Blue Ridge Motorcycling magazine

Here's help making my daydream come true.

 Inside every motorcycle rider's helmet is his head, and inside his head is his brain, and inside his brain is probably a daydream. 

For some, the dream might be that all this traffic and all these stop lights would vanish, to be replaced by an open road. 

My personal daydream imagines someday riding the Blue Ridge Parkway. It's a National Parkway that runs almost 500 miles through the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina and Virginia. 

Scenic, curvy, and — sweetest of all in my day dreams — limited to 45 mph the whole way. That's the perfect cruising speed for my 1999 Royal Enfield, and my 75-year-old reflexes. 

I may never make the trip, but I can dream. Recently, I discovered that I could read about the region, too, in Blue Ridge Motorcycling, a magazine devoted to my daydream. 

I subscribed ($19.95), not expecting much. How can a glossy magazine devoted to activities centered on such a short section of road survive?

"We cover the entire Blue Ridge Mountains, not just the parkway," editor-in-chief Michael E. Gouge replied to that question, in an email." He defined this in his editor's column in the Spring 2026 edition:

"We cover the top of Georgia and Alabama, the Carolinas, East Tennessee and Virginia and up into the wilds of West Virginia."

Launched 10 years ago, the magazine is published four times a year. Gouge acknowledges that it's an unusual print product.

"During the past 10 years, many motorcycle publications have switched to online-only versions or ceased to exist. Print magazines are becoming a niche luxury item, much like vinyl records, wristwatches and other artifacts born in a distant decade. All these examples still survive due to a loyal fanbase," he wrote.

The 52-page Winter 2025 magazine I received is glossy and colorful. The required Postal Service Form 3526 puts circulation at just over 5,000 copies.

The printed magazine is just one part of an eco-system devoted to riding the Blue Ridge. There's a website, of course. A newsletter. A Facebook page. A YouTube channel.

The newest video on the YouTube channel is two years old. But the website, Facebook page and the newsletter appear to offer fresh content.

The pictures are (much) bigger in the print magazine and I'd rather turn pages than squint over my keyboard.

Articles in the Winter, 2025 edition included a restaurant recommendation, a hidden lodge to consider, two descriptions of routes to explore, a consideration of going off-road, a swap meet report, a nostalgic feature on rider John Penton ("the father of KTM in America"), the experience of a couple eloping on a motorcycle, and a tale of a solo rider taking the road to West Virginia.

The magazine included intriguing advertisements from destinations in the region, including offers of free travel information, maps to scenic back roads, and route guides from Kentucky, North Carolina, Virginia, Appalachian Backroads, and even Zanesville, Ohio.

Editor-in-chief Gouge is a journalism educator at the University of North Carolina, Asheville. In February he was named a 2026 Faculty Champion by the Center for Community News (CCN) at the University of Vermont, "recognizing his leadership in preparing the next generation of journalists while expanding access to reliable local news in Western North Carolina."

As a university teacher, magazine editor, travel writer, and motorcyclist, Prof. Gouge probably has daydreams of his own.

They probably include having enough time in the day to get it all done. 

My own career in community journalism left me, in retirement, still awakening from nightmares about missing deadline. I'd rather dream about the Blue Ridge.

In his "Notes From the Road" column in my copy of Blue Ridge Motorcycling, Gouge writes "Any excuse to ride on a beautiful day is justifiable in my experience."

I know what he means.

Historic river road perfect for a Royal Enfield

A Royal Enfield military model visits historic New Hope, Pa. 

The tour guide was just explaining why George Washington didn't sit down in the boat while crossing the Delaware River when her voice was drowned out by the rumble of passing motorcycles. 

Washington Crossing Historic Park is a must-visit stop on the River Road in Pennsylvania. The River Road (and many other roads in the immediate area) is a made-for-motorcycles delight. 

Twisting, narrow, shadowed and historical, it's slow on speed (rarely more than 40 mph, legally) but lined with great places to stop. Even the motorcycles that don't stop roar past the place where Washington led the Continental Army across the Delaware on Christmas Day, 1776. 

"We can have 70-80 motorcycles going by at the same time," our guide said, good-naturedly. "You just have to pause." 

My wife and I stopped at the park on our way up the River Road to stay in an historic inn near New Hope, Pa. Packed with places to eat, drink and stay, New Hope gets plenty of motorcycles.

There's no doubt the request for quiet is well meaning.

We spotted the "Ride Safe, Ride Quiet" sign at the entrance to the downtown. There is no doubt that it's a friendly request. Motorcycles lined the side of Main Street.

I liked that a Royal Enfield was one of the motorcycles parked at the curb outside a shop.

These are the sort of roads that would be ideal on a Royal Enfield, even one as slow as my 1999 Bullet.

I'd have loved to get a photo of my Royal Enfield going through any of the dozen covered bridges in the area. In fact, the more "modern" steel bridges across the Delaware are pretty picturesque. So narrow you'll worry about your rear-view mirror, they are limited to 15 mph (slower than school zones in the region!).

Great road, covered bridge, what could be better?

So why is Washington standing up in the boat in the famous painting of him crossing the Delaware? Well, sure, it made a better painting that way. But there's no doubt he did stand. The "Durham" boats used in the crossing customarily carried bulk cargo such as grain, iron ore or timber.

There were no seats for anyone.

Famous painting by Emanuel Leutze shows Washington standing.

Annual reenactment in accurate replicas of boats used.

Auto Train gives motorcyclists a fun way to ride

Motorcycles are unloaded from enclosed Auto Train cars.

The romance of riding the rails is second only to the thrill of riding cross country on a motorcycle. But you can combine the two.

Save the wear and tear on your motorcycle by riding the AMTRAK Auto Train between Central Florida and Northern Virginia. I recently rode the Auto Train to deliver a car to my daughter in Washington, D.C. and was interested to see motorcycles being loaded aboard.

Boy, does that seem appealing. I could imagine riding the Blue Ridge Parkway without having to subject my Royal Enfield Bullet to Interstate 95. Alternately, if I was a motorcyclist from the Frozen North, I could ride the train to Florida and back to enjoy riding in our perfect winter weather.

You get the experience of seeing America from a railroad passenger car. You also get dinner, a good night's sleep and breakfast. When you arrive, your motorcycle will be right there waiting for you.

There is only one Auto Train in the United States. It runs daily between Lorton, (Washington, D.C. area) and Sanford (Orlando, Fla. area). The overnight "nonstop" trip (there is one short stop to refuel the locomotives and change crews) takes about 18 hours. You check in by 2 p.m. and arrive at 9 a.m., regardless of which way you're traveling.

Going my way? There is only one Auto Train in the U.S.

The cost is less than food, lodging and 900 miles worth of gas and oil would be if you attempted to ride the whole way. Checking the website for a random date, I see that a one-way ticket for an upper level seat (for the best view) on March 3, 2018 would be $112 for the rider, plus $141 for the motorcycle.

Prices are subject to change of course, and with only one train a day, you must make reservations well in advance.

There are special rules for motorcycles: "Standard factory-model two-wheel motorcycles. Maximum length: 102 inches from front to rear tire edges. Maximum tire wheelbase: 51 inches. Maximum height: 72 inches to top of handlebars/windshield. Ground clearance: at least 5 inches. Tire maximum: 7 inches wide, 2 1/2 inches deep. Check-in is required by 2 p.m."

Auto Train banner advertises appeal to motorcyclists.

For some reason only Harley-Davidson three-wheelers are accommodated — yet the website says there is some space for sidecars: "For small trailers, jet-skis, trikes (three-wheeled vehicles), sidecars, choppers call 1-877-754-7495."

Your motorcycle will ride in an enclosed double-decker train car. My car arrived just as clean as it was when loaded.

AMTRAK "Roomettes" are available but I found the standard seat very comfortable. You sit two-by-two, there's plenty of legroom and the seats recline and have a Lazy Boy style footrest. Bring your own pillow and blanket.

The train rocks from side-to-side a bit but is otherwise smooth and very quiet inside. Too quiet? If someone uses their cell phone you will hear every word of their conversation even if they whisper.

AMTRAK tries, but the meals are average fare and the plates are plastic.

Meals are included and are served in the dining car. Not quite so much room here; if you are traveling alone you will sit with the people at whatever table has a spare seat. AMTRAK tries to make this a stylish experience, with a choice of entrees and wine is available. Realistically, however, this is at best airline quality food.

The view out the big windows is wider than the view from an airplane, especially if you reserve a seat on the upper level. You're looking out at America's back yard, which can be boring or fascinating, depending on your interests. I find rusty pick-up trucks, ancient factories and little town squares interesting.

The view out the train windows is distinctly America's back yard.

At one point the Auto Train rounds a curve so tight you can look back and see your own train out the window. It's announced before you get there, so you can get the photo. I shot this short video to give you the idea.

For authenticity, really old beats really retro

Royal Enfield knows the difference between an old motorcycle and a retro motorcycle.

That's apparent when a guy selling a modern Royal Enfield on CraigsList advises anyone buying it to plan to leave for every destination a half hour early. That's how much time you can expect to lose, explaining to people you encounter along the way that it's not really as old as it looks. It's nearly new — and, no, you didn't "restore it yourself."

So new Royal Enfields do look convincingly old, while offering modern conveniences, such as a warranty and an impressive front brake — neither a feature of an old Royal Enfield.

But is retro really satisfying? Truly old stuff has its own appeal retro design can't duplicate.

Our recent vacation stay at a National Park lodge in Oregon had me musing about the difference between retro design and really old stuff.

The lodge at Crater Lake National Park looks original, but its claim to date from 1909 is suspect. "Redesigned" in the 1990s, little remains of the original structure. We were delighted with its old timey appearance combined with modern conveniences.

There was no lodge at our next stop, Lassen Volcanic National Park in California. So we found a tiny two-room cabin at the nearby historic Mill Creek Resort.

Take away the plastic chairs and this little cabin in the woods evokes vacations of the past.

Here were the sort of countrified accommodations early motorists stayed at while on vacation: rustic individual wooden buildings set in a forest, with simple kitchen, tiny bath and a bedroom.

We were thrilled with the setting. Our host apologized that the nights were a little cold to keep the back door of the cabin open — so we could hear the little creek bubbling behind the building.

One "historical" cabin preserved its original appearance.

Outside, the cabins were cute and evocative of an era long past.

An interior designer's nightmare met us inside. A hulking modern refrigerator loomed next to a small (and rusting) stove. The full-size new hot water heater dominated the decor. A once tidy wooden kitchen counter had been "improved" to include an out-size stainless steel sink.

Never mind. I still found plenty to remind me of the old days.

Signed "R.G." some long-ago visitor left an original painting on a kitchen cabinet.

Wooden prop rods were used to keep the windows open, when desired. Some long ago visitor had painted a view of the forest on one of the kitchen cabinets!

Another bit of artwork decorated what I took to be an ancient light fixture. It was even better than that. Reader Chris Overton pointed out that the round thing on the ceiling was evidence that a wood burning stove had once been present.

Based on its size and position near the wall it undoubtedly was a cover for the hole in the ceiling once used for the chimney pipe. The artwork on this one was probably printed rather than hand painted — I found something similar, described as a vintage item, for sale on Etsy.

I thought this round object on the ceiling was an out-of-service light fixture.
It turns out to be evidence that a wood burning stove had once been present.

The cabins have new looking metal roofs, but one, labeled "Historical Building" has been preserved as they all probably looked back in the day. I wasn't able to find out how old the buildings really are, but the web site claims the Mill Creek Resort is "almost as old as the hills."

Antique hardware on door really dates the place.

Retro looking is fine. Ultimately, though, you can't beat the real thing.

See it? Tiny shelf in bedroom corner touchingly offers to store your stuff.
Of course it's actually completely useless.

Rusting trucks and cars become a Florida attraction

You're free to wander about the rusting relics at Harvey's Trucks in North Florida.

Royal Enfields are retro-style motorcycles. It's no surprise that Royal Enfield enthusiasts like patina.

But what about rust? Yes, please.

What is our fascination with rusty vehicles?

For a motor vehicle, rust is the end of existence as a useful object and the beginning of its life as art.

Where once we might have pondered where a vehicle can take us, a rusty old motorcycle or car inspires wonder about where it has been, and what stories it tells.

Is it a collection of junk or works of art? Harvey's lets you decide.

When Pat Harvey lined up the old trucks and cars that had seen use on the family farm he only meant to remind himself of his own life story.

He hauled them into chronological order, including the truck he took his driver's test in — in 1959 — and the old station wagon that was the family's first "new" car.

From right, the cars are a Desoto, a Packard, a Nash, a Ford wagon and a Willys.

The display became a tourist attraction just off the Big Bend Scenic Byway on U.S. 319 south of Crawfordsville on Florida's northwest coast.

Our vist to Harvey's Trucks fascinated me. I hope you enjoy the photos here.

This is a region that abounds in patina — historic rust, if you will.

A suicide-door Nash would be a rare sight in any collection.

"Florida's Forgotten Coast" is what the Chamber of Commerce calls the area, an odd choice for a marketing moniker. They mean undiscovered, uncrowded and under appreciated, all good reasons to visit.

But I can't help feeling there is a subtext. Disney, near Orlando, and the bright lights of Miami Beach get more attention. The Florida Keys are better known around the world.

Can you name this stylish truck? It's a REO.

Perhaps the Forgotten Coast feels ignored?

This is a proud region with a long history. Monuments celebrate the victories of the Confederate army. Before the Civil War "King Cotton" made many fortunes here.

The Yankee blockade and railroads that carried the cotton to other ports put an end to that source of wealth.

Inside the Packard. The classy dash included a map light.

Later the region built a thriving trade on lumber, turpentine, sponges and sea food. Rich men lined the port at Apalachicola with brick warehouses and the heights above Apalachee Bay with Victorian mansions.

Most of the big pines are gone now — there is actually a state museum that preserves one of the last stands of 50-year-old longleaf pines.

The lowly Willys was an economy car. It stood up as well as the others.

Remember Joni Mitchell singing "They took all the trees, and put 'em in a tree museum / And charged the people a dollar and a half just to see 'em"?

Well, admission to the Forest Capital State Museum in Perry, Fla. is now $2, although you can walk through the stand of tall pines for free.

Desoto hood scoop was neat but non-functional.

Fresh Florida sea food remains in abundance, and there are many other reasons for tourists to visit the Forgotten Coast. We found a spectacular beach on St. George Island, and several cold, crystal clear springs to swim in.

A tree grows inside a Ford truck.

Ford truck bumper is peeling, revealing stenciling and green paint.
A war-surplus truck?

Harvey's was worth a visit. So is Florida's Forgotten Coast.

You can see more photos of our travels and read our recommendations for visitors on Bonnie's blog, FloridaRambler.com

Taking a closer look at a mighty little steam engine

There was no way to get my Royal Enfield Bullet next to the train,
so we'll resort to adding the virtual version of me and my Bullet.

We recently stopped by Fort Lauderdale's Holiday Park to take a closer look at the train engine that is the centerpiece of the city park's playground area.

When my children were young they were allowed to clamber aboard the little locomotive. That's not allowed any more even though the engine was off display for a long time for removal of harmful substances.

Switcher engine 1001-040 was built by Baldwin Locomotive about 1936. Baldwin fielded its first locomotive in 1832 and became the largest producer of steam locomotives. In the 1930s the company bet heavily that steam, not diesel, would power the locomotives of the future.

Bankruptcy followed and the company never fully recovered. You have to understand that steam made a lot of sense in the coal country of the northeastern United States, where the Pennsylvania Railroad was a prime customer.

Outside that region diesel power was practical and less expensive thanks to research and development by General Motors, which was committed to internal combustion.

Florida is far outside coal country. Fort Lauderdale's little switcher produced its steam by burning oil, not coal. But it still would have lacked diesel's ready-when-you-are flexibility.

1902 ad shows why they called a railroad an "air line."

Switcher 1001 belonged to the Seaboard Air Line Railway which, despite its name, never employed an airplane. At one time "air line" was a term used to mean the shortest distance between two points. The shortest route implied the fastest journey.

Not that the little engine in the park ever went on a journey. While it no doubt traveled many a mile in the yard, it never really got anywhere.

Only four wheels, but all of them are driven.

Its job was to push freight cars around the loading docks. The "040" designation meant it has no guide wheels in front of or behind the four driven wheels. That made it more maneuverable in the switching yard. Although the little engine is small in overall size, its equally small wheels gave it enormous power to push or pull — although slowly.

It's cute enough to make you want to take it home and run it around a (giant) Christmas tree.

Every playground ought to have train to fuel imaginations.

Touring the U.S. Navy's USS New York

Security wouldn't have allowed my Royal Enfield this close.

I was lucky enough to register for a tour of a U.S. Navy ship Wednesday during Fleet Week in my hometown, Fort Lauderdale, Fla.

It was especially lucky that I asked to tour a particular ship that did show up for the event.

Two cruisers and a destroyer scheduled to appear couldn't make it. There must have been somewhere more important for them to go. All three can launch missiles — it makes you wonder.

Anxious tour group follows Marine guide aboard the USS New York.

I got to tour the USS New York, a nearly new "amphibious transport dock." That sounds mundane, but the New York's job is to launch 700 Marines onto foreign shores using landing craft and helicopters. She's big, purposeful and sleek (to shrug off enemy radar).

Aboard ship, the young Marines showing off their vehicles were proud and confident — although they admitted that some of their vehicles have seen more than their share of deployments.

Explore this cutaway of the New York at this link.

I asked one Marine if his mine-resistant armored truck has air conditioning. It'd be more comfortable if it did, I thought.

"We're always uncomfortable," he smiled, and everyone in our tour group laughed. Of course — clearing mines — air conditioning might not be your first wish.

The New York is named for the state of New York, but the name makes a special nod to the City of New York as well. The stem of the ship incorporates steel salvaged from the twin towers of the World Trade Center, destroyed by terrorists on Sept. 11, 2001.

Shadows of the twin towers loom on the flight deck's hangar doors.

The very name New York is a departure. Traditionally the names of states were reserved for the biggest guns of the fleet — battleships, at one time, and now nuclear armed submarines.

This ship and two sister ships are named for the three sites of the 9/11 attacks. The shadow of the disaster at the twin towers looms throughout the ship. The motto "Never Forget" even appears on every table cloth on the mess deck (cafeteria).

Imagine this space filled with landing craft and armed Marines.

The seriousness of that left us with a sense of the seriousness of purpose of this vessel.

This USS New York isn't the first naval ship to bear the name. The others had interesting histories.

Two were lost against the British in two different wars. One was lost to the Confederates while still on the stocks. One never left port. Another fought in the Spanish-American War in 1898 and was scuttled in 1941 to keep it out of the hands of the Japanese.

The most recent previous New York fought in both World Wars, then survived an atomic bomb test and finally was sunk as a target ship.

Best view of the USS New York was from the parking garage!

A remarkable naval hero takes the high ground

British Royal Navy commander William Hoste chased Napoleon's forces from the Adriatic.

It was supposed to be a sort of second honeymoon, but this year's visit to Europe quickly seemed to turn into an extended tour of stone fortresses. Together, my wife Bonnie and I repeatedly ascended to lofty towers and battlements above ancient towns.

In other words, mostly, we climbed steps.

While cannons were important, it's clear that holding the high ground was the key element of warfare when these forts were new.

The walled cities of Dubrovnik, in Croatia, and Kotor, in Montenegro, fired our imaginations as much as they taxed our legs.

Oddly, these two cities introduced me to one amazing man: Capt. Sir Willam Hoste, Royal Navy.

This was the guy who captured both cities in January, 1814, within days of one another. He took both cities the same way: by seizing the high ground.

This is the stuff of fiction, and, indeed, novelist Patrick O'Brian, author of "Master and Commander," borrowed Hoste's accomplishment for his fictional Captain Jack Aubrey in another in his series of naval adventure novels.

The real Hoste was only 33 when he took the cities, but was already one of the great frigate captains of the age, a friend of Lord Nelson, and the victor of one sensational naval battle after another.

With a fleet of only four frigates, Hoste had taken control of the Adriatic Sea from the French. Now British ships could transport forces from city to city, evicting Napoleon's soldiers.

The French had made themselves unpopular guests in the region. (Our guide in Kotor told us that the French had turned public buildings into stables.)

Hoste would have the fighting support of Croats, Montenegrins and Serbs as well as the British Royal Army and Marines and his Sicilian and Austrian allies.

But it was his technique of using block and tackle to pull big guns to mountain tops above the stone fortresses that would ultimately take Kotor (then called Cattaro) and force the surrender of Dubrovnik (then called Ragusa).

Dubrovnik's walls are immense but the city is vulnerable from above.
A cable car sweeps today's tourists to the heights above the city.

Bonnie and I walked only part way up to the hilltop fortress in Kotor. In Dubrovnik we took the pleasant cable car ride to the Imperial Fortress above the walled city. We didn't experience the day-to-day misery climbing up would have added to the burden of 19th Century soldiers.

In 1814, stairs were the least of worries for the peoples of Ragusa and Kotor. Hoste's victories would give the Congress of Vienna the power to decide the fate of the two cities. They were put under Hapsburg rule, where they would stay until another war, a century later.

There is no cable car for visitors to Kotor's walls.
The stairs stretched on and on. We only made it half the way up.

More wars followed, including a terrible one only 25 years ago. Dubrovnik, a UNESCO World Heritage site, was shelled again from on high in 1991 and 1992, killing 114 civilians. But this time the city didn't surrender.

Today Dubrovnik and Kotor are tourist destinations, subject only to peaceful invasions from legions of cruise ship passengers.

But the walls tell an older story.

Dubrovnik's modern invaders come by bus and cruise ship.

Made Like a Gun? Get a load of these cannons

Fort De Soto in Florida gives visitors a view of immense coastal defense mortars.

"There isn't much of the fort left," our hostess warned us on our visit to St. Pete Beach in Florida recently.

"I don't think there was much there to begin with," she added.

But as far as I was concerned, our visit to Fort De Soto Park at the entrance to Tampa Bay was full of historical treasure.

Her opinion might have been justified if you were expecting a moat and castle walls. But Fort De Soto, built around the time of the Spanish-American War, is invisible from most angles — as it was designed to be.

Big 12-inch mortars were hidden in pits but could
lob armor piecing shells onto the decks of  warships

In an era before the airplane, it made sense to hide coastal defense cannons in concrete pits largely surrounded by the dirt of an artificial mountain. The flat trajectory shells of enemy warships would have flown over harmlessly.

Meanwhile, the massive 12-inch mortar barrels inside the pits would lob shells almost straight upwards to crash down on the lightly armored decks of the approaching battleships.

That was the theory, anyway. The eight guns of Battery Laidley at Fort De Sota were never fired in anger (and only four of them remain at the fort today).

Mortars could fire shells weighting 800 to 1,046 pounds.

Their immense barrels remain impressive. Imagine a 12-inch shell this way: the diameter of a basketball is only 9.55 inches.

Hitting a moving target like a ship with a lobbed shell is obviously difficult, but these monsters would have had to hit a battleship the size of the Maine only once to be devastating.

Range was 6.8 miles, but a problem was that the mortars couldn't hit anything that was closer than 1.25 miles. Fast-firing 15-pounder guns were in position near the beach to deal with close, and fast moving targets.

Battleships did not remain the size of the Maine long, and Fort De Soto was obsolete before World War I began. The Army finally moved out in 1923, defeated by the hoards of mosquitoes.

Civil authorities eventually got those under control, giving Pinellas County a park with lovely beaches and one very well preserved fortress.

A ship enters Tampa Bay past vent covers for the buried magazines
of Fort De Soto. Inspired by the Spanish-American War of 1898,
the fort (named for a Spanish explorer!) didn't test fire its guns until 1903.

Coastal defense batteries fascinate me, as reminders of a time when the United States thought it was safe from attack behind its oceans.

But 12-inch mortars like those at Fort De Soto did fight for the United States and, incredibly, it happened in World War II, after they had long been antique technology.

Photo on display at Fort De Soto shows two 12-inch mortars
 firing, with their shells visible in the air.

It happened on the island of Corregidor, at the entrance to Manila Bay, and that battle has a special meaning for me. My friend Douglas Kalajian's father served at Battery Geary on Corregidor.

It's one of the stories Doug's Dad did tell him, and it is detailed in Doug's memoir, Stories My Father Never Finished Telling Me.

Mortars being fired with lanyards. The guns could also be fired
electrically from a buried "Firing Room" (surely a safer alternative).

Other historic coastal defense emplacements like Fort De Soto exist around North America, but most of their guns were scrapped long ago. Only Fort De Soto still has 12-inch mortars identical to those that fought and still remain in the ruins at Corregidor.

Two mortars remain in each of the two gun pits at Fort De Soto.
Originally there were four guns in each pit but with 12 men
loading and aiming each, congestion was a problem.

Observation posts sent target directions to the Relocating Plot Room,
which calculated gun settings and telephoned them to twin Data Booths.

Fortified Data Booths displayed aiming information
to the gunners by sliding out wooden slats.

Where's the fort? It's the other side of that artificial hill.
Concrete slabs on the beach are collapsed remains of
a battery for two fast-firing 15-pounder guns.