One, two, three, four-million – the days fall like pieces of sands in an hourglass.
A big, hot hourglass.
“I went to the desert in a Ford with no name, it felt good to be out on the Range.
In the desert if you can remember your range, you better write it down and hit at the same…”
Mainly 70-yards for me since I had a pistol and a rifle of the same old-school caliber. Forty-four, forty.
“After two hours in the desert wind, the gun began to run dry.”
(That was the AR-build on last year’s receiver that I won, which mis-fed once and needed some lube)
After three hours at the desert range, my target began to shred.
And the bullet holes and all the fliers it showed made me sad to think I was so misled.”
Sheesh, even with all the bottled-water and everything, same old crap-shoot.
“I went to the desert in a Ford with old Billl, it felt good to be out at the Range…
In the desert, if you remember your game, better try to hold it down and lie about the same…”
Did a Costco run for adult-type beverages and went back to the Hospitality Suite. Nobody gathered for the show-and-tell, everyone was kind bushed and even though the lever gun was a novelty I didn’t break it out of the case. Instead Aaron told us the story of his long-time range in Westchester County NY that was on a Con-Ed land-lease, and got closed by newbie-neighbors who rallied a cadre of self-righteous little-old-lady-in-tennis-shoes, a brigade to harass and attack them with lies and innuendo – and through internal divisions collapsed. It was a really good presentation and a warning to complacent gunners.
The next day was steel-day and I wrung-out my index finger on the Shield-9 in a desperate attempt to hit. Came in last. But it’s easy to carry, and carry all the time.