River Trip, Salmon River, Idaho, August 2010
River Trip, Salmon River, Idaho, August 2010
River Trip, Salmon River, Idaho, August 2010
or in my case, the intermountain West, when:
Your French fries come with a side of Fry Sauce instead of red stuff.
I almost picked up a couple of bottles of the stuff when I was visiting a traditional family stop in Ogden, the Rainbow Gardens.
This guy (and Grumpa Max) kept me on point. I only had 15 minutes to run around and get Utah-centric/specific food-related souvenirs for the office -- ones that had to be FAA and TSA and JetBlue acceptable.
I grabbed honey for my sweet officemates, courtesy of a branch of Cox Honeyland. The Orange Creamed Honey is PERFECTION! Try it. Go ahead. You'll thank me.
As much as I thought about it, I couldn't see bringing a bottle back of that size. If I ate enough fries to justify a 12 oz. bottle, I'd be in need of an angiogram to check on my blockages.Great. Now I'm hungry.
I don't think that the people at the Riggins One Stop realizes that their signs are so ... free verse or philosophical. Another couple of syllables and they would be haiku.
Riggins, Idaho
It involves Auntie Nettie using one of these: 
If you're a new reader and you stumble upon this, and you're anti-gun, don't read this post. I'm fine with that. I'm not taking a position one way or another. This entry is about how I dealt with some stress, learned about handgun safety, and how to potentially protect myself. It's not about Constitutional rights, the NRA, or any of that. If that's what you want to read about or debate, this isn't the blog for you ... move along now ... Go on ... Click somewhere else. My feelings won't be hurt. Bye, thanks for visiting.I do have to add more context to this. I did actually grow up with guns in the house, but they were never of interest or curiosity to me, unlike my brothers. It's thanks to their curiosity that gun locks were installed shortly after Dad discovered their explorations. My father grew up hunting in the mountains of the west. My mother grew up on a farm in the south, and one of her childhood stories includes the tale of the time when her father shot a huge black snake off the screen door. My sisters-in-law had rural upbringings and the video of Christina racking a shotgun is ... educational. Most of the adults in the family have been educated on gun safety and have permits, registration, experience, gun safes, gun locks, etc.
Except for me ... the New Yorker ... the one most likely to actually NEED to know how deal with a gun in the case of a mugging, forced entry, etc. I needed to know how to determine if a bullet is chambered, the safeties are on, how to handle the weapon and not accidentally shoot my toes off. Most importantly, I needed to know that the shots that I get off are going to a) scare away someone b) maim them enough for me to get away, or c) stop them dead. I had expressed this to the men in the family, and J was the first one brave enough and with enough time to attempt to teach his older sister.
I have to admit. It was a very weird experience on many levels: little brother as teacher; to be holding a gun AT ALL -- even empty and without the magazine in it; to hear all the shots around us; the feeling of the kick back of the gun when I fired it the first time; the hot jackets of the casing flying back up at your hair and almost down your shirt; trying to figure out what eye to focus with; trying to keep your balance; realizing that this is seriously the most uncharacteristic thing you have ever done. I was squinting in the sun, sinking in the mud, and shaking from the adrenaline. My hair was in my face. Sometimes I had no idea where the shot landed. I was trying not to freak out. I didn't kill myself or J that day, which is good, because if I had, Christina probably would have killed me ... and I wouldn't have gotten to go back.
All of my shots hit the paper. Here's the target from the first sets of rounds. The first one was way up to the right in the white. The second was in the right 7 shoulder. The third, I'm proud to say (or appalled?) was a head shot. Aside from a few other "wingings" near the ear and arm, I was on the target. We were working on refiring and aim in the clusterings. I'd say I slowed him down a bit.
I have a great deal more practice to do before I'd say my aim was good or that I felt comfortable with handguns. I don't ever expect I will feel completely comfortable, which is probably a good thing. They are serious weapons. I know enough now to know that I need to know more ... and that I hope I will never have to use that knowledge.
At the end of the session, I felt educated and empowered and like I let a little of the stress off.
As a bonus -- I had worked on my aiming issues so I could do well at what turned into a oh-so-slightly competitive family bowling adventure later that day!
Part 2: Bowling
X-ray machines: For all the talk about security in the airports, I didn't get to get zapped by one, nor was I wanded by the TSA people. I was kind of disappointed. I was looking forward to getting felt up. "Y” is it over? 
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ: You can wake up now. I'm going to go and take a bloggin nap for a few days. All this Christmas blogging has worn me out!
A lot of the rock formations in the park have names. This one doesn't. I want to nickname it the Syphinx.
(But people totally were. WE followed directions.)
Fire Canyon/Silica Dome: 
What a lonely place and difficult way to die.
