Gunbloggers Rendezvous III

The drive up Teh Hillz was sunny and thankfully uneventful, and I got to Reno about 2:30 after leaving home at about 10:00AM. The new-to-me truck displayed better aerodynamics crossing the windy Davis Hippie Farm and Sacatomato Valley. I punched-in some additional gassage at 163 miles up the incline (Colefax), when I got down to 1/4 tank. I hauled-ass. Happily met-up with my bud JimmyB, and we took off on a beer-run to Costco – yay suds!
Everybody was super-psyched to set their Peeps of the Gub decoder rings to 6:00PST and punch in coordinates for the Grand Sierra Resort and connect with the Wheelbarrows of Cash Dispensers.
Wayne looked pooped-out but delivered, and in the aftermath put up with flouncy large local female GOP admirers in the handshake line. Chris Cox liked my Heller Kitty t-shirt. The best question of the post-op was a small Asian woman who said something along the lines of, “I’m scared, I escaped Communism and became a citizen five years ago (UPDATE: fourteen years ago) – what are we going to do if Obama wins?” Bottom line is we keep fighting, toe-to-toe, day after day, never give an inch. The Dispensers of Cash didn’t being my wheelbarrow – I guess they’re not hooked up with George Soros who funds the Left magnanimously through false-front foundations and other (UPDATE:)hyperbole total bullshit.
Then it snowed.

And I bought woolly socks at Cabela’s.

Zeke, Larry Weeks, and Derek chased me out into the parking lot – it was cold. I’d never been to a Cabela’s before and they have a lot of shit. And it was damn cold outside. Dinner at a Basque place which featured a cocktail I’d never heard of before – Praline Punch. Kinda like 40-proof Sangria. I had the lamb. It was damn cold outside at night too.

Saturday dawned clear and cold and we hightailed it to the range after a horribly overpriced buffet-breakfast. I wore two t-shirts and a CMP sweatshirt under my coat, which luckily had my MSR Windstopper gloves hidden away in its pocketses.
The wool socks were a boon. Even more of a boon was the reassurance granted by my little Noveske. 1-2-3 it hit well with iron sights.

The BigMonsterBoomer that Rick brought along made a deeply soulfull noise, but somehow I missed lining up behind the stock. Then came the magic, My New Hero, big guy Jim who lives in Reno, brought his NFA papered FNC.
YEE-HAW!!! What was that? DO IT AGAIN!!

YAARGG!!!

I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face… When you stand nearby, the empty casings fall on you like sweet raindrops all around – I found out while video taping Derek.
It was cold and the hot casings did no harm.