I have just returned home—finally—from the Shootist’s Holiday in Raton, N.M. The event was wonderful, and soon I’ll be offering a full report on a bunch of the fine folks who gather annually to shoot some extraordinary guns and enjoy each other’s fellowship. But returning home wasn't easy. My first clue that getting back home would become an “adventure” was the high-speed whirring noise emanating from my truck engine as it dragged me, the dogs and my trailer over a 9,500-foot mountain pass, along with the accompanying loss of power. Then there was the first of two shredded tires on the trailer. And then it became obvious that I had to replace the remaining two tires if I was going to make it home yesterday. I was out of clean clothes, food in the trailer kitchen, and I remain “hung over” from 11 days on the road. When I meet someone on the road and they find out what I do for a living, I often get the, “You have a dream job” routine. Yeah, it is a great gig, but like everyone else I have my challenging days. Sitting in a trailer with several thousand dollars worth of guns, a couple of overheated dogs with little water and a broke-down truck isn’t all that glamorous or fun. Right now I feel more like Bryce Towsley than Dave Campbell.
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