Went to the range today with Shootin' Buddy and burned some powder.
Iggle Crick's December hours caused some grief. Normally they open at 0900, and so Shootin' Buddy would show up at Roseholme Cottage at 0800 and we'd go and have our choice of Broad Ripple weekend bruncheries before the hipsters had dragged themselves out of bed, and then head to the range.
With the new hours, we met at 10:30 and headed to Cafe Pretenchou. Throwing in the towel at the line-out-the-door-thirty-minute-wait there, we headed to Zest instead, where we faced only a twenty minute line for chow. (Creme brulee French toast for me. Yum!)
Then on to the range where I ran a bunch of deuce-deuce through my 22/45 and enough 9mm through the M&P9 to keep my hand in. It's probably time to clean the Ruger, given that the bolt is getting so sluggish that I can feel it cycle...
The shooting was as enjoyable as shooting always is. Although there was one young guy a couple lanes down who ran probably 200 rounds of buck and slugs through his shotgun, leaning backwards with the butt perched right on the ball of his shoulder, head straight up and thumb wrapped over the wrist of the stock. It hurt just to watch him shooting, as each BOOM! rocked him back on his heels, flinching, and I had to fight down the urge to go give him some pointers on his technique.
How come people are willing to spend scads of money on guns but won't spend a penny on learning how to work them?