The ExhaustNotes Blog

ExhaustNotes’ Inaugural Santa Fe Vintage Motorcycle Hang Out

Long ago I wrote a story about traveling across the USA on an old, 1971 360cc Yamaha Enduro motorcycle. It was called Toxic Tour with the subtitle, The First Annual Blue Haze Across America Tour. I had grand plans of organizing a two-stroke only cross country motorcycle ride like the Three Flags Tour put on by the Southern California Motorcycle Association. Editor Brian Catterson’s warning to never call anything “the first annual” until a second one happened proved prescient. The Second Annual Blue Haze Across America Tour never happened.

The main reason it never happened is because I have no idea how to organize and plan such a massive undertaking. I guess I thought the event would just magically take place because I uttered the words out loud. Motorcycle events require many selfless people working behind the scenes to make the idle talk happen. I still like the idea of an all two-stroke pan-USA motorcycle tour but someone else will have to make it a reality. Robert Pandya comes to mind as someone who could pull it off.

Which brings us to the (hopefully temporary) defunct Motorado Motorcycle show. The Motorado was a great, classic motorcycle show held each year in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The Motorado died out around Covid time and try as I might, I can’t find any information online about a 2022 show. Motorado’s Facebook page responded to my query with “ Unfortunately no show this year, lack of interest.” Adding these bits of information together I suspect there won’t be a Motorado show in 2022.

The thing is, I really enjoyed riding whatever moto-clunker I had that would run the 200 miles to Santa Fe. It was always sunny and warm in September; a great group of riders and motorcycle fixers gathered to chat bikes. You could buy an ice-cold beer from the restaurant located at the venue and sit on a bench looking at a Husky 400 or a Triumph T160. All those pleasurable feelings are gone now.

I admit I’m part of the problem, as I never volunteered to work the show or even joined the Motorado club. I cherry picked all the fun and left others to clean up the mess. I miss the Motorado and want something like that to happen again in Santa Fe. So I’m going to make it happen again, even if it’s only on the tiniest scale.

Working within my expansive limitations, the inaugural ExhaustNotes Santa Fe Vintage Motorcycle Hang Out will take place on Saturday September 24, 2022. The event will be held at the same mini-mall location as the previous Motorado shows were held. The address is 7 Caliente Road near the intersection of Highway 285 and Avenida Vista Grande.

The mall is about a block west of 285 and a block south of Avenida Vista Grande. You can see the mini-mall from the intersection. Since it will take me a few hours to ride up there the start time will be noon. Feel free to get there earlier if you like; don’t wait on me as my old RD350 may break down on the way north. The show will end whenever we want to leave. I plan to hang out until 3pm-ish then head south towards home. I don’t like to ride in the dark.

The Inaugural Hang Out is free to attend and there are no rules or classes as the show is not organized or judged in any way. It is literally a hang out. No trophies will be awarded. Try to ride an old motorcycle if you can so we have something interesting to look at. If you have vintage dirt bikes or a non-running street bike trailer them in.

There is a nice restaurant in the mini-mall called Santa Fe Brewing Company. The Brewing Company has good beer and air conditioning so I might hang out there for lunch. For the vegans there is an excellent bagel/coffee shop next to the hardware store. At least it was there last time I visited.

Since this is a non-organized, non-sponsored event I have made no arrangements with the mini-mall management. There is no special parking but the east side of the mall has a large dirt lot that no one parks in. We could line up the bikes there and be out of the way of normal commerce. Swag, like T-shirts or ball caps will not be available so dress accordingly. I will bring some ExhaustNotes stickers along but I find it hard to believe anyone would want them when they have no idea what or who ExhaustNotes is. Ask me and I’ll give you one.

Look, I harbor no illusions about the success of this event; I fully expect that I will be the only one that shows up. I’m prepared to sit alone for a few hours and talk to myself about the purple RD350 that I’ll ride to 7 Caliente Road. Wes Baca from Albuquerque might make the show on his H2 Kawasaki or his CT70 Honda so that will make two of us.

What I really want is the old Motorado show back, but until that happens we can go through the motions and enjoy a fine day in Santa Fe, New Mexico chatting about and looking at old motorcycles. And that’s a pretty good way to spend a Saturday.

Even if you can’t attend please share this blog on your social media. You never know who might be interested and live close enough to burble their vintage bike over to Santa Fe. When you get there, look for the little old man drinking a beer and sitting lonely next to a purple RD350 Yamaha. That will be me.

The comments section of this blog will be the central clearing house for Santa Fe Hang Out information. If you have any questions feel free to ask in the comments section; if you are planning to attend let us know in the same comments section.

I hope to see you there on the 24th!

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A 110-grain Python Load

I’ve owned three Colt Pythons. Back in the ‘70s I had a blue 6-inch Colt Python and another 6-inch nickel-plated one (they were only about $250 back then, and I could buy them for even less through the Post Exchange). Both those Pythons went down the road, and yeah, I’m sorry I sold them. Who wouldn’t be?

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These days, I have a 6-inch bright stainless Colt Python, the new model, and I love it. It’s the one you see in the photo above. I’ve been to the Colt factory to see how they are made, and both the Python’s design and its production are impressive. I’ll let you in on a secret: The new Pythons are better guns. I shoot my Python a lot. In the last few months I’ve been hitting the range with it at least a couple of times every week. I’m old school, I guess: I prefer a revolver to a semi-auto, and I prefer .38 Special and .357 Magnum over 9mm. Your mileage may vary. I know what I like.

Winchster 110-grain jacketed hollow point bullets waiting to be seated and crimped.

I remembered that back in the day I found a 110-gr jacketed hollow point bullet with 10.0 grains of Unique (the max load in the Hornady manual in the 1970s) and it was extremely accurate in my blue steel Python. I mean, like one-hole accurate. Accurate enough to keep that load in my memory for five decades.

Fast forward 50 years and you’ll find me scrounging for reloading components on a fairly regular basis. On one of those scrounging expeditions Rick Phillips (of Phillips Wholesale) had Accurate No. 5 propellant in stock. It’s a handgun powder, and Rick told me that Accurate No. 5 has a burn rate about like Unique. Hmmm. Unique, huh? That stuck in my mind, mostly because I had some 110-grain .357 pistol bullets in my components stash: I had Winchester jacketed hollow points, and Hornady jacketed hollow points. I bought a bunch of the Winchester bullets during the Obama years when everything was scarce, and I was down to one unopened bag of 100. I had an unopened box of the Hornady 110-grain bullets, too.

Winchester, if you’re paying attention, this bag was 15 bullets light.

I loaded the last of the Winchester bullets recently using some junk 357 brass. I have Unique, but I wanted to see if I could get good results with Accurate No. 5. Rick’s comment about Accurate No. 5 being about like Unique stuck in my mind. The max load on the Accurate site for 110 grain bullets is 11 grains, so I loaded some at 10.1 grains and some at 10.5 grains, both with magnum CCI primers.

Winchester shorted me on that last bag of 100 grain bullets. The last bag I had was unopened, but it had only 85 bullets in it. I wrote to Winchester customer support, and they responded with an answer that was left blank. I wrote to Winchester again after receiving the above non-answer for an answer, but I’m not holding my breath.

The results with both the Hornady and Winchester bullets were great. Here’s a 5-shot group at 50 feet with 10.1 grains of Accurate No. 5 and the Winchester bullets. This was the best group this morning, but they were all good.

That’s how we like to do it. I know the brass is dirty. This was a quick and dirty test. The laod was 10.1 grains of Accurate No. 5, a CCI 550 primer, and Winchester’s 110-grain jacketed hollowpoint bullet. The distance was 50 feet.

The 10.1 and the 10.5 grains of Accurate No. 5 loads shot about the same from an accuracy perspective, but the 10.5 grain loads made the primers flatter, so I’ll load the 10.1 grain load the next time I reload this ammo. No sense burning up more powder and stressing the gun and the brass if there’s no accuracy improvement. It’s already excellent at 10.1 grains.

Rugged, reliable, regal, and rewarding: Today’s Colt Python.

The Winchester bullets looked cruder than the Hornady bullets but I think they maybe had a slight accuracy edge. I went online to buy more, but I learned Winchester discontinued them. One of my buddies had two bags and he gave them to me, but the odds of me ever getting any more are slim. Hornady, Speer, and Sierra all make JHP 110-grain bullets, but nobody has any in stock. I have 85 left of the Hornady bullets (I used 15 of the Hornady bullets to make up for the ones Winchester shorted me) and now, an additional 200 Winchester bullets. You still owe me 15 bullets, Oliver.

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Farewell, Coco

Good buddy and world traveler Airborne Mike (on the left in the photo above) wrote to inform us that Coco, of Baja’s Coco’s Corner, had passed away. Mike asked if he could post a guest blog about it, and of course (as always with Mike) the answer was an immediate yes. Mike’s blog follows.

It was February 2018, and I was trying to keep up with a dirt biker I had just befriended at a taco shop that morning while gassing up at just north of Guerrero Negro. I was about to ride across the old Highway 5 in Baja before it was an actual paved highway. The road was covered in dusty gravel, deep sand, and small boulders that would knock your slightly uninflated front tire inconsistently to the left or right. We were riding to one of the “must see” places in Baja. As we crested a barren hill we could finally see our destination: Coco’s Corner.

As we pulled up, we saw a trailer or two attached to a shack. There were dirt bikes and ADV bikes parked sporadically outside near a fence built of wire with old beer cans that would rattle with the slightest breeze. Once parked, the backyard becomes visible, and your eyes are drawn to what looks like a graveyard of toilets decorated like some sort of shrine. My first impression was a combination of Mad Max meets the Star Wars Cantina. This place was great!

Dismounting from the bikes we wipe the dust from ourselves, the dirt rider smiles at me as he clearly saw the expression of awe on my face. He then confidently walks into the trailer while I am still trying to grasp where I am. The trailer contained not much more than a giant cable reel in the middle of it with some recycled chairs from what looked like the ones I had in 6^th grade. The ceiling covered in bras and panties gifted to Coco from his many admirers. The walls were plastered with stickers from everyone who has ever ridden to see Coco.

My new friend grabs a cold Tecate out of the fridge and tosses me a second. We sit down around the cable reel and begin chatting with other riders, listening to stories as people laughed, they slammed their beers down on the cable reel, which is placed about 8 feet from where Coco slept. Suddenly I could hear yelling from just outside and a bit of a commotion. It was Coco. Someone had taken his picture or something, which clearly aggravated him, and he was yelling at them to leave with some colorful language while swinging what appeared to be a hatchet or a machete. No one batted an eye to this scene, except me who was still in awe having yet to fully absorbed my surroundings. Once Coco calmed down, he rolled his wheelchair over to the table and joined in the conversation. This is what I pictured Baja to always be like, wild and untamed.

After that first visit, I always made it a point to stop by on my many Baja trips to see Coco and meet the adventurous riders that would be there embracing the Mecca of Baja. Coco represents what Baja is, from riding the beautiful yet rugged terrain, to meeting the wonderful people, tasting the great food, and living the unforgettable experiences (I can go on and on here).

Cheers Coco, and thank you!

Awesome, Mike, and thanks for the blog. I’ve been to Coco’s, but I never actually met Coco. He is a Baja legend, and you wrote well about him and Coco’s Corner.

Rest in peace, Coco.

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An Electrifying Development: CSC’s RX1E Motorcycle

Imagine an electric motorcycle that doesn’t look dorky, one that looks like a an ADV bike, with a fit and finish rivaling anything in the world. Before you go all “Ahm a real ‘Murican and yer not” on me, I’m here to tell you this: You don’t have to imagine this motorcycle. It’s real and I rode it. It’s quick and it feels light, and the thing handles. And yes, it’s from China. If that gets your shorts in a knot, move along…there’s nothing for you here.

The bike is the new RX1E from CSC Motorcycles in Azusa, and it’s manufactured by Zongshen. That’s Zongshen, as in million-motorcycles-annually Zongshen. I’ve ridden Zongshen motorcycles all over Colombia, all over China, all over Baja, and all over America, and I’ve been in their factories many times. You may know a guy who’s cousin worked for a guy who thinks Chinese bikes are no good; my knowledge is more of a first-hand-actual-experience sort of thing.

The RX1E looks a lot like an RX3. It’s got the ADV style. I think it is an exceptionally attractive motorcycle. Some folks may wonder why the bike is styled like an ADV bike. Hey, it has to be styled like something. The ADV style has good ergos and good carrying capacity, so why not use that as the styling theme? Just to check, I parked it in front of Starbuck’s, you know, like the big kids do with their BMWs, and it worked just fine.

The motorcycle has an 8 kilowatt motor (with 18.5 kilowatt at peak power), but the kilowatt thing for an electric motorcycle is misleading. This motorcycle is quick. I opened it up getting on the freeway and the bike blew through 70 mph before I realized it. It had more left, but I ran out of space. It’s silent, and you hit speeds you don’t mean to because there’s no noise to go with the acceleration. Think of it as the opposite of a Harley: No noise at all, and lots of acceleration.

It’s not going to be inexpensive, but it’s inexpensive compared to other electric motorcycles. CSC is going to sell a lot of these.

The time for a full recharge, per the CSC folks, is 6 hours. CSC opted for a more powerful charger to get the recharge time down.

It comes with a full set of luggage, crashbars, a windshield, and a cool dash. You can fit a full face helmet in the tail pack.

The RX1E is water cooled. Yep, you read that right. The Zongshen wizards use water cooling with a radiator to keep motor temps down.

The dash is cool, and you can change the color theme. I liked it. It was a little difficult to read in sunlight, but CSC tells me that will be corrected by the time the bikes are released for sale in a few months (I rode the first one to arrive in America).

The bike has three modes: Eco, Comfort, and Sport. Eco saves energy, Comfort is kind of in the middle, and Sport gives snappier acceleration. Think of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

Switchology is superior, in my opinion. Here’s a peek at the left and right sides. Yep, there’s cruise control, reverse, mode setting, high beam and low beam, the horn, turn signals, a park position, and a kill switch. It’s a logical, well thought out, and quality presentation.

The bike doesn’t have that squirt out from under you feeling that other electric bikes have off a dead stop. CSC’s City Slicker had a little bit of that. The Zero I rode a couple years ago had way too much of it…so much so I found the Zero difficult to ride. The RX1E is much more rider friendly.

The bike has disk brakes front and back and ABS. There are cast aluminum wheels. The final drive is via belt. There’s no messy chain, nothing to oil, and it’s quiet. I like it.

The fit and finish are awesome. It’s as good as anything I’ve seen on any motorcycle anwhere in the world. The one I rode was red (it’s the one you see in the pictures here). I saw a Harley chopper and stopped to ask the owner if I could shoot a photo of the the RX1E next to it. He was good to go, and I grabbed the shot you see below.

The RX1E ergonomics felt perfect to me. The seat is comfortable, the reach to the bars was perfect, and I could put both feet flat on the ground.

CSC shows the bike’s weight to be 469 pounds, but it felt way lighter to me. That might be because the weight is down low on this bike. Or maybe I’m just used to my Enfield, which feels way heavier. Whatever it is, the bike feels light. The RX1E has high flickability.

The lack of any noise takes some getting used to. It was unnerving at intersections. On an internal combustion engine motorcycle, the noise makes you at least think other people can hear you. The silence of an electric motorcycle makes you wonder if they see you. Maybe that’s a good thing; it made me even more of a defensive rider than I normally am.

There’s no shifting, and because of that there’s no clutch and no shift lever. Oddly, the lack of any need to shift felt perfectly natural. Not having a clutch lever on the left handlebar when coming to a stop takes a little getting used to.

The bike has a reverse. It doesn’t need one. It felt so light and the seat is so low that backing up the old-fashioned way is easy…you know, sitting on the bike and using your legs to back it up a hill. Yep, I did it.

The turning radius is delightfully tight. I don’t have a spec for this, but I can tell you that u-turns in one-lane alleys are easy. I know because I did it.

CSC tells me the range is about 80 miles, although the spec below says 112 miles. I haven’t tested the bike for range like I did on the City Slicker because I only played around in town for an hour or so. Good Buddy TK, the sales dude at CSC (who may be the world’s only sales guy who never stretches the truth), has been commuting back and forth to work on the bike and he tells me the 80-mile range is real.

The RX1E impressed me greatly. If reading this blog gives you the impresssion that I really like the RX1E, I’ve done my job as a writer. CSC and Zongshen have hit a home run here. Zongshen’s engineering talent and CSC’s ability to see what the US market wants is impressive.

Spoiler alert: Knowing people in high places has its advantages. I used to be a consultant for CSC, and CSC advertises on the ExNotes site. But that hasn’t influenced what you’re reading here. My friendship with the CSC owners got me an early ride on the RX1E (a scoop, so to speak) and a chance to see the specs before anyone else, which we’re sharing here. They’ll be on the CSC website today or tomorrow.

CSC RX1E Specifications

Motor: Liquid-cooled permanent-magnet
Peak Power: 24 hp (18.5kW)
Torque: 61.2 lb-ft (83Nm)
Battery: Lithium-ion 96-volt, 64Ah
Battery Capacity: 6.16kWh
Charger: 110-volt
Input Current: 15A
Range: 112 miles based on New European Driving Cycle (NEDC)
Frame: Tubular steel
Rake & Trail: 27°, 74mm
Wheelbase: 55.5 inches (1400mm)
Front Suspension: 37mm inverted telescopic fork, 4.7 inches travel, adjustable for rebound damping
Rear Suspension: Monoshock, 4.3 inches travel, adjustable spring preload and rebound damping
Front Brake: Two-piston caliper, 265mm disc
Rear Brake: Single-piston caliper, 240mm disc
Wheels: 17-inch aluminum
Tires: 100/80-17 front; 120/80-17 rear
Length: 82.2 inches (2090mm)
Width: 34.0 inches (865mm)
Height: 47.4 inches (1205mm)
Seat Height: 30.9 inches (780mm)
Ground Clearance: 6.0 inches (150mm)
Curb Weight: 436.5 pounds (198kg); 469 lb with luggage and crash bars
Max Load: 331 lb (150kg)
Top Speed: 75+ mph
Colors: Crimson Red Metallic, Honolulu Blue Metallic and Silver Moon Metallic
Price: $8,495 (plus $410 dealer prep, documentation, and road testing fees) and if you order the bike now, CSC is offering $500 off with delivery in Spring 2023

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Pu’ukohola Heiau National Historic Site

I was in Hawaii when I wrote this blog, and we were on the Big Island (the actual island of Hawaii). It’s much less densely populated than Oahu and quite a bit less touristy. My daughter found a cool spot where the unification of the Hawaiian Islands originated, and that’s the Pu’ukohola Heiau National Historic Site.

King Kamehameha, the guy who was in charge of the island of Hawaii (which is one of eight Hawaiian islands) consulted with a Hawaiian priest about how to unify all eight islands. The priest was called a kahuna, and because King Kamehameha was the guy was asking the questions, I suppose the priest would have been the Big Kahuna. The Big Kahuna advised King Kamehameha to build a temple and sacrifice an ally there.

The Pu’ukohola Heiau temple is what you see in the photo at the top of this blog. It kind of looks like a whale, and you can see whales occasionally when you are in Hawaii. The temple was built in just one year with stones mined 27 miles away (and this occurred on an island where there were no horses or mules). King Kamehameha picked an ally for the sacrificial offering; it was his cousin Keōua, except they weren’t really allies. As the story was told to us, Keōua realized it was his destiny to be sacrified, so even though he knew the invitation was for a party that would not end well, he went. There are other aspects to the story that are more disturbing. Cousin Keōua mutilated himself before he arrived (he thought that would make him an imperfect sacrifice), but it didn’t work. Yep, King Kamehameha killed the guy. But evidently the Big Kahuna had been right. King Kamehameha succeeded in unifying the Hawaiian Islands.

Pu’ukohola Heiau is where all this happened, at the edge of the Pacific, and the area and the temple King Kamehameha built are now a National Historic Site.

The Pu’ukohola Heiau temple is what you see in the large photo at the top of this blog. It is impressive. There’s a sort of a tower in front of it, and that’s what you see below.

This Pacific Ocean inlet is at the base of the temple. There are contemporary signs warning that the waters are shark infested, and they advise people not to swim or even wade there. The sharks will attack, the signs warn.

In the old days, or so the story goes, the Hawaiians used to make human sacrifices in this bay. The rock you see below is where the chief would sit to watch the sharks attack whoever was being sacrificed.

Surprisingly, there’s a public beach less than a quarter mile away along the same shoreline. Needless to say, I stayed out of the water.

Another thing we saw there (and all over the Big Island) were mongooses. Mongooses are an invasive species in Hawaii (they came from India), and they have become an apex predator as they have no natural enemies on the Big Island. We didn’t know they were mongooses initially. We thought they were rats, but the tails were way too big and thick for rats. They behaved liked squirrels and they are about the same size. The mongooses scurried about and would come right up to you (they were not afraid to beg for food). I gave a mongoose something to eat, even though youi’re not supposed to. I didn’t want to disappoint an animal unafraid to go head-to-head with a cobra. I suppose you could introduce cobras to Hawaii to counter the mongoose invasion, but that would create other problems.

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Poppy’s Watch

You probably didn’t know I was almost Italian. I’ll get to that in a second, and a little further along in this blog, I’ll get to that over-100-year-old beautiful Waltham pocket watch you see above.

Samuel Berkowitz, my father’s father, came to the United States through Ellis Island around 1911. Over two-thirds of the people in the US can trace their origins to an ancestor who entered the US through Ellis Island. That’s going to change at some point in the near future, I think, as the number of folks who come here across our southern border continues to grow, and that’s okay in my book. I’m a staunch conservative and I lean right, but I go against the grain of my Fox News compadres on immigration. I’m all for immigration and welcoming more people into the US (that’s a topic for another time). The message in this paragraph is Poppy (and I’ll get to that name in a second) processed in through Ellis Island. If you’ve never visited Ellis Island, you need to. It is a national treasure. The Ellis Island tour is something I will never forget.

Ellis Island. Two thirds of the US population can trace their ancestry to this one patch of real estate.

When Poppy came to the US, the person who processed him into America was a recent Italian immigrant. They did that at Ellis…they couldn’t find enough people to do all the work that needed doing (sound familiar?) and they used immigrants to fill the gaps. Grandpa Berk came from Rumania to escape the pogroms there and for the opportunity here. The Italian-now-American administrator asked his name and Grandpa told him: Samuel Berkowitz. “Berkowitz?” the man said. “I don’t know from Berkowitz…from now on, you Bercovici. Sam Bercovici.” And that’s how his name was entered into the logbook as he entered America. I know. I’ve seen it. Like I said, I was almost an Italian.

Bercovici, Berkowitz…it was all too confusing and it was all too European. Poppy changed it, probably informally, to just plain old Sam Berk. And that’s how we became Berks. People sometimes ask me what Berk is short for. I always tell them, “Berque…my grandfather changed it because he didn’t want people thinking we were French.”

Now, about the “Poppy” business. My Dad always called his father Pop. When we were little kids, for us he was Poppy. Grandma was always Grandma, but Grandpa was always Poppy. At least until I was 6. That’s when Poppy died. I was a wee one then, but I remember Poppy well. He was a good guy.

Last week, I was back in New Jersey on a secret mission, and while I was there I visited with my sister. We were chatting it up at her place and I was expounding on wristwatch accuracy when she suddenly asked: “Would you like Grandpa’s watch?”

The question caught me off guard. I didn’t even know Poppy had a watch. I for sure didn’t know he had one and it somehow ended up in my sister’s possession. But I didn’t need to think about it. “Yes,” I said. I was shocked when I saw it. It’s beautiful, it’s engraved, and it has my grandfather’s initials on the back. I think it’s white gold (if it was silver, it would be tarnished). I wound it just a little and it started right up. Tik tik tik tik tik tik tik…it was cool. I listened to the same ticking Poppy heard a hundred years ago.

Poppy’s initials (SB) on the flip side of this centenarian Waltham.

Looking at the dial and its patina, my first thought was that the little black erratic lines I saw on it were mold. I had a polarizer go south on me on the motorcycle ride across China and the marks on it were eerily similar; the camera store guy told me the lines on that polarizer were mold. But in researching who to send the watch to for servicing, I found the place I am going to use up in Portland. It is WatchRepair.cc. The man there is Terry Nelson, who responded quickly when I sent an email and a photo (and this was on a Sunday). I asked if I was dealing with a mold problem, and Terry’s prompt reply was:

Its dial shows normal blemishing from a century of use and exposure to the environment and ultra-violet light. It was originally painted with a mixture of paint and finely powered silver and then coated with an early “clear coat.” The clear coat has slowly flaked away in certain areas allowing the underlying silver to tarnish, which may appear like mold. My in-house dial cleaning will assist in making the dial more uniform yet – be ready for only a moderate improvement.

I was impressed and pleased. No mold, a quick response from a craftsman who obviously knows his business, and no extravagant claims. Terry told me if I wanted a full restoration he could bring the dial back to its original condition, but I don’t. I want a little patina. Maybe I’ve been watching American Pickers too long. Like Mike Wolf always says, it’s only going to be original once. My watch is headed to Portland for Terry to work his magic next month, and it will be back the following month. I can’t wait.

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Let Them Eat Cake

Here in La Luz, New Mexico we have a really nice dump. It’s open 6 days a week and free to use for residents of La Luz. The perimeter wall of the dump is made from compressed tires held together with steel bands to form a square block about 4-feet across. Once stacked into place the tires were covered with steel mesh wire and shot with a gunite-type, sprayed concrete. Brown concrete color was mixed in with the gunite and it gives the impression that the dump is surrounded by one, unbroken dog turd.

Inside the dump there are bins for plastics, aluminum and paper recycling. Large, black, roto-cast drums for used motor oil sit under a corrugated steel awning. In the back part of the dump, near the great open pit for inorganic material like broken concrete or unwanted fill, there are a couple of piles for old steel and garden waste. I pick through the steel pile often, you can find some good material in there if you don’t mind losing a finger retrieving the metal.

Recently the dump has added a weigh station for commercial users and a large, two-story building that allows users to back into the building and toss their trash directly into 40-yard dumpsters located on the floor below. The whole place is clean and tidy. The dump crew runs a tight ship and since we don’t have garbage collection out in the sticks I make frequent visits. I’m such a regular that they know me by name and have my tag number memorized.

Last Saturday I told my wife, CT that I was making a dump run and since I was halfway to town I might as well go to the grocery store to pick up a few items and did she want any thing from the store? “Pick up an interesting loaf of fresh baked bread from the bakery.” I had an uneasy feeling. “And get them to slice it into thick pieces,” she finished. I told her that there was no way they were going to slice the bread for me but she said to try anyway.

You know how some people have a command presence, like CT has command presence? People fall all over themselves helping CT. She can get her bread sliced anyway she wants. I have what is called Servile Presence. When I walk up to a counter the clerk gives me a look that says, “Who do you think you are, buddy?”

I never can get my bread sliced or my prescription filled. I can’t return items for store credit without a Spanish Inquisition. CT can return an item bought at a hardware store to a flower shop and the clerk is glad to be of assistance. Anything to do with banking or the department of motor vehicles CT has to do because I’ve never succeeded in getting satisfaction from either place. The lowest of the beaten down, minimum wage workers need someone to kick and I am that guy.

I’ve found that asserting myself or getting mad and yelling only results in the manager escorting me out of the store. I probably bring a lot of it on myself. I’m usually dressed in dirty clothes and need a shave but that’s only because whatever I am doing I get dirty doing it and who likes to shave? Let’s face it: I look pretty suspicious and a bit homeless and meth-heady when out shopping. At least the crew at the dump treats me well.

There were five loaves of sturdy looking bread inside the bakery’s counter case. These were not foo-foo bread; they had a sprinkling of finely chopped grain baked into the crown. My mouth watered thinking of those thick slices of toast sopping up the dregs of a big bowl of onion soup.

The lady working behind the bakery counter was either a young-looking 110 years old or 85 years old. She had blond hair done in an up-do and a too big apron around her dress. We were 3-feet apart. “Excuse me, I’d like a loaf of this bread cut into 3/4-inch slices.” I waved my finger in the direction of the grain-topped bread.

“It’ll be a few minutes,” she said, “I’m busy.”

Then she picked up one of the loaves, put it inside a plastic bag and tied a yellow bag-tie around the open end. She put the wrapped loaf on a grey metal rolling cart behind her. There was no one else working at the bakery section and no other customers. I made like I was looking at the other offering with interest. She picked up another loaf of the grain bread and put it inside a plastic bag and tied it closed with a yellow bag-tie. I looked at some bagels with cheddar cheese melted over the top. They looked good but I’d have better chances winning the lottery.

I walked back to where she was tying the third loaf into a bag and took up a position directly in front of her. We were not more than two feet apart now. I leaned onto the counter, crowding in on her as I’ve seem CT use that tactic before. The bakery biddy glared at me and said nothing, picking up another loaf of bread to package. As much as it was possible to do so, she slid the loaf into the plastic bag defiantly, never taking her eyes off mine.

The long minutes dragged by with the two of us in a mortal battle. I wanted that bread and she was not going to give it to me. The rest of the store noises faded away and a kind of tunnel vision came over me as she put the final loaf of bread into a plastic bag. It happened in slow motion. Our eyes were locked and in my peripheral vision below I saw her gnarled hands tying the yellow bag tie around the end of the plastic bag. She put the last bagged loaf onto a cart with the other five loaves then turned and smiled the phoniest ever smile at me.

The bakery display case had a gaping hole where the grain bread had been. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of telling me there was no more. I gave one last look into those eyes that had seen so much in such a long life. She seemed genuinely happy in a “Now then, how can I help you?” sort of way. I turned to my shopping cart and pushed it away towards the pre-packaged factory-baked bread isle. I’m hoping neither of us truly got what they wanted out of the 15-minute mini drama but I strongly suspect that since I never got the loaf of bread that I was the biggest loser.

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The Janus Halcyon 450 and Motorcycle Classics Magazine

Joe Gresh’s recent blog on the Vintage Japanese Motorcycle Club and their magazine is, like all of Gresh’s writing, outstanding. So much so that, as he suggested, I became a VJMC magazine subscriber.

I’d like to suggest another magazine, and as you have no doubt guessed from the title of this blog, it’s Motorcycle Classics. I think it’s one of the best motorcycle magazines in existence. Part of that is due to MC‘s quality…glossy paper, a great page count, great photos, and great writing. And part of it is I get to see my work in MC‘s pages on a regular basis. Most recently, it’s my story on the new Janus Halcyon 450. Sue and I had a great time visiting with the Janus team in Goshen, Indiana, and the Halcyon 450 motorcycle is a winner. Pick up a copy of Motorcycle Classics magazine and read the Halcyon 450 article. Better yet, subscribe to Motorcycle Classics.

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Want to read more about Janus motorcycles in action? Check out the Baja ride we did with Janus!

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Ruger’s .357 Magnum Blackhawk

If I had to select one handgun above all others, my choice would be easy. It’s Ruger’s .357 Magnum Blackhawk. I don’t have one, but that’s something I aim to fix in the near term. I’m watching two .357 Blackhawks on the auction block right now. One is that drop dead gorgeous brass frame Old Model you see in the big photo above. That one is not just any Blackhawk, either. It was previously owned by Hank Williams, Junior.

The Hank Williams Blackhawk has a lot going for it. It’s the Old Model Blackhawk, which has a feel when cocked similar to a Colt Single Action Army. There’s the provenance (this one has a letter attesting to its prior ownership and its factory brass grip frame). And, there’s that rare (and highly desirable) brass grip frame. Ruger only made a few of those.

Winning the auction for the Hank Williams Blackhawk is a long shot. My backup is to buy a new Blackhawk, and I have my eye on the one shown in the photo below.

A new New Model Ruger .357 Blackhawk with a 6 1/2-inch barrel.

I guess I need to go tangential for a minute and explain this business about Old Model and New Model Blackhawks. The basic difference between the Old Model and the New Model is that the Old Model can fire if you drop it on a hard surface. The New Model incorporates a transfer bar to prevent that from happening. You should carry an Old Model with the hammer resting on an empty chamber; you can safely carry a New Model with all six chambers loaded. Naturally, geezers like me prefer the look and feel of the Old Model (and we tend not to drop our guns), but the new Model Model is every bit as good and every bit as accurate. Geezers just like old stuff.

I found a used 200th year stainless steel one on Gunbroker about a dozen years ago, I won the auction for it, and I ran the equivalent of a lead mine’s annual output down the bore (including some ultra-heavy 200-grain loads). I am the only guy I know who wore out a .357 Blackhawk. The loading latch wouldn’t stay open, and when I returned it for repair to Ruger, they were as amazed as I was that I wore it out. It was beyond repair, they told me, but as a good will gesture they paid me what I paid for it. Nobody, but nobody, has better customer service than Ruger.

A 25-yard group with the .357 Blackhawk. The Blackhawk will do this all day long.

Part of the reason the .357 Blackhawk I describe above went south, I think, is that it was stainless steel. I have it in my mind that stainless steel is softer than blued carbon steel, and I think they just don’t hold up as well under a steady diet of heavy loads. That’s why my next .357 Blackhawk will be blue steel.

To me, the Blackhawk is a “do anything” .357 Magnum. It’s a good buy in today’s inflated world, it’s a solid defense round, you can hunt with it, and it is accurate. I like the longer barrel for the sight radius. You can believe this or not, but I can easily hit targets at 100 yards with a .357 Blackhawk and the right load.

It’s been at least a couple of years now that I’ve been without a .357 Blackhawk, and like I said, I aim to fix that problem. I’ll let you know which of the above two guns (a brand new blue steel Blackhawk, or the Hank Williams Old Model) I pick up. Most likely it won’t be the Hank Williams revolver (competition and bidding will be intense on that one and it will probably be too rich for my blood), but the New Model will make me just as happy. Good times lie ahead. Stay tuned.

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More Tales of the Gun!

A Harley Submarine?

Everybody who’s ever thrown a leg over a motorcycle has a story about when they crashed. This guy (who’s name I do not know) has us all beat. Last Thursday night, our unnamed hero was riding his Harley-Davidson across the Oakland Bay Bridge (the other big bridge connecting San Francisco to the mainland) when some dweeb in a Mini Cooper merged into his lane. A crash ensued, the rider came off the bike and suffered minor injuries, but the Harley kept going. And going. And going. Until it hit the rail and (you guessed it) went over the side.

The Oakland Bay Bridge is 190 feet above the Bay.

This fellow sounds like one tough (and lucky) dude. According to the news reports, he transported himself to the hospital, where he was treated and released. Also according to the news reports, no citations were issued to either our would-be U-boat commander or the Mini pilot.

The CHP and the Fire Department say they know exactly where the bike is. (So do I. It’s in San Francisco Bay.) The emergency responders will attempt to recover the motorcycle at a later date (the water under the bridge is about 100 feet deep). They are worried about it leaking gas and oil into the Bay. There’s a joke in there somewhere. Harleys are known to leak both, you know. I know Harley is moving to liquid cooling, but this is ridiculous. There’s got to be more. Let’s hear ’em.

As motorcycle crash stories go, this has to be one for the ages. I’m glad our hero (whoever he is) came through it with only minor injuries. Ah, the stories he’ll be able to tell.

So, here’s an invitation. Recognizing it’s not likely any of us will ever be able to top this story, what’s yours? Got a good crash story? We’d love to hear it.

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