Adios, Mi Amigo!

Well, I had a good day on the range until my Model 59 broke.  It’s the gun my father bought for me before I went overseas and I’ve had it for 50 years.  I was having fun and I’d just fired 80 rounds at a 25 yard target.  I went to put the next magazine in and it wouldn’t seat.  Uh oh.  When I pulled it out, the piece you see above fell from the magazine well.  I pulled the slide release, dropped the slide, and wowee.  This wasn’t good.  Or maybe it was (more on that in a second).

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Ugly, ain’t it?  Surprisingly, the surface fractography doesn’t look like a fatigue failure (there are no characteristic beach marks).  I make it to be a brittle failure.

The photo below is my beautiful jeweled Model 59 barrel, all dressed up with no place to go.  The arrows point to the ramps on either side of the chamber (the photo below shows the ramps on the left side).  Those ramps are what smack into the aluminum frame with each shot.

The arrows in the next pic point to the matching right side of the Model 59 frame.  Note the worn area.  It’s where the barrel ramp contacts the frame ramp when the gun recoils.  That ramp (along with the mating ramp on the barrel) drops the barrel slightly to disengage it from the slide when the slide moves to the rear.  You can see this area took a beating over the last 50 years.  The photo shows the opposite side of the frame, where it didn’t break.

You might think I’m mad at the gun, but I’m not.  I have a good dose of mechanical empathy.  Imagine you are that aluminum ramp on the Model 59 when a 9mm cartridge lights off and the barrel is recoiling toward you at speed.  WHAM!  Do that 20,000 or 30,000 times in a row and think about how you would feel.  Nope, the Model 59 did its job for 50 years.  I can’t be mad at it.

You read that right.  I had 50 years of fun with my Model 59 on the range, carrying it on hunting trips, keeping it handy when I felt I needed to, and on one occasion, threatening a late night marsupial Sue thought was a burglar (the ‘possum was not impressed).  I’ve fired between 20,000 and 30,000 rounds through my Model 59 (a guess based on how many boxes of 9mm I’ve reloaded). Very few of these (maybe none) were light loads, as the best 9mm accuracy is at the top of the spectrum. From what I’ve found in the endless stream of what passes for information on the Internet, semi-auto aluminum handgun frame life expectancy estimates are around 10,000-20,000 rounds, so I’m in the zone.  Maybe I’m even ahead of the game.

I figure the cost of my reloaded 9mm ammo is about $.15 per round, so if I fired 20,000 rounds through this gun, that’s $3K in ammo.  Dad paid something like $135 for the Model 59 back in 1972. Ignoring inflation, the ammo costs make the gun the least expensive part of the deal. Somehow that makes the fact that my Model 59 is toast slightly less bothersome. I probably could part it out (grips, slide, barrel, jeweled parts, etc.), but I don’t think I will. My buddies suggested putting it in a wooden frame and hanging it on the wall.  That sounds like a good idea. I guess I can’t bitch too much.  50 years of service ain’t too shabby.

Some of you might be wondering why I don’t just get the gun repaired.  It can’t be fixed; even Smith and Wesson told me it’s a goner.  They didn’t offer to buy it back like Ruger did when I wore out a .357 Mag Blackhawk, but hey, Ruger is Ruger and Smith is Smith.  One of my friends said I should buy a new 9, and I’m ahead of the curve on that, too.  I bought a SIG P226 Scorpion a year or two ago.  The SIG is the finest 9mm handgun I’ve ever owned, a worthy successor to the Model 59.   If it lasts 50 years like the Model 59 did, I’ll be 120 years old and I’ll feel like I got my money’s worth with it, too.

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ExhaustNotes Shed Slab Review: By The Numbers

I’ve finally finished the new floor in The Shed® at Tinfiny Ranch©. I didn’t really want to mix and pour the floor myself but events out of my control lead to that fateful decision. To understand how the floor ended up like it ended up you have to have an understanding of those aforementioned events.

The first thing everyone asks me is why didn’t I pour the floor first. It’s a valid question. The reason the shed went up on graded dirt had to do with time and money. Money was a problem because we had just bought Tinfiny ranch and our house budget allowed for a building or a slab, but not both.

Time was a problem because we were moving from a 3000 square foot rental house into a 600 square foot garage converted into a one bed, one bath home. All that junk from the big house had to go somewhere and renting a storage shed was out of the question. We were done renting crap.

We ended up buying a 30 X 50 Eagle Building for $13,000. Eagle buildings are the best square foot per dollar on the market and that price includes assembly on your land. The buildings are designed with a continuous steel sill that can be set up on bare ground as long as the ground is fairly even. No foundation needed.

The bad part about Eagle buildings is that they are not super heavy duty. They are a little stronger than a typical metal lawn building but not nearly as strong as a Mueller type building. Mueller buildings are very sturdy but cost twice as much as an Eagle and are delivered to your land on a series of pallets. You have to assemble the building yourself. Muellers also require a pre-poured slab with a foundation and all the attendant costs associated. I priced a 30 X 50 Mueller at $23,000. The foundation and slab was $26,000 from a local contractor. That $49,000 left you with a nice slab and numerous stacks of steel: you still had to build the building. I got a price of $6000 to assemble the Mueller from another local contractor.

Besides the fact that we couldn’t afford the Mueller and all that the Mueller involved, it would have been many months before we had storage for our junk. Three weeks after we bought the Eagle Building it was erected on Tinfiny Ranch and full of the junk we had dragged across country along with furnishings from the big rental.

I tried to get a local guy interested in pouring the shed floor but the job must have seemed too involved what with the building already in place and full of junk. I gave up for a year; just let the situation stay as is for a while. Then mice started burrowing under the edge of the building and wreaking havoc.

One of my Internet buddies is fond of saying, “Do it right or don’t do it at all.” He’s right, of course, but “Don’t do it at all” was not an option. That left “Do it wrong.” Sometimes in life stupid moves are the only moves you have left.

I started shunting junk towards the middle of the shed and pouring small sections whenever I felt in the mood. The solar power junction area was the first section I completed which allowed me to finish the off grid power system and shut that damn generator off.

The shed needed a foundation so I poured 16-inch J-bolts every 4 feet or so and once they were set I could excavate under the edge and pour a section of footer. I may not have needed the support from the J-bolts but the Eagle was flimsy and if the thing sagged or buckled even a little it would be a bear to fix.  I erred in favor of not buckling the shed.

Progress was slow because there was so much stuff stored in the shed I could barely make room for a pour. When she wasn’t working CT and I would go through the hundreds of plastic tubs and each time we got rid of a few. Pieces of furniture neither of us liked were donated to the thrift store. Slowly I made headway and had enough room to build a loft where a couple hundred tubs of really good junk could be moved. The floor space kept increasing and I kept pouring.

The job was not a continuous thing. I might work on it one week and leave it for a month, or 4 months. Mice were a blessing and a curse. Once they chewed up an item or tub full of clothing it was an easy decision to take it to the dump. The dust was incredible; each breeze sent a cloud of fine sand whirling around the interior of the building.

I’ve been sporadically working on the shed floor for 3 years. It was overwhelming at times but as I got closer to the finish line I kicked it into high gear: This last month I could smell the barn if you don’t mind that sort of lame wordplay. It’s funny, I have no common recollection of the work I did. I mean, if I think about it I can remember pouring each slab but I feel no personal connection, the slab is just a slab, like it has always been there or I hired a guy to do the job. It’s enough for me that the floor is done and done wrong. Let’s take a look at the numbers:

    • Number of individual slabs poured: 35
    • Average number of 60# bags per pour: 42
    • Thickness of floor: 4-inches
    • Thickness of footing: 8-inches
    • Thickness of sheer wall footing 10-inches
    • Number of 60# bags of concrete used: 1500
    • Total weight of concrete: 90,000 pounds
    • Amount of concrete in square yards: 22.5
    • Number of loads mixed @ 120# each: 750
    • Number of 16-inch J-bolt piers: 45
    • Estimated man-days to pour slabs: 80
    • Cost of concrete: $4410
    • Number of feet of ½” rebar: 250
    • Number of feet of 3/8” rebar: 1600

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Reloading and Shooting the .300 Weatherby

I’m in the money with the Mark V .300 Weatherby now, but it took some doing to get there and the journey isn’t over yet.   My recent reloads with this rifle were all over the place at 100 yards.  I suspected it was more me than the rifle (or the loads) and I was probably right about that.  This rifle has serious recoil, way more than I am used to.  I was developing a flinch in anticipation of getting whacked by the Mark V.

I have a friend who shoots the .300 Weatherby a lot, and he’s about the same size as me.  I thought about him a bit, mentally picturing him on the range, and then I realized:  He uses a shoulder pad.  It was a click or two on Amazon until I found the Caldwell recoil shield.

I had the Caldwell recoil shield the next day, and I had to play with it a bit to find how to wear the thing.  I bought the thickest version, figuring that if some is good, more would be better.

I next researched the Internet to find ways to improve my bench rest technique and I immediately found two improvement opportunities:  Parallax, and how I positioned the rear rest.

With regard to parallax, it’s a real thing and a real issue.  Most scopes don’t have any adjustment for parallax, but the 4×16 scope I have on the Mark V does.  To adjust for parallax, you set the rifle in the rest and put the cross hairs on the target. Then, without touching the rifle, you move your head around and see if the reticle moves around on the target.  On a scope with parallax adjustment, what I read is that you ignore the markings on the parallax adjustment and move your head around, adjusting the parallax adjustor until the parallax is minimized.  I couldn’t completely eliminate the parallax on my 100 yard target, but I was able to greatly reduce it.  After making the adjustment I looked at the scope objective (the parallax adjustment feature), and what do you know, it was right on the 100-yard mark. I guess those Weaver boys knew what they were doing.

I had a rifle with me that has a non-parallax-adjustable scope and checked it for parallax at 100 yards, and wow, when I moved my head around the reticle was moving around a good 3 inches on the target (left to right, and up and down).  To control parallax with a non-parallax-adustable scope, the trick is to get your eye in exactly the same spot every time.  In fact, that’s good technique with any scope.

The next thing for me was to get the rear rifle rest directly under where my face rested on the stock.  You can see the front and rear rest in the large photo at the top of this blog (I use Caldwell equipment).  The idea behind getting the rear rest directly under where your cheek contacts the stock is that the downward force from your cheek is transmitted directly through the stock into the rear rest without flexing the stock.  It may not seem possible (or even detectable), but if your face is ahead of the rear rest or behind it, you will impart a torque into the rifle and it can be enough to shift the point of impact at 100 yards.

On to  my loads:  I reloaded the next set of .300 Weatherby cartridges, going with 73.0 grains of IMR 7828, the CCI 250 magnum primer, 200-grain Sierra MatchKing bullets, and every trick I knew of to improve accuracy.  This is a relatively light load.  I neck sized three different sets of brass (fireformed .300 Remington cases made from .300 H&H brass, Remington .300 Weatherby brass, and Weatherby brand .300 Weatherby brass).  I have a Lee .300 Weatherby collet die that squeezes the neck down to size, and I used brass I had previously fired in the Mark V rifle.  I also seated the bullets out much further (the reloading manuals all show the cartridge overall length to be 3.560 inches, but I seated the Sierras out for an overall length of 3.718 inches).  The Weatherby Mark V rifles have a lot of freebore.  The cartridges still fit in the magazine and the bullets did not contact the rifling, so I was good to go.

It was a quick trip to the West End Gun Club and I had the range to myself.  I got everything set up, pulled on the Caldwell shoulder pad, and went to work.  The Caldwell shoulder pad was awkward at first (as you might imagine), but it was wonderful.  The .300 Weatherby Magnum is still a beast, but the Caldwell pad did its job.  It greatly alleviated my fear of getting clobbered every time I squeezed the trigger and my groups tightened up immediately.

So my groups were way better, but I had a new problem.   Many of the cases were sticking in the chamber after firing. The bolt would rotate freely, but the cases didn’t want to come out.   When I pulled harder on the bolt, the extractor popped over the rim and the case stayed in the chamber.  I had to tap the cases out with a cleaning rod.  Other than the cases sticking, there were zero indications of excess pressure. No flattened primers or anything. The Remington cases were sticking almost 100% of the time (both the fireformed .300 H&H cases and the .300 Weatherby Remington cases).  The Weatherby brass did not stick in the chamber, although a couple felt like they wanted to.

On to the good news:  My best group was a .608-inch 3-shot group at 100 yards, which ain’t half bad on a fire-breathing monster like the .300 Weatherby.  Before you trolls tell me I should shoot 5-shot groups, I will share with you that in my experience it’s pretty difficult to get animals to sit still for five shots.  If your dead set on being critical, let’s get your butt out here.  I want to watch you shoot 5-shot groups with your .300 Weatherby.

The next morning, after cleaning the rifle, I rechambered a couple of the fired Remington cases, and then when I withdrew the bolt the cases stuck in the chamber again.  And again, I had to tap them out with a rod.  The Weatherby brass did not, but it was tight.  I measured each of the cases that stuck, and they all met the SAAMI .300 Weatherby specification.  My conclusions are:

      • I don’t have an excess pressure situation.  I loaded at the bottom of the propellant range, the bolt rotated freely, there were no pressure signs on the case base, and the primers were not flattened.
      • Neck sizing on my .300 Weatherby Mark V is not a good way to go (notice I said mine; your mileage may vary).  I full length resized one of the cases that stuck (a Remington case) and it chambered and extracted easily.  Weatherby brass is better (but it is hard to get).
      • I need to full length resize when reloading for this rifle.
      • The Weatherby Mk V extractor is weak.  For a dangerous game rifle, that’s not a good thing. Maybe the extractor spring is weak.

I think the real issue was the neck sizing approach.  I’m out of IMR 7828 propellant (powder goes fast with the 300 Weatherby) and no one seems to have any in stock, so I’ll try either H1000 or IMR 4831 next.  Like we always say, stay tuned.

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I reload with Lee Precision equipment.

Product Review: Black Rifle Coffee

Good buddy Mike was in town for a few days, and what better way to spend it than on the range ringing the gongs that good buddy Duane built for me.  We had a blast.  We’ve known each other since the 7th grade. Mike and I joke about who’s the better shot, and after our session at the West End Gun Club, that’s still an open question.  The man can shoot (and so can I).

Mike wanted to stop at a nearby 5-11 outlet to pick up a few clothing items, and while we were there he pointed out the Black Rifle coffee.  If you read the blog you know that I’m not a member of the Mattel crowd and I have negative interest in so-called black rifles.  In fact, the closest thing I have to a black rifle is my Ruger GSR (it’s what you see Mike ringing gongs with above).  It has a green and black laminate stock that Ruger calls black laminate, so I guess maybe it could be called a black rifle.  The GSR is a fine weapon, and Mike and I were both making the gongs sing with those big 173 grain full metal jacket .308 bullets.

But I diverge.  This blog is about Black Rifle Coffee and the company that makes it.

In a word, Black Rifle Coffee is great.  I wish we had it when we rode across China, but like they say, better late than never.  You know, they don’t drink coffee in other than the big cities in China, and staying awake on the bike was a challenge for me on that ride.   But here at home I start every day with a cup of black coffee (the only way to drink it), and Black Rifle Coffee was rings my gong well.

Black Rifle Coffee is veteran owned and a portion of the profits go to veterans’ groups, police, and other first responders.  That’s a good thing.  And Black Rifle Coffee is a U.S. company.  Reading the labels tells me that the owners have a sense of humor, too.  That’s good.  Good coffee and a good sense of humor make the world more fun, I think.

It’s good stuff, and it became my coffee of choice as soon as I had my first taste.  Give Black Rifle Coffee a try.  You can thank me later.

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Yamaha RD350 Part 4: Stealing Moments

I’ve been on a tear lately. The shed floor is nearly done and I’m laying down some slabs, man. That doesn’t mean I haven’t managed to sneak in a little tinkering on the 1974 Yamaha Rd350. I mean, once the slab is poured and finished you’ve got to let it cure for a day. Green concrete is very fragile.

I wanted to drain the RD 350’s fluids before getting too far along. Which was kind of good because I discovered the oil tank wasn’t slotted into the rubber frame peg correctly. That meant taking out the battery to access the oil tank bolts.

It was no trouble at all to pull the tank, drain it and re-slot it onto the frame peg. The original feed hose drooped underneath the carburetors then rose over the clutch cover forming a trap. I didn’t like the looks of the trap so I shortened the feed hose a bit and routed it without a loop.

When I pulled out the battery to fix the oil tank I noticed the top of the battery had a melted spot. This melted spot corresponded with a melted positive wire to the battery. I suspect the battery is the wrong one. It looks too tall and there was a section of old inner tube covering the battery. I see no evidence of arcing on the seat pan but something melted the positive wire as it has been wrapped with electrical tape.

After refilling the oil tank I needed to bleed out any air in the feed line to the autolube pump. The pump area was shockingly clean. It looked like a new motorcycle inside.

I sent Deet photos of the pump as I was well pleased and wanted to show the thing off. Zooming in on my photo Deet noticed that the autolube pump was not adjusted correctly. The pin and dot are supposed to line up at idle.

The oil pump cable was adjusted as loose as the lock nuts would allow. This RD is near perfect except where mechanics have fouled it up. Resetting the pump was quick and now the pin lines up with the mark at idle.

The chain guard was sort of floppy because the front mount was missing its bolt and the rubber bushing, along with the spacer. I cobbled one together from bits and pieces; it will work until I find the correct parts.

The more I mess with the RD350 the more amazed I am at how unmolested it is. All the case screws look perfect (except for the ignition and pump screws).  Opening things reveals factory fresh assembly. It’s almost too perfect: I’ve got to up my mechanical game to treat this motorcycle with the care it deserves.

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Book Review: The Director

As a kid growing up in the 50s and 60s I only heard good stuff about J. Edgar Hoover and the FBI.  One example is a classic movie most folks my age have seen called The FBI Story. It starred Jimmy Stewart and featured a cameo appearance by J. Edgar Hoover:

Then the 1970s came and with it the protest era.   Everything that was good was now bad, and there were a string of books (mostly written by disgruntled former FBI execs) about J. Edgar Hoover.  I’ve read them all, and I pretty much dismissed them as the whinings of guys who had an agenda.  After college and the Army, I spent a few years in the US defense industry, and the security manager in one of the companies was a retired FBI agent.  I asked him if all the negative J. Edgar Hoover stuff had any truth to it and his answer was an emphatic no.  “J. Edgar Hoover was a charismatic guy and a real gentleman,” he said.  “We all thought the world of him.”

When I saw a Wall Street Journal review of The Director (written by Paul Letersky, who was a personal assistant to J. Edgar Hoover), I knew I wanted to read it.  I bought The Director on Amazon and thoroughly enjoyed the book. It countered the propaganda previously published about Hoover (and what motivated the urchins who wrote those lies) and told an interesting story.  Some things I found fascinating included:

    • Hoover didn’t carry a gun.  I thought that was interesting.  I knew that Hoover received one of the very first Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolvers in the 1930s, but he didn’t personally carry a gun.
    • Hoover was never big on personal security.  He didn’t keep a security contingent at his home, he dined out nearly every day, and he frequently went for walks around his neighborhood on his own.
    • Contrary to what most folks think, Hoover deplored wiretaps and worked hard to minimize them.  He knew they could backfire, and his principal concern was avoiding anything that could embarass the FBI.
    • Hoover didn’t “blackmail” U.S. Presidents.   The story about Hoover informing John F. Kennedy that the FBI knew about his affair with a Mafia kingpin’s mistress is true, but Hoover did it to protect Kennedy (who broke off the affair the next day).  Hoover never used that information to his advantage, nor did he ever reveal it.

There’s a lot more, but I don’t want to spoil it for you.  Trust me on this…if you want a good read, pick up a copy of The Director.

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The Buck Stops Here

No, I’m not going all Joe Biden (God forbid) or Harry Truman on you.  The “buck” in this case refers to Buck Knives, the big folders that seem to be standard issue for bros worldwide.  Not that there’s anything wrong with being a bro, mind you.

Talk about impulse buys and effective advertising:  I need another folding knife like I need another gun, but the ad from Buck Knives popped up and before I knew it I had customized my Buck 110 and placed my order.  It was a Facebook ad and it did what it was intended to do (it got me).  I already have four other big folders (all of those were similarly impulse purchases), but I don’t wear or carry any.  If I want to go armed it will be with my 1911 (never bring a knife to a gunfight).  But I like these big Bucks.  I didn’t know Buck offered custom knives or about their online customizing configurator (in fact, I had never even been to the Buck website), but when I saw it I had to click and start fooling around.  It was fun, and before I realized it, my wallet (figuratively speaking) was a lot lighter.

Buck lets you change the handle material (about a dozen different materials), the bolsters (brass or nickel), rivets (yes or no), finger grooves (yes or no), the blade material (different types of steel, polished or brushed), the blade configuration (drop point or regular), serrations (several options), and engraving (potentially infinite options).  Woweee!

I chose no rivets, no finger grooves, nickel bolsters, mirror-polished blade, and elk grips (it will match my 1917 Colt).  It’s the one you see at the top of this blog, and the ticket in is $161.50 plus freight.  It will be here in about two and a half months.  Be a bro and don’t tell Susie.

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A Kawasaki Indian Wannabe

Fuel injected, shaft driven, water cooled, and startlingly reminiscent of a 1940 Indian Chief:  The Kawasaki 1500cc Drifter is one of those bikes I always wanted.  They were only made from 1999 to 2005, I think, and other than what I’ve read on the Internet, I have no idea if they were any good.  The most common complaint seems to be that the plastic gear that drove the water pump was prone to failure (Kawasaki used a plastic gear on at least one other model that was also problematic; these guys were slow learners, I guess).  But in my eyes, they hit a home run in the styling department.  They just look cool.

I spotted this one in a San Francisco Bay marina parking lot, and I instantly wanted it.  Don’t get me wrong:  Doug Bingham notwithstanding, I have absolutely zero desire to own a sidecar.  If I had this bike, the first thing I’d do is lose the sidecar and sell it.  But ah, that motorcycle.  That I would keep.  And ride, and ride, and ride.

The later years had different colors; the first year, I think, got it right with the deep burgundy, red pinstriping, and those beautifully valanced fenders.  Kawasaki got a little weird from what I’ve read with the rear fender design; it pivots up and down with the rear suspension.   Ah, what’s a little unsprung weight between friends, especially on a motorcycle that no one bought because of the handling.  I also read that the fuel economy was abysmal on these bikes, but other folks said it was okay.  Whatever.  I wouldn’t buy this bike to save fuel.  But I would buy it if the price was right, even though I could get a used Sportster for the same kind of money.  I like it.

Kawasaki made both a 1500cc and an 800cc Drifters.  The 800cc version came in a pastel blue that was stunning.  When one of my friends first saw these photos, he asked if the bike was a 1500 or the smaller 800.  I was pretty sure it was the 1500, but I wasn’t sure.  Then I remembered one of my photos caught the VIN label and I was able to zoom in enough to know.

I shot these with my phone, and I guess that iPhone 12 does a good job.  It’s a 1500cc Drifter, as you can see above.

If I owned this bike, I think the only thing I’d do (other than a regular service and a good detailing) is to maybe get the seat redone.  It looks just perfect to me as is.

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Hey, how about this supercool World War II US Navy Indian 30-50?

You can see the Indian 741 featured in the above video in person at the Chino Planes of Fame Museum, and you can read our feature story on it in Motorcycle Classics magazine.

Spotted: The Rivian

We were in northern California last week on another secret mission.  During a long and boring drive through the central valley, we took a quick break at one of those truck stop/gas station/everything stores spaced every 50 miles or so along what has to be one of the most boring roads in America.  To my surprise, I spotted a pickup just ahead of us that was something new.  I had only read about the new Rivian electric pickup in The Wall Street Journal the day before. They’re not for sale yet, and this one (with manufacturer plates) was obviously on a test drive of some sort.  On Interstate 5.   Where they evidently wanted to keep it secret.

The guy in the truck was not too happy I was there with my Nikon, but hey, it is what it is.   After the first shot, he kept moving between me and the Rivian.  To the honchos at Rivian:  Your guy tried.  So did I.

The truck was a sharp-looking vehicle and I was impressed.  I looked up a bit more about the company and the initial claims are impressive…a range of something like 300 miles, and a 0-60 time of 3 seconds.  The price is going to be $70K or $75K, with no dealers to jack that up.  The Rivian is being sold direct to the consumer, similar to what CSC does with its motorcycles.  The dealers won’t be able to get their snouts in the trough, and that’s a good thing.

Anyway, that’s my close encounter of the 3rd kind with the first Rivian I’ve seen.  I like it.

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Yamaha RD350 Part 3: Possession is Nine-Tenths of The Law

The RD350 made a convoluted journey but at last it has arrived at Tinfiny Ranch. Originally I was going to fly out to my buddy Deet’s house in North Carolina and spend time there getting the bike in top shape for the ride back to New Mexico. That was a good plan but I’ve been stretched pretty thin around the ranch and the incomplete projects have been outnumbering the completed ones by a wide margin. Did I really want to take another motorcycle apart? Now? Not to mention that my New Mexico tag lady cannot issue temporary tags since some kind of rule change in August. That meant I would have to ride across most of the southern states with a license plate borrowed from one of the other bikes. Scenes from the movie Deliverance played in the theater of my mind.

Hunter (left) and Deet (right).

Plan B was for me to drive out to North Carolina and retrieve the RD350, pile Deet into the truck and have a grand adventure on the way to New Mexico. This seemed like a solid plan until Deet started thinking about being stuck in a truck with me for three days and then sleeping on the concrete shed floor until I took him to El Paso for a flight home. He’s kinda funny in a George Thorogood way.

Plan C was for Deet to load the bike into his truck and drive it out to Tinfiny Ranch. “I’ve got to have my own wheels.” Deet told me over the phone, “I want to go when I feel like going.” Plan C-1 came about because it had been a while since we Messed With Hunter in real life. Videos are fine but nothing beats hand-to-hand smack talk.  Plan C-1 had Deet driving to Hunter’s new house in Oklahoma with the RD350 in his truck and me driving to Hunter’s. There, the two of us would mercilessly tag-team harass the old sodturner.

And that’s how it went. We unloaded the RD at Hunter’s and loaded it into my truck. Deet took back Hunter’s 1968 DT-1 for a full restoration job back at Enduro Central and I dragged the RD back to Tinfiny Ranch.

It’s tempting to put off the concrete floor project and mess with the RD350 but long time readers will remember that I also have the Z1 carbs apart on the work bench. It’s time I finished something. I can’t just keep taking things apart.

The RD is in beautiful condition considering its age. At $4,250 this is the most expensive motorcycle I’ve ever bought. The paintwork has a few small scratches and some fading but I’ll be leaving it as is. From 10 feet away it looks practically new. Everything looks stock, if not original. The gas tank is clean inside and may have been replaced some years ago. The paint matches well but the decals look a bit newer than the decals on the side covers.

There is a bit of confusion on the mileage. The title says 20,000 but the odometer says 4,000. I imagine the speedometer was replaced at some point in the distant past. The seller, a Flipper, was not sure how many miles were on the thing. The RD350 certainly looks low mileage.

The Flipper put a new battery in the RD350 and the lights and switches seem to work ok. I think there may be a bulb out in the speedometer backlighting. The battery seems to charge, even the blinkers work! This bike still has a headlamp switch unlike modern bikes that have the lights on all the time. I have a key, too!

Being original is less important to me than having all the stock parts. Over 47 years it would not be unusual for repairs to be made on a motorcycle. Normal wear items like foot pegs and the seat cover look in good condition. This bike has not been beat up. The engine starts first kick, revs and idles well with no unusual rattles or knocks. The chrome is in very good condition and will polish up like nobodies’ business. In a first for me, the stock tool kit is still under the seat in its original, thin, black plastic pouch.

A few things I’ll be doing on the RD350 when I get tucked in are a new air filter as they tend to crumble and clog the carbs, new tires and tubes, fix the front hydraulic brake, grease the wheel bearings, adjust the clutch, change all the fluids, replace the outer crank seals, clean the carbs, clean the exhaust baffles, re-grease the steering head bearings, lube all the cables, add inline fuel filters and whatever else I come up with. It sounds like a lot but this is typical for old bikes needing to be made street worthy after sitting. Really, you can hop on the bike and ride it right now.

Most of the vintage bikes I’ve had in my life were in terrible condition when I got them. This Rd350 breaks that mold. I paid more at the onset but I have much more to work with than usual. I’m amazed at how little I have to do to get it running and cosmetically the thing just needs a bath and a polish.

The concrete floor and the Z1 carbs come first but that doesn’t mean I won’t be ordering parts for the RD350. Watch this space for Hasty Conclusion reviews and further updates on the RD’s progress.

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