Got a surprising email today.

An old friend of mine, Al Witt just had a bad scare. His son was in a bad accident about a week ago, but it turns out he wasn't seriously hurt, or I don't think he was at this point. What a horrific story! Too bad for the other guy and his family. Your heart goes out to them all. I've known Al off and on for 27 years, and even though we're not really close friends, we've been through a lot of good times together.

As I think I've said before, when I was starting out in college, at the South Campus of Tarrant County Community College (now Tarrant County College), I took an intramural PE class called Camping and Canoing. I loved it from the beginning, having never done anything like that before, and Al was one of the people I met there. He was older, in his mid 20s, and had been through the class several years before me. When I was there, he was basically tagging along and helping the coach teach the kids. This is a role I took up years later, after I'd gone through the class a few times and grown a bit older. That coach managed to gather several of us guys, sort of surrogate sons, who continued to show up and help him run the class for years, until he retired a few years ago.

At some point shortly after I met him, Al met a girl on one of the canoe trips and things got serious. They got married and she gave him a son. The marriage didn't last though, so before long he was single again, and bringing girlfriends on the trips. To my younger eyes he was a very cool guy. He'd spent a few years in the Air Force in the mid-to-late 70s, and was then working as a ground crewman for the Bass Family, taking care of their private aircraft. Later, apparently thinking well of him, they put him through flight school, and when I came back to the canoe trips years later, after I'd finished my Masters, he was piloting their private planes, flying them all over the world and having a great time.

I never heard much about his private life, and his son, until a little later. They were having all the typical issues that seem to arise from divorce. The boy was screwing up in school, and Al was trying to get more time with him from his ex. When we met up on canoe trips, he always wowed us with stories about the places he'd been, flying the Bass family to and from exotic vacations and business trips. He told me once that he'd seen Pink Floyd in Venice, sitting in a gondola with a lady and a bottle of wine. Another time, the Basses were going to Alaska on vacation. Al loaded his canoe on the plane (he's always had the coolest gear), and while the family was vacationing in some resort, he was being flown into the deep woods by a bush pilot and paddling out again.

Here's a shot of him, on the left, taken from the Goat Trail, or Big Bluff, overlooking the Buffalo National River. These bluffs are the highest points on the Ozarks, and a trip up from the river is a regular hike on that canoe trip.



This was taken in 2004, on one of the last school sponsored trips we were all able to go on. The guy on the right is another great friend of mine, probably my best friend. We met on one of these canoe trips in about '89, when I had returned after school and before I'd started teaching. We hit it off and have been best friends ever since. If you click over to the Flickr site on the left, you can see more of these shots from the Buffalo, and some of the shots of us rafting the Colorado River with his wife and a bunch of other folks.

Here's what it looks like looking down from about midway up the trail. The coach is the guy on the left, Al on the right, and the kid in the middle is the coach's son.



We've all watched this kid grow up, and he's a great guy. One year early on, when I was taking the class and he was about 10, he rode up to the Buffalo from Ft. Worth on the hump in the middle of the back seat of my '79 Firebird . We laugh about that to this day. Well, I laugh. I don't know if he remembers it as fondly. He knew I'd have the best music, so he did what he had to do. It was ether my car and that hump, listening to The Wall over and over again and Led Zeppelin full blast on the 8-Track, or some whiny country music in his dad's cool old Bronco.

Anyway, as far as I see things, Al has always been a real man's man. Lots of confidence. Lots of girlfriends. A cool job. Lots of cool gear, and a great life in the outdoors. I always used to watch him when I was younger, wondering if I'd ever be able to measure up to his example. I do that to myself a lot, latching on to older guys who seem to be cool somehow, or who seem to have figured something out, trying to learn or absorb some kind of knowledge about who I should be, or how to live my life. You ever see a kid without a dad, attaching himself to what seems like a happy family in a playground? What I can I say.

Don't know why I've spent my life doing that, but I'm mostly over it now. I've learned to be a lot more comfortable in my own skin in the last 15 years or so, to trust my own feelings about a lot of things. I guess I grew up a bit and found a way to be myself, and feel good about it. When you try to win some sort of approval from enough people, many of whom then turn out to be assholes, I guess you learn to appreciate who you are and the things that made you an individual. If people have a problem with who I've turned out to be, that's perfectly fine. I say live and let live, or fuck 'em if they don't like it.

Back in the late '80s, I used to look up at planes that were passing by, heading to or from DFW airport, and wonder what the folks on those planes were doing and where they were going. My life seemed to be on hold, and there didn't seem to be any odds of that changing. Then Central Texas College called, responding to a resume I'd sent them, and the next thing I knew I was being flown to Naples, Italy to start my first teaching gig on a Navy ship. After four years of those gigs, and a lot of exotic and exciting times, I stopped wondering about those airplane passengers. I knew all too well what they were going through. I remember distinctly sitting in my parents back yard in Ft. Worth in about 1993, seeing one of those planes and noticing that I didn't have that longing any more. In stead, I was thinking "You poor bastards. How much longer are you gonna be stuck on that thing?"

When I could, I always tried to schedule my teaching gigs between canoe trips in the spring and summer (ya gotta have your priorities). So, for a time, when Al and I managed to meet up on trips now and then, we'd always compare stories. His were always cool, but so were mine back then. It was fun, and we both always got a good kick out of impressing the young kids who were taking the class. We'd put some rookie in the front seat and make sure they had fun, and got a good ride in the rapids. Smooth operator that he is, somehow Al always managed to get some hot babe in his front seat. Meanwhile I always seemed to get assigned some kid or another, sometimes an older person, or , on one occasion, a girl who'd apparently just taken a Woman's Studies class and didn't think there was anything a man could teach her. Again, what can you do? I've always been happy if they just put the paddle in the water now and then and didn't grab a tree limb just before we went through a rapid. Hands and feet in the boat, if you please.

Eventually I stopped going out on the ships, and started working down here on the base. The canoe trips would come along a few times a year, but Al and I seemed to get together on fewer and fewer occasions. Our schedules always seemed to conflict. Of course, as we all got older, we all spent more and more time on our careers and families. Eventually, inevitably, the coach retired from teaching the class, and the old convenient access to the colleges canoes and gear went away. Most of us have our own gear now, but still the trips have became more infrequent. We saw each other last year for a spring time trip that was a lot of fun. Al was there, organizing the trip, and he had a new lady friend tagging along. Very nice, but the word was that his son was still screwin' around. So I was surprised to read the attached article, about the accident, and learn that the boy, now a man, had gotten a job driving big rigs.

Earlier this year there were rumors of an April trip to the Buffalo that Al that tried to schedule, but the weather didn't cooperate. Then there was an email from the coach a few weeks ago saying that the annual father/son trip scheduled for this summer had been called off. The old coach has had to go in to have back surgery, and he can't be paddling and twisting in a canoe so soon after that. Now I'm sitting here getting ancy, looking at 5 days off coming up over this next Memorial Day weekend. My buddy and I are thinkin' were gonna try to go, and ask Al and any of the old regulars if they want to make it like old times. We'll see what happens.

The times I shared with these folks have been some of the happiest in my life. They're like my family, and like most families we seem to have drifted over the years. Here's hopin' that we can coordinate our various schedules and get a trip goin', and that there's about 15 inches of air under the Ponca bridge when we get there. Anyway, anybody who thinks they might want to try it out, you're welcome to join us (that's if the weather is right and the trip actually happens). It's a huge load of fun, and not too dangerous the way we do it. Anyway, If we go, I'll bring back more cool pictures and share them with ya. If you want to go on your own, check out this site. These folks will take care of everything you need, for a price. They'll tell you about all the official hiking trails and scenic points in the area. Go to their site and click on "Things To Do" and it'll direct you to all the best trails and sights. This site also has great shots of the trails and river sites.



Here's a parting shot of me, leaning on a buzzard roost on the Goat Trail, a few days into a 3 day river funk, knee pads to cushion the aging joints in the rapids, when you have to brace yourself on your knees, and one of my favorite t-shirts. Nice view, eh?

Jesus, I've been tagged again.

Usually I find these things a bit silly, girlish, like something silly teenage girls do in class when they're supposed to be sitting quietly while I fucking lecture! Ok, I needed that release. It's been a long day.

Anyway, old Mushy has tagged me to lay it all out and tell everyone how I keep this girlish figure. What are my favorite places to eat? I'm thinking... sitting in front of the computer, sitting on the couch, laying on the bed? Ok, not what he means.

What are my five favorite restaurants? And there are rules? Shit, there's always rules.

First, link to the dude that tagged you, and show a goofy assed picture of him again, just to fuck with his head. Covered. Ain't he purdy?



SUCH a whore!

Anyway, list the five best places you like to eat, then tag five more chumps. Hehehehehe! I'm feeling naughty.

Here we go...

1. Ok, OBVIOUSLY, my favorite place to eat is, and has been for 46 years, my mom's house. Best restaurant in town, whatever town we were livin' in at the time. You've all seen the fried chicken and peach ice cream posts, so I don't think I even need to go there. But here's a few pictures, just to set the mood...



Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Yummy.



That's right, its GOOOOOOD. How the hell do you think I got this way? I'm not a fat hairy bastard for nothing.

Fried chicken and Ice cream are her most famous creations, but other famous dishes from moms place include; Spaghetti, chili with beans, chicken enchiladas, steak and french fries, and when she's takin' it easy, she whips up a tamale casserole, or chili dogs. Mmmm, Mmmm. Oh shit, and did I tell ya that she makes the best scrambled eggs, mixing cream cheese in the eggs as she's whipping them. Damn! Ok, I'm getting dizzy.

She also surprises me some times with a dozen or so little pigs in a blanket. She takes a roll of Pillsbury croissants, cuts each croissant triangle in half, and rolls them over Jimmy Dean, hot, precooked sausages, also cut in half. Just out of the oven (15 minutes at 375), there isn't anything better.

2. Hmmm, my next choice is probably Dynasty Chinese Restaurant, in Temple. This is where my dad and I will be eating again tonight, as we do every Friday night. The folks there are great to dad. When he hobbles in they sit him down and rush off to get his regular plate of fried shrimp and red sauce, even while I'm still parkin' my car. I tip them well, and have grown to love their food. It's a buffet, and as I've found, the food is much better if you show up in a busy time when the food is fresh and hot. We've been going to this place for decades, and it's always been the place we went with my cousins and aunts. Thing is, I really didn't start loving their food till dad and I started going. They do amazing things with General Tso's chicken, which is my favorite thing to eat, outside mom's house. They also make a wonderful shrimp fried rice, with big fat shrimp and eggs and veggies. I hate it when a Chinese food place scrimps on the shrimp, giving you pissy little salad shrimp in the rice. What the fuck is the point of that? You can't even taste the bastards.

3. About once a month, the folks and sis and I pile into the folks big boat, the Grand Marquis, and roll down to Austin to enjoy a gluttonous feed at the local Pappasito's Cantina. Excellent Mexican food, specializing in chicken or beef fajitas, and more succulent shrimp (you're beginning to notice a pattern?). They make great queso dip, with ground beef mixed in it, and their own fresh chips and picante sauce. We usually go through about two bowls of chips before the main meal gets there. The best thing they make, In our opinion, is their Brochette shrimp. These little baby's are split down the middle, stuffed with cheese and a wedge of jalapeno pepper, wrapped in bacon, slathered in a mixture of white wine and butter, covered in a mixture of various spices, and then grilled. When they arrive on a hot plate, still sizzling, they give you a little bowl of melted and whipped butter, mixed with white wine, and a few other things, to dip the shrimp in. I tell ya, they are about the best thing in the world, for those moments when your mouth is making sweet love to them. Try them some time. Remember to get the butter dip. They're not the same without it. I usually order the fajita enchiladas as my main meal, and then end up taking about half of it home. Total gluttony.

4. Ok, this one is complicated, because it's actually two places. Back a few years ago one of the secretaries at work came in and told me there was a new Chinese place in Copperas Cove, west of the base. That's usually all I need to hear. I go there and order my usual, and I can tell by the way they make the Gen. Tso's and rice whether they're any good or not. This place threw me for a loop. Totally unexpected. The flavor of the rice reminded me of the rice I'd eaten in Hong Kong and Kowloon ten or twelve years ago, when I was teaching on the ships. I'd made a point to take a train into the interior to check out the places where the local folks eat. This new restaurant was called the Beijing Cafe.

It turns out that unlike every other Chinese food place around here, including Dynasty in Temple, the cooks at Beijing are actually Chinese! They use the authentic spices and the food has the same flavor that I'd grown to love overseas. Well, I went back regularly until about six months ago, when I noticed a few personnel changes. It turns out that the original Chinese cook/owner had sold out to a new set of Chinese cooks/owners. The food was basically the same, so I went back to grazing without much interruption, though I wondered what had happened to the old folks.

Then, about a month ago, I noticed that the old wing place by my local Killeen McDos lube joint had turned into a new Chinese food place. I'm thinkin' "Jesus, not another Chinese place!?!" There's got to be ten or twelve of these places in town, and most of them are half assed. I resisted for a few weeks, but finally decided to swing by for lunch and check it out. Imagine my glee when I walked in and found the old waitress and cook from Beijing had started a new restaurant. This time it's closer to the house, and the food is even cheaper. before the waitress had run the cash register and handled the call-in orders (speaks good English), but this time she's a full partner. I've been back one more time, and it looks like I won't have to drive the extra fifteen minutes to Cove anymore for good vittles. Business is business.

5. This one is a real favorite. Outside Little Rock Arkansas, heading southwest, just off exit 118 from I-30, there's a 100 foot long wonderland of deep fried and baked southern delight called Brown's Country Store. That's right, they have a 100 foot long buffet, filled with everything you could imagine in southern cuisine. My routine involves three trips, and three plates; salad plate, dinner plate, and dessert plate. It's a sight to behold, I wanna tell ya. This little stop on the road back from Arkansas has a special place in my heart.

Back when I was a kid, just starting college, I took an intramural PE class called Camping and Canoeing at the local community college. I found a world that I'd never known before, and friends that I still hang with to this day. We'd go on a big canoe trip to the Buffalo National River in the Ozarks, and spend three days living like kings and queens on the river. I keeps going on the trips till my school work and other things got in the way. I failed to go back for a few years while I finished my BA and spent two years getting my Masters in History. After finishing, I decided to go back and see if they were still teaching that canoeing class. Sure enough they were, and they were happy to have me tag along and help teach the new kids a thing or two.

Thing is, the trips had changed in those four years that I was away. The tents and canoes were a bit nicer, and the canoe trailers were a bit sturdier. We had a hell of a time, and I met another bunch of folks that I'm still friends with today. Then, on the return trip from the Ozarks, the coach made a left turn on I-40. I was thinkin' "what the hell?" Turns out we rolled a little ways back to the outskirts of Little Rock, slid down to I-30 west, and then 15 or 20 minutes later we were exiting into paradise. If you ever get the chance, give it a whirl. It's not health food, so don't get yer panties in a twist when your cholesterol level jumps a bit after the trip. Hell, you've gotta die of somethin'. Might as well have a smile on your face.

So, who to tag? I'm thinkin' Phlemmy, Becky, Kevin, Myron, and the Editor.

Well, there it is. I'm off. It's late and the sack beckons. All this talk of food and travel has exhausted me. Hope you enjoyed the trip. Drink up and eat well. See ya later. Cheers.

This is hilariuous. You've probably seen it before. If not, Enjoy.

Here's some real wisdom.

Not contrived. Born of a life fully lived. Like some of the films and books we all grew up loving, written by people who had lived through real shit. Born of experience, from the generation that knew the Depression close up, that fought "The Good War" for freedom and justice, and then lived to see it all pissed away in the name of safety and propriety. Here's Bono reading Charles Bukowski's poem "roll the dice".



I wish I'd known some of these things back when it could have counted for something. "Youth is wasted on the young", some other wise ass said. I wish a lot of things a lot of the time. Dads got a saying about that though... Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which hand fills up first. More old time wisdom. Says it all. I can't stop wishin' though. Too many regrets. Too many dreams about do-overs that I'll never get. I guess, if you ketch on, those thoughts are like lessons learned, so we don't pass things up if they come by again. Then again, sometimes you need a slap to the face to wake you up and get yer attention.

Dad and I had another good outing last Friday night, but ended up not hittin' golf balls after all. He was hungry and didn't want to go before we ate (or maybe he was sore from the last time), and we were both too bloated to do it after we ate, so we blew it off. I was wired and would have enjoyed the catharsis of hitting a bucket. I'd witnessed a bad car accident right in front of me in the minutes before getting to mom and dads place, and I was still pumped from the adrenaline hours later.

I was driving down a four lane, strait thoroughfare, from I-35 to 31st street on the south side of Temple. I'm chuggin' along in traffic, goin' about 50ish (in the flow and not really watchin' the speedometer) when I see an SUV in the oncoming lane hitting the brakes and making a violent lurch to the right, overcompensating to the left, hurling himself into our lane right in front of the SUV that's driving about three car lengths in front of me. Brakes are burnin' all over the place, including mine.

The people in front of me jerked over to the right to try to avoid hitting the car that had now turned back to the right, and was sliding sideways into us, just about to start a roll-over. If the folks in front of me had been a bit quicker they'd have missed the oncoming mess completely and the bastard would have rolled sideways over me, but it wasn't meant to be. They smashed bumpers, with the rear left hand bumper of the one hitting the right front bumper of the folks in front of me. I end up driving through a cloud of tiny plastic shards, like one of those films you see of a WW2 fighter plane flying through the exploding remains of an ammo train or a "Buzz Bomb".

They both limped off away to the left of the road, out of my way, and I slowly rolled by, thinking how lucky I'd been to avoid it all, and not to have been slammed into from behind as we all broke in a panic. Meanwhile, my life is flashing in front of my eyes, which is enough to bore most people to death, and I'm seeing images of this bastard rolling over me and fucking my nice little car all to hell. The one SUV is behind me somewhere, and the folks that had been in front of me are stopped on the other side of the road, their left front smashed and leaking fluids, and smoke filling the cab. I see immediately that they are moving, getting out of the car and that about a half dozen other cars are stopping to give assistance, so I waited a moment, thought about stopping, and then rolled on and counted my blessings. In a minute, as my head was clearing, I thought to call 911 and report it all. I probably should have stopped, but I hate to be in a situation like that when I feel like I'm one of a bunch of people trying to help, and feeling like I'm just in the way.

So, I was pumped with adrenaline there for a while and flinching behind the wheel the rest of the night. Nothing like seeing something like that right in front of you to wake you up and get your attention. After eating and visiting with the folks, I headed home, and as I'm driving west on that same road towards I-35, I note that the sky is darkening as I go. Turns out I'm driving into a friggin' wall cloud with lightning flashing all over. I'm thinkin', "what the hell else is gonna happen to me tonight?" As I head west on 190 I look up at the edge of the cloud and see these tendrils dipping down, and I think to myself "if these things start spinning I'm fucked". Lightning is flashing a few times about a quarter of a mile down the road, and it looks like it's actually hitting the road. Jesus!

I got home ok, and then it rained like crazy, and the folks from here up to Ft. Worth got rain, bad wind and hail, and we got about an inch and a half or rain. We were lucky and missed the bad stuff. I slept in Saturday, and blew the day piddling around the house and napping (NOT pulling weeds). Sunday I headed up to Gatesville and shot guns with a buddy. I tried to sight in that new Romanian .22 rifle. It turned out to be a huge pain in the ass, misfeeding about every other time for a while and not ejecting correctly, and then working fine for a while. Frustrating as hell. My buddy shot his old Russian SKS and an old AR-15 that looks like the rifle the guys in 'Nam used. We had a good time, and then I drove down 36 to eat dinner at mom and dads. Mom made beef stew and cornbread, to die for, and I worked on their garage door, which had been giving them trouble since someone fucked with it the day before. It was off the rail. Quick fix and it was running like new.

I floated the idea to dad about going to hit golf balls, but he declined again. Don't know what the deal is. He used to always go on and on when I didn't want to do it, but now he's reluctant. Well, he was probably just tired or something, or maybe the one time we did it was so depressing for him that he's changed his mind. So, on the way home I stopped at a driving range off 190 and hit a bucket by myself. I guess I've talked myself into wanting to do it, but now he doesn't. This is our relationship in a microcosm. Frustrating.

So now I'm watching American Choppers and relaxing before the week starts again. I hope all your weekends were a lot less dramatic, and that you all avoided the ridiculous weather, and that you enjoyed old Charlie's poem. Marquisdejolie turned me on to Bukowski in a few of his poetic rants. You should check him out some time. Anyway, I'm outta here. Later.

One of my cousins, who lives in Houston, went to the Ultimate Fighting Championships there recently, and guess who he ran into?

Son of a bitch! Ok, that's not really my cousin. Apparently when he had his picture taken, the camera operator was a bit nervous and the shot is blurred and a bit washed out with light. You can see it's him, but I figured this shot was better. Gotta love the shit eatin' grin on this guys face, what with his wife standin' right there on the other side of old Jenna. Nice rack on the wife, I must say. These are friends of his. This guys company has a floor suite, so they get access to a VIP area that occasionally has this sort of person flitting through. I remember when this kid was born, and now he's huggin' on a porn star. Love it.
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Ok, here's my cousin, after I worked on the shot a bit. I'm so proud.



I asked him, "She didn't have any trouble swallowin' anything while you were there, or anything?" "Of course not!" Loaded question?

I've got a mission.

Talked to my neighbor the other day. He's a grizzled old vet, Korea and Nam, in a wheel chair from some sort of crud that he picked up after getting out (maybe). Conversation on a recent gun show moved to old times, and he tells me that he's still got the knife he used on the first man he ever killed, in Korea. Ran into a North Korean in the middle of the night. One walked away. I ask him if the bayonet was on the end of his rifle at the time and he says "Nope". Cool! Tells me he's got the knife but no sheath. I tell him they are easy to find. He asks me to see if I can find one. His wife brings the thing out wrapped in foam, secured with tape. Hands it to me like an old religious icon. I take it out of the foam and check it out. Dig it.



Typical M-4 bayonet, manufactured by Pal Cutlery some time during WW2 or Korea. Someone really fucked up the cutting edge, but maybe that's what soldiers do in war, sharpening the standard issue stuff that probably arrives blunt as hell. I dunno. All I know is what he's told me. Would LOVE to get the thing tested to see if there's still any Korean DNA on it. Seriously, it looks like something some stupid kid picked up at a dime store and tried to sharpen with a brick.
Started looking on the web today, sites I know about, and found one place that had the right sort of sheath, but they were out of stock. I'll keep lookin'. I'm on a mission.
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Update: Found the sheath online and ordered it. It'll be here in a week or so. Can't wait to go over and hand it all back to him. Fun.

Hows about a little rock and roll PT on the weekend.

If yer head don't start bangin' on that one... Ya probably need a bit more medication. Pat Travers was HUGE when I was in high school in the late 70s. Ya never hear about him any more, but he lives on. Here's another called "Steivie", in case you dig it.



Gettin' myself psyched up to see ZZ Top tonight at the Bell County Expo center. I'm Purposely not listening to ZZ before I go. Should be fun. I'll tell ya how it went later.

Update: Well, that was a good time. They had a lead up band, another power trio, but they were nothing to write home about. One day maybe, if they mature, and get a better sound guy. These dudes played for about 25 minutes, and then there was a 10 minute interlude/smoke break, so that ZZs gear could be set up. The boys came out to the cheers of the crowd, and played their asses off for about an hour and twenty minutes. Too many hits and great lesser known tunes to list here. Some of the favorites were Waitin' For The Bus/Jesus Just Left Chicago, Beer drinkers and Hell Raisers, Just Got Paid, I'm bad - I'm Nationwide, Cheap sunglasses, Fool For Your Stockings, Pearl Necklace, Got me Under Pressure, Sharp Dressed Man, Legs, and even a new sounding remake of Viva Las Vegas. They walked off for a little break, and then came back and did a 20 minute medley of La Greange and Tush, with some free flowing jams tucked in there for good measure. It was a great night.

The crowd favorites were Jesus Just Left Chicago, Pearl Necklace, Sharp dressed Man (for which they donned their traditional white furry guitars), and finally the La Grange/Tush medley. After everything let go, it took us about 30 minutes to get out of the parking lot. What a cluster fuck! Then it was green lights all the way home. There were a few tunes I wished they'd have played, like Blue Jean Blues, but I can't complain. For a $40 ticket, I think I got the best show I could hope for. I thought I caught a whiff of something illicit once, but it was probably some woman's perfume. Lots of beer was sold inside the dome, which may go to explain why it took so long for everyone to get out of the parking lot. Anyway, it was a great time. If they come by your area, I'd advise you to pony up the change and see them. They play better than most of the crap that passes for rock and roll music these days, and that's a fact.

Here's alittle taste, from a 2003 concert.



He used that same guitar this evening, among others.

Went up to Gatesville today to shoot again with a buddy.

Last time I went up there was in January. This time it was just Dave and I, and the pooch. I took a few things up there to shoot, including one rifle that I've modified myself (click these for higher res. shots).



On the left, a Romanian 5.45x39 that I rebuilt with a new gas block and sling loop (from a late model East German AKM), a Bulgarian front sight post, and an East German muzzle break. It's also got Russian plumb colored furniture. It's being rebuilt to resemble a very early model AK-74 from the mid 1970s, and it's about 80% finished. When the Russians began adopting this heat resistant plastic furniture, getting away from the laminated wood they'd used since the late 40s, they adopted this plumb color. I like it a lot.

In the center is the same Hungarian AKMS, shooting 7.62x39, that I had back in January, only I've switched out the furniture since then. I replaced the solid Hungarian wooden grips with a refinished laminated Polish lower and a Russian upper, and a plastic pistol grip. I think it's more attractive set up this way. On the right is the same Polish Tantal that I shot in January. There had been an issue with it when I shot it before. Every time I shot it I had to push the trigger forward again with my finger. Turns out my gunsmith had forgot to reset a spring when he was putting it together. I reset the spring after talking to him, and wanted to test it out again. It also shoots 5.45x39.



Dave decided to shoot some antiques. He's into old stuff. The long gun is a Winchester 73, made in the 1880s. the revolver on the left is a .44-40 single action (same caliber and dates as the rifle).



The one on the right is a Ruger .44 Magnum made in the 1960s. We set up targets and started plinkin' away from about 100 yards.



We worked on our own targets, and then switched off rifles.



His groups are a lot tighter than mine. He's been doin' this sort of thing a lot longer and has a steadier hand.



I'm too shaky to be a real marksman, but I killed the shit outta the target at this range. They'd a been bleedin' bad. It was easy to tell the different holes made by the different guns. That .44-40 made BIG holes. 5.45x39 is like a .22 (it's Russia's version of our .223). Anyway, mine aren't really designed for marksmanship. More for sprayin' lead. Maybe one of these days I'll try that little modification, but I never said that.



This time the dog stayed with us, but kept her distance when the revolvers came out. You remember, last time she took refuge in the truck and slobbered all over the gear shift. We remembered to close the truck door this time.

On the way back to Dave's house, he stopped at a barn and said "You might like some of these". He reached into a dusty, dilapidated box and pulled out belted .50 and .30-06 blanks.



DAMN, was all I could say to that! A buddy of his found them on a hunting trip years ago, abandoned on the side of a trail on Ft. Hood. They're dated to the 1980s. Couldn't believe it.



Dave's house is like a museum. His upstairs is unfinished, and he's got his collection of 18th and 19th century guns on the walls. Most are authentic, but a few are reproductions.



He's a Civil War and Mexican War reenactor, and a pack rat to boot.



His sympathies lie to the southern side of things, where he's traced his ancestors. He knows which battles they fought in and where a few died. Makes it a bit more personal I guess. I joke with him from time to time, calling it "the war of the rebellion". That usually gets a "Hey!"

Anyway, after we shot we went to town and got some BBQ, and then I drove home. It was a nice Saturday afternoon on a beautiful day. Hope all of your Saturdays were as fun.

So, it's a hot weekend. Yer at a pool party at a buddy's house, and someone gets a really stupid idea.

This is all about trust. Trust, and alcohol. How drunk would you need to be?



And you may have seen this before. It's been goin' around. Too damn funny not to post. Enjoy.



So, I'm heading to the little town of Sweetwater, Texas this weekend. They're having a combined chili cook-off, rattlesnake roundup, carnival, and gun show. Now folks, what the hell else do you need?

Ok, get yer minds out of the gutter. I'm sure I'll be able to round THAT up if needs must. Chili cook-off folks...



are notoriously open minded, horny as hell, and easily plied with small amounts of booze... or so I hear. And if that doesn't work, there's always the carnival folks. Shiny objects and booze? I understand that it works. Many a marriage has been based on less.

A few friends will be competing in the cook-off, and I'll be eating copious amounts of BBQ, and maybe judging the competition. Can you say ringer? Might even eat some BBQ roasted rattlesnake. It ain't bad. Weather looks like it'll be nice; 70s in the day time and 40s at night. Perfect camping weather. I might even get to buy a new toy at the gun show. If the ninjas of the nanny state have their way, I'm sure these sorts of shows will soon be a thing of the past, so why not splurge?

I'll have an early out at the high school tomorrow morning, and then I'm off from there for a week of spring break. On the way back to town to get ready to head to Sweetwater, I'll spend a while at the local veterans cemetery. An old buddy of mine, Bobby Spence, passed away this week. He was one of the attendants in the building on base that I teach out of. Known him for years. Great guy. Army vet. Korea and Nam, I think. Supposedly his wife found him, seemingly sleeping, eyes closed, hands clasped behind his head. She shook his foot to wake him and discovered how cold he was. Now, if that isn't the way to go, I don't know what is. God bless him. He'll be missed.

So, relax and have a great weekend, and I'll see ya on the other end.