The ExhaustNotes Blog

Wilson Combat’s Python Rear Sight

By Joe Berk

In a previous blog comparing Ruger’s .357 Bisley, the Ruger Blackhawk, and the Colt Python with the Missouri 180-grain bullet and IMR 4227 propellant, I mentioned that the Colt Python rear sight is a real rinky dink design. Specifically, the set screw that holds the windage adjustment in place is not up to the job. Mine wouldn’t secure the windage blade, and when I tried to tighten it, the set screw’s Allen socket surrendered. Surrender would be good for the IRGC; on a high-priced revolver component, not so much.

The stock Python rear sight. The windage blade is secured in place with a tiny set screw denoted by the red arrow.

Faced with this situation, I did what Wilson Combat wanted me to do: I ordered their upgraded, more robust rear sight. At $119, it’s not cheap. It probably cost less than $3 to manufacture. The high price was undoubtedly due to the nonrecurring engineering that went into it, but based on my results on the range, I don’t think Wilson got what they paid for from their engineering department. I sure didn’t (more on that in a second). I bought the Wilson Combat rear sight on Amazon Prime, so I saved a few bucks on shipping and that was good. I received the part the next morning, and that was good, too.

The Wilson Combat Colt Python Adjustable Battlesight.

A look at the Wilson Combat Python rear sight components.

The Wilson upgrade comes in a nice plastic display package, and it includes everything needed: A complete rear sight assembly, a spring, the elevation adjustment screw, and installation instructions (although the thing is so basic the instructions aren’t really needed).

A set of brass punches. Using these helps to prevent marring the stainless steel Python.

The Universal Gun Bench Block. Everyone who tinkers with guns needs one of these.

The Universal Gun Black out of the box. I’ve had this one for years. It is a very handle tool.

A small gunsmithing hammer. One side is brass; the other is rubber.

I installed my Wilson Combat replacement sight the day I received it, using simple gunsmithing tools I had previously purchased: A set of brass punches, a universal bench block, and a small brass hammer. The brass tools are necessary because the Python is made of stainless steel, and I didn’t want to mar any of the revolver’s polished surfaces.

The Python’s rear sight roll pin must be removed to remove the rear sight. On firearms, removal is always from left to right. Installation is always from right to left.

The first step was to tap out the stock rear sight’s roll pin. Colt uses a roll pin instead of a simple pin, and that’s a good thing. Roll pins stay put. Other manufacturers use simple pins, and my experience has been that they constantly back out under recoil.

Once I had removed the Python’s stock rear sight, I compared it to the Wilson Combat replacement.

The Python stock rear sight (top) and the Wilson Combat rear sight (bottom). Note the heavier spring in the Wilson Combat rear right. I used the stock Python spring with the new Wilson Combat sight.

Another look at the stock rear sight (top) and the Wilson Combat rear sight (bottom). Both use screws for windage adjustment, but the stock rear sight requires locking the rear sight blade in place with a very tiny set screw. The Wilson Combat rear sight uses a click-detented windage adjustment screw. It’s a better setup for windage adjustment.

A view from the driver’s seat. The stock rear sight is on the left; the Wilson Combat rear sight is on the right.

I like the Wilson Combat’s clean look, it’s slightly longer sighting radius (i.e., distance from the front sight), and the serrated rear sight blade. The theory behind a serrated rear sight blade is that it cuts down on reflections (although I think that’s more a marketing shtick than a real advantage). I like the look better, though. The width of the rear sight slot appeared to be about the same as the stock Python rear sight. The notch’s depth was greater, so that’s good. What wasn’t good, though, was that the Wilson Combat rear sight appeared to be taller than the stock part. That would make the gun shoot high. I hoped I was wrong about that, and that once I had new sight installed, it would not be any taller. As I had that thought, I was reminded of the old saying: Poop in one hand, hope in the other, and see which one fills up first.

The Wilson Combat rear sight spring is way stronger than the stock spring, and I had a hard time attempting to get everything aligned so that I could tap in the roll pin. I gave up and used the stock spring (the one that was originally under the stock rear sight).

When I had the gun reassembled, I examined it. The rear sight was indeed taller than the original equipment Colt sight, even with the elevation adjustment lowered as far as it would go.

The Wilson Combat rear sight installed on my Colt Python. It is all the way down; it cannot be lowered further.

Another view of the fully-lowered Wilson Combat rear sight. It’s taller than the stock rear sight, which causes the revolver to shoot high.

I went to the range the next day, and shooting my 180-grain Missouri bullet load (with 14.0 grains of IMR 4227), I found that the Wilson sight absolutely did shoot high. As can be seen from the photo at the top of this blog, the Python now shoots about 2.880 inches high with the rear sight in its lowest position. Hmmm. I looked at both my hands. Neither contained any hope.

I tried another load I like (a 158-grain jacketed hollowpoint with 15.0 grains of IMR 4227). It, too, was high at 45 feet. I expected it to be slightly higher than the 180-grain bullet load. It was about the same, which is to say it, too, shot too high.

The Wilson rear sight has no wobble; the stock Colt rear sight can be wiggled around quite a bit. Because of that, I think the Wilson sight will group better, although I have no data that proves this. Unlike the stock Colt rear sight, the Wilson rear sight has positive clicks for windage adjustment. That is a definite improvement. There’s no more Mickey Mousing around with a microscopic set screw. I think the Wilson rear sight presents a cleaner sight picture than the stock Colt rear sight. That’s subjective on my part, but it was definitely there for me.

Overall, I was disappointed with the Wilson Combat rear sight. For a part that costs $120, I expected more. It’s not beyond the state of the art to engineer a rear sight that will work with the stock front sight. It’s ludicrous to offer a “replacement” rear sight that makes the revolver shoot high.

On this business of shooting too high, and just for grins, I took a few shots at a rock about 130 yards out. With the Wilson sight, the Python and I were hitting it consistently. But that’s with the sight adjusted as low as it will go. I guess the good news is that I can now adjust the Python to hit targets in the next county (sarcasm alert here, folks).

Given the current design, the answer is a taller front sight, and that will become the topic of a future blog. Not surprisingly, there are outfits out there selling those, too. Maybe that was the plan all along, and on this issue of a better set of Colt Python sights, I’m not done yet.

Stay tuned, my friends.

A Few Thoughts On “Windage”

The left-t0-right (or right-to-left) windage adjustment on a firearm’s rear sight is seldom used to compensate for wind. It’s used to account for a firearm’s printing to the left or the right of the shooter’s aim point. A shooter moves the rear sight’s windage adjustment to the right or to the left to bring the center of the group in line with the aim point (the spot where the shooter aligns the front and rear sights on the target). Usually, once this “windage” adjustment is made for a particular load or brand of ammunition, it is left there. We don’t move the windage adjustment to compensate for the wind blowing; if the wind is blowing, we simply hold to the left or the right of the target to compensate for the wind moving the bullet.

You might think that if there’s no wind blowing, a gun’s rear sight could be placed exactly along the centerline of the firearm to hit the target. That’s seldom the case, though. The bullets’ impact on the target will be biased to the left or the right due to factors built into the gun and the way the gun recoils in the shooter’s hand (which varies from shooter to shooter). We compensate for this left or right bias by adjusting the rear sight’s “windage.”

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A Tale of Three .357 Magnums

By Joe Berk

This blog focuses on an evaluation of the Missouri Bullets 180-grain cast lead bullet with IMR 4227 powder in the three .357 Magnum revolvers shown above: A 6-inch Colt Python, a 6 1/2-inch Ruger Blackhawk, and the 7 1/2-inch Ruger Bisley. All three revolvers have graced these pages previously (I will provide a link to the earlier blogs below); today’s story specifically assesses the Missouri cast bullet and IMR 4227 performance.

Missouri Bullet Company’s 180-grain truncated roundnose (TRN) bullet. Notice that many of the bullet bases have cast lead overflow (not a situation conducive to great accuracy).

The Missouri bullet is heavier than most .357 bullets, which I like. I generally prefer heavy-for-caliber bullets. The jury was out on these, though. I was not too pleased with an earlier batch due to casting imperfections on the bullet base. Missouri gave me a credit for that box and I ordered another thousand. These were better, but still not what I expected (the bullets still had some base smears and runs, as can be seen in the above photograph).

My reloaded .357 Magnum ammo. 14.0 grains of IMR 4227 comes right to the base of the RCBS 180-grain cast bullet.

The Missouri bullets made for a nice-looking load. I loaded the ammo used for this test on my Lee Classic Four Turret press, which is my go-to reloading setup for just about any handgun cartridge. I can’t say enough good things about the Lee gear. It’s been great.

An 8-lb bottle of IMR 4227 powder. I’m just about out of this very good propellant. I hesitate to think what a replacement bottle will cost (it’s probably close to $500). It works real well with cast bullets in reduced rifle loads, too.

As mentioned above, all loads used IMR 4227 powder. I loaded in increments of 13.5 grains, 14.0 grains, and 15. o grains. The 15.0 grains is above what most reloading references list as a max load. I found a reference to that load on the Missouri Bullets website so I thought I would try it. It is a very hot load. I would not advise using it and I’m not including data for it here.

I used brass as identified in the table below, and CCI 550 small pistol magnum primers. All cartridges were loaded to an overall length of 1.585 inches and firmly crimped with Lee’s crimping die. My Garmin chronograph recorded all velocities.

How did I do? The chart below summarizes what I found.

Tough to read, I know. Click on it and a larger version will pop up.

The 6 1/2-inch Blackhawk target. The top two were shot with 13.5 grains of IMR 4227; the bottom two with 14.0 grains of IMR 4227. All shots were at 50 feet with a two-hand, rested hold. I know it looks like there are only four bullet holes in the lower right target; one bullet went through the same hole as another (it happens sometimes).

The 7 1/2 inch Bisley target. Same thing here; 13.5 grains of IMR 4227 on top and 14.0 grains on bottom.

The Python target. After noticing the 13.5-grain load shot way to the left, I noticed the rear sight problem. After moving the blade to the right, it wouldn’t stay in position, and the horizontal spread increased as the windage blade moved around.

With respect to accuracy, the above loads were mediocre. Both Rugers did better with the 14.0-grain IMR 4227 load; the Python did better with the 13.5 grain IMR 4227 load (but I wouldn’t take that to the bank, as will be explained in the next paragraph). None of the loads are what I would call target grade accuracy. That may have been due to me (I’m not a world class target shooter), or it may have been due to the bullet base imperfections mentioned above. Note that one particular combination (the 6 1/2-inch Blackhawk with a 14.0-grain load) shot a 0.721-inch group. Maybe I just got lucky on that one, or maybe those particular cartridges had bullet bases with no casting imperfections.

Colt Python rear sight. The blade that adjusts for windage is on a non-detented adjustment screw. When the sight is in the desired position, the tiny Allen head set screw denoted by the arrow is tightened to secure it. The Python’s rear sight was obviously designed by a guy who doesn’t shoot .357 Magnum ammo very much.

Regarding the Python, I noticed that my shots for the first two groups were way to the left. That’s because the rear sight blade had drifted to the left. I unscrewed the tiny set screw that is intended to secure the blade in place, adjusted the windage, but the sight blade moved again when I fired the next two groups. When I tried to tighten the set screw further, its Allen head socket stripped. The Python’s rear sight is the gun’s weak point. I’m replacing it with a Wilson combat sight. The Wilson rear sight replacement will be the topic of a future blog.

With respect to velocity, the differences in barrel length between the 6 1/-inch and 7 1/2-inch Rugers can be seen (the 7 1/2-inch Ruger was faster). The shorter 6-inch Python did well, most likely because it’s very tight barrel-to-cylinder gap, a slightly tighter bore (I’ve read that Pythons have a marginally smaller bore diameter than most other .357 Magnums), and a more polished bore overcame the longer-barreled Rugers’ length advantage.

I think IMR 4227 is a good powder in the .357 Magnum. It gives velocities comparable to Winchester 296, another great choice for this cartridge. The Missouri bullets do not provide, in my opinion, target grade accuracy. I may load some of these with the 14.0 grain load using bullets that I screen for good bases (i.e., no casting defects) to see how they do. I think these bullets are good enough for hunting, though, and I plan to use the 14.0-grain load in my 6 1/2-inch Blackhawk on my next pig hunt. Stay tuned.

Our earlier blogs on the Python, the Blackhawk, the Bisley, and a whole bunch of other cool stuff are here.

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Cyclones Galore

By Joe Berk

That stunning motorcycle you see above is a 1915 Cyclone, one of only 12 known to exist. I took the photo during a recent visit to the Legends Motorcycle Museum in Springville, Utah (a visit which will be the subject of an upcoming blog and an article in Motorcycle Classics magazine). I was in bad shape during that visit. My leg was giving me a lot of grief, and that, too, will be the subject of an upcoming blog. Because of that, I was in and out of the Legends Museum quickly, snapping photos, and eager to settle back into my uber-comfortable Subie Outback for the 600-mile trek back to California. It wasn’t until I was home and I started processing the Legends photos through PhotoShop that I took a close look at the Cyclone. I had three thoughts:

- - Damn, that’s a stunning motorcycle,
  - Gresh’s current resurrection effort is focused on (sort of) a Buell Cyclone, and
  - Zongshen also uses the Cyclone name (the RX1, RX2, RX3, RX4, and RX6 motorcycles are all branded as Cyclone motorcycles).

The above had me wondering: What is the story behind that stunning yellow motorcycle in the Legends Museum, and are there other motorcycles out there called Cyclones?

The Zongshen Cyclones

I fired off an email to my good buddy Fan at Zongshen with the above picture, who readily agreed the Legends Cyclone was drop dead gorgeous.

You know, names can be a funny thing. When we started importing Zongshen motorcycles from Zongshen, the chief marketing/export guy in Zongshen chided me for using the Zongshen name when we (i.e., CSC) starting writing and blogging about the RX3. It seemed that calling the bikes Zongshens would be the natural thing to do, but I jumped the gun at that one. Zongshen wanted us to use our name (CSC) on the bikes, so we did. The other bit of RX3 naming funny business back in 2014 were the large decals that Zongshen put on the fuel tank. They said “Speed” in large letters. When we started publishing those photos, the Internet trolls made fun of us. I told the troll community that we originally wanted the decals to say “methamphetamine,” but that was too long to fit on the fuel tank.

CSC/Zongshen RX3 motorcycles enroute to 12,000-year-old cave paintings in Baja.

A friendly gas station attendant in El Rosario, Mexico. Note the “Speed” moniker on the fuel tank.

Back to the Cyclone name: I searched Google because I knew BSA used “Cyclone” as a model name back in the 1960s and I wondered if there were others. There were. In addition to BSA, Buell, Ariel and Kawasaki used the name, too. Let’s take a look at each.

The Buell Cyclone

Buell built its Cyclone model from 1997 to 2002. As you know, Uncle Joe is resurrecting a 1995 Buell Thunderbolt, and as he puts it, it is mostly a Cyclone. It’s a fun process to follow along. You can get all the details here.

Joe Gresh’s Buell. It’s mostly a Cyclone.

The Original Joerns Cyclone

The Joerns Motor Manufacturing Company of St. Paul, Minnesota built the first motorcycles named Cyclones. These were board track racing and road-going motorcycles and they were fast (as in over 100 mph back in 1915). These bikes are also rare, with only about a dozen known to exist today. Joerns used a 1000cc V-twin overhead cam engine that produced about 45 horsepower. The one you see here sold at a 2025 Mecum auction for $1.32 million (with buyer’s premium), making it the most expensive motorcycle ever sold at auction. When I say “the one you see here” I don’t mean one like the one you see here. My photo above shows the actual motorcycle that went for that amount, and it’s the one on display in the Legends Motorcycle Museum. It was once owned by Bud Ekins, and if you don’t know who he was, here’s a bit of background.

At the end of the video, you can catch a glimpse of Rick Salisbury, the man who won the Cyclone auction and the owner of the Legends Motorcycle Museum.

The BSA Cyclone

In the mid-1960s, Triumph and BSA dominated the U.S. big bore street scene. These were primarily 650cc vertical twins, but both Triumph and BSA offered 500cc twins as well. BSA’s 500cc twin was the Cyclone, and it is a rare animal. It was made for the U.S. and U.K. markets. The BSA Cyclone produced about 33 horsepower.

A 1965 BSA Cyclone. It was a competitor to Triumph’s 500cc Tiger.

BSA had other weather-related names for its models. There was the Cyclone you see here. They also had models named the Lightning, the Thunderbolt, the Golden Flash, and the Super Flash.

The Kawasaki Cyclone

Kawasaki has a 148cc two-stroke sports bike they call the Cyclone. It’s not sold in the U.S.; it is instead sold in Southeast Asia (the Philippines, Thailand, Indonesia, and Malaysia) and occasionally Argentina. It’s a cool looking small bike, but I think Kawasaki made the right decision. I don’t think there would be much of a market for it here in America.

Kawasaki’s ZSR Cyclone. I like the colors.

The Ariel Cyclone

You may have heard of the British motorcycle manufacturer Ariel; you may not have known that Ariel was purchased by BSA in the 1940s and kept as a separate marque. Ariel offered a 650cc vertical twin they called the Cyclone in the late 1950s. Less than 300 (or 174, depending on which source you believe) Ariel Cyclones were manufactured during a three-year (or two-year run, again, depending on which source you believe) production run.

The Ariel Cyclone followed the period’s traditional British formula: A 650cc (actually, 646cc) vertical twin, with drum brakes and a non-unit-construction 4-speed transmission. It was a handsome bike, but it was not a serious competitor to either of the leading British bikes of the era (BSA and Triumph). I’ve never seen one and I never heard of this motorcycle until I researched the Cyclone name for this blog.

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A Distant Memory: Memphis Bike Night

By Joe Berk

This is a sort of a Wayback Machine post, one that goes way back. It’s from June of 2012, which is way before Gresh and I started the ExhaustNotes blog. I used to write the CSC Motorcycles blog (it’s where I started as a blogger). I was thinking about Tennessee the other day and I remembered that I had written a blog about the Memphis bike nights, but I couldn’t find it in the ExNotes archives. Then I realized: It predated ExNotes. It was a CSC blog.

I have got to be the luckiest guy on the planet. I’m taking this great tour through the South, and yesterday we found ourselves in Memphis. Memphis is a great city for many reasons, not the least of which is Graceland. As I mentioned in the CSC blog yesterday, Susie and I took the Graceland tour and we loved it. It was beyond awesome. I’m a great Elvis Presley fan, and the opportunity to visit his home was not one to be missed. Folks, if you ever get to Memphis, Graceland is a must!

Well, our good fortune did not end there. We had an awesome dinner at the Rendezvous, a super barbeque joint my good buddy Georgia Robby recommended. Folks, trust me on this…barbeque just doesn’t get any better than this!

The Rendezvous in Memphis…the best of the best!

After our great dinner, we moseyed on over to Beale Street. That’s kind of like the Memphis version of New Orlean’s Bourbon Street…it’s the place to be in Memphis. We noticed a lot of motorcycles heading that way, and then, hey, we saw that the street was shutdown…and it was nothing but motorcycles! Turns out that Wednesday night is Motorcycle Night on Beale Street! Check this out…

Midweek Memphis Moto Madness on Beale Street!

The Memphis moto night is one big street party, folks! We were having a blast talking to the riders there. They saw my California Scooter shirt and everyone wanted to know about the CSC bikes. It was awesome. We met a lot of people and made a lot of friends.

The photo below shows Carl and Ryan, a father and son team. These are cool guys. Carl was on his Gold Wing, and Ryan was on a CX500 he and Carl rebuilt. Ryan just graduated from technical school, and when his father asked him what he’d like for a graduation present, Ryan just asked to go with Carl on his next motorcycle trip. That’s pretty cool stuff, folks.

Wisconsin Carl and his son Ryan…riders extraordinaire!

We actually rode alongside these guys about 100 miles east of Memphis without meeting them. Susie recognized the Gold Wing when we saw them again at the Memphis moto night. Talk about a small world!

I grabbed a lot of photos on Beale Street. Every body was having a good time. I asked the fellow below if I could grab a shot, but he kept smiling for every shot and looking like too nice of a guy. I asked him to strike a tougher pose, and wow, did he ever!

We were having a lot of fun. We noticed police officers at each intersection making sure that Beale Street allowed no one other than motorcyclists, and I asked a couple of them if I could grab their photo. They said sure, but only if Susie was in the picture…

The police officer on the left looks like he’s having a good time…but the guy on the right looks like he wanted me to explain that traffic ticket I never paid…

Well, hey, the next day we had an absolutely awesome Memphis breakfast. I had a French toast fluffer-nutter with whipped cream and blueberries, and hash brown sweet potatoes with marshmallow.

There’s peanut butter and bananas sandwiched between those slices of French toast!

Hash brown sweet potatoes with marshmallows!

Steve saw the above photos and told me I might need to lower the gearing on my CSC motorcycle when I returned to California.

The next night we made it to Mobile, another great southern US city. In the morning, we toured the USS Alabama, a floating museum just outside of Mobile. It was beyond awesome. The ship bristled with guns. I was amazed, and I have to tell you, it’s worth a trip to this part of the country just to see this magnificent battleship. After seeing the USS Alabama, we followed the Alabama Scenic Byway to the Emerald Coast in Florida’s panhandle, and we had a great grilled amberjack dinner in Fort Walton Beach. Imagine bone white sand and emerald green water, and you’ll have a pretty good handle on Florida’s Emerald Coast.

That trip was 14 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday. Good times brought to life once again through the miracles of the Wayback Machine! The blog you read above evolved into a Destinations piece for Motorcycle Classics magazine. You can find it and more here.

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What Fear Doesn’t Know

By Bobbie Surber

I started the John Muir Trail alone in August 2014 because I was afraid of solo wilderness travel and decided the only way to get through it was to go. Two hundred and eleven miles from Yosemite Valley to the summit of Mount Whitney, alone, in twenty-one days. I had walked several Camino de Santiago trails. I knew what my legs could do. What I didn’t know was whether I could trust myself out there with no one to defer to and no one to blame if it went wrong. About ten days in, somewhere in the Evolution Range, the trail stopped being hypothetical about it.

Evolution Valley has a reputation. Every hiker on the JMT knows the name before they get there, the way you know certain words in a foreign language before you have ever been to the country. Sacred. Iconic.

The valley floor opens at 9,500 feet. The green catches you off guard, Evolution Creek winding through golden meadow grass, the peaks rising above it all. Darwin, Mendel, and Huxley are named for the scientists who mapped the theory of evolution. The whole region carries their names. A pack mule grazed in the middle distance like it had nowhere to be. I wanted to stay for days.

What I remember is rocks tumbling along the shore and a sky boiling so close above me it felt like something you could reach up and touch.

On a trail this long, you keep running into the same people. Joan was a nurse, and we had fallen into step together enough times over the preceding days to know each other a little. Her hiking companion was difficult in the way that some men are difficult on the trail, controlling the pace, the decisions, the route. What I had pieced together over those chance miles was that before they left he had taken Joan’s wallet, her ID, and locked everything in his car. She had no money. No identification. No way out that wasn’t entirely on his terms.

The storm came the way they always do in the Sierra in August. Fast. Without apology. We turned back from the pass. The man looked around and declared a campsite near Wanda Lake.

Wanda Lake sits at 11,426 feet, the largest lake at the base of the pass. Rocks scattered along the shore, the surrounding peaks nothing but scree and exposed granite, the water grey-green under the storm light. No trees anywhere in the frame. No shelter. No dip in the terrain between you and whatever the sky decides.

Southbound hikers passing through said it plainly: worst possible place to stop. Death zone for lightning. The man didn’t move. Joan looked at me.
I packed up my tent and left.

Joan stayed. I thought about her the whole way down, and if I’m honest, most of the way back up too.

The trees had stopped somewhere far back down the trail and the world had changed. Granite slabs in every direction, pale as bone, thin fingers of grass finding whatever purchase they could in the cracks. Nowhere to step off and disappear. Nowhere to wait out the storm. Three or four miles of that back down to tree line alone, the lightning coming closer, the thunder hitting hard enough to feel it in your chest, past Sapphire Lake, past Evolution Lake, back through the point where granite finally gives way to trees.

Sometime in the night a young hiker asked for shelter. Her tent had flooded out. She came inside and we lay there listening to the lightning work through the dark, each strike closer than we wanted, praying it would move on without finding us.

By morning, the lightning had stopped. The sky hadn’t cleared, but the lightning had stopped, which felt like enough. Outside, the trail had become a gathering point. Everyone I had met on the JMT was there packing out. The mountain had called a meeting, and the vote was unanimous: hike out, trip over.

A man found me in the crowd, someone I had spoken to on the flight out to Yosemite at the very start of all this. A lifetime ago. His hiking partner had quit after three days. He had kept going alone. We agreed without much discussion to summit together and he went to break camp.

He came back without his pack. Wife. Kids. He was hiking out. He said I should come too. Every person around us had made the same decision. The sky above the pass was still doing things skies should not do. He wasn’t wrong to ask.

I stood there in tears while everyone packed out around me. The lightning was gone but the sky was still dark. The pass was still up there. I was genuinely afraid. Not the manageable kind. The kind where your breathing goes shallow, your stomach turns, and adrenaline floods your body until your hands shake.

Every rational thought said to give up and call it quits. Instead my feet turned uphill.

It was the same thing that had kept me moving on the first Camino when everything hurt, the bed was warm, the next town far. Not courage. Just an inability to stop.

The same miles back. Through the trees, past Evolution Lake, past Sapphire Lake, back into the moonscape. The sky was boiling. In monsoon season you just move through it and hope.

A hiker came toward me on the trail heading the same direction I was. He had been pushed back the day before, same storm, same decision point. Now he was going back up too. I asked what he thought it was going to be like.

It’s going to be a shit storm, he said.

He kept walking. So did I.

The Muir Hut sits at 11,955 feet at the top of the pass, a round stone shelter built in 1930, low against the mountain as though it grew there. The door was wood, dark and heavy, slightly open. I pushed through it.

That same hiker was inside. He had made it up first, sitting there with a camp stove and two cups.

He handed me one. Coffee.

The storm hammered the stone walls. The coffee was hot. Both my hands around the cup. Inside I was fine.

He said he was sorry for being such an ass. We laughed about that. Two people with no business being up there, sitting in a hut built to honor John Muir while the mountain made its point outside.

We walked out of the hut and the storm had passed.

Lightness and grace. After all of that, just lightness.

A few days later, Joan found me on the trail. We hatched a plan. I pulled the hundred-dollar bill tucked into my pack. Others gave what they could. We mapped her a route out. She didn’t hesitate. Some kinds of courage don’t need explaining.

Whitney was still days away. The tears at the summit were still ahead, the kind I hadn’t understood when other hikers described them. But coming down that pass in the running water, something had settled. I stopped and turned around.

The sky had gone clean and blue, a full moon already up over the granite, the trees black against the last light. I took a picture. I knew I would want to remember what it looked like when the mountain finally let me go.

I was going to finish. And Evolution Valley was still out there, waiting for a return trip in better weather. It still is.

Legends Motorcycle Museum

By Joe Berk

Legends Motorcycle Museum in Springville, Utah, is not just a museum; it is a compound, consisting of three retro-industrial-themed buildings and numerous motorcycle-related shops and eateries. And if that’s not enough good news, it’s located in one of the best riding locales on the planet: Magnificent Utah. Surprisingly, I had never heard of Legends. I only found it during a Google search after my good buddy Mark at Motorcycle Classics magazine asked me to focus on motorcycle museums.

I arranged to be at the Legends Museum early so that I could photograph the motorcycles without other guests getting in the way (both for the ExNotes blog and for Motorcycle Classics magazine). We entered through the Museum’s shop, which contains work bays and advanced CNC equipment where the place makes its own parts. The owner, Rick Salisbury, is also an automobile enthusiast; we saw a stunning restomod 1957 Cadillac convertible (with a crate Chevy LS2 engine) being assembled. A large and initially terrifying black pit bull welcomed us with a deep growl; when I froze, my new friend Winston approached cautiously, put his big paws on my shoulders (he stood taller than me), and gave me a friendly lick. I realized that coffee (served in the Museum’s adjacent Sidecar Café) would not be necessary. Thanks to Winston, I was now fully adrenalized and wide awake.

The view upon entering the Museum was visually arresting, starting with the famous Von Dutch VW-powered motorcycle (as seen in many print publications and in an episode of the American Pickers TV show). It stood proudly on a weathered steel pedestal. The Von Dutch motorcycle was surrounded by numerous Panheads, Knuckleheads, Indians, and other old motorcycles, machines that were built when guys like Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, and Kennedy lived in the White House. None of the bikes were restored. I had entered barnfind Heaven. I’ve been in lots of museums that proudly display motorcycles that look better than the day they rolled off their assembly lines. Legends is different, and I’m here to tell you it is better.

The Legends Museum second floor is comprised entirely of pre-1920 motorcycles. A Journs Cyclone, one of only 12 known to exist, dominates the display; the Museum’s owner paid a whopping (and record) $1.3 million for it at Mecum’s last year. There were many more exotic motorcycles. Thor. Henderson. Flying Merkel. I’ll let the photos do the talking here, folks.

One of the best things about the Legends Motorcycle Museum is its north central Utah location. Utah is one of our most beautiful states, and it figures prominently in our collection of previous Motorcycle Classics Destinations pieces (which include Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, Cedar Breaks National Park, Utah Highways 12 and 24, Arches Canyon National Park, Golden Spike National Historic Park, and Flaming Gorge National Park). If you’re headed to Utah, Legends should be part of your itinerary. And if you’re not headed to Utah, you should start thinking about a visit. It’s spectacular.

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A Blackhawk Base Pin Retention Fix

By Joe Berk

This blog addresses the Ruger Blackhawk base pin slippage issue. The base pin is the axle on which the revolver’s cylinder rotates. It is held in place by the base pin latch, which consists of a screw, a spring, and a nut with an interrupted slot. Here’s what the revolver looks like with the base pin in place:

The left arrow points to the base pin; the right arrow points to the base pin latch.

A shot from the other side. In this photo, the left arrow points to the base pin latch; the right arrow points to the base pin.

What happens is that with heavy loads the base pin latch displaces laterally, and the base pin latch moves forward under recoil. This is what it looks like when that occurs:

The base pin latch displaced by recoil. The base pin latch failed to retain it. The arrow in the above photo points to the base pin annular groove that interfaces with the base pin latch.

I previously tried a new Power Custom base pin on my .45 Colt Ruger Blackhawk (I blogged about that earlier). It didn’t work as a fix for preventing base pin movement under recoil. After an online search, I found that Wolff Springs stronger base pin latch springs are available to address the base pin recoil-induced movement issue. I ordered a set from Midway USA (Midway provides three of the Wolff springs in a set for $5.99). Nobody else (including Wolff) had the springs in stock. I was shocked to learn that Midway wanted $22 for shipping these parts, as they would easily fit in an envelope. I also had to confirm (by checking a pop-up approval form) that I was 21 (I suspect this was a bit of California legislation-induced silliness), and I had to sign for the parts when they arrived. All that’s the bad news; the good news is that Midway ships for free when an order exceeds $100, so I did what the Midway marketing gurus wanted and ordered $100 of Hornady .357 bullets to get the free shipping (for what started out as a $5.99 order).

The Ruger base pin latch spring on top, and the Wolff spring is on the bottom. The Wolff spring has fewer coils and the spring wire is thicker, both of which make the Wolff spring stronger.

The new base pin latch screws were perceptibly stronger (squeezing them by hand) than the stock base pin latch screw.

I also had to order a pin spanner screwdriver bit to work with the nut opposite the base pin latch screw. I ordered a set of pin spanners from Amazon not knowing the base pin latch nut size. They were inexpensive ($5.99). I could have filed a slot in an existing screwdriver blade, but I thought it would be a good idea to have a set of pin spanners in the tool chest. Gresh is having an influence on me.

The photo below shows the base pin latch with the nut removed. Ruger had applied a tiny amount of red Loctite (visible in the photo below) to prevent it from unscrewing. I’ll apply blue Loctite later after degreasing the parts.

Note the specs of red Loctite on the base pin latch screw.

This is the pin spanner with the base pin latch nut after I unscrewed it.

When I reassembled everything, I made a quick trip to the indoor pistol range with some very heavy .357 Magnum loads to see if the stronger Wolff spring fixed the base pin retention issue. I’m happy to report that it did, even with my 180-grain retina-detaching, ballbuster loads. I’m going to blog about the velocities and accuracy of loads with the Missouri cast .357 180-grain bullets in the near future, and I’ll share what worked well in the Blackhawk, the Bisley, and the Colt Python.

When I got home, however, I sort of found out that the joke was on me. When I attempted to remove the cylinder, I found that I could not. The thicker coils of the Wolff spring prevent compressing it enough to allow adequate base pin latch movement. I’ll have to unscrew its two halves to remove the cylinder. Win some, lose some, I guess. I’m keeping the Wolff spring in place, though. Having to unscrew the base pin latch to remove the cylinder is an annoyance, but one I’ll live with to prevent the base pin from backing out under recoil.

In the past, this issue of Ruger Blackhawk base pin slippage has been hit or miss (pardon the shooting pun). I’ve never experienced it with the much-heavier-recoiling .44 Magnum Super Blackhawks, but I have experienced it with my blue steel .357 Mag and .45 Colt Blackhawks. The base pins haven’t moved (at least in my hands) with stainless steel .357 Mag and .45 Colt Blackhawks, perhaps because stainless steel grips the base pin latch better, or perhaps because those revolvers had slightly stronger base pin latch springs.

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Iceland

By Mike Huber

It was early November and I had wrapped up my travels for the year, a bit early (I literally ran out of places to go). Upon returning home to the United States of America and wrapping up my book, it didn’t take too long before I was bored. I mean, there isn’t too much to do in Maine during the winter. I thought booking a getaway just for a week to a warmer climate would be a good idea. So, of course, I chose Iceland.

Iceland has been on my bucket list for a couple decades and for one reason or another it just never came to fruition. I decided to go against all common sense and make it happen (yes, in late November). Packing nothing but a small backpack, I was off the following day on a nonstop flight to Reykjavik.

Upon landing in the capital of Iceland at 9:00 a.m., one thing I really didn’t factor in was the lack of daylight in this country. As I exited the airport it was still pitch black and the sun didn’t really even start to peak out until well after 10:00 a.m. It also set just after 3:30 p.m., so any tours or activities I was to attend would have to be done with a purpose.

Having arrived just before American Thanksgiving and with adjusting to the time difference (I slept the entire 1^st day), I thought I would hit a local bar for Thanksgiving dinner, possibly some American football, and some beer. I lucked out and found a bar that had great turkey sandwiches, football, craft beers, and a great crowd to hang out with.

It didn’t take long for me to link up with an American Marine who had rented a car for doing photography throughout the island. He was focusing primarily on photos of the Northern Lights. Since I hadn’t rented a car, we decided to spend a few days driving around the island and split the cost as we captured the Aurora Borealis, waterfalls, and stunning beaches with black sand.

After traveling around Southern Iceland, I decided to extend my stay another week to just relax in the hot springs throughout Reykjavik and get caught up on some writing, sleep, and meeting locals in pubs around the city. Iceland has a great relaxing vibe, and even though I was limited due to sunlight, I was fortunate enough to visit. At some point in the future, I’d love to return to do a full trip around the island camping (during the summer months, of course).

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Fly, Buy, Eye, and Say Goodbye

By Joe Berk

Cheap is good. In a world of $20K, $30K, $40K, and $50K motorcycles, it’s especially good.

The idea of flying to another continent, buying a cheap motorcycle, riding cross country, and then selling the bike and flying home is an appealing one. That’s why when good buddy Marty sent a link to this video, I knew I would watch it. I enjoyed it and I think you will, too.

I like single-cylinder inexpensive motorcycles, having toured the Americas and China on RX3/RS3 motorcycles (which are Zongshen 250cc singles). I like Enfields, too, and I wanted to learn more about the Himalayan. When Gresh and I tested Enfields down in Baja, I liked the Enfield Interceptor so much I bought one when we returned. We also had an Enfield Bullet on that Baja ride (it was their 500cc Bullet). Both Gresh and I really wanted to like the Bullet, but it was a bust. The Bullet had experienced several breakdowns (read my take on the Bullet here and here, and Gresh’s take on the same bike) and because we didn’t trust the bike, we turned around at Guerrero Negro instead of riding further south to Mulegé.

The Bullet was considerate, though. Its last breakdown occurred just as we arrived home (it was a stripped rear sprocket at just a few thousand miles; something I had never previously encountered on any motorcycle). In the above video, the single-cylinder Enfield Himalayans didn’t suffer that fate, so my assumption is the breed has improved.

Peter Day of Mosko Moto presenting at an ADV event, with a CSC TT 250 as a prop.

I met another guy who used the same approach for his touring. That guy is Peter Day, CEO of Mosko Moto luggage. I met Peter at an adventure touring event in Mariposa, California, several years ago. Peter flies into whatever third-world country he wants to tour with no motorcycle and no firm plans, he finds and buys a used Chinese motorcycle for a couple of hundred bucks or so wherever he goes (central America, Africa, you name it), he rides for a month or two or three, and then he sells the bike before getting on an airplane home. Peter especially likes Chinese bikes based on the Honda CG engine, like the CSC TT 250 I enjoyed owning and riding so much (the photo atop this blog is my TT 250 in Mexico). The bikes that copy the Honda CG engine are simple, reliable, inexpensive, and designed to survive. Flying someplace off the beaten path, buying a cheap bike, riding the wheels off it, selling it, and then flying home is a good approach.

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Big Boy And The Mother Of Intentions

By Joe Gresh

Motorcycle riding gives you a good excuse to go places and see things, not that you need an excuse. I like a steam train, I have a motorcycle, thus riding up to Ogden, Utah to see a big old steam train seemed like a sensible thing to do.

My Carrizozo Mudchuckers buddy, Mike, was all for the idea so we planned to meet Big Boy, the last of the steam locomotives, in Ogden, where the train would stop for two days. As we waited for the appointed day the normally beautiful New Mexico weather cooled and became cloudy with rising damp. Ogden, being 900 miles north of us, was experiencing the same weather degradation except much, much colder.

Just a few days before leaving there was snow and rain in Utah. A 75-car pile up in Denver, and rain and cold all along our route north, had us thinking “this ride will suck.” I kept watching the weather reports hoping for a better forecast, but it looked like miserable weather the entire trip north only starting to ease off a bit on the Monday we would start riding home from Ogden.

I have plenty of cold weather riding gear. Things like electric vests, heated grips and a plastic rain suit can keep you warm enough. I’ll use them if there is no other option. But there was another, simpler option: Don’t ride into the rain and cold.

One day before were planned to leave I called the Mudchucker and said: How about we go to Willow Springs for vintage motorcycle racing instead? Call me a fair weather rider but sunny California was an easy sell. We dumped Ogden and the Big Boy steam train faster than oil prices rose after we bombed Iran.

The Mudchucker taking a break from headwinds.

The plan worked. We left town a day later than the Big Boy run. That allowed some of the bad weather to move east. Our first day on the road was cool, cloudy but comfortable, the second day we had strong headwinds and 40-degree cold, but nothing nearly as painful as the stuff we would have experienced earlier and further north.

We mostly followed old Route 66 west jumping on and off Interstate 40 as required. It was an odd time of year I guess. The entire town of Seligman was closed: Gas stations, food markets, all shuttered. Further on we rolled into tiny reservation villages with nothing available to buy or rent. I admit, traffic was light on historic Route 66. If a guy set up a food truck he’d starve to death.

On westward we rode, through Kingman down to Oatman. Again, every store in the tourist-friendly little donkey-town of Oatman was closed. The day ran long, we needed ice cream, it was getting dark, I couldn’t see much through the dark face shield on my helmet, and we pulled into an abandoned gas station to check out the motel situation in Needles. The Mudchucker was tired. He stopped next to me and toppled over. I tried to hold us up but the combined weight of Mike, his Moto Guzzi V7 and my ZRX1100 Kawasaki was too much.

We went down like the stock market after we instituted tariffs. The bikes were stacked against each other much like the system is stacked against the common man. It took a bit of doing to untangle them and lift the bikes upright. Damage was light: a few dings in the right-side Guzzi jug, a busted turn signal, scratched gas tank, and bent brake levers on the ZRX1100. Amazingly, there were no dents or major issues.

Not a lot of damage for tossing one bike on top of another.

A homeless guy camped at the gas station saw the whole thing. He didn’t laugh or say anything. He must have thought we were total losers.

The tip over had us in a melancholy mood. In the motel that evening we talked about that inevitable day, our strength gone, our skeletons frail, the day when we could no longer ride. Mike felt a side car was the way to go. I favored a three cylinder, two stroke, Kawasaki-powered gurney.

But gurney-time isn’t here yet and by the third day we were riding along basking in the warm Mojave desert. Things were looking up and thoughts of our physical decay burned away. Or maybe we just forgot we were falling apart. I hear that happens but I can’t remember where I heard it. Route 66 to Amboy was closed so we had to stay on Interstate 40, only returning to Route 66 west after paying $7.50 per gallon of gas at Ludlow.

Some kind of inspection station east of Barstow on Route 66.

Out of Barstow we rode past Hinkley, the toxic-water town made famous by Julia Roberts and Erin Brockovich. We made it to Lancaster, our base camp for Willow Springs.

Lancaster is an interesting place. On the back roads we came in on there were piles of trash dumped everywhere. I guess the town doesn’t have a dump. Or maybe the dump fee is too high so people drive out of town a few miles and drop their load. It reminded me of the trash piles I used to pick through in the Florida Everglades. You can find some good metal in those piles.

I saw some nice chairs 5 miles from Lancaster. If I had the Toyota truck, I would have grabbed them. There was a lot of broken concrete that would make excellent fill back at the ranch. Drywall was another popular item on the side of the road. Once in town things cleaned up slightly, and Lancaster looked much the same as other generic, California desert towns: New chain stores along the highway, decomposing shops, homeless people and frequent stop lights in the old sections.

The Wyndham motel on Avenue I was new and along the highway. They have a pretty good breakfast setup. There were the usual sausage paddies, scrambled eggs and pour-your-own waffles. We waddled out to the bikes and rode the 20 miles to Willow Springs racetrack.

Vintage motorcycle racing is mostly a family affair. Spectators not directly involved with the racing or supporting the racers are rare and we had the grandstands to ourselves. Multitudes of classes meant non-stop action all day long.

Lots of races and classes to keep track of at an AHRMA event. You won’t leave the track unsatisfied.

AHRMA racing covers all eras with heavy emphasis on bikes that were never actually raced back in the day, at least compared to the races I saw as a youth. Honda 160s are a popular class and an example of bikes that were never raced where I grew up.

Sloper 160 Hondas are strangely popular. I had one as a teen. In stock form they would hit 75 MPH. In race trim a bit faster.

An unusual number of Moto Gizzards circulated the Big Willow track. Maybe because they were so popular, only a few Yamaha Twins survived to race AHRMA. Most of the race bikes were 4-strokes. In the 1970s that ratio would be flipped and 2-strokes ruled the track. I guess the point is to run what you want and have fun with it.

The RD350 went from a mainstay of road racing to a rare bird at historic events.

The Willow races were not as well attended as the Laguna Seca AHRMA events. Laguna Seca is set in soft, coastal hills and has space for vintage motocross along with a vintage trials section. The camping at Laguna Seca is better. I suppose you can camp at Willow but it’s more of a motor home type camping than a tent. I’m not sure what happened between AHRMA and Laguna Seca and it’s none of my business, but I wish they would get it sorted out and go back to Laguna.

Nice, clean, crappers at Willow. A clean crapper makes the day just that much nicer.

Willow isn’t bad, mind you. The racetrack recently sold and the new owners are fixing it up a bit. There are several tracks and the food concession was better than Laguna. You can get a decent meal at Willow.

The last time I was at Willow Springs was in the 1970s. The pit looks the same and there are added buildings along the front straight. My memories are dimming and I can’t remember why I was there in the ’70s, but it was probably motorcycle racing of some sort.

If you take away the little houses, pit row looks about the same as I remember from the 1970s.

Kawasaki built a Superbike production racer called the S2. I don’t know if this is one but it looks like one.

Suzuki big-block race bike. Although, it could be a 750. I didn’t look that close.

SR500. Great bike from Yamaha unfortunately suffering from The Slows. My XL350 could stay with them through the gears and pull away at top end.

Roper and Fulton on Italian Harley-Davidsons. About 100 years of racing experience in this photo. They are faster than you. Sorry about the cell phone photo.

Zippy Yamaha 100cc twin. I might get a stocker one of these one day.

CA110(?) I have one of these in pieces waiting for assembly. The engine is shot so I bought a clone 140cc overhead cam engine. It fits the gram and clears the front wheel by 1/4-inch.

Manx Norton. For a while these 500cc singles ruled the road racing world. Still faster than a SR500.

If you don’t like crowds you’ll love AHRMA racing.

Rosamond, the town closest to Willow has grown quite a bit and lots of housing developments are being thrown together. Eventually someone will build houses around Willow if the new owners don’t do it first.

The ride back to New Mexico was full-on warm. We took backroads from Lancaster to Victorville and sort of paralleled Interstate 10 along Yucca Valley and Twentynine Palms to Parker, Arizona. Our miles per day were shrinking and we were stopping more often. Temperatures reached 95 along the sparsely populated Highway 62.

I was smelling the barn, you know? I kind of lost it on the last day in Show Low. We woke up at 4:30 am to get an early start. I wanted to get home and the Mudchucker was leisurely watching TV and eating a bagel. By 8:30 a.m., I had been awake 4 hours and drank 16 cups of coffee waiting. I had a lot of pent-up nervous energy.

Maybe 7 days on the road rubbed my nerves raw. It doesn’t seem like an asset.

Finally underway, we burned up the highway into New Mexico, a slight frost between us, and I managed to get home at a decent time (before dark). I’m starting to wonder if 7 days on the road is too much for me. Riding motorcycles with a partner is a series of compromises strung together with miles and miles of pavement. Are the compromises worth the companionship? I’m sure I must annoy the Mudchucker at times.

Maybe I’m just getting old and cranky. At least, that’s the excuse I’m going to use.

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