Nom de plume: Rivrdog

More Boomershoot prep & forecasts

With the aid of a former Oregon State NCAA champion rifleman as my spotter, I sighted in both of the rifles I'm bringing.

The Savage 99 laid down some decent MOA groups, once I mastered the scope crosshairs (all six of them, my eye accommodation sucks). It's simple, I set the scope to have the outer sets of crosshairs be guide marks, and I use the inner set to aim with.

My .308 load of a Sierra 165-gr SPBT over 40 grains of IMR 3031, fired by a CCI 200 primer seems to be a stable and accurate load. Good thing I have a lot of it. I also have some 165-grain Match commercial stuff by Black Hills and Federal.

I fired several different loads through my Winchester Model 70 (.243 WIN), including some reloads that are an 87-gr SPBT over 46 grains of IMR 4350, fired by a CCI 250 primer. They were OK, but I got more consistent results with Federal Fusion 100-gr SPBT ammo.

I think I'm ready...

All I have to do is get the new windshield put in my trusty Little Black Truck, load 'er out, and I'm off to the wide and wonderful world of outer Idaho.

Speaking of ready, todays range prep was done in a pouring rain, so I'm ready for THAT issue at Boomershoot, also.

The latest NCEP "GFS" computer run shows the 24th and 25th to be the worst days of a 4-day trough which sets up over C. ID starting the 23rd. It might be showery on the 26th, but the trough will be lifting out of the area to the E by then. Sometime on the 25th there will be a Frontal Passage which will offer lively weather. It could be overnight on Sat though. We're within the seven-day window for the start of this forecast period, so the forecasts should be getting more accurate by the day now. It's interesting to note that this particular model run hasn't changed much in the 5 days I've been monitoring it, though.

Road Trip - End of the Road

All good things must come to an end, and so the 08 Road Trip did, yesterday morning.

Saturday and Sunday were travel days from PHX, but I ended Sunday 130 miles short, at the little burg of Cottage Grove, OR, where the Rivrsis lives in her little RivrCottage on the Coast Fork of the Willamette River. We had a pleasant 36 hours or so to visit, compare aches and pains, and NOT talk politics. I value my time with her very highly, and I didn't even fire up my computer to post anything, so here is the scoop on the two travel days across AZ, CA and into OR.

CA Interstate highways are best traversed on a weekend, it seems. There was little traffic anywhere, so I maintained good speeds across southern CA and up the I-5, which Lost Angels call the "Golden State Freeway", but is properly known as the Blue Star Memorial Highway, dedicated to fallen CA soldiers. You'll never see THAT in print anywhere from a CADOT publicist, however, there ARE little brass plaques at most of the safety rest areas stating the dedication.

I Remained Over Night (RON, remember THAT on your military travel orders?) at the Super-8 motel at Santa Nella, which I HIGHLY recommend, since it is large, clean room, with all the amenities, for $44.95 plus tax WITH THE TRAVELER'S GUIDE COUPON. You pick up these guides for free in any of the safety rest areas. A good bed and a clear head lead me to leave early after the complimentary hot breakfast (well, the waffle and coffee was hot), and the trip to Cottage Grove, including the winter-dreaded Siskiyou Mountain crossing, went perfectly.

Gasoline was high in CA, but they deserve it for voting in a Commie Government run by a foreigner. I paid up to $3.59/gallon for 87 octane gas, and lousy gas it is, too. I was getting 24-25 mpg at 80 mph on TX, AZ and NM gas, but when I put those three tanks of CA gas in, my mileage fell off to 20 mpg at 75 mph cruising speed. CA sucks, and they are deluding themselves that this shitty formula for gas that they've foisted off on the refiners is saving the planet. The OBD-2-eauipped engine in the LBT can use the gas OK, but to do it, the computer has to change the way the ignition timing fires to a less-efficient advance range.

Somewhere along the CA pike, I picked up a moderate neck strain, so pain accompanied me the rest of the way home, and I am still sore as I write this.

I did all my laundry last night, went to a new but unacceptable BBQ joint in my little hometown of Gresham, took Flexeril and went to bed early. Today I will clean all the guns that remained unclean after the Road Trip, and pack again, this time for duty as a traveling nurse for my oldest daughter who is having another leg operation tomorrow (day surgery!!!???)to remove the metal used in reconstructing her leg and ankle last May after she was run down on her bike. Without the accident trauma to deal with, this post-surgical recovery should go much faster.

These photos aren't the best, coming from a 3-megapixel shirt-pocket camera in low light, but enjoy. First, the coming sunrise over the San Joachim Valley, CA:

The water in the foreground is the huge California Aqueduct, and the lights are in the vicinity of Shafter, CA and NAS Crow's Landing.

Then, from the same location, facing 180 degrees away, moonset over the CA Coast Range:

That's all, folks.

Road whoots and oops

This was the hardest road day: 711 miles from east of Phoenix, AZ to just 100 miles South of Sacramento, CA at Santa Nella Village. I stop here because there are ALWAYS coupons for cheap stays at decent motels. Tonight, I am in a Super-8 room will all the perks for $44.95 plus tax (which is remarkably low for Kalifornika). I'm saving money by eating my "road rations" (sandwich and cup-o-noodles) in my room, all washed down with a Diabetic's Special (Vodka and Diet Tonic Water). Make that TWO Diabetic's Specials. I was a bad boy on the Road Trip, and drank a lot of non-Diabetic adult beverages. Boo hiss on me. There, I beat the Doctor Daughter to the scold...

The route out of Po-heen-icks starts well enough, with 75-85 mph speeds on the CITY FREEWAYS! BTW, those freeways are smooth as a pool table, and it is a real pleasure to drive them. Kudos, Phoenix! The rest of Interstate 10 out to Quartzsite, AZ is also fast, but then I get off on A and B-class highways for over 100 miles transitioning North to Interstate 40, so as to bypass Los Angeles to the North. So, due north on US-95 out of Quartzsite to Parker, then AZ and CA 62 West and North to pick up I-40 at Needles, CA. About 100 miles of roads in three dimensions, including the ups and downs. These roads were built over numerous dry washes, and the cheap sons of bitches who engineered them did not fill the low spots, so the road follows the contours like a B52 being chased by an SA-6 missile. AND IT'S ABOUT THAT HARD ON THE NECK AND SHOULDERS! I could slow down to 50 or so and the whoop-de-do's would have been easy to take, but I'm on a Road Trip, see, and that means make time, soooo....the whoop-de-do's are done at upwards of 70...IN A LIGHT TRUCK! Fun, sir!

The I-40 is a drone after all that, but I get lulled into complacency, and you almost got to read about me in the obit section of your dead-tree media. I was coming out of the Fenner Rest Area, and a fud-de-dud towing a 5th wheel got on the 75 mph freeway at 30 mph in front of me, and I was hammering through the gears and came up on him at 65 (remember when the driving instructor said to match freeway speed at the end of the on-ramp, kiddies?) I looked back, saw a semi who had just moved over to give me room, and I entered behind the semi, but one lane over from the fud-de-dud. This is a no-no, cutting across two lanes, and what I didn't see was that the semi was shielding from my sight a total asshole who was overtaking the semi in the third lane at about 90. Said butt-wipe was passing the semi before the semi completed his pass of the fud-de-dud. The LBT and the A/H's Impala occupied the same lane at the same time, requiring evasive action on both our parts, which was successful and we didn't trade paint. The A/H, another geezer, flipped me off. I stayed behind him for the next twenty miles, wearing my orange hunting hat and waving nicely at him. The area is heavily patrolled by the CHPs, so he couldn't speed away from me, and he sweated, yes he did.

On through Barstow and Mohave. Interesting coordination maneuver at 75mph on CA 58 when a "duster" (heat-generated small tornado) crossed the road in front of me. You don't dare get into one of those, their winds are rotating at around 70 mph and they have the force to throw you right off the road. Try to guess exactly where the duster is, hard, when it leaves the desert floor, it's isn't visible as it crosses the road. I got a small buffet from the tail end of it. On over the Tehachapi pass and down into Bakersfield, where I tanked up, setting a new record of $58.35 for the LBT for 16.153 gallons (in a 16.4 gallon tank, I was on fumes). I thought $3.59.9 was absurd, but farther down the pike, on Interstate 5 north, about an hour out of Bakerspatch, I saw $4.13/gallon regular. GAG ME WITH A CAMEL'S SADDLE-BLANKET! Enough of this shit, it's time for nukes! ALL that $100+/barrel oil was originally produced for FIFTY CENTS PER BARREL! Remember "Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute"? Remember the birth of the US Marine Corps in Tripoli? Well, Pilgrim, the Middle East is full of pirates again, and it's time to clean them out again.

There's a late-season cold front coming into the Pacific Northwest tomorrow which will probably cause some snow in the Siskyous, but the RivrSis has learned her weather-witching well, and between her witching and NOAA, I felt safe enough to bag it for the night at Santa Nella, leaving an 8-hour drive to her place in Cottage Grove, OR tomorrow to celebrate Easter with her and do some logistics items with the LBT (she has no wheels). Then on to home and some post-op nursing duties for the #1 Daughter, who gets all that metal out of her leg on Thursday.

It's been a great Road Trip. I should do this more often, and I still owe those MidWest bloggers like Og and John of Arrgghhh! a visit, but sheeeeeet, man, it's still snowing out there!

Well, I'm sharing the motel with a tour bus load of ladies on an escorted tour, most of them collecting Social Security, it seems.

Naaaaah, I'm not THAT hard up, even though I have my usual huge load of Arizona hooch I'm schlepping to Oregon for various friends and could set up a bar that the whole bus-load would appreciate...

Time to wash and brush up and hit the pillow for an oh-five-hundred wake-up.

Marfa, TX

Marfa, TX actually IS a "whole 'nother country". The area is geologically part of the Chihuahua Plateau of Mexico. Personally, I think Marfa would be better known as "Empty, TX".

There is no more desolate region of the USA that I have ever seen than the Big Bend area, but this is also one of the most beautiful. High desert, big mountains (one approaches 10,000 feet) and remote canyons and valleys separate Texas here from Mexico just past that ridge...

That reminds me to tell a war story on myself.

Back in 1979, I re-entered onto Extended Active Duty with the USAF, and immediately went to Carswell AFB, Fort Worth to learn how to be a bombardier in the B52D. I had been a Navigator in that aircraft before, and a very successful and recognized one at that, but the Bombardier had different responsibilities.

My first low-level attack mission involved flying a Visual Flight Rules (VFR) low-level, high-speed route that started at Marfa, TX and flew down the US Border almost to Brownsville, TX, then ended. There was a simulated bomb run down at the Gulf end of the low-level navigation leg.

So, here we are, a "green" crew, with a trainee Aircraft Commander, "Jungle George" Jackson, assisted by a brand-new co-pilot with NO time in the airplane, and a brand-new Navigator, "A-J" Gipson, a new second Louie fresh out of the Zoomie School (USAF Academy), but known all over for being a first-class outside linebacker for Air Force. I had a ton of experience navigating the aircraft, but NOT navigating it and running the bombing radar at the same time. We had an Instructor Pilot and and Instructor Radar Navigator along to teach us.

We do the high altitude work (air refueling from a KC-135 tanker, celestial navigation, ECM calibration runs) well enough, and the Pilot finds Marfa VORTAC and we begin descent to low level. Navigation at this point is routine, because we have the altitude to see over the mountains, and the air route navigation beacons (VORs) still work up there. Soon enough though, we are at 500 feet Above Ground Level (AGL), and the radar picture shrinks to a little blob in the center of the scope, and the VOR equipment just pouts, unusable. We back up our feeble attempts at high-speed, low-level navigation with Dead Reckoning, which is simply flying pre-planned courses and speeds, using the compass and stopwatch.

Now, from the air, one canyon looks pretty much like the next one you might fly down, except for one biggie: the Rio Grande river. The objective was for the pilot to keep the Rio Grande on his RIGHT shoulder and we would stay in the USA. He didn't so that, and I didn't catch his error with the radar, and A-J didn't either with his Dead Reckoning.

We wound up in Mexico, flying a course parallel to the Rio Grande in a canyon on their side of the border. Finally, a combination of us realizes that there is supposed to be WATER down there, and there is none, so we must be in the wrong canyon.

The safe thing to do when lost at 325 knots Indicated Air Speed is to climb to a safer altitude than 500 feet (well below the ridge tops), so we do, and surprise, surprise, we are intercepted by the Mexican Air Force, flying F-86 Sabre jets we gave them 15 to 20 years before. The Fuerza del Aero looks lost also, and they are annoyingly close to our wing, so Jungle George decides to just sneak into the next canyon to the north-east and drop down again, giving them the slip.

The Mexicans WERE ALSO lost, so they followed that giant black B-52, refusing to believe IT could be lost. We then realize that we have an illegal alien air escort of armed fighter jets! We're almost to the bomb run though, and having in mind that we came to bomb something (and now had found our position so we could bomb accurately), we ignored the Mexicans.

When you do even a simulated bomb run (camera only, no actual bomb dropping out of the bomb bay), you DO open the bomb-bay doors. Now, it just so happens that opening the bomb-bay doors is a recognized sign that a bomber aircraft has hostile intent. The Mexicans, who must have thought they were "arresting" our aircraft for our border overflight violation, now go ballistic, and begin jinking their aircraft up and down and waggling their wings at us. OUR pilots all decide that is hostile-looking, but we have an empty tail gun, and can't do anything about it, except....SEE HOW BIG THEIR COJONES WERE! We're still in the low-level route for a few more miles, so the pilot puts the aircraft down on the deck and makes "moving pick" plays with mountain peaks to "scrub" the F-86s off our wings, then when the Mexicans have given up on trying to escort the "crazy" Gringos, we zoom up and out of the low level route, just in time to see a pair of patrolling F-4s looking for the Mexicans. It seems that our Ground Control Intercept radar WAS good enough to pick up all the low level shenanigans with the FAM Sabres.

Common sense prevailed, and since this had happened before with other trainee crews, a phone call from one of our colonels to one of theirs settled the matter amicably enough.

Never did fly with that set of instructors again, though. This whole episode WAS very sobering to your blogger though, because I had been A LOT more afraid of getting yelled at by senior officers than I was of jeopardizing the crew's safety by getting lost, and I never made the mistake of THAT poor priority placement again.

I soon adopted a laborious, but VERY accurate way of continuous-triangulation navigation by radar bearings to navigate strange terrain with, and I could still use it today, even though GPS navigation keeps the B-52 within 5 centimeters (two inches!) of it's actual planned position 30 times a second. My system was good to a few hundred feet of accuracy, which is close enough for government work when dropping  nukes in the one-megaton range.

Marfa, TX. Thanks for the memories!

Truck across Texas, epilogue

When we left off, I had just pigged out on the most wonderful, VERY authentic Texas BBQ. I was full all the next day, but the best news of all is that it was PERFECT BBQ, and did not wreck my gut. After the BBQ, I stayed two more nights at Aaron and Lisa's place in Foat Wuth.

Readers, I am NOT exaggerating one bit when I say that my hope for this country (well, at least, for Texas) is renewed. Here is a young family, conservative and INFORMED, living the American Dream. They own their home (very comfortable too, with a fine room for wandering bloggers), they both epitomize Southern Hospitality (yes, it deserves capitalizing!), and they are raising a fine son, who will be sure to carry on all the best Texas and conservative traditions.

The lad is only nine months old, and he much prefers BBQ to baby food! He sings with the dogs when they howl for a police siren, and he is eying the shifty feline of the family, Rascal, as a source of exercise (to chase) and entertainment. The boy is just a delight. I am now on my way back to Oregon to kick some of my kids' butts so I can have grandchildren before I get too old to enjoy them (so far, 4 kids but zip in the grandkid department). Aaron and Lisa's young man has an eye for the pretty gals, so they better prepare themselves.

The boy is also immune to getting flustered. We all just experienced some horrible weather in North Central Texas, almost two days of torrential rain, with thunderstorms, high winds, flooding and nearby tornadoes. I don't recall so much as whimper out of this baby with all the best that Thor threw at us and the DFW Metroplex.

Aaron, if you ever get tired of him for even a nanosecond, you give me the call and I'll fly him back to the Left Coast and teach him how to bait for both salmon and moonbats. Oh, and if he's over 5 at the time, I WILL teach him how to shoot a rifle, although I suspect that's already on YOUR calendar. My recommendation: make his first rifle a Marlin 1894 then you BOTH can have fun AND be well-defended.

Then there was a Cabela's trip. Now, your blogger is not normally a "shopper", of the kind who delights in just visiting stores and not buying much. When I go into a merchant's place of business, I'm usually in and out in minutes, even for complicated purchases.

I spent over three hours in Cabela's.

OH. MY. GOD!  This is THE sportsman's candy store! I'm spoiled forever. When I go into Big Five, or Joe's, or any other regional from now on, fuggeddabbouddid.

I needed a set of reloading dies. I headed for the reloading section, and was intercepted by a polite giant of a store employee. I told him what I wanted, and soon, I couldn't follow the blurs that were his hands as he pointed out what I wanted to consider, then pointed out that Lee dies came INCLUDING the shell holder, and were 20% cheaper than RCBS, which I had requested. We next trolled the ammo section, which puts the fine Internet ammo emporium AmmoMan.com to shame, and beats their prices sometimes. They had .308 Match (USA-made Match, not some Serbian stuff) for $23.99/box, at least $6/box cheaper than the ammo store in Oregon I was going to buy it from before BoomerShoot. The two of us then had a fine lunch at their cafeteria for $16. We toured their HUGE freshwater aquarium, fully the equal of some State aquariums I've been to lately (you listening, Oregon State Aquarium at Newport?). I bought a cute little range bag for $16 that has more pockets than Carter has little liver pills. The credit card was smokin' upwards of a couple of C-notes by the time we went back from Denton to Foat Wuth in the storms, marveling at the way the Texas flood control ditches were handling a rainstorm of almost a foot of water in that area. You listening, Oregon DOT?

It all ended too quickly, and I hit the hay early, got up early, and got on the road before sunup, the storm having blown itself out overnight. I ran the LBT quickly out to Breckenridge, TX, to this cast bullet factory, where I did the apparently-unusual and picked up several thousand rounds of cast bullets in all my SHTF calibers, all according to this list, which has excellent pricing and cheap shipping costs, I saved only about $7 on the whole load by picking it up, but it was an excuse to get off the Interstate and see more of Real Texas. BTW, kudos to Alltel Wireless for reversing a phone number for me to give me an address to put into Streets and Trips and take me right to the reclusive (Internet) bullet merchant's hidden ranch. They WERE surprised to see me there.

Then, about 400 more miles to Van Horn, Texas, just 120 miles shy of the NM border on Interstate 10, where I am snugged down for the night in a comfortable motel room, armed to the teeth, watching my heavily-loaded LBT like a hawk out the window.

Texas, you've been better to me than anywhere else I've been in a long while. I made a HUGE mistake by NOT following my inclinations and retiring down here.

OFFICER Phil J.and his Liz-beth, The Layabout Sailor and HIS intended, and Aaron, Lisa and Alex, you have been WONDERFUL to me, and I will never forget the experiences. David, my best buddy, we have seen war together, and we have seen all manner of other strife together, and we will see each other for eternity, what more can I say?

One last word: Have you ever heard an "oldie" on the radio and teared up when you heard it? Today, about 150 miles short of my evening's rest, I was at High Cruise at 3,100 RPM in 5th (Overdrive) at 80 mph on I-20, and I was listening to KCKM (AM) 1330 out of Monahans, TX, as they got into their "oldies Happy Hour" at 5 pm. Mind you, I am then several thousand miles short of home and my sweetie, my life-love, and the more immediate duty of caring for my ex-USMC Desert-Storm vet daughter next week as she undergoes hopefully the last surgery to repair her trashed leg from last year, and John Denver comes on, singing "Back home Again". I couldn't handle the flood of emotion, and since I was passing a double set of bulk tankers hauling drilling mud, and I damn near wound up under the wheels of the second trailer. I can hardly type now, listening to that MP3.

I know how you feel, truckers. PLEASE keep them between the ditches and get home to your sweeties. I will try to do the same.

Rivrdog, by. Catch you on the flip-flop.

Reflections on Texas

Some reflections on Texas, after spending a busy week here:

• You meet the nicest people from Texas on the Internet. They are even nicer in person.
• It's DAMN hard to find someone unpleasant in Texas (not that I'm trying, mind you).
• There is never enough time to do everything in Texas. This is somewhat true everywhere, but especially true in Texas, where the culture DEMANDS that you try to enjoy things by slowing life down a bit.
• Texas is affordable: housing in Ft. Worth is around a THIRD of what it is in Portland, OR, fuel is 10-15% cheaper consistently, food is cheaper (how about .99/# beef brisket?). I'm an average Joe in Oregon, economically. Down here, with that same money, I'd be considered well-to-do and could live like it.
• Energy is King in Texas, and so Texas will soon run the nation. You heard it here first!

With roses, you get thorns:

• People drive too fast here. In the suburban neighborhood I'm staying in, the average speed on the non-boulevard streets is 15 mph too dangerous for kids (anything over 25 on a housing street is dangerous). The freeways drive at 75 INSIDE THE CITIES!
• The wildlife is noisy. The sound of doves and whippoorwills may seem soothing to some, but their constant calls here are noise pollution, pure and simple.
• Texans, generally an orderly lot, have failed to come to grips with the depressing sorts of minor crimes that lead to urban decay. Tagging is rampant, hip-hop gangsters blare their jarring music from EXTERIOR loudspeakers on their cars and NOBODY picks up trash in public areas.
• The weather prognosticators can't get it right here, either. A simple five-day forecast seems to be well beyond their capability. No excuse for that, considering the use of computer modeling was pretty much invented here (Texas Instruments laboratories led the way in the 1960's). I've been alerted since Friday with a threat of "severe" weather that hasn't materialized. We were supposed to get heavy (as in flash-flooding) rains overnight, and not a drop fell. The only thunderstorms visible on weather radars as I write are in a weak squall line in West Texas that will not make it here without atmospheric enhancement on a major scale. Bah! I could do better than that in the 5th grade in the mid-1950's before any weather satellites or radars! Better forecasting was being done when the only weather instruments were barometers and telegraph keys to send reports on.

Today's activities are to help my host, Aaron with his household chores and projects, and then do some reloading on his progressive press, then journey out to Dad's Garage to try out some .357 loads. I might get my hands greasy on the car he is rebuilding the engine on out there, too. Guy stuff, ya know.

The best was last - BBQ across Texas

After a full day of anticipation, my host Aaron loaded me, his lovely wife Lisa and son Alex (age, 9 months) into his pickup and we drove over to Burleson, TX to his forever friend Tommy's house. Tommy and his wife TJ were already slicing the brisket:

and pulling the pork when we arrived, but I did get to watch Tommy expertly make a roux for his scratch BBQ sauce. We opened bottles of Shiner Bock and started stacking BBQ on plates. I left room for some of the scratch Jalapeno cornbread, which was perfect with the tangy and slightly sweet BBQ sauce on it, "wet" Corn Bread, definitely a Cowboy tradition which I'd sampled at Winter Range in PHX a while back.

The brisket was perfect, and I ate two generous servings, accompanied by the bread and three kinds of fresh peppers and some kind of woods mushroom I'd not had before, but have seen in the better produce departments.

I had forgotten about the pulled pork. My bad. Now there was nothing to do except get some, pop open another Shiner, slather another slice of corn bread, and dig in. The pork was smokier than the brisket, but it was still moist and not fatty at all. It was perfect.

I am now up to three servings of BBQ meat and so I cut myself off. I will pay for this tonight, I'm sure, but like a condemned man enjoying his last meal, the prospect doesn't seem to bother me much. It also didn't bother little Alex, who clearly loves BBQ also.

The winner of the Barbeque Across Texas expedition is clearly Tommy's BBQ in Burleson, TX.

Too bad all y'all can't drive down here and have some, but since it's his back yard and not a commercial place, it'll just have to wait until I get back this way again, which I will.

Now to study up on the weather (severe thunderstorms threaten), maybe do a little reloading and .357 tuning out at Dad's Garage, and start the long trip back (4 long days enroute to Portland, OR), but there are a few stops to make along the way, such as the Bulletworks in Breckinridge, TX.

North Texas

I left the haunts of the Layabout Sailor at the decent hour of 1100 yesterday, and motored quickly North on I-45 to Houston, then through Houston, then through Houston, then through Houston....did I mention that Houston is at least 100 miles, North to South?

Finally, I see some ranch land about 1230, and then some bozos ahead of me couldn't share the roadway peaceably, and a Sprint-cup sort of wreck happened, with mangled cars showing mostly side damage (strange!). I got stuck in traffic of the stop, then go variety for about 1/2 hour. For a time, I was stuck behind this nifty machine, which looked to be an actual, restored AC Cobra (428CID), TX vanity plate "SNAKEY":

On up the highway. In Walker County, the finest new rest area in the world awaited me, but the next one 92 miles up was the most gawd-awful goat-roping I've ever been to (did YOU ever have to PARALLEL PARK at a rest area?).

At 1530, I pulled into Aaron's place in Foat Wuth, following his excellent directions (NOT my GPS), and were welcomed to their castle by him and his  lovely wife Lisa.

We had a mission: There is a huge BBQ laid on for today, and a chum of Aaron's is doing the honors at his place, so he has this pit, lovingly crafted by a pipefitter years ago:

We had to go get a rick of oak for the pit from out at Dad's Garage, some 15 minutes away. We headed there, loaded the wood, and Aaron showed me his range on the property. I felt it inappropriate to visit a range without shooting, so I whipped out my carry Kel-Tec P3AT and handed it to Aaron, who soon ventilated an old spray can at 25 feet, proving that "you CAN hit shit with that thing". He hadn't shot a P3AT and was impressed with the mouse gun. I was impressed with his Colt Commander Series 80, but we didn't have any ball ammo on hand, so we didn't shoot it.

Back to Tom's place in Burleson with the wood, and while making sure it would burn, we have to have a few Shiner Bock's, so we did, but then Aaron had to zoom us back home for babysitting duties as Lisa was called in to supervise her weekend IT crew due to an employee illness.

We had a LATE supper (midnight rations, really), and it was DEE-LICIOUS! Steak with a Cajun marinade, twice-baked potatoes (scratch-cooked, not reheaters) and a fresh salad with some aged Asiago. Yep, Aaron's quite the cook, but he says "wait for that BBQ" and he's guaranteeing it will be the winner in the "BBQ Across Texas" sweepstakes.

The South Texas Mafia

That would be the evil combination of the Layabout Sailor, the Rivrdog, and certain Northern Irish warriors who shall remain nameless for now.

I got into Dickinson, TX just before 1600 yesterday, and took the room the Sailor had reserved for me, a decent room at a fair price. Right after unpacking and firing up my 'puter to check blogs, it was time to launch for the Sailor's current Dickinson home, a nice place not too far from here. There I had tea and waited for the Sailor, who was working late as usual. Once we had it together, we chatted for a bit, with me getting maybe a third of the heavy Irish brogue on the first go, but later improving to maybe 50%. Texas IS a whole 'nother country!

We repaired to a fine Italian ristorante in nearby Kemah, where we were treated well AND fed well. We repaired back to the Sailor's flat for a dram of single malt, and hatched the plans for today.

Those plans included a range trip, of course. We went to the Texas City Municipal Shooting Facility. Yes, GFWs, in Texas, many towns see fit to spend tax money on SHOOTING RANGES! Sorry about that bitter pill, GFWs, it will go down better with some bayou water, I'm sure.

Nice range, very strict on safety rules. Your blogger even got yelled at (for what appeared to the RSO to be a rules violation, but wasn't). I didn't mind, for two reasons: it lets the RSO practice his parade-ground voice, which all RSOs need, and better safe than sorry.

We couldn't shoot long, because the Sailor was on his lunch break from work, but he got in some work with a  .38, his carry .45 and my Colt Anaconda .44 Magnum.

Ah, yes, the Magnum. Here is MY best target, one cylinder of 6 rounds, 15 yards, offhand Weaver:

I'll consider myself combat-ready, but I need some ball-and-dummy work to rid myself of the tendency of anticipating the shots, which tailed out towards 1:30 as I continued to fire.

Then, there is the Sailor, and he shoots like this:

That's a cylinder-full out of his Smith & Wesson (19 or 29, I didn't look closely), at 7 yards. That's about a 1 1/4" group, BTW. Yep, the Sailor is combat-ready also. Do NOT fail to remember that he shot for the USAF pistol team in his yute.

So, back to the hotel to blog a bit, plan the next part of the Texas trip, take a nap and get ready for a fine dinner and cigars, then off to Foat Wuth tomorrow to see Mr. Neal at Dad's Garage. If you don't remember Mr. Neal, perhaps you remember the series I wrote with him right after Hurricane Katrina, when he took it upon himself to provide relief in Mississippi, and did a damn good job of it.

The next post will be from Foat Wuth, and until then, good night, all y'all.

BBQ across Texas

Last night, after a hard day of police work with my genial host, whose patient investigation led to the identification of a gang of four car burglars, we went, not to Rudy's as I was expecting, but the Gristmill restaurant in historic Gruene, TX. Gruene is a preserved agricultural town from the cotton days of south Texas. I simply LOVE the town's motto:

"Gruene, Texas: Gently resisting change since 1872"

I loved it so much I bought the shirt.

Back to the restaurant. The hostess led us through a maze of rooms to the best table in the house, a corner table overlooking the Guadalupe River, coursing noisily some 60 feet below us.

The featured dish on the menu was Baby Back Ribs. I did my usual nosy look-about to see who was eating them, and almost the entire group of diners in our section was happily chowing down on huge plates of ribs. There was little conversation, as all those diners seemed intent on getting as much of the tasty-looking meal into themselves as quickly as possible.

I ordered ribs. A full rack of ribs. I ordered a box to take half of them home in because I am a sucker for cold ribs, right out of the fridge.

I started on the ribs and the sides, pinto beans and "Gruene" beans (string beans with garlic, half steamed and half sauteed). The meat just fell off the ribs, there was zero work involved in eating them, and they went down quite neatly, too. Time and the meal went by quickly, and before I noticed it, I had eaten 3/4 of the entire rack of ribs. I shrugged, now being officially a hog, and ate the rest.

I was FULL, but when the dessert menu came around, and there was Jack Daniels Pecan pie with ice cream, I weakened AGAIN, but shared the generous slice and huge scoop with my host and his lovely wife, so I didn't pig out on the sweet stuff.

This is simple, these St. Louis-style ribs (NOT piquante) were simply the best such ribs I had ever eaten, including at Famous Dave's recently, and my mom's ribs, were were also very good (sorry Mom, you would lose to this chef).

There was a price for all this magnificence: the huge meal did not sit well in my recently-recovered GI tract, so I have THOSE problems again. Fortunately, the Layabout Sailor and his crew are just 4 hours down the pike, with lots of stopping-places available along the way.

Hopefully, I will be recovered enough again to hit the Texas BBQ trail again soon, but for now, I am back on the B.O.A.T. diet, bleeeah!