Range Wimp

Oriented two new members at our range today. I thought I'd take the opportunity to take out one of the 1911A1s and get in some practice afterwards. Drove onto the range, and noticed that the west wind was extra pleasant today, as it tried snatch the door off my truck. Given that, practicality and an old case of frostbite made me decide to wait in the temporary clubhouse, aka the construction site trailer. Passing one of our storage sheds on the way up, I notice a strong smell of skunk. Very strong. Someone will have an interesting time trying to evict him, but since he's living under a shed less than ten feet behind the 50 yard firing line, upwind 90% of the time, I don't think we have much of a choice. But not today, and not me.

Finally got up to the trailer, and notice a significant crunchiness when I stepped in. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see the nice wall to wall carpet of dead flies. Wonderful. Between the cold and the flies, I chose the flies. The new members, one military recruiter and one obstetrician, showed up shortly thereafter, experiencing the joy of Springtime in Iowa. Got them through the paperwork, walked the range to familiarize them, and sent them on their way.

Looked around at the mud I was standing in, wind blowing through my coat, I considered running through a couple of boxes of .45 ACP that I brought with me. And decided that trying to hang targets in high winds, loading mags with numb hands, and picking up brass out of mud puddles (I'm a cheap bastardreloader, rendering me physically incapable of leaving usable brass on the ground) just didn't sound that fun. Weenieism wins today.