excitement of the adventure.
As the day wore on, I stumbled upon a cozy sliver of a pub in the village of Camp. The bartender’s great-grandfather built the pub, adding a touch of history to my visit. Stepping inside, I was immediately enveloped in warmth and hospitality. The locals were friendly and welcoming, and the music and laughter echoed off the walls. It was the perfect place to recover from a long day on the trail.
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Sipping on a pint of Guinness and chatting with the locals, I felt a deep contentment and gratitude. Despite the day’s challenges, I had made it to this cozy pub, surrounded by new friends and Ireland’s rich history. Moments like these made me fall in love with travel and the thrill of adventure.
After a quick stop at the B&B, I couldn’t resist the allure of the Railroad Pub. Sunday nights were special, with locals gathering to play their instruments and sing. As I walked in, I felt like I had stumbled onto the set of a small Irish independent film. The pub was alive with energy, music, and laughter spilling out onto the street.
The characters inside embodied everything I had imagined about rural Ireland – warm, friendly, and full of life. They welcomed me with open arms, inviting me to join the festivities. I grabbed a pint of ale and found a spot at the bar, taking in the sounds and smells around me.
As the night wore on, the music grew louder and the dancing more exuberant. I couldn’t resist the urge to join in, stumbling onto the dance floor with newfound confidence. The locals cheered me on, and soon I was lost in the moment of joy.
Despite being busy behind the bar, Mike, the owner, took the time to chat with us and ensure we were taken care of. His kindness and generosity added to the magic of the night, making it one I’ll never forget. As I stumbled back to the B&B, my heart full of the music and memories of the night, I knew this trip would be one for the books. The traditional music and singing had truly been the highlight of my journey so far, and I couldn’t wait to see what adventures awaited me on the rest of the Dingle Way/Kerry Camino. With cozy pubs, delicious food, and breathtaking views, I knew this adventure would be epic!
If you reload, you know that one of the toughest things to find over the last two or three years has been primers. I was one of the lucky guys…I laid in a stock of primers and I came through the shortage in fairly good shape. Primers are available again, but good Lord, the prices are obscene.
Before the pandemic, primers typically cost about $35 per thousand. That seemed to generally be in line with the last few decades of inflation (when I started reloading about 50 years ago, a brick of 1000 primers cost about $7). Then the pandemic came along, and BAM!, primers are now selling for $80 to $125 per thousand. As a former manufacturing guy, I can tell you that is outright gouging by the manufacturers and distributors. There’s nothing that changed in the materials that go into primers or their manufacturing processes that could possibly justify the 300% to 400% price increase. The manufacturers and distributors are gouging their customers.
The price increase has attracted at least one new player to the US market (the Argentinean firm Aventuras). But even those are $79.95 to $95 per thousand. The manufacturers, distributors, and resellers know that we’re willing to pay those prices so that we can continue to reload, but it’s an outrage. My message to the primer supply chain is simple:
Shame on you.
Want to know how primers are used in the reloading process? Check out our series on reloading .45 ACP ammunition.
Great things continue to emerge from CSC Motorcycles, my alma mater and your favorite motorcycle company. CSC is now importing the new Zongshen 650cc Cyclone, the RX6. It’s a logical step up. The first CSC adventure touring motorcycle was the RX3, and I had a ton of fun on it. You know the story…when CSC first planned to bring that motorcycle to America, I wrote a blog about it and we sold the first one within a few seconds of the blog being published (it went to a buyer in Alaska). The sales poured in, and literally within days of the RX3 motorcycles arriving in America, we led a tour of 15 CSC riders on a 2000-mile ride through Baja. It was awesome, and it was pretty gutsy…taking 15 Chinese motorcycles on a ride like that.
It was onward and upward after that…a 5000-mile ride through the western US with a dozen guests from China and Colombia, a 6000-mile ride across China with Joe Gresh, a circumnavigation of the Andes Mountains in Colombia, and many more Baja rides. Then came the CSC TT 250, the San Gabriel, the RX4 450cc, the 400cc twins, the electric City Slicker, and the RX1E electric ADV motorcycle.
You’ve probably heard the rumors of the Zongshen/Norton alliance and their skunkworks 650cc twin, and I’m here to tell you the 650cc RX6 is a reality. I rode the first one in America in the San Gabriel Mountains above CSC’s facilities, and it’s awesome. And like all of the bikes listed above, CSC is bringing it here.
There are a lot of features on the new RX6 (I’ll list the specifications and some of the features at the bottom of this blog). What grabbed my attention immediately when I saw the new CSC were the fit and finish, the color, the dash, and just the overall aura of excellence. The RX6 is a world class motorcycle. One of the coolest things is the dash. Check this out:
The RX6 is a full-sized motorcycle, but it’s not overwhelming. If I had one I’d probably name it Goldilocks. It’s not too big and it’s not too small. It’s just right.
Another cool feature is the wireless key. It’s like the electronic key on most new cars. It has a key feature (you know, so you can insert it in any of the various locks on the RX6, like the fuel filler cap), but as long as you have it on you, you can start the RX6 just by hitting the starter button. You don’t have to put the key in the ignition.
The brakes felt good on my ride in the mountains. There are large dual disk brakes up front, a single disk in the rear, and anti-skid braking front and rear.
The RX6 sounds like a motorcycle ought to. It has a decisive exhaust note, and it sounded good reverberating off the San Gabriels. It’s fast, too, with noticeably more power than an RX3 or an RX4 throughout the rev range. I didn’t push it too hard (it was CSC’s first sample in the US), but the power was definitely there. Zongshen is claiming a 112 mph top end; I think that is realistic and probably a bit of an underestimate. The one I rode was literally brand new and I was in the mountains, so I didn’t try a top end run.
Zongshen is emphasizing the Cyclone family name (the RX3 is actually a Cyclone, too, but at CSC we made the decision to refer to it as the RX3). The badging on the motorcycle’s side panels says SR650 (presumably, the SR stands for Sports Road), so we’ll have to see how the bike is named when it goes on sale, and Steve tells me that will be soon. The motorcycle will carry a retail price of $7195, and as CSC always does, they are offering an introductory “Don’t Miss The Boat” price of $6695. It’s a certainty that price won’t last long, so…you know…don’t miss the boat. More info will be available on the CSC website.
Fuel capacity: 5.5 gallons (21 liters), locking gas cap
Estimated fuel economy: 48 MPG
Curb weight: 540 lb (245kg)d
Top speed: 112 mph (180 kph)
Max load, rider and luggage: 396 pounds (180kg)
Instrumentation: Cyclone 7-inch, full-color TFT dash, with digital speedometer, tachometer, odometer, tripmeter, fuel gauge, gear indicator, neutral light, temperature gauge, clock, turn signal and high beam indicators; Bluetooth linking to rider’s phone
Arizona has an endless amount of camping areas, both dispersed and in formal campgrounds. I thought highlighting two ends of the spectrum in would be a great way to convey the vast diversity Arizona offers.
