Snerkology

If we could spend every Sunday like we did yesterday, I’d be a happy woman.

To be honest, the weekend didn’t start out all that great. Aside from an excellent dinner at the DC Steakhouse on Friday night (WARNING if you visit the site, it has sound – WHY does anybody do that anymore, I ask you?), moods and circumstances collided in such a way that things were, in general, craptastic up through Saturday night.

Sunday morning, determined to salvage some of the weekend, we got up early and drove to Usery Pass, in an attempt to get a lane at the Rio Salado Sportsmans Club before it got too crowded. We arrived at around 9:00 and discovered that, while busy, it wasn’t packed to capacity. We signed in with the range master, then toted the M&P 15-22, the Sig Sauer (7.62×39 and LOOKIT THAT BILL, I finally remembered how the numbers go!), and the Walther P-22 to an available bench.

Having never shot at an outdoor range before (or an indoor one, come to think of it), I paid close attention to Bill, to my surroundings, and to the Range Safety Officers. Pistols and rifles were popping and booming all up and down the line, the more dramatic reports occasionally making me start and flinch despite my ear protection (there was a guy at the bench next to us with a bolt-action rifle that percussed so hard I felt it in my solar plexus every time he fired). We arrived when the range was hot (firing was permitted) and spent the interlude until the next cease fire getting our weapons laid out and ready.

The range master calls a one minute warning prior to the cease fire, and once the cease fire is called all weapons are required to be unloaded and cleared, laid down on the bench with barrels facing down range, with the action open. Patrons are then required to step away from the bench and behind a blue line laid out along the rear of the range. The range master waits until everyone has confirmed that their weapons are safe, then calls the all-clear. Everyone walks out onto the range to retrieve old targets and position new ones. The range master waits until everyone is positioned back behind the blue line, then calls that firing is permitted.

Bill set one target up at 10 yards for firing the pistol, and one at 50 yards for firing the rifles. He spent the first round dialing in the scopes on the two rifles until they were landing in a consistent spread on the target, and ran a mag through the 15-22 to see how it performed before turning it over to me. I plugged in the magazine, pressed the bolt catch, and positioned the forend on the gun rest provided on the bench. Keeping my itchy finger OFF the trigger, I peered through the scope, moving my head forward and back along the stock until I found my eye relief (it was hard to get comfy because of the bulk of the ear protection – we’ll be looking for lower-profile muffs I think). Once I became familiar with sighting the target, I moved the safety lever from “safe” to “fire”, steadied myself with a deep breath in… out… hold, rested my index finger on the trigger, and squeezed.

Being a .22, there was very little recoil and just a sharp SPAT when the rifle fired. The bullet hit close enough to the center of the target that I was very well pleased with my very first shot on my very first rifle. I ran twenty-four more bullets into the target, and they all grouped in a nice, tight pattern in and around the center. When the next cease fire was called, I did a proud little happy dance when we retrieved the target, and Bill said that I’d done very well for my first time. Bill’s target was, of course, much more impressive, with more than one spot where two bullets went through the same hole. Dude’s a great shot.

We spent a solid two hours at the range, running ammo through both rifles and the pistol (which is sighting low and to the right, so we’ll be fixing that the next time we go out). When we moved the rifle target out to 75 yards, I was still hitting consistently near the center. I discovered that my upright stance needs a great deal of work, but sitting with a scope I could give any zombie a run for its money. I also discovered that gun therapy is an EXCELLENT way to improve one’s mood. We departed the shooting range in a MUCH better frame of mind than when we arrived.

The day just kept getting better from there. Long time readers will recall that I have mentioned Luke’s of Chicago oh, about a million times. They make the most incredible Italian beef sandwiches you’ll ever wrap your mouth around (“That’s what she said!”). They’re a particular treat for me because their single location in downtown Phoenix is a pain enough to get to (and always FREAKIN’ PACKED) that we have to make specific plans in order to indulge our craving. Well WELL my friends, the other evening Bill and I were driving to the store, and there LESS THAN A MILE AWAY FROM OUR HOUSE was a brand-spanking new Luke’s location. We never would have known it was there if I hadn’t happened to glance up and spy their sign tucked in an obscure corner of a shopping center as we drove by. We weren’t even sure it was the same folks until it was confirmed by the gent behind the counter. We headed there directly after leaving the shooting range, grabbed two Italian beef sandwiches and a large fry, and sat outside in the 80-degree weather to get fantastically messy and full. I mean, FULL. So full that we didn’t even bother with dinner, and only had a late snack at about 10:00 last night. Next time we go, we’re splitting one.

As an aside, one of our OTHER favorite and oft-mentioned restaurants, Patsy Grimaldi’s, opened a location just two miles away from us. Clearly, soon there will never be a reason to leave Chandler. Except for going to Cien Agave in Scottsdale, who better get their butts in gear and open one out our way so I can get my taco on (sure, get dirty with your bad selves, I’ll wait).

Then, because it was such a lovely day, we hopped on the motorcycle and cruised on down to the bar. I had myself a Devil’s Ale, and while I was perusing Facebook on my Blackberry I discovered that my cousin Laurel (pictured in this entry with her husband Eric) gave birth to a baby girl, Elizabeth Hope. I don’t think I ever got around to writing about it, but we were present last summer when Laurel told her dad, my uncle Fred, that she was pregnant. She’d waited to tell him until we were there, as her confirmation happily coincided with our visit. So we were all sitting out in the screen house in the back yard when she delivered the news, and my uncle’s “Hot damn, a baby!” was followed by tears and toasts. It was a lovely moment, and I was so glad to share it with them. So, after I read the news on Facebook, I called and left a message for my uncle, then called my sister Wendy to tell her the news.

We got home and lolled around, still digesting Luke’s. I got a bit of writing work done, and my uncle returned my phone call. We chatted about our plans for my visit in May (thereby making Bill jealous), which includes MUCH BABY HEAD SMELLING. Bill and I watched some Firefly (did you know they’re showing the whole series on the Science Channel?), then moved on into the bedroom and did… other things.

All in all, it was the best day I’ve had in recent memory. One I hope to repeat next weekend.

So! How was YOUR weekend?