4/25/2013. - Day 30 - Dead as a Mackerel. And bound for Dallas.

4/25/2013. - Day 30 - Dead as a Mackerel. And bound for Dallas. 

This morning we will have a few short adventures and then I’m going to be off, bound for Dallas. After some discussion of possible adventures, we settle on Rocktown in Oklahoma City. I am not feeling real great about ascending a tall wall given that I am not fond of heights, but I agree to go along in the spirit of doing things out of my comfort zone on this trip.

Steve's training in mastering in-flight refueling while he pilots a C-17 has been grounded for several days which explains why Steve was about to go crazy and was thankful for a buddy to show up and go on some adventures. This morning a call comes in for them to do some work for an upcoming project. Rocktown will have to wait for a future date, and we decide on a short trip to the gun range instead.

At the range I opt for a Ruger Mark III, the same piece I myself own. I left mine at home and luckily they have one I can use. Steve goes with a larger caliber revolver and we sign our lives and liabilities away and enter the range. Since I’m trying to recall much of this story from memory at this point (because I was too busy having fun adventures to write down every detail), I’m going to guess we were shooting at 15-20 yards. 

My first group was good but not on target with the "X" (Precise but not accurate). I adjusted and got on target, and then reset the sights according to my findings. Steve was struggling but stated it was because he had an unfamiliar and much larger pistol than me. I asked if ability to shoot a gun wasn't something he was supposedly trained to do for his vocation, and then offered up that maybe shooting just wasn't his thing. I received an angry look for the last comment.

Top: First ten shots.
Bottom: Second round after adjustments.

As I surveyed our targets, I deduced that we were both highly capable of killing an attacker regardless of our lack of exact accuracy. We have decent groupings and no one put a bullet in the ceiling or the wall. We chat with the owner of the store who offers his story and views on gun rights. I ask if my little Ruger is even capable of protecting me in a situation with an attacker. The man explains that when someone is shot with a larger caliber gun and goes to the hospital, they cut a hole into their body where the bullet entry is to assess the damage. When someone is shot with a .22, he continues, they cut from the throat in a long line down the chest and open their whole chest cavity up. The .22 ricochets and tears up your insides doing some serious damage to the human body. The man supplements this with a story about a gal who was attacked in the shower. As her assailant dragged her into the bedroom, she pleaded and stated she had money to give him. He gave her a few seconds to reach into her nightstand for the "money", and ended up with ten to the chest. “Killed him dead as a mackerel,” the gun shop owner said. I think that's a feeling more serious that "dead as if you just came from the canyon," though I'm still feeling like I have a pretty severe handicap on my physical aliveness. 

After shooting, we grab a quick bite at a Mexican restaurant, explore a couple downtown locations and pick up an anniversary gift for Jamie at the local rock shop. I am entrusted with the package and after it is secured in a secret compartment of the Ford, I am back on the highway, following the dotted yellow lines to Dallas, or more accurately, Plano, TX. I receive a warm welcome for the second time from my aunt, Donna, and we both retire for the night.