As I get older and wiser and better looking I note that the chrome plated, fuel injected American Dream seems to reside in the fast lane...where perhaps it should not. It's even creeping into the shooting sports with flashy anodized guns, big cash and prizes at the top events, and industry celebs whose every word is gospel to legions of young aspiring shootists. I was one for years but never seemed to learn to shoot!
Awhile back I just saddled up Inferno and headed out to the range. It's out in the country, in an area slowly being over-run by yuppies that will probably shut it down sooner or later.
It's a nice drive in its own right; and a great way to get away.
I love black powder guns too - the pace slows right down, and if ya cast your own bullets you can damn near shoot all afternoon for less than $10.00! It takes a lot of tools and implements to properly manage a percussion revolver and my wife made this wrap-thing to hold all my junk. It looks like something that a period authentic duffer at the turn of the century might use on an afternoon out on the pistol range.
The first time I rolled it out all my chit went clattering across the floor. Goddammit...happens every time, doesn't it? Sometimes the Gun Gods take pity on those that love them most, and I redeemed myself by unleashing a precision hail of lead on the new gongs and spinners the club put out. For a brief and glorious afternoon - I actually looked like a shootist - smacking the gongs with contemptuous ease, accompanied by the stink and smoke and blazing hot barrel of my 1860 Army repro. Then, as a final coup-de-gracie, I finished up with this fine piece of shooting:
Six shots, five in the black and all a smidge over to the left. That's a good group for a modern gun, never mind one designed back in 1860! Mine is the Uberti reproduction - and it shoots like this all the time. Kids have fallen in love with this thing and I have sold enough of them that the local gun stores should pay me a commission! These guns just shoot like a hot damn. The only drawbacks are that they are messy (I use Crisco lard for a bullet lube) - and after about 36 shots mine is so bunged up with fouling that you have to shut down and clean it before shooting any more....but by then the afternoon is shot and you have to head back home anyways.
It occurs to me that I live the life of a king - my motorcycle is a sweet liquid cooled V Twin with a stereo and throttle by wire rig with all the new tech...and my pistol is an obsolete but charming relic from better days and times.
Life in the slow lane starts to look pretty good the older you get...