Coulda Shot a Fitty Cal

A Rotary buddy of my Dad's holds this event every year, and this time I took the girls and attended.

I knew our host must be, as they say, a man of substance to hold such an affair; his invitation is utterly open-ended, he only requests RSVPs to estimate the catering. Then he includes a note on everything that if you don't RSVP and find out you're free at the last minute, you should absolutely come. Bring a side, BYOB, moon walks, fireworks, live music and so on provided by the host.




It's a bit out in the sticks. I've known a few people who aspire to living 'out in the country,' and I have no idea if our host commutes in the way some people I know do. Me, I only moved to the boondocks because I had a job there, and when I was traduced out of that gig, I found myself with a longer distance to cover. Life happens.




But I've never really understood people who are doing really well intentionally situating themselves into a major commute. I know that, above a certain income threshold, the price of gas isn't likely to be a factor, but what about the time lost sitting in the car?

Maybe sprawlers love to drive: I know they often profess a love of yard work, claiming they can't imagine life without a lawn to mow, fertilize, weed and water. That way they can look out the window and realize they can't go to Slippy Village or that free U2 concert because they have to mow, fertilize, weed and water their lawn.



My bike commute from my fiance's house isn't exactly a short hop, I spend about the same amount of time getting from there to my work as I do driving from my house to the same place. I get there in a better mood, leaner and more focused, but I spend at least as much time on my bike on those days as any boondocks commuter does in his coffin...err, cage... uh, I mean car. Car! CAR!



Anyway, the food was great, Jack's Stack Barbecue, something even I can justify driving forever and a day to get to. There was a band and games and a moon walk Mo failed to enjoy to my astonishment. One of my all time favorite pictures of her is in a moon walk at the Roots Festival a few years ago, and here was one I didn't even have to pay to get her into, and she had it to herself, and she stood in the corner for less than a minute and got out.

I heard the crack and pop down field and assumed it was fireworks. The invitation had asked not to bring our own for safety reasons, so I wasn't sure what was up since it obviously wasn't the commercial display.




I bullied the girls into a hay ride, one of three that were roaming the property, thinking it was just a way to sit on hay bales and look around, but it turned out to be a ride to the cracking and popping.

And booming.

What I'd heard was small arms fire, mainly skeet shooting, but when we got down there, the main event, shooting-wise, was getting underway. A .50 caliber sniper rifle was put on a tripod and a two-liter bottle of soda was put on a hill 200 yards away.

And anyone who wasn't drinking was free to take a shot at hitting that bottle. I'm no gun nut, but you don't have a hair on your balls if you'll pass up a chance to shoot a fifty. Even with my ears plugged, it was louder than any shotgun I've ever fired. Bullets that missed threw clots of dirt six or eight feet in the air. One that missed threw the bottle a good piece (that's the shot that you hear me declare a 'direct hit' in the video, but no, the bottle was still intact).

But our host had one question for anyone who wanted to take a crack, a question born of legal necessity, no doubt, as that rifle is more whoop-ass than most people can afford the license fees for. 'You been drinkin?'



And me with an empty bottle of Bully! Porter in my hand. My first one, mind you; I could have legally driven a school bus, but there was no way I was getting my hands on that trigger.



The fireworks were cool, though. Biggest display I've ever seen that didn't have a city's backing. He does it a couple weeks before the Fourth to avoid competing with the public displays. Though given that every relevant politician and half the law enforcement community from three or four counties were on hand, it wasn't, strictly speaking, a 'private' affair.