My Dad and I saw our first Honda ever in 1964 at a McDonald’s in East Brunswick, New Jersey. It was a 150cc Dream, the smaller version of the bigger CA 77 305cc Dream. I was 12 years old at the time. In those days, it was a fun family outing to drive the 20 miles to Route 18 in New Jersey and have dinner at McDonald’s (that was the closest one), where hamburgers were 15 cents and the sign out front said they had sold over 4 million of the things. And the Honda we saw that day…Dad and I were both smitten by the baby Dream, with its whitewall tires, bright red paint, and the young clean cut guy riding it. True to Honda’s tagline, he seemed to be one of the nicest people you could ever meet (although admittedly the bar wasn’t very high for nice people in New Jersey).
Keep us in clover…please click on the popup ads!
Dad and I started looking into Hondas, and that included a trip to Cooper’s Cycle Ranch near Trenton. Back then, it really was a ranch, or at least a farm of some sort…the showroom was Sherm Cooper’s old barn. The little Hondas were cool, but the big ones (the 305s) were even cooler. A 305 was the biggest Honda available in the mid-1960s and Honda imported three 305cc motorcycles to America: The CA 77 Dream, the CB 77 Super Hawk, and the CL 77 Scrambler. The Dream was not designed to be an off road motorcycle (that was the CL 77 Scrambler’s domain) or a performance motorcycle (in the Honda world, that was the CB 77 Super Hawk).
Of the 305 twins, It’s probably appropriate to discuss the CA 77 Dream first. The Scrambler and the Super Hawk were intended to appeal to motorcycle enthusiasts; the Dream was a much less intimidating ticket in (into the motorcycle world, that is). The typical Dream buyer was either someone stepping up from a smaller Honda, or someone who had not previously owned a motorcycle.
Honda first used the name “Dream” on its 1949 Model D (a single cylinder, 98cc two-stroke). No one knows for sure where the Dream moniker came from, but legend has it that someone, upon first seeing the Model D, proclaimed it to look like a dream. The C-series Dreams first emerged in Japan in 1957. Pops Yoshimura built Honda engines with modified production parts that ran over 10,000 rpm for 18-hour endurance races, proving the basic design was robust. Some say Honda based the engine design on an earlier NSU engine, but Honda unquestionably carried the engineering across the finish line. Whatever. When’s the last time you saw an NSU? Another big plus was that Honda used horizontally split cases and that (along with vastly superior quality) essentially eliminated oil leaks. The other guys (and in those days, that meant Harley and the Britbikes) had vertically split cases and they all leaked. Honda motorcycles did not, and that was a big deal for a motorcycle in the 1960s.
There were several differences between the Dream and the other two Honda 305cc motorcycles. The Super Hawk and the Scrambler had tubular steel frames and forks; the Dream used pressed steel for both its frame and fork. The Dream was a single-carb motorcycle; the Super Hawk and the Scrambler had twin carbs. The Dream had large steel valanced fenders, the other Hondas had more sporting abbreviated fenders. The Dream was the only 305 that came from the Honda factory with whitewall tires. The Dream had leading link front suspension; the Scrambler and the Super Hawk had telescopic forks. The Dream used the Type II crankshaft (so did the Scrambler) with a 360-degree firing order (both pistons went up and down together, but the cylinders fired alternately). The higher performance Super Hawk had the Type I, 180-degree crankshaft. Like the Super Hawk, the Dream had electric starting (the Scrambler was kick start only). The Dream came with a kickstarter, too, but why bother? I mean, you weren’t going to be mistaken for Marlon Brando when you rode a Honda Dream.
The Dream’s 305cc engine had a single 23mm Keihin carb and it produced 23 horsepower at 7500 rpm (not that the rpm was of any interest; the Dream had no tachometer). With its four-speed transmission and according to magazine test results, the Dream was good for between 80 and 100 mph (depending on motojournalist weight, I guess). The Dream averaged around 50 mpg, although in those blissful days of $0.28/gallon gasoline, nobody really cared. Honda Dreams came in white, black, red, or blue. With 20/20 hindsight, I wish I had bought one in each color and parked them in the garage. My favorites were black or white; those colors just seemed to work with the Dream’s whitewall tires.
Honda built the Dream until 1969. The Dream retailed for $595 back in those days, but a shrewd negotiator could do better.
I had a tough time choosing a title for this blog. I went with what you see above because it reminds me of one of my favorite Dad jokes…you know, the one about how you tell the difference between a crocodile and an alligator. If you don’t see it for a while, it’s a crocodile. If you see it later, well, then it’s a gator. The other choice might have been the old United Negro College Fund pitch: A Mine is a Terrible Thing to Waste. But if I went with that one I might be called a racist, which seems to be the default response these days anytime anyone disagrees with anyone else about anything.
Gresh likes hearing my war stories. Not combat stories, but stories about the defense industry. I never thought they were all that interesting, but Gresh is easily entertained and he’s a good traveling buddy, so I indulge him on occasion. Real war stories…you know how you can tell them from fairy tales? A fairy tale starts out with “once upon a time.” A war story starts out with “this is no shit, you guys…”
Don’t forget to click on the popup ads…it’s how we get paid and how we keep the blog alive.
So, this is a “no shit” story. It sounds incredible, but it’s all true. I was an engineer at Aerojet Ordnance, and I made my bones analyzing cluster bomb failures. They tell me I’m pretty good at it (I wrote a book about failure analysis, I still teach industry and gubmint guys how to analyze complex systems failures, and I sometimes work as an expert witness in this area). It pays the rent and then some.
So this deal was on the Gator mine system, which was a real camel (you know, a horse designed by a committee). The Gator mine system was a Tri-Service program (three services…the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force). It was officially known as the CBU-89/B cluster munition (CBU stands for Cluster Bomb Unit). The way it worked is instead of having to go out and place the mines manually, an airplane could fly in and drop a couple of these things, the bombs would open on the way down and dispense their mines (each cluster bomb contained 94 mines), the mines would arm, and voila, you had a minefield. Just like that.
It sounds cool, but the Gator was a 20-year-old turkey that couldn’t pass the first article test (you had to build two complete systems and the Air Force would drop them…if the mines worked at a satisfactory level, you could start production). The UNCF slogan notwithstanding, the folks who had tried to take this Tri-Service camel and build it to the government’s design wasted a lot of mines. In 20 years, several defense contractors had taken Gator production contracts, and every one of them failed the first article flight test. When my boss’s boss decided we would bid it at Aerojet, I knew two things: We, too, would fail the first article flight test, and it would end up in my lap. I was right on both counts. We built the flight test units per the government design and just like every one else, we failed with a disappointing 50% mine function rate. And I got the call to investigate why.
So, let’s back up a couple of centuries. You know, we in the US get a lot of credit for pioneering mass production. Rightly so, I think, but most folks are ignorant about what made it possible. Nope, it wasn’t Henry Ford and his Model T assembly line. It was something far more subtle, and that’s the concept of parts interchangeability. Until parts interchangeability came along (which happened about a hundred years before old Henry did his thing), you couldn’t mass produce anything. And to make parts interchangeable, you had to have two numbers for every part dimension: The nominal dimension, and a tolerance around that dimension. When we say we have a 19-inch wheel, for example, that’s the nominal dimension. There’s also a ± tolerance (that’s read plus or minus) associated with that 19-inch dimension. If the wheel diameter tolerance was ±0.005 inches, the wheel might be anywhere from 18.995 to 19.005 inches. Some tolerances are a simple ± number, others are a + something and a – something if the tolerance band is not uniform (like you see in the drawing below). But everything has a tolerance because you can’t always make parts exactly to the nominal dimension.
Where companies get sloppy is they do a lousy job assigning tolerances to nominal dimensions, and they do an even worse job analyzing the effects of the tolerances when parts are built at the tolerance extremes. Analyzing these effects is called tolerance analysis. Surprisingly, most engineering schools don’t teach it, and perhaps not so surprisingly, most companies don’t do it. All this has been a very good thing for me, because I get to make a lot of money analyzing the failures this kind of engineering negligence causes. In fact, the cover photo on my failure analysis book is an x-ray of an aircraft emergency egress system that failed because of negligent tolerancing (which killed two Navy pilots when their aircraft caught fire).
I don’t think people consciously think about this and decide they don’t need to do tolerance analysis. I think they don’t do it because it is expensive and in many cases their engineers do not have the necessary skills. At least, they don’t do it initially. In production, when they have failures some companies are smart enough to return to the tolerancing issue. That’s when they do the tolerance analysis they should have done during the design phase, and they find they have tolerance accumulations that can cause a problem.
Anyway, back to the Gator mine system. The Gator system had a dispenser (a canister) designed by the Air Force, the mines were designed by the Army, and the system had an interface kit designed by the Navy. Why they did it this way, I have no idea. It was about as dumb an approach for a development program as I have ever seen. Your tax dollars at work, I guess.
The Navy’s Gator interface kit positioned the mines within the dispenser and sent an electronic pulse from the dispenser to the mines when it was time to start the mine arming sequence. This signal went from coils in the interface kit to matching coils in each mine (there was no direct connection; the electric pulse passed from the interface kit coils to the mine coils). You can see these coils in the photo below (they are the copper things).
In our first article flight test at Eglin Air Force Base, only about 50% of the mines worked. That was weird, because when we tested the mines one at a time, they always worked. I had a pretty good feeling that the mines weren’t getting the arming signal. The Army liked that concept a lot (they had design responsibility for the mines), but the Air Force and the Navy were eyeing me the way a chicken might view Colonel Sanders.
I started asking questions about the tolerancing in the Navy’s part of the design, because I thought if the coils were not centered directly adjacent to the matching coils in each mine, the arming signal wouldn’t make it to the mine. The Navy, you see, had the responsibility for the stuffing that held the mines in place and for the coils that brought the arming signal to the mines.
At a big meeting with the engineering high rollers from all three services, I floated this idea of coil misalignment due to tolerance accumulation. The Navy guy basically went berserk and told me it could never happen. His reaction was so extreme I knew I had to be on to something (in a Shakespearian methinks the lady doth protest too much sort of way). At this point, both the Army and Air Force guys were smiling. The Navy guy was staring daggers at me. You could almost see smoke coming out his ears. He was a worm, I was the hook, and we were going fishing. And we both knew it.
I asked the Navy engineer directly how much misalignment would prevent signal transmission, he kept telling me it couldn’t happen, and I kept pressing for a number: How much coil misalignment would it take? Finally, the Navy dude told me there would have to be at least a quarter of an inch misalignment between the Navy coils and those in the mine. I don’t think he really knew, but he was throwing out a number to make it look like he did. At that point, I was pretty sure I had him. I looked at my engineering design manager and he left the room. Why? To do a tolerance analysis, of course. Ten minutes later he was back with the numbers that showed the Navy’s interface kit tolerances could allow way more than a quarter inch of misalignment.
When I shared that with the guys in our Tri-Service camel committee, the Navy guy visibly deflated. His 20-year secret was out. The Army and the Air Force loved it (they both hated the Navy, and they really hated the Navy engineer).
We tightened the tolerances in our production and built two more cluster bombs. I was at the load plant to oversee the load, assemble, and pack operation, and when we flight tested my two cluster bombs with live drops from an F-16 we had a 100% mine function rate (which had never been achieved before). That allowed us to go into production and we made a ton of money on the Gator program. I’m guessing that Navy weasel still hates me.
It’s hard to believe this kind of stuff goes on, but it does. I’ve got lots of stories with similar tolerance-induced recurring failures, and maybe I’ll share another one or two here at some point. Ask me about the Apache main rotor blade failures sometime…that’s another good one and I’ll post a blog about it in the next week or so.
Sometimes the story you set out to write doesn’t want to be written. Something is wrong, there’s no ju-ju, there’s no vibe, or in this particular case, there are no decent photos. I have an expensive Canon 5D that takes beautiful racing photos and I have a pretty good 300mm zoom lens with selectable, 2-axis stabilization. It’s not a professional lens by any means but it can do a fairly good job if you’re steady enough and don’t shoot at nighttime. The problem with the 5D and 300mm lens combo is that it weighs a ton and I don’t like carrying the thing around.
Anyway, it’s foolish pride on my part to try and capture the moment because as soon as I stop to think about a camera it’s not a moment any more. It becomes staged. It seems phony and something like grasping for the shot that will make the story. I don’t want to be a photojournalist and I never was. I learned the basic operation of a camera only because photos were a necessary evil in order to sell a story to magazines.
Oh, how I envy Cameron and Egan. Man, those guys have it made. They write their columns propped up on six pillows in an overstuffed bed between 1000-count Egyptian cotton sheets while green-skinned slave girls serve wine and grapes as they type each 600-word, 10,000-dollar column. And they do it without photos. Sometimes the magazine’s art director will tack on a few squiggly line drawings for the folks that need a picture. When I read their stuff I don’t miss the photos one bit.
Keep us going…please click on the popup ads!
Since I’ve pretty much given up on cranking out content for paper magazines, I find myself wanting to enjoy the story in real time. I want to live the story, absorb all the sounds, sights and smells, and then write about it later. Events may not be recorded exactly as they happened but they record what happened to me. At least I imagine it happened to me. Memories are funny things; each of us views the world looking out from different eyes.
Still, websites are a visual medium and photos do make the page look better. They also attract readers. For the Vado races I brought along the little Canon S100, a higher-end point and shoot camera not much bigger than a cell phone. I thought I could get a few photos good enough to use for this story but the shutter lag was hard to plan for. I’d press the release and a second later the camera would take the photo. In racing things move a long way in a second. Annoyingly, the auto focus kept locking on the barrier fence instead of the cars behind the fence. I have a bunch of really sharp shots of the fence
My first attempts were a mess. The S100 needed the shutter sped up and to do that it needed a higher ISO setting. And then the auto focus had to be disabled in the menu. All these settings required scrolling through the various menu pages or pushing buttons and turning dials, which I had forgotten how to do. Switching the S100 from regular stabilization to panning stabilization took twenty-three keystrokes to accomplish. For the same task on the Canon 5D you just flip a switch.
A man’s got to know his camera and the seductive lure of the cell phone has caused my camera skills to atrophy. While I was staring down into the S100’s tiny screen life was happening all around me. I turned off the camera, put it in my pocket and decided to watch the races.
The whole reason we were at the races in the first place was because of the Sylings. The Sylings are friends of ours who live in Alamogordo. They are forever going on fun outings then putting cheerful, Team Syling posts on Facebook. CT and I decided it would be a good thing to be more like Team Syling so we are making an effort to do fun things around New Mexico. The trip to Vado Speedway was CT’s birthday present/Team Syling adventure. I don’t want you to get the idea I’m not romantic; I also bought her a 12-gauge Mossberg pump shotgun.
Vado Speedway is a fairly new track about 15 miles south of Las Cruces, New Mexico. You can see it from Interstate 10. The track looks small but they claim it’s 3/8th of a mile. Maybe the outside is 3/8 mile. It’s a dirt track, like God intended us to race on, and the corners are banked. The straights are short but the track is wide enough to allow plenty of passing. There are two lines at Vado: the high line and the low line. Both have their advantages but late in the evening the low line became very bumpy at the apex of the corner. Cars were bouncing up on two wheels in the rough. Most of the fast guys stayed up high where it was smooth, only dropping down to block a rival. As the evening wore on cars started to use the outside wall as a contact point like a slot car dragging the rails.
Stock car racing has changed a lot since the seemingly unlimited supply of Chevelles dried up. The night we went all the classes looked like Super Modified. There were no stock bodied cars. The lowest class cars are beat up sheet metal concoctions that look like something a child of three would draw when asked to draw a car. They resemble station wagons with large panels of metal aft to act as air dams. Think of the last outlaw sprint car race you went to with those giant billboard wings on top. It’s the same idea. The front wheels ran exposed on some of the cars. I don’t remember what they were named but in my day this class would be called the Sportsman class except for the homemade bodies.
The next step up from the flapping, crashing station wagon class was more station wagons. For all I could tell it was the same class, maybe “A” to the previous “B.” This class would have been called Late Models when I was going to stock car races back in the days when the planet Mars could still support life. These cars looked like the ratty-class cars but were built much better. The sheet metal was straighter and it didn’t flap around or fall off. The paint jobs and lettering were nicer and they crashed less. Besides being uglier than old style stock cars the Late Models’ engines sounded crisper and revved faster than the other, looser station wagons.
The top-tier division, known to me as Super Modifieds, were really nice cars. You could tell the owners had a ton of money in them, probably as much or more than a NASCAR stock car. They were fast and didn’t crash very often. The Super Modified cars didn’t look like station wagons but they still had acres of sheet metal on the side to assist with corners. All the wheels were covered by bodywork. NASCAR driver Kyle Larson was racing in the Super Modifieds with a Hendricks car and he did fairly well. He got a Main Event second place finish against drivers that spend their entire career in this specialized form of competition.
The racing was very close and heats were frequent. All the classes had several heat races to determine which cars made the main event and the grids were well populated. Driver/teams from Kansas, Wyoming, Illinois, California and other states attended. The stands were another story. When CT bought our tickets she was told they were sold out of general admission so she bought reserved seats. After everyone was seated the grandstands looked about 60% full. Maybe the cold, night air kept spectators away.
When the racing was over the announcers thanked the track owner for keeping stock car racing alive. Whenever you hear that sort of talk it’s not a good sign. South-Central New Mexico used to have a stock car track in Tularosa, another a few miles away near Alamogordo, one on Highway 9 west of Sunland Park near the border with Mexico, and I think Deming might still have a track and maybe El Paso.
Stock car tracks used to be everywhere. Where I grew up there was a track in Medly and one just across the Miami River in Hialeah. Those tracks are gone now. I wonder if dirt oval tracks are disappearing all over America. I believe part of the reason for grass roots oval racing’s decline is that none of the cars racing are related in any way to the cars found in the parking lot. That is if you can find a car in the parking lot. Today everyone drives bloated SUVs or pickup trucks.
Then there’s the high bar of entry into the sport. Even those ratty station wagons require a lot of work to build. Maybe the demise of cheap, rear-wheel drive sedans is part of the problem. The class structure never adapted to new realities in the marketplace. Look how NASCAR’s rigid rules have created a situation where you can buy a box stock Dodge, Chevy or Ford off the showroom floor with more horsepower than a NASCAR contender. I know the old time stock cars shared few common parts with the cars they resembled but at least they resembled them and had engines you could check off on the dealer’s option page.
Finally, the “Car of Tomorrow” eliminated the last tentacles connecting the cars on the track and the car you drove to the track. Now all the bodywork is the same and only paint creates the illusion of several brands. The situation is probably not as bad as I’m making it sound. I’ve gotten grumpy as I got old. I liked it when stock car racing was the most exciting thing happening on a Saturday night.
I’ll be back to Vado Park Speedway. Later in the year they are hosting USRA Modifieds, which look a lot like old style stock cars. Then there are the winged and un-winged Sprint cars along with Super Trucks. We all need to do our part to keep this uniquely American form of racing alive. Hopefully a new generation will get interested in stock cars and start racing cheap, two liter, front-wheel drive sedans around those well groomed dirt ovals. I know a couple unused tracks nearb. Just add drivers.
I’ve always been a watch guy. It probably started when my parents surprised me with a Timex when I was a kid. The thought of having my own wristwatch was heady stuff for a boy back on the east coast (or anywhere else, I imagine). To make a long story short, I’ve been a watch collector ever since. I don’t specialize, and many times I won’t keep a watch forever. If I like the way a watch looks and it’s not crazy expensive, I’ll wear it for a while, with the duration of “a while” usually determined by the time it takes for the next interesting thing to catch my eye.
The real deal: Apollo 15 Astronaut Dave Scott’s Bulova, which sold for a cool $1.625 million at auction.
I make no excuses: I like watches, and I always wonder about guys who don’t wear them. Not wearing a watch is a common thing with young guys today. When I taught in Cal Poly’s College of Engineering, one of my topics focused on how to do well in an interview. My guidance was simple. Dress sharply, be early, look the interviewer right in the eye, speak up, don’t use the word “like” incessantly when you speak, and wear a watch. A lot of kids today don’t wear watches. If they have any interest in knowing what time it is, they look at their iPhone. That’s a no go, I’d tell my students. If you don’t wear a watch, the person interviewing you will conclude you have no sense of time-based urgency. It’s what I always concluded when someone showed up not wearing a watch.
Anyway, to get to the subject of this blog, I want to tell you about the Bulova Lunar Pilot. It’s a cool piece with an interesting story that goes like this: With the advent of the Apollo lunar exploration program (the NASA endeavor to put men on the moon), the US government decided we needed an official space watch. Omega won the competition with their Speedmaster watch, and for the next 14 missions, that’s what astronauts wore.
Here’s where it gets complicated and where the story gets Internet-fuzzy. Depending on which source you believe, Astronaut Dave Scott wore a Bulova watch on the Apollo 15 mission for one of the following reasons:
He wore the Bulova watch because his Omega broke.
He wore the Bulova watch because he felt like it.
He wore the Bulova watch because Bulova was trying to replace Omega as the official NASA watch.
He wore the watch because the US government, Bulova, or other parties wanted the official watch to be something made in America.
Whatever the reason (and you can find stories supporting each of the above floating around in that most authoritative of all sources, the Internet), Dave Scott wore the Bulova on the Apollo 15 mission, and Omega went from being “the only watch worn on the moon” to “the first watch worn on the moon.” It could not have gone over well at the Omega factory.
Dave Scott’s original Bulova, the one he wore on the moon, sold at auction a few years ago. The predicted auction price was $50,000. As predictions go, it wasn’t a very good one. When the gavel came down and the dust cleared, Scott’s Bulova sold for a cool $1.3 million. Throw in the auction commission and other fees, and you’re talking about a $1.625-million wristwatch. Wowee!
Bulova, today no longer an American watch company (they were bought by Citizen a few years ago) recognized a marketing opportunity when it fell into their laps, and they re-issued an internally updated version of Scott’s watch as the Bulova Lunar Pilot, complete with a 262 kHz Accutron movement. I have no idea what a 262 kHz movement is, except that the Bulova marketing hype tells me it means it’s super accurate.
The not-so-real deal, but a hell of a deal nonetheless: The Bulova Lunar Pilot, purchased for just under $300. Yep, as I type this, I’m wearing my Bulova.
The increased accuracy really didn’t matter to me when I saw the watch (I’m retired now and I seldom need 262 kHz accuracy when I decide I feel like going somewhere), so that’s not what prompted me to pull the trigger. I just like the way it looks, I like the swirl of stories around the original Bulova moon watch, and my Dad wore a Bulova when I was a kid.
Oh, one other thing helped…a trick that has prompted me to pull the trigger on other discretionary purposes. You know how the Internet spies on us, right? I mean, folks complain all the time about looking at something on Amazon or whatever and then it starts showing up in their Facebook feed. That’s not always a bad thing. When I first looked at the Bulova Lunar Pilot it was a $600 bauble. I wasn’t going to pay that kind of money, and I guess the spymasters/Internet marketeers figured that one out. They and I knew it was a waiting game to see who would blink first. Because I had looked for the watch on Amazon, I started getting emails from different retailers to buy the watch for less, and I let those roll in. Delete, delete, delete, and then one day, an offer floated into my inbox for $299. Hmmm. Delete. And sure enough, a day or two later and that $299 offer came with a coupon for $20 off and free shipping on my first order. Ka ching!
Help us bring you these stories: Please click on the popup ads!
Check out that photo above. It’s a flat dark earth Smith and Wesson M&P 9 Shield, with ammo reloaded using the Lee Classic Turret Press Kit. Yep, this is a “two-fer” blog: A first look at the Shield, and an evaluation of the first loads prepped with the Lee Classic Turret Press Kit.
I initially tried two loads in the Shield:
124-grain plated roundnose Rainier bullets and 5.2 grains of Accurate No. 5 powder.
124-grain plated roundnose Rainier bullets and 5.6 grains of Accurate No. 5 powder.
I wanted to start low and work up, partly because that’s good reloading practice and partly because the Shield was new to me and I didn’t know how it would work and what it would like. The first reduced load (5.2 grains of Accurate No. 5 and a 124-grain plated bullet) wouldn’t cycle the Shield’s action. I fired 50 rounds this way, one at a time. I’d have to pull the slide back and release it after each shot. For the Shield portion of the evaluation, I knew I needed to bump up the load. For the ammo portion of the evaluation, every load fed and fired flawlessly. The Lee turret press had done its job.
Bumping up to the 5.6 grains of Accurate No. 5 (still with the 124-grain plated bullet), the Shield’s action cycled but a couple of times the slide closed after the last round in the magazine fired. I fired 50 rounds in this test, loading 5 rounds in the Shield’s magazine each time. The Shield was pushing the slide back far enough to strip off a new round, but on two magazine loadings the slide did not go far enough back to engage the slide stop after the last round. I needed to bump the charge a scosh more. For the ammo eval, every load fed, fired, and ejected flawlessly. Again, the Lee turret press had done its job.
The Lee Classic Turret Press, a phenomenal value and a great reloading setup.
At this point, I knew I needed to go a little higher on the powder charge with the 124-grain plated bullet, and I knew the Lee Classic Turret Press was making good ammo. Everything fed and there were no jams.
The first rounds loaded to an overall cartridge length of 1.610 inches. I later moved that back to 1.140 inches.
I loaded the above 9mm ammo to an overall length of 1.160 inches, which is longer than I usually load 9mm. The Lee manual has the cartridge overall length with a plated 124-grain Rainier bullet at 1.169 inches. The cartridges would go in the Shield’s magazine and they fed fine when shooting, but when loading them in the magazine, the first cartridge tended to go horizontal instead of being angled up as others were loaded on top of it. That hung up the magazine while cartridges were being loaded into it. In the past, I had normally loaded 9mm at around 1.120 to 1.130 inches overall length. I decided that for my next load I would go up to 5.8 grains of Accurate No. 5, and I would seat the bullets for an overall cartridge length of 1.140 inches. I went home and in 20 minutes I had loaded another 50 rounds. That Lee Classic Turret is fast.
50 rounds of custom-crafted 9mm ammo created on the Lee Classic Turret Press.
The popup ads keep us going…please click on them!
When I returned to the West End Gun Club, I set up a target at 50 feet, took out the Shield, and loaded the first magazine. Loading to a cartridge overall length of 1.140 made it easier to load the magazine. So far, so good.
Next, I fired 20 rounds to assess the ammo’s functionality. Everything worked perfectly. Every round fed, every round ejected, and life was good. The Shield’s bright fixed sights were printing a bit to the left, so I held to the right on a fresh target and rattled off 30 rounds.
Thirty rounds at 50 feet from the Shield. Not too shabby for a belly gun.
The Shield’s recoil was not at all uncomfortable; it was way better than a .38 snubnose revolver. The Shield is a very light pistol (19.0 ounces). That’s lighter than the S&W Model 60 (23.2 ounces) or a Compact 1911 (33.4 ounces). Those weights for the 1911 and the Model 60 may not sound like a lot, but (trust me on this) it’s enough to weigh on you at the end of the day. I guess the Shield’s light weight is the big advantage of a Tupperware gun. I like it, and I like the fact that the gun is pleasant to shoot.
A few days later, I was on an indoor range and I set up the Alco target that has four mini-silhouettes on a single sheet. I ran it out to 21 feet and put 50 rounds on target (dividing them roughly between the four targets), all shot offhand while standing. The load was the same as the one mentioned above. That’s 5.8 grains of Accurate No. 5 and a 124-grain plated Rainier roundnose bullet at an overall cartridge length of 1.140 inches, and for these, I used mixed brass.
The quad mini-silhouette from Alco Target in Monrovia, California, and 50 rounds fired standing at 7 yards.
I also tried two different powder-coated bullets with Accurate No. 5. One was the 147-grain Boudreau flat nosed bullet with 4.8 grains of Accurate No. 5. This is an accurate load in the Shield (even more so than the plated bullet load mentioned above), but it leaded the bore. The other was the Boudreau 124-grain round nose bullet with 5.4 grains of Accurate No. 5; it, too, leaded the bore. The plated bullets did not lead the bore at all so I think they are a better load. I loaded more 147-grain powder coated bullets with a lighter charge to see if that would eliminate the bore leading, but they did not and I had cycling issues. 4.8 grains of Accurate No. 5 is what this 147-grain powder coated bullet wants.
The Shield with 124-grain powder coated roundnose bullets. These leaded the bore.147-grain powder coated bullets. These, too, leaded the bore. They are accurate, though.Another Alco quad mini-silhouette with 5-shot groups fired standing at 7 yards, this time with the 147-grain powder coated Boudreau bullet and 4.8 grains of Accurate No. 5.
Let’s talk about the Shield a bit. My Shield is the first iteration (not the Shield 2.0, as that model is not sold in California). The Shield has a 3 1/8-inch barrel.
The Shield’s 8-round magazine. The left arrow points to the spacer. It can slide up, as indicated by the right arrow.
The Shield’s magazine could be better. It has a plastic spacer at the bottom, and that spacer rides up when loading the magazine. Conceivably, it could interfere with seating the magazine in the gun. In my opinion it is a poor design. The collar slides down as easy as it slides up, so that’s good. You get two mags with the Shield. The one you see above holds 8 rounds and it has a grip extender that feels just right to me. There’s another one that doesn’t have the grip extender and it holds 7 rounds. I haven’t done anything with that one, other than checking to make sure it was in the box when I bought the gun.
The Shield’s sights are the best I’ve ever used. They are bright and easy to see. The sights let in light from the sides, and that design just flat works. It’s the first gun I have ever shot with these sights. They are better than my SIG P226s’s Tritium sights, and those sights are good. The photo below isn’t enhanced; it’s what the Smith’s sights actually look like.
The Shield’s sights. They are the best I’ve ever used.
The Shield’s trigger, in a word, is terrible. There are other triggers available for the Shield, but I will leave this one alone. The trigger got a little better with use and a couple of cleanings (I’ve put about 600 rounds through the Shield so far). The Shield is a striker-fired gun and the trigger is not what I would consider good, but it’s better than it was initially. Compared to a good 1911 like the Springfield, it’s awful. But, it’s good enough to get rounds on target (as you can see above).
The Shield’s slide release, out of the box, was super stiff and essentially unusable. I could release the slide with two thumbs, but not with one. I found it best to pull the slide back and let it go to release the slide. This aspect of the design (or its execution) is poor, and requiring two hands to release the slide is not good for a defensive weapon. A close examination of the slide stop showed that it was rough where it interfaced with the slide, so I judiciously worked it over with 600-grit sandpaper, and it releases more easily now. I can release it with one thumb with no magazine in the gun, but it still takes two thumbs and a lot of effort with the mag inserted and that’s bad. It’s surprising that Smith and Wesson would let this happen.
A SIG P226, the Smith and Wesson Shield, and a Springfield Armory 1911, all chambered in 9mm. Flat dark earth is the new black.
I had the SIG and my 1911 with me when I shot the Shield. The Shield doesn’t look that much smaller in a group photo, but it is flatter and it will carry concealed better. In subsequent blogs, I’ll explore different loads prepared on the Lee Classic Turret press fired in all three of the guns above. I fired a few rounds through the Springfield, and they worked just fine; the same is true for the SIG P226. Interestingly, the lighter loads that wouldn’t work in the Shield did work in the Springfield. It’s counterintuitive, but compact handguns are tougher to make work well than are full size handguns. That’s because the recoil spring in a compact handgun has to be much stiffer than one in a full size gun.
The Shield’s sear deactivation lever. You have to push it down to remove the slide and barrel.
To takedown the Shield, you do not simply unlock the slide takedown lever. There’s a sear deactivation release in the magazine well (identified with a red arrow in the photo above), and you have to push that down before you can turn the slide takedown lever for disassembly. You can’t do it with your finger; you need a small screwdriver or a thin pen. With the SIG, you just turn the slide takedown lever with the slide back.
Cleaning the Shield is a breeze. You make sure the gun is unloaded, release the mag, lower the sear deactivation lever, rotate the slide takedown lever, and the gun comes apart. The slide comes off the frame, and the spring subassembly and barrel come out. That’s it. Five parts (the magazine, the receiver, the barrel, the spring subassembly, and the slide.
The plated ammo I loaded on the Lee turret press didn’t lead at all. Zero. Zip. Nada. The powder coated bullets did, which surprised me. All were accurate.
The bottom line? Let me put it this way: I like the Shield; I love the Lee Classic Turret Press kit. The Shield will get better with more shooting and I want to try more loads in it, but that 5.8-grains of Accurate No.5 and 124-grain plated Rainier roundnose load is a winner. The Lee Classic Turret press and all its accessories were good to go right from the beginning. Its design and quality are excellent.
The Lee Classic Turret Press…what can I say? It’s awesome. It’s fast, easy to use, inexpensive, and it makes great ammo. I say it’s the best bang for the buck in the reloading world. As an engineer I’m impressed; as a consumer and reloader I am delighted. I have already fired several hundred rounds loaded on the Lee Classic Turret Press in my Shield, the Springfield, and the SIG and once I settled on a load, every one of them fed, fired, extracted, and ejected perfectly in three different handguns. I had a box of 1000 124-grain plated 9mm bullets a few days ago; I like the Lee turret press so much they’re all gone now (they were either sent downrange or they’ve been loaded and labeled and they’re waiting their turn to go downrange). I love reloading and shooting; I love it even more now that I’m loading with my Lee turret press.
A word of caution here…these loads performed acceptably in my guns. Your firearms may vary and you need to develop your own loads. Always start low and work up in any load development program.
I’ve always loved Triumphs and I always thought they were not only the coolest bikes around but also the best bang for the buck. I rode Triumphs in the ’60s and ’70s when they were air-cooled and I rode them when they were made by Hinckley. I always thought the ’65 Bonneville was the best looking motorcycle there could ever be until the Speed Triple came along and took that title. But the one that stole my heart was my ’06 Triumph Tiger in Caspian blue. I loved everything about that motorcycle. Seeing Bobbie Surber’s Tiger has me thinking about my Tiger again.
My Tiger in Baja. We both spent a lot of time patrolling the peninsula.
I wasn’t planning to buy a new motorcycle when I walked into Doug Douglas Motorcycles in 2006 and saw the one that would become mine. But none other than old Doug Douglas himself noticed how I reacted to it. Doug knew his business, and he told me he’d sell it to me for whatever the number was, which seemed like a reasonable deal. Reasonable, however, was not the adjective that was governing my thought process when I saw that motorcycle, and Doug recognized that. I gave Doug the only response I could think of at the time, which was: I’ll take it.
Keep us going…click on the popup ads!
Sue hit the roof when I came home and told her she needed to give me a ride back to Doug’s to pick up a new motorcycle. She stayed upset longer than usual when I told her how much it cost and that I would be taking the money out of the checking account. “What happened to the money you got from selling your Suzuki?” she demanded. It was more of an accusation then a question.
I had to think for a minute, and then I remembered. “That mother-of-pearl and onyx bracelet I bought for you…I used the money I got for the TL to buy it” I said, and Susie mellowed. Visibly. It was like de-arming an IED. “Oh,” was all she said, and then she was her usual cheery self.
When we arrived at Douglas Motorcycles, the tempest was over. I introduced Susie to Doug and she said, “You must be the world’s greatest motorcycle salesman…my husband told me he took your first offer, and he never does that…”
Doug smiled. “Oh, I’ve sold a few motorcycles,” he said, “but that’s not my real strength. My real strength is furniture. I am the world’s greatest furniture salesman.”
Stopping to let the fog blow over along Baja’s Transpeninsular Highway enroute to Bahia de Los Angeles.
Sue was perplexed, as was I. Had I missed something? Did Doug Douglas Motorcycles have another wing that sold furniture?
“Yeah,” Doug continued, “there are a lot of couples who bought new bedroom furniture and new dining room sets when the husband came home and told the wife he bought a new motorcycle from me…”
I must have been around 15 years old the first time I saw an Ossa Pioneer. It was at Haines City motocross track. Mike Mills’ mom was divorced and her boyfriend gave us a ride way out to Chrome Avenue in his boat tail Buick Riviera . What a car! The Riviera smelled great inside not only because it was new, but because the boyfriend wore cologne. This was the first time I had been around a grown man that used cologne. All the other adult men I had known up to that point smelled like dirty socks. I smell like dirty socks right now.
You know what to do: Click on the popup ads!
“Burn the tires, c’mon!” we pleaded. It was a strange experience sitting in the plush, perfumed Riviera as the big V-8 engine effortlessly spun the tires into clouds of cotton candy. “Want to stop at the hobby store to pick up some sniffing glue, boys?” Damn we laughed and had fun with that guy. He treated us like equals, like he cared what we had to say. I wish I could remember his name. It was like going to the motocross races with Hugh Heffner.
He drove 90 miles per hour every chance he got and it wasn’t long before he was dropping us at the motocross track. He spun the Buick around and said, “I’ll be back at five.” And then lit the tires up again on Chrome Avenue. He was exactly what we wanted to be when we grew up.
Mostly Bultacos and Maicos were racing in Haines City back then but one guy had an Ossa Pioneer with the lights removed. The rider was good. He would get crossed up over the jumps and finished in the top 5 against real race bikes. I loved how the rear fender blended into the bike. That fiberglass rear section had a small storage area inside. One of the bike magazines of the era tossed a loose spark plug in the storage and went scrambling. The plug beat a hole in the rear fender and they had the nerve to bitch about it. Hell, I knew at 10 that you have to wrap stuff in rags on a motorcycle.
It rains most everyday in Florida and it started pouring. The races kept going for a while but finally had to be called because it was a deluge. You could hardly see to walk. There was no cover so we huddled in the leeward side of the ticket stand out by the entrance. It rained harder, the wind was howling. Wearing only shorts and T-shirts we were getting colder and colder. My lips were turning blue, man.
It was like Niagara Falls, a solid sheet of water that the Riviera emerged from. Man, I was so glad to see that car. “How were the races, boys?” Soaking wet and shivering we piled into the Riviera’s soft leather seats. I thought he’d get mad but boyfriend just laughed. You got the feeling he could go buy another Riviera if he wanted to.
Since my last story was on paddleboarding I thought sticking with the topic would be a great opportunity to share a unique and exciting experience. Camping off a paddleboard at the base of Horseshoe Bend in Page, Arizona. This was to be a 2-day, 15-mile trip down the Colorado River from Glenn Canyon Dam to Lee’s Ferry and would include one night of camping off our paddleboards. As an avid motorcycle camper, I thought camping off a paddleboard would be right up my alley as the amount of gear from a moto to a paddleboard was relatively the same. This adventure would bring us to one of the most hostile environments in the United States, all while living it from a new perspective, being on top of the frigid waters of the Colorado River.
The adventure began with camping near Page, Arizona, and a day of light paddleboarding on Lake Powell to gain more familiarity and confidence on the board. This was more for myself, as the two friends I was traveling with were both very experienced paddlers. My paddling to this date was limited to a couple of 8-mile runs on the Salt River near Phoenix and a horrible windy day off the Colorado River where we launched from Hoover Dam. The Salt River had portions of minor rapids, but the environment was much tamer than we would experience along the Colorado River.
The Colorado River water is extremely cold even during the spring. Contrasting the freezing water was the ambient air temperatures, which reached the high 90s (with no place to find shade or relief from the sun above the golden canyon walls that surrounded us). Adding to the natural environmental threats there can be winds that blow up the river so strongly that you cannot paddle against them, even when going down river. A year prior we were supposed to do a camping trip and ended up having to do an 18-mile paddle in heavy winds; on that trip, we were not able to camp as the winds were forecast to be worse the next day. I didn’t want to put myself through that again. That night we made our way to Horseshoe Bend in our car to watch the sunset and look down over the edge to see where we would camp the next evening.
Please click on the popups…it’s how we keep the lights on!
The day we were set to launch the winds were calm. At 8:00 a.m. we loaded our watercraft onto a powerboat at Lee’s Ferry that would deliver us to the base of Glen Dam. It was a cold ride in the boat to our drop off location as the sun was still hidden behind the massive walls that went straight up nearly a thousand feet. Every bend we went around I was in constant awe. It was as if every element that you can face in nature was in full view for us to admire, respect, and fear. Once dropped off we unloaded the paddleboards, our gear, and took a few minutes to gain our composure before starting our 15-mile journey down river.
Pushing our boards off the shoreline, it was still cold and between the 40-degree water and 50-degree air none of us wanted to stand up on the boards. Making a small error that could cause us to capsize during this delicate time would result in hypothermia with little hope of warming up until the sun crested above the canyon walls more than two hours later. The winds were absent and with an occasional dam release we just coasted down the river effortlessly. Having no headwinds was so much more pleasant than our previous time on this fully exposed river when we spent the day battling a constant headwind.
When the sun finally glimpsed above the canyon walls they instantly lit up. Just a beautiful golden prison we were trapped in with neon aqua waters so clear you can see fish swimming 20 feet below your board. We had dispersed the weight of our gear between the three boards and then balanced them out as best we could. We even had a bundle of firewood secured with Rok Straps for what we hoped would be a magical night under the stars. Along the way we stopped occasionally for a snack, a beer, or a short hike. There are some hidden petroglyphs along the river where you can disembark from your board and hike in to view them. This made for a perfect slow-paced and enjoyable day that we all fully embraced.
It was still early, yet due to the lack of headwinds and numerous dam releases we were already arriving at our camp at Mile 9. Mile 9 camp is at the turn of Horseshoe Bend. What made this really cool wasn’t the view (it all looked really the same with giant canyon walls on both sides of you). What made this special was that when you looked up the thousand-foot walls you could see hundreds of tourists looking down at you and waving. I felt like we were in a zoo exhibit. We set up camp and spent a relaxing afternoon swimming, chatting with other boaters (mostly kayakers and fellow paddlers), and just enjoying the fact we weren’t battling winds. This was quite a rewarding day.
After a perfect day of mild paddling, relaxing and gazing off into this beautiful yet intimidating environment, the day slowly turned into evening. It wasn’t long before we started a campfire. Sitting around a campfire with new friends, cold beers from our Ice Mule Cooler, and exchanging stories is always the high point in my day. I wandered off to use the bathroom when I noticed flashing from above. At first, I thought it was the stars beginning to peer from above the cliffs, but it wasn’t. The flashes I saw were the tourists above using their phones and flashlights to signal “hello” down to us. As I zipped my pants up, I already had the “It was the cold water that caused shrinkage” or the “You’re 1,000 feet away…of course it looks smaller” thoughts. For some reason my new friends around the campfire didn’t understand my humor and the stories continued until the flashes from the tourists above faded about the same time we did.
Having slept great that night at the base of one of the most iconic photo spots in the United States it was now time to pack up. Winds always seemed to gain intensity as the day wears on, so we wanted an early start to avoid this threat, but there were no winds on this day, either. It was almost as if the river was rewarding us for having passed its initiation from that previous windy trip that didn’t allow camping. The river was so calm we were able to even lay down on our paddleboards and allow the current and dam releases to carry us the remaining 6 miles downriver without any effort. This is how paddleboarding should be, but I knew this was an anomaly on the Colorado River. In my experience tailwinds are like unicorns. They really don’t exist, yet somehow this trip we were surrounded by a herd of unicorns.
It wasn’t long before we could see Lee’s Ferry ahead of us on the right. We made it to shore and began the process of packing our gear up to return to Lake Powell for one more night of camping before returning to southern Arizona. Since paddleboarding Horseshoe Bend, anytime I see pictures of this location I zoom in and can often see paddleboards, kayaks, and tents at the beach when everyone else just is looking at the full view of the photo. I absolutely prefer my new perspective of this part of Glenn Canyon National Recreation Area, that being through the eyes of a paddleboarder.
We’re just about there setting up and using the Lee Classic Turret Press Kit. We explained in prior blogs how to set up everything except for the safety prime, and that’s what we’re going to focus on here. The safety prime can be purchased separately; when you purchase the Classic Turret Press Kit it is in included. You literally get everything you need to start reloading with the Classic Turret Press Kit except the dies and the brass, bullets, primers, and powder. I chose a set of 9mm dies because it was my intent to load 9mm only on my classic turret press, but I like the press so much I’m going to buy additional turrets so facilitate changing from one cartridge to another. I really like the Classic Turret Press Kit
Help us bring more stories to you: Please click on the popup ads!
But I digress; back to today’s focus, and that’s on the Lee safety prime. It arrives packaged nicely, as has been the case with everything from Lee.
The Lee Safety Prime packaging. This carton arrives inside the Lee Classic Turret Press Kit box.Inside the Lee Safety Prime box.
The Lee safety prime kit includes a primer two primer feed mounts, two primer trays, two primer feed chutes, and two primer triggers. The primer tray, feed chute, and trigger are provided as assembled units. One is for large primers, the other for small primers. They are marked accordingly. The two primer feed mounts you see in the photo below are included because the safety prime can be used on different types of presses. We’re installing this on a classic turret press, so we will only need one of the two brackets (the one on the left side of the photo below).
Mounts for the single stage Lee press and the turret press, and primer trays, feed chutes, and triggers for small and large primers.
When we prepared the blog on installing the classic turret press, I showed but did not explain the two primer arms that Lee provides with the turret press. There’s one for large primers (either rifle or handgun) and one for small primers (either rifle or handgun. These mount easily; you simply drop them into the slot on the ram, they fall into place, and they pivot on an axle in the ram.
Primer arms for large and small primers. These are included in the turret press hardware.
There’s an axle inside the press ram, as shown in the photo below. It’s the attach point for the primer arm. The primer arm drops into the ram when there’s no shellholder in the ram (if the shellholder is in place, you cannot insert the primer arm, so you need to remove the shellholder to install the primer arm).
The axle for mounting the primer arm.Inserting the primer arm into the ram. The slot shown by the red arrow mounts over the axle shown in the photo above.
Once the primer arm is installed, reinstall the shellholder.
The primer arm mounted on the ram.
As the ram is lowered, in the last inch or so of its travel the primer arm contacts the press base and the arm rotates to place the primer directly below the cartridge case. When the press is lowered completely, the press arm seats the primer into the cartridge case in the shellholder. We’ll show and discuss this further below.
The next step is to mount the safety prime components on the classic turret press. There’s a 1/2-inch bolt and washer securing the top of press; it needs to be removed to install the safety prime mounting bracket.
The 1/2-inch turret head mounting bolt has to removed to install the safety prime mount.The turret head mounting bolt and its washer.
The 1/2-inch bolt and its washer are then installed in the safety prime mounting bracket, and the mounting bracket is installed on the press.
The bolt and washer on the safety prime mount.
Next, we’ll show the safety prime tray, feed chute, and trigger. As mentioned above, as delivered from Lee the primer tray (the big triangular affair with the Lee name and appropriate warnings), the feed chute, and the trigger are already assembled. The primer tray is a press fit into the feed chute; you can leave them assembled as shown below. Note that the feed chute has slot near where it meets the primer tray; this area interfaces with the safety prime we mounted on the press.
The small primer tray, feed chute, and trigger. The tab the arrows point to slips into the safety prime mount.
The feed chute fits into a loose joint on the safety prime mount. There’s a lot of relative motion between these two items, and that’s okay. Lee cleverly designed this loose joint so that it has six degrees of freedom. This very clever design allows the safety prime trigger to move up, down, left, and right, and it can rotate. We’ll see why that’s important in a bit.
The feed chute coupled to the safety prime mount.
The Lee safety prime primer tray is a clamshell arrangement with a lock and an on-off switch. In the open position, it allows the primer tray to open so you can load primers into the tray. In the lock position, the tray is locked closed and it blocks primer entry into the tray. In the on position, it allows primers to feed into the feed chute.
The primer tray has a switch that locks, opens, and allows the primers to flow from the tray to the feed chute.
When you want to load primers in the primer tray, you can do either remove the primer tray from the feed chute, or you can remove the entire primer tray, feed chute, and primer trigger from the press. To open the primer tray, place the lock in the open position, and open the tray’s clamshell.
The safety prime primer tray in the open condition.
Put the primers into the tray. You’ll notice that some face up, and some face down.
Primers loaded into the safety prime primer tray.
Once the primers are in the tray, and with the tray open, gently jiggle the primer tray back and forth. Don’t get too aggressive here or you’ll jiggle primers out of the tray. Just go easy, and after a few seconds, all the primers will face up. The jiggling allows the ridges in the tray to turn all the primers face up.
After gently jiggling the primer tray left to right the primers will all face up.
Once the primers are all face up, close the tray clamshell and put the lock in the lock position. This will prevent primers from leaving the tray until you want them to.
The safety prime primer tray closed and locked. The primer tray is shown removed from the feed chute, but it doesn’t need to be to load primers into the tray.
With the tray mounted on the feed chute, insert the primer tray, feed chute, and trigger assembly into the safety prime mount on the turret press.
A loaded primer tray, feed chute, and trigger mounted on the safety prime mount.
At this point, move the primer tray lock to the open position, and the primers will fill the feed chute. The entire affair can be moved around (within a limited range) to allow the safety prime trigger to find where it wants to be.
The interface between the safety prime mount and the primer tray, feed chute, and trigger allows for left to right, up and down, and rotational movement.
Here’s a macro shot of the forward end of the trigger. It includes guides (one on each side) that allow moving the trigger to make contact with the primer arm and correctly position itself.
The trigger base includes two ramps that guide the trigger over the primer arm.A macro shot of the trigger over the primer arm. The trigger’s ramps guide the primer arm into position.
Here’s how this works. I positioned the sizing die directly above the ram, with the ram in the lowered position. I raised the ram a small amount and placed a 9mm cartridge case (one that I’ve already fired) in the shellholder. I then fully raised the ram, driving the fired case into the sizing die and decapper. I heard a satisfying “tink” as the primer fell into the primer catch tube.
The spent primer tube hangs beneath the turret press ram. You can remove the red cap at the bottom to dump the spent primers. This is the cleanest spent primer collection approach I’ve ever used.
With the press in the fully-raised position, I pushed the primer trigger forward into the primer arm. That allowed the trigger to align with the primer arm. I then pushed down on the trigger. That’s the required motion on the trigger: Forward and then rotate downward, which places a fresh primer from the feed chute in the primer arm. I then allowed the trigger to swing away from the primer arm.
Pushing the trigger forward to mate with the primer arm and then down deposits a single primer into the primer arm. It’s a very clever approach.
Voila! When the trigger was allowed to move away from the primer arm, there was a CCI 500 small pistol primer waiting to be seated. The safety prime moving away from this primer is a very important safety feature. If the primer in the primer arm fires when it is seated, the prior rotation of the safety prime trigger (and the rest of the safety prime assembly) keeps the other primers away from the one being seated, and prevents the other primers from sypathetically igniting.
And there you go!
I then lowered the ram with a freshly sized case. As the ram moved down, the primer arm contacted the press base and began to rotate into the ram.
Lowering the ram rotates the primer arm into position.
When the ram approached the last part of its travel, the primer arm positioned the primer directly beneath the deprimed and resized case. As I moved the lever up for to complete the stroke, I could feel the primer being seated.
Fully lowering the ram seats the primer into the case that was deprimed on the upstroke.A freshly primed case.
Wow, this was cool stuff. I had already adjusted the Lee auto-drum powder measure to throw the correct charge of Accurate No. 5 powder (see our earlier blog). Now all I needed to do was to adjust the bullet seating die and the factory crimp die.
Adjusting the bullet seating die involved positioning the turret so the case was directly beneath the die. I wanted to seat the bullet to the desired cartridge overall length, but I didn’t want to crimp the bullet with the bullet seating die. That involved running the die all the way into the turret so that it contacted the shellholder, and then backing it out enough so the crimping feature in the die did not contact the cartridge case mouth. Then, the next step was to adjust the bullet seater (the knob on top of the bullet seating die) so that it achieved the desired cartridge overall length (in this case, I was shooting for 1.160 inches). The Lee Modern Reloading manual recommend 1.169 inches, but I didn’t want the cartridge to be that long. I made the adjustment by putting a bullet in the case mouth and repeatingly running the ram up, screwing in the bullet seater a little bit at a time between each stroke until it seated the bullet to a cartridge overall length of 1.160 inches. All this is explained in more detail in our earlier blog on using Lee’s Deluxe 4-die set.
The 9mm Luger cartridge dimensions as shown in the Lee Modern Reloading manual.A 124-grain plated roundnose bullet started in a 9mm case.The bullet seating die. The red arrow points to the bullet seater. Screw it in to seat the bullet deeper, screw it out to not seat the bullet as deep.Right on the money, at the desired cartridge overall length of 1.160 inches.
Now that I had the bullet seating die adjusted, the last step was to adjust the crimping die. That’s also explained in detail in our earlier blog on using Lee’s Deluxe 4-die set. What his entailed was raising the ram fully and then screwing the factory crimp die into the turret until it contacted the shell holder. I then adjusted the crimp by screwing in the crimping feature in the crimping die. Lee recommends a case mouth dimension of 0.381 inches; I wanted a case mouth outside diameter of 0.378 inches. I wanted a stronger crimp.
The Lee factory crimp die. The red arrow points to the crimp adjustment. Screw it in for a stronger crimp, screw it out for a less aggressive criimp.A cartridge mouth outside diameter of 0.378 inches.
At this point, I was ready to start loading. I found it easy to do with the Lee Classic Turret Press Kit. After loading powder into the auto-drum powder measure and primers into the safety prime primer tray, and positioning the sizing die directly over the ram, I got into a rhythm. The sequence goes like this:
Place a fired 9mm cartridge case in the shellholder.
Raise the ram to resize and decap the case.
Push the safety prime trigger down and into the priming arm.
Lower the ram (this advances the turret to place the expander die over the ram) and seat the primer.
Raise the ram to charge and flare the case.
Lower the ram (this advances the turret to place the seating die over the ram) and place a bullet in the case mouth.
Raise the ram to seat the bullet.
Lower the ram (this advances the turret to place the crimping die over the ram).
Raise the ram to crimp the bullet.
Lower the ram (this starts the sequence again by advancing the turret to place the sizing die over the ram).
Remove the reloaded cartridge and place it in the ammo box.
After the first few rounds, it was time for a fit check, also known as the plunk test. I shoot a lot of 9mm; it is one of my favorite cartridges. I have three 9mm handguns: A SIG P226, a Springfield Armory 1911, and a Smith and Wesson M&P Shield. Of these, the Springfield has the tightest chamber, so I use its barrel (after taking it out of the gun) for the the plunk test. If my reloaded 9mm rounds pass the plunk test in my Springfield barrel, they will feed and chamber in anything.
Three glorious 9mm pistols: A SIG P226, a Smith and Wesson Shield, and a Springfield Armory 1911.The Springfield Armory 1911 barrel.I left the barrel dirty for a more stringent plunk test.
The plunk test is straightforward and highly technical. I drop a 9mm round into the chamber, and if it drops in easily with a nice plunk, it passes the first part of the plunk test.
Plunk! Easy chambering in a dirty barrel with gravity feed. So far, so good.
The second part of the plunk test involves turning the barrel down, and if the round falls from the chamber with a nice plunk, it passes the second part of the test.
Plunk! Yep, a slight downward tilt and the reloaded 9mm round dropped right out. The Lee factory crimp die works wonderfully well.
If the first few rounds pass the plunk test, I’ll then proceed to reload the rest of the ammo. That’s what I did here, and while I had the barrel out of the Springfield, I randomly selected a few more rounds and similarly plunk tested them. They were good to go.
You know, I still do the plunk test on all of my 9mm ammo because old habits die hard. Before I started using Lee’s Deluxe 4-Die set, I would occasionally experience plunk test failures, and what that meant is the rounds would most likely jam when I was on the range. With Lee’s factory crimp die, that just doesn’t happen. With Lee’s dies and this turret press, I suspect plunk test failures and jams will be a thing of the past. You probably realize by now I really like my Lee dies. And I absolutely love my Lee Classic Turret Press Kit.
After finishing the plunk test, we were off to the races. I loaded one box of 9mm ammo, which took less than 20 minutes. You can load high quality ammo quickly with the Lee Classic Turret Press Kit.
The first 50 rounds reloaded on my Lee Classic Turret Press. Life is good.
Next up…range firing the ammo you see above in a new S&W Shield, a SIG P226, and a Springfield Armory 1911. That blog will post in a few more days.
Stay tuned!
One of the best places to buy Lee reloading gear is on Amazon.
Never miss an ExNotes blog:
Here are links to our earlier blogs on Lee reloading equipment:
The Camino de Santiago, also known as the Way of St. James, is a network of pilgrimage routes that lead to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. The Camino has been a popular destination for Christian pilgrims for more than a thousand years, and it is now visited by people of all faiths and backgrounds from around the world.
There are several routes of the Camino de Santiago, including the Camino Frances (French Way), which is the most popular, and the Camino Portugués (Portuguese Way), which starts in Lisbon or begins in Porto for a two-week shorter Camino. The Camino de Santiago is a long-distance walk or hike that typically takes 30-40 days to complete, depending on the route and the pace of the individual pilgrim.
Along the way, pilgrims stay in Albergues (pilgrim hostels) or other types of accommodation and follow the yellow arrows and shells which mark the way. The Camino de Santiago offers a unique opportunity to experience the beauty of the Spanish landscape and culture and to challenge oneself physically and spiritually.
Please click on the popup ads!
I walked seven different Camino Routes with my first Camino in 2012 and the last in September 2021. My last walk found me starting in Pamplona, Spain, a vibrant city never lacking a reason for a fiesta, a city known worldwide for the Running of the Bulls every July. I ended my journey in Leon, Spain. With my added side trips, I walked over 300 miles, experiencing high desert plateaus, the Rioja wine region, the blissful Logrono’s tapas, the magnificent Burgos Cathedral, the Meseta’s emptiness, and the joy of Leon.
I was on a multi-month motorcycle/camping trip through Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana. When riding, there are times when every part of your brain is laser-focused on the road ahead of you and who might try to run you over from the back or side, but every now and then, the ride is so peaceful that you have time to turn a portion of your brain to the gift of “I wonder.” This led me to reminisce over my six prior walks along different Camino routes in Spain, Portugal, and France. Once released, an avalanche of memories and images flowed to the point that I knew I would be booking my flight to Europe as soon as I stopped my ride for the day.
A quick Google Flights search gave me what I needed, and I soon had a ticket. This was another solo walk, my favorite way for most hikes. My arrival in Pamplona was early enough that I decided to start my Camino right from the Pamplona Airport, bypassing one of my favorite cities in Spain.
The morning had the hope of the fall weather yet to come as I headed slowly up the first of several foothills with the goal of a 10-mile walk for my first day. The gravel crunched satisfactorily underfoot as I quickly adjusted my backstraps to climb up to an iconic ridge that all pilgrims look forward to, the Alto del Perdón, a mountain pass in the province of Navarra in northern Spain, about 12 miles outside of Pamplona. I had returned to the Camino Frances trail after nine-year of absence, taking in beautiful views of the surrounding landscape and a chance to rest and recharge. The mountain pass is named after a sculpture of the Virgin Mary and the phrases “Señora del Camino” (Lady of the Way) and “Perdón” (Forgiveness), which are inscribed on the base of the sculpture. The windswept ridge and the massive wind turbines in the background contrast the sculptures that represent a pilgrimage from the Middle Ages. I took my first full breath after 18 hours of travel and an excellent 8-mile walk to this point. I thought about my intentions for this walk, what I hoped to gain and whom I would miss in the coming weeks of a long walk across most of Spain.
Reluctantly leaving the ridge late afternoon, I knew it would be challenging to reach my Albergue for the night. The steep loose gravel trail reminds me that my knees are not what they used to be, and motorcycle riding for the prior months did little to prepare me for the rigors of this walk. Soon the village of Uterga appeared with another climb up to her main street. My arrival timed perfectly to watch the evening stroll of the locals begin, kids running in the square, little old ladies with perfectly quaffed hair and well-put-together outfits ambling in deep conversations. Adults were sitting in outdoor cafes having a drink, visiting each other, and enjoying the last dregs of daylight. I wanted to plop my disheveled self within their mist and order my first long-awaited glass of Vino Tinto, but I pulled myself together and made the last of my walk to my Albergue in short order.
This first night’s stay found me in a dorm room in a private Albergue with its small restaurant and bar. After showing my pilgrims pass (issued to show you are walking the Camino) and paying 12 Euros for my place in the dorm room, I quickly dumped my backpack on my bed, looked in the mirror, confirmed I looked like a wreck, dashed for the bar, and ordered my first of many good Rioja wines. Settling in, I met my first group of fellow pilgrims. A portly German fellow in his mid-fifties that I would painfully learn would serenade us throughout the night with his epic snoring. Also, a group of Italian bicycle riders. They were loud, and all were talking at once with what would become the usual question: Why is an American woman walking the Camino alone? Well, that’s a question for another day! I order my second glass of wine and move into the restaurant for the start of the evening’s Pilgrim meal, an inexpensive three-course meal with portions that could feed a small family, and your choice of bottled water or a bottle of wine, Good God, man, why would you order the water? I certainly did not.
I had equal feelings of contentment and joy seeping in as German, Italian, and Spanish conversations swirled around me—fellow pilgrims sharing their day’s success and physical hardships. Many of the pilgrims had started 60 miles back on the French side of the Pyrenees, had survived the celebrations of Pamplona, and were still in high spirits so early in their walk. I listened to their stories and their countless toasts made in several languages. I left the room while the wave of conversation and laughter reminded me of how lucky I was to be on this walk for a 7th time. This surely was the beginning of an epic adventure and the hope of what Spain had in store for me.
Mostly Bultacos and Maicos were racing in Haines City back then but one guy had an Ossa Pioneer with the lights removed. The rider was good. He would get crossed up over the jumps and finished in the top 5 against real race bikes. I loved how the rear fender blended into the bike. That fiberglass rear section had a small storage area inside. One of the bike magazines of the era tossed a loose spark plug in the storage and went scrambling. The plug beat a hole in the rear fender and they had the nerve to bitch about it. Hell, I knew at 10 that you have to wrap stuff in rags on a motorcycle.
It rains most everyday in Florida and it started pouring. The races kept going for a while but finally had to be called because it was a deluge. You could hardly see to walk. There was no cover so we huddled in the leeward side of the ticket stand out by the entrance. It rained harder, the wind was howling. Wearing only shorts and T-shirts we were getting colder and colder. My lips were turning blue, man.
The adventure began with camping near Page, Arizona, and a day of light paddleboarding on Lake Powell to gain more familiarity and confidence on the board. This was more for myself, as the two friends I was traveling with were both very experienced paddlers. My paddling to this date was limited to a couple of 8-mile runs on the Salt River near Phoenix and a horrible windy day off the Colorado River where we launched from Hoover Dam. The Salt River had portions of minor rapids, but the environment was much tamer than we would experience along the Colorado River.
There are several routes of the Camino de Santiago, including the Camino Frances (French Way), which is the most popular, and the Camino Portugués (Portuguese Way), which starts in Lisbon or begins in Porto for a two-week shorter Camino. The Camino de Santiago is a long-distance walk or hike that typically takes 30-40 days to complete, depending on the route and the pace of the individual pilgrim.
