There's this old joke about Colorado weather — you don't like it, hang around for a couple of hours, and it'll be completely different.
Yesterday my Sweetie and I hiked down into town for fun and festivities of FROZEN DEAD GUY DAYS, the Nederland winter festival. The short story is that, like the legendary Rocky Top, where corn don't grow at all, Nederland has no crops to celebrate (8000 feet elevation); the mines were all worked out years ago; the famous rock stars who puked in local bars in the 1960s have all moved on to other bars (where they serve Geritol, no doubt) and the studio burned down; even the dope dried up.
The only thing we have is a frozen stiff in a Tuff-Shed near where I live (I get lost tourists in the summer). Look the story up on the website...suffice to say each March we celebrate a cyrogenically preserved grandpop warehoused on dry ice in a structure originally intended to store lawnmowers, garden hoses and the occasional field mouse.
I love it here.
So anyway, we hiked into town yesterday; it was almost 70 degrees and sunny, perfect for Coffin Races. We took Alf the Wonder Beagle unmuzzled, in case we were attacked by mountain lions or liberals from Boulder in town to mix with the proletariat and buy t-shirts. A good time was had by all...I bought souvenirs for the film crew, Alf met new friends and protected us from lions and my Sweetie stocked up on designer beer.
It started snowing about 8 P.M. This morning, it's freezing cold with a foot of fresh powder and still snowing.
That's right, sports fans — time to ride the wild surf! One more cup of coffee and it's time to hit the slopes. This is a good thing, since all next week we'll be in Florida filming at the Baby Grand trap shoot. The idea is that I can't shoot clay pigeons worth bat dookey — which is true — and Olympic gold medalist Kim Rhode is going to heal me — which is, at best, a crap shoot. I'm also going to be totally decked out in trap drag...I've always said I couldn't get into shotgun sports because I couldn't afford the clothes!
Well,, PULL!
You mean you can't afford or don't own a nasty, sweaty $5 t-shirt, a pair of cut-off jeans, old sneakers and dark dress socks? That's what most of theme seem to wear at the grand as they walk around with their $18,000 Perazzi looking on the ground for once fired AA hulls.
ReplyDeleteI want to get one of those little plastic thingies that laces into your sneakers and allows you to rest the muzzle of your shotgun on your foot, giving you the golden opportunity to become known as "Stumpy."
ReplyDeletemb
It's called a "barrel button".
ReplyDeleteAvailable from Precision Reloading
(and probably others).
http://www.precisionreloading.com/2004catalog.htm