The Genius of John Browning

EGWFPS
Originally uploaded by The Third Way.

You can tell a fella is the real thing when lesser folks seek to "improve" upon his work and perhaps cure one perceived problem while exacerbating others. This happens because when a really smart and knowledgable guy designs something there is a lot of what I call "density of design", meaning that a lot of parts or design elements serve more functions than it would initially appear. I stumbled upon an example of this today on a 1911 forum.

See, the military decided the 1911 had a too stiff initial manual slide retraction. No doubt some soft handed general abraded himself while enduring qualification with the 1911. A design change was issued and this little part
got changed.

Note the blurry one in the foreground has a bevel on the top right while the rear one has a pretty sharp radius. This one little change to what is called the "Firing Pin Stop" can result in any number of malfunctions. Since this was implemeted folks have come up with all kinds of fixes for the resulting problems it caused; treating the symptons and not the disease.

That one dimension started a whole chain reaction of differences in the way the pistol functioned, from felt recoil, lock timing, slide to frame impact, feeding, to ejection reliability. I other words it didn't work anymore. Whole industries have been founded on solutions to problems this change caused.

Design Density.

The Return of the Pocket Watch

Seen any old movies lately? Folks checking on the train or somesuch by diggin' a two inch diameter clock out of the bib pocket of their overalls, flippin' the cover open, shading it from the sun and squinting at it. I found myself doing this very same thing the other day with my cellphone.

Yeah, I wear bibs sometimes. Did you know they have a special watch pocket on the outside of the bib pocket? The watch (cellphone) slides in sideways right to left. It is the perfect size for the newer compact flip phones, the antenna snags on the way out sometimes, but it is real handy. Theres even what appears to be a useless buttonhole that is for attaching a watchfob to keep you from droppin' your $300.00 phone onto the pavement.

You're not still wearin' a watch are ya'? Luddite, those things are going the way of dinosaur blogs (newspapers) and the network newscast.

Get hip. Get bibs.

Thompson 1911C Target

Thompson 1911C Target
Originally uploaded by The Third Way.

Here it is. The Evidence. That is a three inch target spot. That's @ 25 yards rested on a bench. Measure yourself - and remember, Gregg, those are 1/2 inch holes! I was unable to do any better than 3" on my hindlegs though.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

The Best Defense or "Why a .45?" Well, Grasshopper....

I have been a CCW holder and habitual user for about 7 years now. I started off with a Makarov in .380. I was poor but I found a 'custom' in hard-chrome with target sights. Walther PP size, ate anything, couldn't make it misfire; indestructable. I bought some Franchi ammo one time that was full of half loads and was pure junk. It cycled all but the one round that fell apart chambering. That's right the bullet fell out of the case. I liked the gun alot. Then I saw a show on TV where some nut was holding a girl hostage and shot her about 8 times with a .380. She was on her feet and attempting to evade him as he pumped lead into her. The scene lasted about 5 minutes and ended with her walking to the ambulance. About two weeks later I had a dream about a 'home invasion' and the same sort of thing happened in it. Shoot the bad guy - nothing happens. I traded the Mak the next week off for a Ruger Super Redhawk brass beltbuckle. I wear it to this day and get lots of compliments.

I upgraded to a KAHR Arms K40; all steel, heavy, tough, powerful, accurate, and compact. What a trigger! Butter smooth, but about a 1 1/2 inch pull. Not much use for shooting games and such. You can impress folks by ringing a 100 yard steel with your 4 inch compact semiauto, though! I still love this gun, and use it if small size is critical to a carry situation.

I never thought I would own a "plastic" gun, but I got to lookin' at the CZ100 one day at a local gun store and identified some interesting features that sparked my interest. I asked to see it and the clerk handed it over, offer to make a deal. I handed it back when I realized it was a puny 9mm. He was persistent though, and eventually asked for an offer. I low balled him with half the marked price to shut him up and damned if he didn't take it! What are ya' gonna do? I bought the gun. It shoots great, I carry it most often even though it is a full size duty weapon because it is so light you can forget you are wearing it. I just plan on having to make head shots.

In between the Makarov and the KAHR I bought a book called, "The Best Defense" by Robert A. Waters that is filled with stories of regular folks successfully defending themselves and their loved ones with a firearm. In this book is the tale of a woman who was stalked for fifteen years by a former coworker at a bank. She, her husband, and children even moved away to get away from the ass. No help from cops, of course, they are only there to clean up the mess; not prevent it or intervene. Eventually the guy goes off completely, makes a 'death list' and begins showing up on the doorstep of former coworkers and killing them, though one survived and was able to get police to warn the other former coworkers that he was on a rampage and was wearing a bulletproof vest. Now, the above stalked woman's husband had purchased a .45 and learned to use it. He prepared for the coming attack. The coward shows up on his doorstep pretending to need help. The husband got his family on the floor and when the psycho figured out his ploy didn't work he shot the lock off the door and came in shooting at the children on the floor. Dad rests the .45 on the refridgerator at puts a .45 slug on target. The cops picked the psycho up later, begging for help for real this time, whimpering on the ground from the trauma caused to him by one .45 round to his chest. Through a Kevlar Vest. The round didn't penetrate, it just hit so hard he wished it had. I knew I would eventually purchse a .45ACP 1911 the second I finished reading that tale.

My New 1911!

Oops! OUR new 1911!

Follow THIS to a review of the gun (Thompson Custom 1911 review is the first review listed in the "Reviews" links) - Note the 25yard accuracy data. I was able to duplicate these results today at the range. These numbers are usually reserved for $1500+ firearms. Thompson is owned by KAHR Arms, makers of the most reliable, accurate, and potent hideaway (CCW) guns available. I own a KAHR in .40S&W and have found it to be of amazing dependibility, accuracy, and quality, so I took a gamble and bought one of the first hundred 1911 Customs they have ever manufactured.

It's new and the chamber is a bit tight, so I had a couple of failures to eject. And the guide rod is shedding some kind of coating, but I can't bitch until at least 200 rounds have been fed through it. I'll call KAHR tomorrow and get a new guide rod shipped out and tell them how accurate their pistol is.

I showed my groups to the Mrs. and her reaction was, "I can't believe anyone would BUY a gun that wouldn't do that...". I explained to her that 2" at 25 yards was exceptional, the 1.5" groups I got today was amazing, and that we had no right to spend less than $700 on a 1911 and get that kind of result. We buy this company's guns because of this. They do not play when it comes to accuracy.


See me smilin' ?!

"I think this guy is a loser. " - Harry Reid

This is my favorite tack used by democrats. Harry is refering to GW here, of course, and to my knowledge he hasn't been beat at ANYTHING. This, I guess, makes him a loser in the eyes of his opponents. From whence does this shit come? They're either hypnotised or trying to hypnotise us through repitition is all I can figure. How else do you explain such obvious serial rejection of reality?

They have been on a steep downhill slide since Clinton was inaugurated and Newt began beatin' them about the head and shoulders, steadily losing any grip on power, yet they herald Bill Clinton as a savior. He presided over the most dramatic shift away from a party since FDR in the midst of no causal crisis either real or imagined. Now, they consider him a "winner", nay, an idol - worshipped by the denizens of the dinosaur blog and legacy media alike.

GW has whipped their asses at every turn, and done it in a manner which looks like a hard fought narrow victory starting with the governorship of Texas. That flies once, or maybe twice. Not every time. What these dolts are doing is staying at the table, betting, while a shark runs it on 'em over and over again, but just barely. That's what democrats call a "loser".

While this makes democrats fun to watch (I especially enjoy listening to NPR after whatever latest ass whoopin' has been visited upon the left! Whaaa! Whaaa! Big tears!) it makes it particularly frustrating when they are taken seriously about ANYTHING.

The corollary to the above is, "What's GW doing to those of us who would appear to be on the same side of the political spectrum?"

Bunn

I know. Who gets excited over a coffeemaker? First time for me I gotta tell ya'.

The ol' coffee pot went ta' shit and I told the wife I wanted on of them damn near instant coffee makers. Her mom has one and it makes the closest thing to percolated coffee I've had yet. The coffee tastes 'cooked' somehow.

And it's not just the coffee, 3 minutes for a pot of hot water. Think Earl Grey, hot chocolate w/ 'fluff'. MMMMMMMMMMMM

I put this household appliance in the same category as that KitchenAid mixer the wife stands back from, throws yummy things into and out pops pie makin's. Derby Pie anyone?

Incidently, here's the wife's variation if you want to celebrate the Derby proper:

1 cup sugar (pure cane)
1/4 cup flour
2 beaten eggs
1 stick melted butter (must be cooled)
1 cup pecan pieces
1 cup chocolate chips
1 tsp vanilla

Put into store bought frozen dough pie crust.

bake 1 hour at 325 F

Enjoy!

Happiness is a well equipped workshop.

What more does a man need? (Besides a Ducati 1000DS, of course.)


Happiness

I don't see a coffee pot or a "Liar's Bench" in the photo, but you can bet there was seating somewhere nearby. There is no way the community elders will let a man get away with too much concentrated continuous productive effort. At least not without the benefit of their unsolicited advise.

I live in the oldest community in the state of Kentucky. The General Store was taken out of serious service only about 10 years ago. It's still open, but is now a craft shop. (blech!) For such a small community there are a lot of businesses in place and business is done the in the old way. There is William Leonard's mechanic's shop (formerly the smithy his father owned and worked), Egbert's Gun Site across the street, Bill's Market at the top of the hill with groceries and fuel, and the 127 Foodcenter combined with the new hardware/lumber yard which together serve the former function of the General Store.

All of these places have a thing in common: A spot for folks to sit, drink a cup of coffee and pass the time. This is the wat things were done here in the 1700's and the way they are done here now. Can you tell I like the place?

Proof Positive

Soccer is for sissies. The captain of the UK (That's United Kingdom, lest some ethnocentric yankee think Kentuckians are engaging in such behavior) 'football' team is publicly giving out beauty tips.
Normally, were I to say a man was giving out beauty tips I would be refering to something like, "Hey man, if you cut your finger off you can glue it back on with Super Glue. Yeah, Works great! See?!" or, "My wife quit buying soap for the shower, too, so I just use whatever squirts outa one of them bottles that doesn't appear to be synthetic jism. Sure, same stuff for the hair and beard, too. Kinda smelly, though...."

This soccer star, though, uses moisturizing cream and enjoys manicures. His wife says he is very much a "new man" and "totally in touch with his feminine side. He loves having his face and nails done."

Bwhahahahaha!

I always thoguht soccer was for the the uncoordinated kids who couldn't play basebal, football, basketball or those without fathers who's mothers forced them into it because they couldn't bear to see little Richard compete (gasp! bad for self esteem). Turns out it's just a bunch of queeners exchanging beauty tips. Can't say I'm really surprised at that anymore than at the 'revalation' that the youngest of the Jackson Five is a pervert.

Doh!

I'm Gettin' Pissed.

Blogger is a pain in the ass to post a pic anyway, and then they gotta go and screww around with it all the time. Man! Here I've been surfin' the web and slobbering over the 1000DS Welldigger clued me onto and I can't corrupt anyone else by puttin' up a 'to die for' pic.

Gimme time. The weather has been nice in the afternoons and I just can't get to the keyboard. Hope y'all are neglecting the keyboards, too!

See ya'!

Duc Fever

I’ve got it; showing all the symptoms. I don’t know if I’ll be able to shake it before I buy one or not. It’s getting’ pretty bad; I’ve got an ST4 on my desktop, I search them out on ebay three times daily, I read the data on owner’s group and enthusiast sites….. I used to think they were ugly, I think they’re sex on wheels now.

Any constructive discouragement will be appreciated.



.

I had fun today.

I finished painting Big Red as you can see below. Man, am I ever pleased with the way she turned out.

I ran out of paint towards the end and jumped on The Mothership (Voyager XII) to acquire some more. Along the way I see and Hardley Sportster 883 waiting at an intersection. I pass by and see him pull out and gun it in my mirrors. No biggie; it's fun to ride in groups. Dude pulls alongside for awhile then guns it again. Now, I don't tolerate this sort of behavior well, but I was on 900lb saddlebagged interstate whale - the motorcycle equivalent of an 18 wheeler - so I just rode in back for awhile. The thing about these damn Hardleys is they sound like shit and the pussies who ride 'em want everybody to hear it. The one in front of me was no exception, sounded like a Briggs and Stratton with no muffler. So I dropped two gears and twisted the 'GO' handle. I saw him check six and then he twisted the 'All Sound and Fury but NoPower' handle. I ran him down surprisingly easily and proceeded to run off.

We came to a stoplight and chatted awhile, he thought it was a fluke. From the stoplight I let him get steady and situated onto the highway and began settling into a staggered formation behind him when I see his front wheel tryin' to come up as he goes for second gear. O.K. Twist, rundown, pass, run off. I gave him a headstart this time. WhooHoo! Go Voyager!

The above scenario repeated itself two more times. Dude looked upset the last time and sped off doin' a steady 90mph in a 55mph zone. I let him go. No reckless drivig tickets for me. Not on the Mothership!

The thing is BigRed, a ten year old bike, would do that to him so fast and hard he would feel the compression wave with out any real fuss or effort. Dude should peel the SPORTster sticker off that thing.

A wise man once told me he felt sorry for Hardley riders. He figured they didn't know any better since most of 'em had never ridden anything else...

I saw so many potbellies out on those things today I thought I was gonna be sick. Cattle. Each one has a 'custom' bike - just like everyone else's. Pitiful.

And This is How Red They Are!

.

Motorcycles are Red

So says she who thinks her husband looks hot in leather pants on a "hooker's fingernail red" sport-tourer. That means the blue/red/gold/purple flipflop paint I demo-ed for her is a no go. She went through her fingernail polish collection (quite extensive), picked out the appropriate red bottle and promptly jumped into her Jeep to find Big Red's new color scheme. Big Red/Blue/Gold/Purple just doesn't have the same ring to it now does it?
Over the last few months I had come home with several different red colours of paint but once I tried them next to the bike I was never satisfied. The wife goes out and with one shot finds the perfect colour.

The moral of the story?
Never send a man to do a woman's job.

Day 3 - Natchez

Breakfast at the motel in Jackson, They had a waffle maker fer Christ's sake!The pope's funeral is on the telly. How do you bury one guy in three boxes?

The trace dtours around Jackson, so we went the long way around. That is; the long wrong all the way around. But, hey, we're here to ride, so what the hell?

The sun is out in full force and we quickly find ourselves shedding gear. This is not a big problem on the Trace as it is a leisurely ride with no surprises save the local wildlife kamkazeein' ya' every so often. The list of which grows by a fox and two turkeys. The fox had it timed just right, but did a 'U' turn right at the edge of the pavement touching his nose to his tail in the maneuver. Shucks! I was already figurin' out how to get his hide back to the house to made a nifty fur something out of him.....

We tooled along at a stately 60 mph for the 90 miles to Natchez and headed straight for 'Natchez - Under the Hill". For those of you not in the know, Natchez Under the Hill is a group of taverns, shops, and cafe's on the waterfront where the dock used to be for the riverboats to ply their trade. Rainman and I dined at the same cafe' that Nate and I visited last yaer and I had the 'Shrimp, Chicken, Okra Gumbo'. Delicious. Rainman expressed his satisfaction at the dining experience, though I could tell he was lookin' around for something else to stick a fork into. The man has a bottomless stomach I tell ya'.

We took a stroll along the waterfront and I was dissapointed that the Mississippi Queen was not in port, instead one of those uglyassed gambling boats was there with an ant trail of retired suckers marching in and out. Ugh.

more to come.-

Bane's in a tight spot

Sorry this took so long, Difster.

Details here

Day 2 continued

Two guys on the road can be a little uncomfortable sometimes. There are times when you catch yourself; “WHAT the hell did I just say?!” For instance:

Rainman and I were at the cash register of the Mexican restaurant In Jackson Miss.after a hearty meal and a Corona when Rainman asks the lady, “Do you know of any motels around here?”
Now, look at this objectively. Two guys in motorcycle attire (we're stylin' I'm tellin' ya'! I'm decked out racerboy and Rainman looks...., well, like he rides a V(iagra) twin bike) are standing there and want to know where the motel is. I don’t know about you, but I get a mental picture of the Village People.

Of course when I brought this to Rainman’s attention he laughed himself silly. Ya’ see what I’m dealin’ with here? It gets worse.

We go to the Comfort Inn and the nice lady behind the desk starts tellin’ us about a customer she gets that actually puts his bike in the room with him and then she asks, “Are you two on the same motorcycle?” like one of us is ridin’ ‘bitch’! I just shook my head. Of course, the reason she wanted to know this was so she could express that she didn’t think both bikes would fit into one room. You don’t get service like that just anywhere.

Day 2

Up at the crack of dawn, haven’t slept so sound in awhile. We turn on the local news for the weather report. Scattered showers from here north with decreasing probability as you go South. Some jerk killed a girl and dumped her body on the Trace. Hmmmmmmmm. Of course, I’m carryin’. I checked the chamber for potential energy and good to go.

The morning was cool and we headed out in full gear, haulin’ ass when rain clouds blocked the sun and slowing to soak up those precious rays when they burned through the clouds melancholy hold on them. We played the bikes down the road. No hurry, no worries; free on the open road with the anticipation of discovery around the next bend.

We hoofed up to an overlook to get some blood flowing and forestall rider fatigue. There are quite a few nice overlooks on the Trace and from the terrain you wouldn’t expect them. Well worth the effort. Once again the Wild Turkey were out strutting, and we saw a few crane or heron, I don’t know which but they were white. There had been a big storm through Alabama and northern Mississippi and there was evidence of high water all around. It made a lot of the area swampish

Lunch was in a town off the Trace called Saltillo, at a local interest called “Little Charlie’s”. Little Charlie’s had a special on a double cheeseburger plate so Rainman and I took the plunge. Damn what a sandwich! There was easily 3/4lbs. of meat on the burger. I didn’t quite finish mine, but Rainman has a legendary appetite and soon put his away. Excellent meal. Greasy, tasty, with a BIG glass of sweet tea.
While we were eating some locals wandered in, checking out the bikes as they filed by. I took the opportunity to explain to Rainman the difference in appeal of a sportbike and the Mothership. See, on a sportbike, you’re pretty much a rockstar, an object of envy of men and the desire of women. (In case you don’t know, that’s a good thing.) The Mothership attracts a different crowd populated chiefly by old men with canes (they think it looks comfortable) and fat chicks (they think it won’t collapse under their asses), so we had a big time confirming my theory as the local liars hobbled in for their noon coffee.

We rode on to Jackson, Ms. without much of note except for a stop at the Pearl River where Nate and I had paused on our journey last year. It’s still a hell of a spot, Bro.

We ate Mexican in Jackson and tucked in for the night at a Comfort Inn. There’s a tale there, but it’ll have to wait.

#*%!@*&^%$ Audio Blogger is Crap!

I musta sent out 5 or 6 audio-blogs from the road. Nothing! Zip! Zilch! Nada! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

So, I guess I'll have to update y'all on the trip this way. It's so .... low tech.

Day 1:

Everyone backs out, except my esrstwhile riding buddy, Rainman (not his real name). Now, we call him rainman for a reason; if he's ridin' - it's rainin'. True to form, we buzzed into Nashville under a heavily pissin' cloud, but started the Trace with a mist in the air and Bar-B-Cutie in our bellies (it's good, but it's not Slick Pig or Moonlight). We saw scads of wild turkey (a good omen) and even a light brown jake; the result of domestic inbreeding. Well, we happened upon a Park Ranger who rides a BMW GS1150 in his other life and he advised us of the nearest town with a motel so we made for Lawrenceburg, TN in a blinding deluge of rain and pitch black night.
We rode about thirty miles to the Lawrenceburg exit off the Natchez Trace Parkway
Happened on a Best Western there and we left our bikes under the check in canopy and the nice lady at the desk gave us the room right beside 'em.
Throughout all this excitement and the joy of the open ride I should have been paying more attention to my riding buddy. We had geared up for the rain in Bowling Green, but ya' just don't much get wet on the Mothership anyway and I was feeling no pain (I'm lovin' my heated grips and the little wing thingies I made to keep the cold air and water away from my feet!), but Rainman has a pair of rainpants with a duct-tape patch on the knee, leaky boots, and these plastic mittens you'd have to see to believe. He got wet. Dog in the creek wet. Drowned rat wet, I'm tellin' ya', and temps were in the low 50's. Poor guy's teeth were chattering, he was wet from the neck down, much longer and I'm thinkin' hypothermia would have set in. Not sure it didn't get a start on him anyway. Hey!, he rides a cruiser; what can you expect? They're just not made for the open road, they're for pretending you're on the open road. However, Rainman always toughs it out and like he says, "That's what makes it an adventure." Truer words were never spoken.

More to come...