The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 1-30-2020

DELIVERANCE

A different kind of Postal Service

I hung around close to home today for a couple reasons: 1. I dread the thought of getting back in a vehicle. It takes me a couple days to get over a dose of motion sickness. 2. I also had some errands to run in Aguila. 

I had post cards to mail and stamps to purchase. The tiny, white building with an American Flag flying over it's stucco walls doesn't look much bigger than one of the prepaid parcel boxes inside. UNITED STATES POST OFFICE – AGUILA ARIZONA 85320 in plain raised font spans the Southwest style false front, common architecture here. I practically skipped inside. Post offices fascinate me almost as much as going to the dump. I have no idea...call me weird.

I looked around for a stamp machine. There was none. The post master lady entered a few minutes later. She seemed surprised to have a customer. I asked if they had a stamp vending machine. She laughed: “Honey, we're lucky to have stamps here.” I purchased 3 postcard stamps at .34 cents each and a sheet of .55 cent regular stamps. .55 cents? How long have I been gone? The last time I bought stamps, I paid somewhere around .49 cents for them. In defense of the US post office, it could be worse. During the Pony Express era – it cost upwards of $5.00 per ½ ounce to mail a letter. No wonder it lasted only 2 years. I say when stamps reach the $3.00/per mark, we reopen the pony express stations across America. Utilize the thousands of mustangs warehoused in BLM holding pens as mounts. Hire able bodied men/women off the unemployment line as riders and there you have it. Three birds with one stone. I'd ride for free.

I had a little shopping to do at Family Dollar. I was meeting Lynn, Peter and Linn there as well. We planned to ride the State Trust Lands behind where I am staying. I puttered around picking up laundry soap, 2 cases of water and a few other things. I needed ice. The girl behind the counter handed me the key for the ice freezer outside. As I made my way out the double glass doors – two men were coming in. I am not sure how to describe them without offending someone...or something. They looked like they both walked off the set of Deliverance. I haven't been leered at like that since I got caught in the middle of a sea of inmates during line movement. The one and only day I wore a skirt to work.

“Pa” opened the door for me while “Boy” passed through the door the same time I did. I hurried to the ice chest with my basket full of dollar store items hoping to grab my bag of ice and dash to the truck before the other brother Darrel showed up.

The key only opened one side of the double doors on the ice chest. The 4 bags of ice remaining were tucked back in the far corner of the ice chest on the locked side. I could not reach it without climbing inside the ice chest. I got one leg inside the chest and looked around before committing to crawling in after my bag of ice. Pa's flannel shirt stretched over a beer gut held back by suspenders begging to snap hit me eye level. I may not be a spring chicken anymore – but I bounced out of that cooler faster than you can say “squeal like a pig.”

“Key don't work but on the one side, does she.” It was more of a statement than a question. It was a plot. Pa and Boy were in cahoots with the Dollar Store. Unsuspecting snowbirds innocently trying to purchase a bag of ice were coaxed into the ice chest. The door would slam shut and lock from the outside. I knew if I got into that cooler, I'd be waking up missing a kidney or worse: as Darrel and his other brother Darrel's new “mommy.”

I looked at Pa. Pa looked at me. I really needed that ice..but how bad? Pa said he needed two bags – I could grab him a couple while I was in there. Sure. I keep looking at Pa as I put one leg inside the chest. Screw it. I looked right at him and made eye contact: “I'm going to be honest here-you make one move toward this chest and I will shoot you dead as shit.” Pa kind of smiled. I think. It's hard to tell if someone's smiling when they have no teeth. “Relax girly – Boy has him some long arms...he'll git that fer ya. BOY! Git in there and git 2 bags and 1 fer the girly.” Boy does indeed have some long arms on him. Probably comes in handy when he's reaching into two story homes snatching baby's out of their crib.

I thanked Boy for the ice thinking it can't hurt to be cordial. Maybe he'd leave me with one of my kidney's if he thought we were friends.

Lynn, Peter and Linn pulled in as I was finished jamming my ice into my borrowed cooler. I was happy to see smiling, familiar faces. Faces with all their teeth. They followed me to Crandall's where we saddled and made our way on to State Trust Land.

I took them to the power line road and headed west. Pete rode J'Lo and Linn rode Shotgun...a 29 year old barefoot sorrel with a heart of gold. I tried to keep out of the rocks as much as possible for Shotguns sake.

I imagine every tourist that comes to Arizona is compelled to play 'What's that cactus look like.” That one looks like a ballerina...another an ice skater. That one looks like a stick'em up victim and the two over there look to be dancing the waltz. We aren't sure what to make of that one – but he's sure happy to see us. The girls took it a step farther by rated them on a scale from 1-10 based on symmetry and aesthetic appeal.

The power line road passes through a steep saddle. We thought it might be too hard on Shotgun to make the climb. We tied up to let the horses rest. I went for a walk to see what was on the other side of the saddle.

I kept my eye out for the 16 different species of rattlesnakes. I'm told they don't come out until the evenings start to warm up into the 60's. It's been in the low 40's and into the 30's some nights...I should be safe. It's hard to convince myself of that when the last rattler I saw in Idaho was in late October.

I came to a little valley on the backside of the saddle nestled in surrounding rim-rock and saguaro. The sandy bottom of the valley was covered in wild burro tracks. I haven't seen any actual burro's yet...or javelina for that matter. Probably because I make too much noise trying to scare off the 16 species of rattlesnakes.

I looped around the valley floor and came back via the power line road through the saddle. I was glad we didn't bring Shotgun – the steep grade was hard enough on foot. We mounted up and turned toward home.

Jack picked his way through grease-wood, mesquite, mesa Verde and the many varieties of cactus such as saguaro, prickly pear and cholla. The ocotillo, also called The Desert Candlewood – is beginning to bloom with crimson red flowers at the tips of octopus like tendrils. The ocotillo is technically a shrub, not a cactus. Now you know. Thank you Google.

We made it back to the trailers in under 8 miles. Shotgun seemed no worse for wear. Pete thanked me for lending him J'Lo and taught me the sign for “your welcome.” I waved goodbye to my new friends from Colorado, fed the horses and finished putting away my Dollar Store treasures.

I wonder what Pa and Boy are up to this cold evening. I'm not sure I want to find out. However, it does make me nervous for the two hitchhikers we saw outside the Coyote Den at dinner. Hopefully they won't be needing to purchase ice until they get to the next county.

walking down the wash

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 1-29-2020

Today was give your horse a break day. Lynn's friend, also by the name of Lynn – is in town for the week. They planned a drive up to Prescott for a day of sight seeing and invited me along. I unhooked the Bison and headed for Lynn's at the Nines. Pete, the Lynn's and I piled into the Tacoma for a day trip up North.

Lynn wanted to show us some of the street names in the tiny town of Congress. Names such as Ghost Town Road, Meandering Lane and Outlaw Drive. I thought it was quite appropriate when most of the streets we turned down in "Congress" resulted in a dead end. Something I've noticed about these small towns in Arizona: There is a second hand store, Art Gallery's and Saloon on every block and probably several of each. They aren't much on grocery stores or gas stations...but if you want to get loaded and buy a bunch of crap...this might be the state for you.

The road from Congress to Yarnell and on to Prescott starts to climb in elevation and number of curves. By the time we reached Prescott – I had to pour myself out of the vehicle. I've always been prone to motion sickness and today was a prime example of why I prefer to travel via horseback.

We found a place to park in front of the Yavapai County Court House – directly in front of a sign stating: If you don't fit – DON'T PARK. We squeezed into a spot with room to spare on both sides. We ft! Unfortunately, the local traffic enforcement officer did not agree, as indicated by the $93.00 parking ticket left on our windshield. How four pair of eyes didn't see the graphic specifying the length portion of the ordinance remains a mystery. 

We stopped in at The Lone Spur for lunch. Our waiter was quite the character. He started out by placing our silverware on the table in a most dramatic fashion. As he placed the flatware in each hand, he slowly raised his arms and exclaimed: “Look, I am a fork lift!” It would have been funnier had he actually been holding two forks and not two knives.

We wandered around Prescott's historic district and found ourselves cutting through an alley that led us to “Whiskey Row.” Saloon after saloon with a spattering of Art Gallery's and other entertainment venues line the alley of Whiskey Row. Famous western figures of the likes of Wyatt and Virgil Earp and Doc Holiday frequented the famous “The Palace Restaurant and Saloon” founded in 1877...now the oldest business in Arizona.

We stopped at the Granite Mountain Memorial dedicated to the 19 members of the Granite Mountain Hotshots who lost their lives during the Yarnell Hill wildfire in 2013. It is a beautiful but sobering reminder of the impermanence of life.

The sun was beginning to set as I made my way down highway 71. The Maricopa Indian stood tall and silent against a backdrop of stunning fire lit by the setting sun. I pulled over and rested my head on the steering wheel and had myself a good cry. Yesterday was my dad's birthday. I would have called him a day late and we would have tried to remember if it was the 28^th or the 29^th. Neither of us would remember. I might have sent him a card...or I might have forgot until a week later. I might have baked a spice cake with cream cheese frosting and spent the day with him. I might have. I might have been too busy. Now... I just wish I could.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 1-28-2020

Ghost Videos and Psycho movies

I am seldom late. This morning...I was late. I had it in my head it was an hour to Ben Avery shooting facility. In reality, it's a good hour and twenty minutes...longer with the road maintenance between Aquila and Wickenburg on 60. Even so, I manage to roar into Ben Avery at 9:57 and was saddled by 10:07.

Ben Avery is all things shooting. They have a firing range, an archery range, skeet and a mounted shooting arena. Multi-World Champion Kenda Lenseigne is holding a series of winter clinics. I signed up for two of them. I was a tad nervous...especially pulling in late. I didn't need to be. Kenda is about as down to earth as they get.

Everyone introduced themselves by name and CMSA level as well as what we wanted to get out of this clinic. Of the 10 or 12 people taking the clinic – there were almost as many unique goals. I wanted to work on course management and barrel turns. I admitted I need work on everything thing, but we only had a day, after all. A person can practice all day every day, but if you don't know what you are doing, your likely to be practicing the wrong thing. We started on dry firing drills. Just about the time you think your arm is going to fall off, you live fire the drill. I don't know how clinicians remember everybody's names and what they said they want to work on, but Kenda did. She can also see what you don't even realize you need help with. For me...that's a lot of stuff.

The first thing she did with me and J'Lo is shorten our reins. It was like night and day with my barrel turns. Instead of pulling her face around (actually in the wrong direction) sliding my hand in the direction of the turn and back to center made a huge difference.

We ran several patterns. After running chaotic drills – you almost felt like the courses were in slow motion. Because I wanted to work on course management, Kenda had me run the courses different than I would have run them. I didn't think I could shoot fast enough to run them her way. This is why I came to practice, so I gave it a whirl. I missed a few balloons on the first try. I was shooting too early thinking I needed to rush. Kenda said to slow it down in your mind. It's a mental game. I watch a lot of her videos. She goes 900 miles an hour...never, and I mean never slows that horse down. As she hunts, tracks and shoots each balloon...it looks like she has all the time in the world. I tried to think about that for my next run. It worked! I shot the next two courses clean.

I don't like to look at my shooting videos. You feel like you are going SO FAST...crouched like a mean shooting machine, wind blowing your hair back...hunting, tracking and shooting your balloons. Yeah baby. Then you see the video. The video of you and your horse in a half lope, half cross-fire kind of hobble. If your hat comes off, it comes off forward and falls in your face because there isn't enough wind to blow it back. You're not hunting, tracking and shooting....you are gawking around lost in your pattern with your arm flapping in the breeze...and when you do find your target, you stab it to death before taking a nice long trail ride to your next target.

Kenda shows us our videos after each run. I kind of look at it sideways assuming to see the same awkward, slow motion mess as usual. Huh...that's not so bad. Hey – that ones pretty good! I'm actually gaining speed – tracking my balloons and look more like I'm shooting my targets instead of acting out the shower scene from Psycho.

I know I have a lot of work to do but I feel after today, there is hope for improvement. I know what to work on in practice that will help me improve. I've been practicing the wrong things for a long time. Watching videos of the pro's isn't enough. You can't always tell what your form looks like or if you are tracking, gawking, stabbing or shooting. When I get back home, I'm breaking out my Go-Pro so I can better critic my practices.

At the Grand Canyon shoot, I had a ghost video done. The gal that does them, redid mine because the second arena had poor lighting. The one she redid is me running against Kenda. I'm a little hesitant to look at it – but I will knowing the next one will be just a little easier to watch.

Kenda

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: -1-27-2020

58 minutes and a burger tattoo

It's 8:02 PM. I am giving myself 58 minutes to write this blog. I am typically not a fast writer. I normally go over what I put down and clean it up before publishing it. I need to be up early for a Kenda Lenseigne shooting clinic at Ben Avery tomorrow and I want to get to bed early. I am going to hack this blog piece out without editing or much thought. Call it a raw “Pumpkin Cheesecake” diary if you will.

Marianne R. from Oregon is down visiting Cindy during the “Art of the Cowgirl” presentation in Buckeye. They invited me to ride the Hassayampa River Wash through Wickenburg. This is the lower end of the wash than the box canyon ride Lynn, Peter and I rode earlier.

Cindy, Marianne and I met Donna G. and Jamie Z. at Rancho Rio. Team Roping haven of the world. You couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a header, a healer, their horse or the rig that brought them there. The place was packed with all things roping.

Jack was not impressed with all the rope swinging going on. Nothing else there seemed to bother him and there was a lot going on at once. Team ropers don't waste much time doing anything. Not dragging the arena, backing into the box or exiting the arena. They can't seem to stop roping, period. If they weren't running down the arena swinging a rope for their turn, they were roping their kids, dogs and their buddies horse. If somebody rode or walked by swinging a rope, Jack nearly jumped out of his skin. He's been roped off of so I don't know what the difference is. I did not want to get bucked off in front of 400 teams of ropers. If somebody took the notion to rope his hind feet, the odds of that happening were worth betting on. There was no place to put his feet to work. Jack is like a bottle of capped nitro; you keep shaking it and eventually somethings going to blow. We made a hasty exit from the middle of the chaos and waited for the girls in an open area loping and circling grease wood.

The wash is deep sand. The horses get a good workout just walking. I was nervous about crossing under the overpass extending all the way across the wash. Heavy with traffic, I figured the horses (especially mine) would freak out. He wasn't bothered in the least. I guess as long as nobody dropped a rope over the side we were good.

We rode in about 4 miles before turning back. Donna's little cutting horse was getting a little jiggy. She started loping circles around us. Jack got amped up, presumably confused as to why that horse got to run and he didn't. He has been so good this trip and has been cooped up for the last month. I let him run it out. The deep sand slowed him down but it didn't do much to wear him out. We crossed under the overpass and waited for the others. In hindsight, I should not have done that. I sometimes forget I'm riding with other people and taking off away from other horses can sometimes cause other horses to act up.

We stopped in town at the Mecca for a bite to eat and a margarita. It is a more laid back atmosphere here in this part of Arizona. It takes longer to get your food. If you want fast food, stick with McDonald's. I snapped a picture of the Tattoo parlor across the courtyard and figured I could get a burger tattooed on my butt before they served me one. It was worth the wait. The food was very good.

You can't call yourself a Snowbird and not stop someplace for desert after dinner. Frozen yogurt topped off a pleasant day with a great group of gals on the Upside-down River.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-26-2020

Hi. My name is Laurie and I am an Amazonaholic

I'm thinking of driving back to Idaho, filling my truck full of coolers and selling them on the corner of S. Tegner in Wickenburg. Who would have thought you couldn't buy a cooler in this town to save your life. “Two weeks” was as soon as I could expect to purchase said cooler. Thirteen days and 23 hours longer than the meat and ice I'd just bought was going to hold. When I left Idaho at 17° - a cooler wasn't on my list of essentials. It will be next year.

I spent the day running errands in town and picking up a few supplies. I met Lynn and Pete at Anita's in town after church. We discussed our plans to head to Tombstone after the Kenda clinic in February. We aren't finding available RV/horse stables anywhere. I got on-line and did a search for camping spots on BLM around Tombstone. From the looks of it, we shouldn't have a problem finding a place to dry camp for a couple of days.

Lynn lent me a cooler to use until I scrounge one up. I could order one from Amazon and have it shipped. My order history with Amazon could be considered a sickness. Cindy admits her addiction and suggests it might be appropriate for us to check into AA (Amazon Anonymous.) While I deny any addiction – I am willing to research the topic as soon as the Amazon book I ordered on “12 steps to recovery” arrives in two day with FREE SHIPPING!

While Lynn worked with DJ in the arena, Peter taught me more sign language. I can now sign for the color “white” and understand that Pete is either a Laker's fan or he despises them. He also keeps up on current affairs and if I'm reading his signing correctly – somebody is about to get a bomb dropped on them. I have not tuned into the news since I left Idaho. It's like a soap opera. You can stop watching, tune in years later and catch up in 5 minutes; Trump is bad. Whatever happens, it's Trump's fault...unless it's something good. More of the circus that is the impeachment trials and Trump sucks. The end.

I swung by Exxon Mobil to fill up my truck before hooking it back up to my LQ. Never do that. Likely the most chaotic gas station in these parts. Maybe I picked a busy time – but what a circus. Hard to get in, hard to get out, cars darting here and there. I went in to get my change and the clerk was “helping” a lady at the counter. I use the word “help” loosely. A Hispanic lady was obviously having trouble with the credit card reader on pump six – and I don't speak a lick of Spanish. I understand the clerk was busy, but he could have found somebody in that store that understood Spanish. We are in Arizona, after-all. I felt bad for her. I wished I could speak Spanish. When you look like I do – dark eyes – dark hair..its assumed you speak Spanish, Italian, Egyptian, Arabic, Swahili or Comanche. The further along in the summer it gets..the assumption grows. I don't speak anything but English and struggle with that. It occurred to me as I watched the miscommunication – how nice it would be if they both new sign language. They should teach it in schools all over the world. It's an easy language to learn and can be learned in a day! If I can learn it, anybody can. I think it would be a great idea. Unless Trump thinks it's a good idea. Then it's a bad idea because Trump sucks. The End.

Even jumping Cholla has a purpose. 

Trail Log: 1-24-2020

• Trail: Wagon Box Canyon - Rincon Rd. Wickenburg AZ
• Miles: 7.3
• Riders: Self - Lynn - Peter
• Horses: Jack - DJ - J'Lo
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: Loaned J'Lo for Peter to ride. They got along great. Beautiful ride up the Hassayampa River (The upside down river). The horses get a good workout in the deep sand. Lot's of ATV's and a few hikers.

Trail Log: 1-23-2020

• Trail: Aquila BLM - Eagle Eye Peak
• Miles: 8.95
• Riders: Self
• Horses: Jack and J
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: Rode behind Crandalls on BLM land. Rode to Powerline Rd then East to Eagle Eye Peak. 71° and sunny.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-25-2020

Rat Balloons and the missing Shepherd

It's amazing how many days you can get out of a pair of jeans to avoid going to the laundromat. My personal best so far is four days. By the third day they are just getting comfortable so you want to shake another 24 hours out of them. Literately...you shake them like a rug and your good for at least another day. Fortunately – I didn't have to try for a record of five days; Lynn lent me her washer and dryer while we set up a couple courses for practice.

I am no horse trainer and I'm certainly not qualified to instruct somebody in mounted shooting. With that said, Lynn's shooting horse DJ reminds me a lot of Jack. He's big, powerful and on the muscle more times than not. I figured it wouldn't hurt to try some of the things with DJ that Kitty taught me to use on Jack. It seemed to work great. DJ relaxed and was loping around fairly smooth and calm while Lynn shot.

I ran a course on J'Lo and 2 on Jack. I don't feel like I have to warm Jack up as much before shooting. He did great. I can probably ask for more speed now but I'm in no hurry with him. We are just loping around, shooting balloons and having fun.

I had a bit of a hard time focusing on killing balloons. Lynn's home made lemon bars kept diverting my attention to the approaching lunch hour. I think Lynn would have shot all day. She seemed immune to the siren song of the enticing lemon bar. I had to do some talking to convince her that DJ had done so awesome it might be best to put him away on a good note....besides...there are LEMON BARS waiting in the house for Pete's sake!

We put the horses and gear away. I couldn't find Shade anywhere. She is not afraid of gun fire..mostly because she can't hear well anymore. She wasn't in the house, the tack room or the bunkhouse. I looked in all the trailers and barns. No dog. Peter and I walked the perimeter of the property. She never leaves me – always keeping me in sight. I was about to put out an APB on her when Lynn found her locked in the round coral. The round pen is solid wood top to bottom. She had gone in and the gate shut behind her. I canceled the APB and went in search of lemon bars.

After lunch, Lynn pulled out one of her bows for me to try. She shoots competitive archery at the national and world level. I haven't shot a bow for years. I was a little hesitant at first – mostly afraid one of my shots would go wild and I'd hit somebody or a horse! I did manage to keep it in the target. Like DJ, I quit while I was ahead. It was a lot of fun and inspired me to get my bow out when get back to Idaho.

I never like leaving Lynn and Peter's place. We have a lot of fun and Peter is still teaching me sign language. Today I learned all of the alphabet and the signs for apple, red, and hungry. I think he gets frustrated with me though when I mess up spelling a word. Like when I kept asking for “rat” balloons. Apparently I stutter in sign as well.

I made it back to Aguila before dark. As I drove down Hwy 71 toward 60 past the giant Maricopa Indian (that no body but me has ever seen) The giant Eagle Eye overlooking Aguila pointed the way home.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-24-2020

The upside-down River and Bee Poop

Cindy is gone to a Cowgirl thing-o-mo-bopper and Dave is...well, I'm not sure, but if I had to guess, I would say roping. I was heading to the Hassayampa river (The upside-down river) to ride to The Box Canyon with Lynn and Peter.

If 16 species of rattlesnakes, cougar sized bobcat, jumping white cactus, deadly scorpions and mutant Javelina weren't enough – they got quicksand in these parts, too. Dave gave me a quick run-down on the hazards of quicksand along the Hassayampa river. “I've only seen it happen once...” he says in his best Sam Elliot meets Baxter Black drawl. “Only seen it once and that was an old boy from Texas. I'm sure you'll be fine. You're not from Texas, are you?” I've never been happier to not be from Texas.

I loaded up the critters and met Lynn at her place, a few miles from the Wagon Box Trail. I've been hearing about this ride since I came to Arizona. Today was the day to check it out. Peter's gelding, Shotgun, is barefoot and could use a day off. I offered J'Lo for him to ride. I knew she would take care of him and vise-versa.

I followed Lynn South East on 93 to S. Rincon Rd. The road to the parking area is typical of roads in these parts. Narrow and rutted with dips crossing washes that carry massive amounts of water in the monsoon summer season. It is a unique landscape with an incomparable beauty of it's own.

It looks like any other giant wash at first. Sand...sand, and more sand. The horses get a workout

trudging through sand up to their fetlocks. Not far from the trail head, the river starts to turn itself right side up. I expected the horses to drink but they didn't seem to like the water. Jack would splash in it like he always does but he never did take a drink. Unusual for him.

The canyon walls slowly start to narrow in until you reach the box canyon. The vegetation changes immediately. Saguaro and barrel cactus give way to large, gnarled trees concealing the entrance to the box canyon. Once inside, the temperature drops considerably. You are transformed back in time. Are you outlaw or lawman? Could this box canyon be your deliverance...or your damnation?

The river continues to wind it's way past the box canyon, narrowing again before opening up to a broader landscape. We rode as far as a fence line allowed before turning back.

The only downside to the area that I could see was the ATV traffic coming and going. It's amazing the places they can take those things. I worried one might catch J'Lo by surprise and spook her. She was as calm as she's ever been. Even Jack seemed to dial it down a notch. When I'd hear an ATV coming, I'd get Pete's attention so he knew it was coming. He was almost as excited to see an ATV pass as he was to be out riding. He often drives golf carts at his job and is saving his money for a dune buggy. Hopefully he doesn't take driving lessons from his sister! (Just kidding Lynn)

I will say this about the ATV'ers. They were as respectful as any I've encountered on the trail. Every one of them slowed down, pulled over or took an alternate route when they saw us. I believe they have as much right to be there as the riders, hikers and anybody else. When everybody respects the other disciplines – we all win.

We were all hungry by the time we got back. We had a wonderful super of oven baked chicken, seasoned baby reds and steamed vegetables. Lynn made a batch of lemon bars for desert that I could have foundered on. I don't know if she's really that good of a cook or I'm always starving to death by the time we get back from our adventures. I think both.

Peter taught me a few more signs. I can sign for dog and I can now spell BEES and POOP. Which will come in handy if my dog ever gets pooped on by a bee.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-23-2020

I was finally able to sleep in this morning. I scrounged through my cupboards and fridge to find any perishable food that might spoil. I had eggs, milk and bread: French Toast it is. I like my French Toast with cinnamon and sugar. Unfortunately, the sugar I bought happened to be sugar cubs. Oops. What is the purpose of a sugar cube anyway? I tried to crush them up. They are sturdy for no bigger than they are. The best I could do was add a little water, butter and vanilla to them and make a sort of syrup.

Today was the warmest day since I've been in Arizona; 71° and not a cloud in the sky. I saddled Jack and ponied J'Lo and rode South toward the mountains. We hit the power line road and turned East toward Eagle Eye Peak. It does look just like an eagles head with a big eyeball overlooking Aguila...which means "eagle" in Spanish. 

We took it pretty easy. Jack is still haired up like a wholly mammoth and I didn't want him to overheat on the first warm day of our trip. I let him pick his way through mesquite, grease wood and mesa verde trees. He took to the washes when accessible....climbing in and out when they weren't. I think that horse is impervious to thorns. I'm guessing chaps were invented in Arizona. I was wishing I had worn mine.

We road as far as we could before hitting a fence. We turned south up a draw I that looked inviting to explore. I tied the horses where they could get to what little grass is available. I hiked to the top of Saguaro covered ridge that overlooked Aguila to the North and a whole lot of big country to the South. I spotted what I assume are Javelinas tracks. I was hoping to spot some (called a squadron) but from what I'm told, they are mostly nocturnal. They also smell slightly like a skunk – which might explain the musky odor I smelt later on that I mistook for somebody smoking weed.

Somebody was spray painting neon orange on the vegetation along both sides of the power line, including large saguaros. They had done it in the time I'd been having lunch in the draw. Weird. I saw a truck up a head. Jack honed in on the human with the paint can 100 yards from his truck. We were almost to him when he jumped in the truck – drove a hundred yards, stopped, and commenced to spraying more bushes.

I beat him to the truck this time. A “Vegetation Management something or other” magnetic sign stuck to the side of his truck. He didn't seem to have time to chat but I asked him what the markers were for anyway. He said he was spraying the vegetation that would later be cut by the sawyers. That seemed odd to me. I asked what the point of that was – there isn't a plant in Arizona that would come within 50 feet of those power lines. He said it was an overzealous government thing. I left it at that.

A quarter mile down the road, another man dressed in the same outfit and carrying an orange spray can was doing the same thing. They were leap frogging along the power line. This one was enthralled on his cell phone. I asked if they were going to cut the big saguaros down, too. He said they would top them, yes. I asked if it would kill them (just curious since from what I understand, the saguaro is protected.) He said he didn't know. He wasn't even sure what he was doing here. I left it at that.

Jack is a bloodhound. I let him pick his way back to camp. We had made a loop and weren't going back the way we came, but he zeroed in on home like a four legged GPS. Does not take after his rider.

I did a little research on Javelinas. They are sometimes called “Skunk Pigs” and put off an odor similar to a skunk but not as strong. Either I was close to a squadron of them today, or the “Vegetation Management” going on by our illustrious government employees had little to do with pruning trees.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 1-22-2020

Black Water, Taxes and Poop

(Evening of 1-21-2020) It was hard saying goodbye to Lynn, Scott and Peter but it's always nice to come home, too. Aguila feels like home to me. I keep thinking I'll get sick of this Arizona Snowbird life but so far it feels more natural than any other way I've lived thus far. There is a good chance I was a Gypsy in my previous life.

I am becoming an expert in setting up and breaking down camp. I backed into my previous spot, put the horses away and had camp set before dark. Dave said to bring my gun over and he would see if he could fix it. I don't think there was any doubt he could. I watched to see if I could learn something. I don't know how he managed all those tiny screws and parts under RV lighting. I could barely see him across the table. He said he's done it for so long he does most of it by feel. I would call it an art.

Dave worked both guns over from the inside out. He filed parts down, replaced springs...tightened screws and gave me pointers on how to better take care of them. I'd like to say I'm a sponge when it comes to soaking in massive amounts of information. I'm more like a sieve. Stuff is pouring and pouring in and it all just falls out the bottom. I wrote down everything I could remember as soon as I got back to my trailer. Now if can just remember where I wrote it...

1-22-2020: I planned to sleep in today. There was a sorting not far down the road that didn't start until 10:00 AM. As tired as I was last night – I was still up by 5:30 AM. I've always been a morning person but I'm supposed to be retired for crying out loud. I should be allowed to sleep in until 7:00 at least.

The gal putting on the sorting was using fresh cattle that had never been worked. I learned you have to go slow with new cattle or they can freak out and jump over the fence. These particular cattle were prone to do just that. I took J'Lo to the sorting and left Jack at home. Cindy took her gelding, Cowboy. J and Cowboy look enough alike to be siblings. Cowboy does everything from mounted shooting to cutting and everything in between. He's a beautiful horse to watch. I was proud of J'Lo, too. She's never sorted before that I know of and did a great job. Especially considering her rider hasn't a clue.

My favorite part of the sorting was when a steer in the adjoining pasture got out and J'Lo and I got to run it back in. I have gathered cows before on both J and Jack. So far, it's my favorite thing to do with cows next to a good BBQ.

It cost $15.00 base cattle fee and $5.00 per 2 minute run. We signed up to run 3 times. We were done and back home in plenty of time for me to unload the horses and haul the LQ back to Wickenburg to the septic dump.

Poop 101 was beginning to feel like a course I wish I hadn't signed up for. The last two times I've dumped the septic has not gone so well. Most of the dumps aren't low enough to accommodate the low tanks on a horse trailer. Basically – poop does not run uphill.

I formulated a plan of action. I would buy a new septic hose at Tractor Supply. One that is longer than the one I have and has better ends on it. I'd take a coupe blocks of wood to put under the trailer tires to raise it off the ground so gravity can run it's course. I would also bring a hose and pressure fill the tank until that damn thing runs as clear as Desani drinking water.

The checkout clerk at Tractor Supply sympathized with my shitter frustration and wished me luck. I pulled into the 76 station armed with my new Rhino Flex RV hose and determination to match. The guy attending the RV dump recognized me from a few days earlier: “Back again, huh?” I eat a lot of fiber...don't judge. I informed him not to wait. This might take a while and I'm not leaving here until I have a successful purge.

I opened the Rhino Flex box and proceeded to attach various plastic parts to the ends. It certainly fit more snug than the original hose. Only those who have dealt with RV black water knows the utter fear and trepidation of pulling that drainage valve to the open position. Will the fittings hold? Will we have free flowing success or will there be blockage? If there is a blockage...what then? Dear God – let there be no blockage.

I made a final inspection of the fittings...said a little poop prayer and pulled the valve. The glorious sound of fee flowing waste spilling from the tank to the septic dump was pure music to my ears. Houston..we have a successful purge.

If the 76 station cashier wondered why a person would be grinning from ear to ear, elated to be handing him a $10.00 dump fee...he never let on. He did, however, seem a little hesitant taking the ten dollar bill from the same hand that just spent 20 minutes handling a Rhino Flex hose. I could have put his mind to ease by showing him the bottle of hand sanitizer in my pocket. Maybe next time....and there will be a next time. There are two things you can count on in this world: Taxes and Poop.

Tomorrow – I head for the mountains

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-21-2020

Brothels, Babblers and Banshees

Grey skies and a steady rain put the kibosh on our plans to ride to the box canyon. Flash flooding is a real concern in this part of the country. Facing a wall of rolling flood waters in a canyon with no way out can ruin your day in a hurry. Lynn, Peter and I, stood in the garage door looking out at the rain. Maybe if we stare at it long enough, it will stop. We could set up a drill and do some shooting. We could...but nobody seemed real motivated to step out from under the roof of that garage.

I had an idea. Dave and Cindy had shared a pile of information pamphlets on places and things of interest in the area when I first arrived. Vulture City Ghost mining town had my name written all over it. Lynn was not nearly as excited about it. She had watched a You Tube video that showed the place infested with rats. I was convinced the video was staged (at least I convinced Lynn of that) and the Walter family and their new Gypsy Vagabond friend piled into the Tacoma headed for Vulture City.

The town was left to ruin after WWII. In 2017, owners Prat and Moriarty began restoring the historical buildings, opening it up to tours, celebrity ghost hunts and special events. It has been featured in the paranormal show American Ghost Story on television.

We were given the self tour group discount. Pete purchased a Vulture City ball cap, picked up an information map and we were off. We did not need a guided tour. We had Pete. We wandered through displays of iron mining equipment before entering the actual town. Huge iron bolts, pistons...pulleys and gears formed the makings of essential mining equipment from a by-gone era. Pete has an uncanny ability to look them over – run his hands over the workings and tell you precisely what the thing was used for – before reading the description plague. I wanted to get our $12.50 back and give it to Pete.

They have done a wonderful job of staging the old buildings in the town with authentic period props. An assessors office – a kitchen and bar – a bunkhouse and a work shop. A wedding chapel and mortuary sit kitty corner to the blacksmith...just in case that shotgun wedding goes a little south. The brothel and doctors office are located in the same building for your convenience. I wonder which you visit first before going to the next?

I was standing behind a rope looking in at a dining room/kitchen. A porcelain wash basin, wooden table and chairs and cupboards lined with dusty cans of pantry items displayed as if the occupants had simply walked away 100 years ago. Then I heard it. Sweeping sounds from the room above the studio. Dust filtered down through cracks in the ceiling. I looked around for the others. I was alone. The sweeping continued. I peeked around the corner at the rickety staircase leading to the room above. There was no “keep out” sign. I took a step...the sweeping stopped. I stepped back down. Maybe I'll go find Lynn, Pete and Scott. I'm sure they would want to see this. As I backed out of the room, noise intensified. The sounds of furniture being dragged across the floor echoed eerily down the staircase. Yeah...I think the others will want to see this.

Where did they go? I searched the blacksmith shop, the kitchen and bar and the mortuary before

finding them taking Pete's picture with “Anita” from the brothel. Figures! I drug them back to the studio room. I wasn't scared or anything...It was for their benefit too. Really. I didn't want to have ALL the fun. Lynn wasn't so sure but since she hadn't seen or heard rats as of yet, she was willing to climb the stairs and check it out.

I half expected to find the room empty. My cynical side assumed it was staged for the benefit of tourist. We would climb the stairs and the “ghost” would step behind a false wall hidden from view...leaving the unsuspecting tourist to run screaming out of the building.

I peered around the corner into the attic “Hello....any ghosts up here?” My first sighting was of a hooded man standing in a corner with his back to me. A bit of a heart stopping Blair Witch moment passed over me. Holy shit – these guys are good! Our ghost turned around and introduced himself not by name but as the carpenter renovating the attic. He said he was just cleaning up after himself. Whatever...I still think it was staged and if it wasn't...they so need to add that to their ghostly tour experience because it could not have been more perfect.

I learned many interesting things about life in Vulture City during it's hay day. As we finished up our tour, I learned more about Peter's life as well. When we came to the work shop, he pointed out the different tools he used when helping his dad put on a roof. Before long, I noticed I was understanding more and more of his way of communication. It reminded me of an experience years ago in an Oregon Trail Interpretive Center outside Baker City. A Buffalo Bill impersonator was telling a story using Native American sign language as he spoke the words. Some time in to the story – without realizing it, he had stopped speaking and was using sign language only...and you understood every part of the story without realizing it.

I came to the realization that humans use far too many fluffy filler words to communicate. It has occurred to me how few words it takes to relay an entire thought or feeling. There is nothing wrong with that, I guess. It's OK to tell someone you love them to the moon and back...more than there are stars in the sky and on and on and on. For me, I've come to discover the simple gesture of interlocking index fingers in the sign for “friends” can leave a bigger impact on a heart than all the words under the stars.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-20-2020

Javelina Hunting with Friends. 

 When a stray dog shows up in your yard, you don't go to feeding them or they will never leave. I warned Lynn and Scott of this fact but they kept on putting food in front of me.

I had a few simple goals for the day: Scope out an RV Dump, do laundry and get back to Aquila before dark. Goals are for sissy's. I'm not a sissy, I am a Snowbird and Snowbirds don't have goals....they have wings!

Shortly after chores we took Lynn's Tacoma into Wickenburg to find an RV dump. You would think the Team Roping capital of the world would have two on every corner and one at McDonald's. Not so. We found the only one at the 76 Station on Wickenburg Way. We made sure we could get our rigs in and went in search of breakfast.

Lynn wanted to try the Gila Monster Eatery. Not only did we not spot any Gila monsters, but they weren't serving breakfast for another two weeks. You got the impression from the man and two pit-bull's that met us in the yard that in two weeks you may be served breakfast by the Mexican Cartel. Lynn and I quickly thanked the nice man in his wife-beater T and bandanna and wasted no time in our exit strategy.

The “Cowboy Cookin' seemed more befitting two country girls fresh off a weekend of shooting and riding. Good food and great service. We made plans to ride after breakfast behind Lynn's place and take our LQ's to the RV dump later. I hoped we could squeeze all this in before dark or I might end up in California trying to find the turn off to Crandalls in the dark.

Peter helped me catch and groom my horses. I felt like he might want to go. When Lynn handed him “Shotguns” halter, the grin on his face verified he indeed wanted to ride. I rode Jack and towed J'Lo. Lynn rode her Rocky Mountain trail horse, Friday and Pete was proudly mounted on his sorrel gelding, Shotgun. For somebody who hasn't ridden a lot – Peter rides very well.

Lynn's intent was to ride to “The Baby Mountain” as she dubbed it; a small hill covered with Saguaro. The cactus grow at a certain elevation and The Baby's elevation is perfect for them. It felt good to be out on the trail in this beautiful State. Unfortunately, we didn't get an early enough start to make it to the Baby Mountain on horseback. We needed to get the trailers to the RV dump before it closed.

We stopped at tractor supply for a septic hose for Lynn's LQ before turning into the 76 station. The drain valves are low to the ground on my LQ. The septic dump is on the backside of a curve....causing the hose to essentially lie uphill. I think I got a third of it dumped before calling it good. I might try pulling the tires up on chucks to make it higher than the curb. I don't know. It occurred to me the other morning as I was cleaning horse pens, scooping dog poop and now stressing over septic that 'POOP Management 101' could be it's own blog.

We did a little shopping at Bachas' grocery before turning back to Nine Irons Ranch. I needed a few groceries and a sewing kit. I've been carrying around a cholla sticker in my thumb for a week. I didn't want to make my thumb sore by digging it out prior to my shoot.

I wanted to take the dogs for a walk before bed and Lynn was determined to show me The Baby Mountain. Lynn said she would finish up chores while I took the dogs out – then her and Pete would pick me up in the Ranger and take us to the mountain. The dogs and I made it to the first gate before we heard the roar of the Ranger.

Pete and I piled in the side-by-side and hung on for dear life. Lynn drives like a crazy woman being chased by jumping teddy-bear cholla. First impression of Lynn might lead one to believe her to be demure...almost fragile like. That would be the wrong impression. Lynn is about as fragile as a handful of silly-putty and three times the fun.

We were flying over washouts and sliding around corners going 9-0. There wasn't much daylight left. Lynn was determined to make it to The Baby Mountain before dark. I was lost as soon as we passed the area we had ridden earlier.

We came to a collection of bee boxes. Peter showed me how to spell “BEES” in sign language. When I spelled out the letters with my hand – I felt like I'd just learned to how to read. I can't explain it and do it justice. I'd spell it out: “B” - “E” - “E” - “S” with my fingers and Pete would nod his approval. I craved that approval – I spelled it again and again. He'd smile and pat me on the shoulder. Several more times of this and I think I was getting the courtesy pat - “Ok woman...you can shut the hell up now.”

We reached the Baby Mountain at dusk. We snapped a few pictures, piled back into the Ranger and sped for home...or so we thought. Lynn didn't seem at all worried. I was a bit concerned when we'd climb into a wash we'd not been in before...ducking mesquite and creosote brush as it whipped past the side panel.

Lynn's driving of that 4x4 was impressive if not somewhat demon possessed-like. Both hands on the wheel – bent forward with eyes squinting to see in the ever darkening desert night. She'd whip around one corner – down into a wash I swear was going to swallow the Ranger...back up the other side of the wash and onto a barely used trail. Then she'd stop. “This doesn't look right. Oh-well, it has to go somewhere, right?” Off she sped...then suddenly bust up in a belly laugh that made everything right again. Even if we didn't know where we were going, we were having a heck of a good time getting there.

Jackrabbits the size of Hank darted here and there. If we get stuck out here, it's raw bunny for dinner. I wonder what kind of slow, painful death consuming raw rodent brings about in a person? Maybe we would get lucky and spot ourselves a Javelina to hunt! I secretly hoped not. I know they say they aren't a pig or even related to a pig – but they look like a wild boar to me and those creepy bastards will eat you!

Lynn said we were all good as long as we could see Vulture Peak in the distance. It was her landmark to home. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face let alone a peak 15 miles away. A flashing red tower light in the same direction as Vulture Peak shone like a beacon. Lynn pointed the Ranger at the light and sped across the desert. The fence line we needed soon appeared and we were back on track.

I was tired. Pete was tired. Lynn wanted to head back out and try her hand at Javelina hunting. If she did, she was going all by her little lonesome. Pete signed that he was going to bed, gave me a hug and hooked his index fingers together and smiled. I looked to Lynn for an explanation. “Friends,” she said. “That means friends.” I made the same gesture and rushed off to my trailer before they could see me get misty-eyed. Some fearless Javelina hunter I turned out to be!

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 1-19-2020

Excuses Excuses

Sometimes it's easier to start at the end and work your way bottom-side up. As I type this after an amazing home cooked meal of stuffed pork chops, yams, cranberry sauce and some sort of cheesy veggies...I am awed at how I got here from there. “There” would be the Grand Canyon State Shoot in Queen Creek AZ. “ Here” being Lynn and Scott Walters' beautiful winter home outside of Wickenburg called “The Nine Iron's Ranch.” Then it dawned on me...”Oh yeah...I invited myself!”

We had two stages left to shoot Sunday morning beginning at 9:00 AM. They were using both arena's, so it would go pretty fast. Rylee was unable to fix my gun due to not having the right parts. Her brother Dylan needed his gun back before he ran his stages. I'd shoot my two and swap guns after my last run.

Stage 4 would be my only clean stage of the shoot. I checked and double checked the borrowed gun to make sure I chambered it properly this time. J'Bird put me exactly where I needed to be. It felt good to get a clean run. I was beginning to think it would never happen again. As we exited the arena, a lady stood in the alley. She'd been there all weekend. I never paid attention to what she was doing other than pointing up at the ceiling. I kept looking up where she was pointing. Every stage it was the same thing...I'd run, exit the arena and there we stood facing each other; her pointing up and me looking up trying to see what she was pointing at. Finally she spoke up: “No – look over here...at my fingers and smile big. I'm trying to get your picture!” I need to get out more.

I thought I was back on track. I fully intended to shoot my last stage clean as well. I was hoping Dylan's world champion'ness would flow through his gun and help me out a little. It didn't. J'Lo ran another flawless run. I tried to focus on pulling the hammer on that bisley thing to no avail. The trigger is a lot closer to the trigger frame than on my gun. I pulled back the hammer on the number 10 balloon and pulled the trigger at the same time...essentially going off half cocked. The only think consistent with my runs this weekend was balloons left standing and that lady pointing up at the ceiling.

I ran the Lawson's gun back to Rylee and picked up my Taylor Runn'in Iron. Rylee apologized for not having the part to fix it and I thanked her profusely for loaning me theirs. She said if I couldn't get it fixed before the next shoot at Queen's to send her a text and she would make sure to have the part.

I sat through the awards and watched several of my new friends pick up there's. I kept thinking I should be disappointed, but I wasn't. That is the way it goes. Sometimes your gun breaks – sometimes your horse has an off day. Some day's the winds blowing the wrong direction and sometimes...it's just Tuesday and you suck.

If nothing else, I learned a lot. Now I see the importance of trying out different guns in case yours takes a dump and some nice shooter is willing to lend you there's. I learned I can shoot as fast as J'Lo is running right now and confident I can keep up as we pick up more speed. I've learned not to be intimidated by “big shoots.” There's probably more than one person out there who's as nervous as you or more so. I learned to sign up for shotgun. You only need one good pistol for that!

Lynn and I set about tearing down our camps. We both needed to find an RV dump. I told here of one in Wickenburg but I didn't know how easy or difficult it is to get to it. I also needed to do laundry and Lynn wanted to go on a trail ride behind her place. Before I realized it, I was invited myself over. I suggested if she had room for my LQ and a spot for a couple horses – I could stay over in Wickenburg – we could find an RV dump and go for a ride. Maybe make plans to go to Tombstone if it works out. Etc. Etc. It would save me from having to drive all the way back to Wickenburg from Aguila. Lynn agreed.

I don't know what I expected. A manufactured home maybe...or one of those cute little tiny homes. I was not expecting a hacienda style home with 20 foot ceilings and room for a pony in the walk in closet. It is likely the coolest house I've seen.

We were greeted in the driveway by Peter, Lynn's brother. Peter is deaf. Peter is also a hugger...and a dang good one. Coming from me, that says a lot. Normally not a big hugger myself – one can't help but be wrapped up in the pure jubilation of a Peter hug. I wouldn't trust anyone who didn't appreciate the unadulterated joy that man puts into his embrace. I wish I knew sign language – I would like to have been able to communicate with him better.

Lynn and her husband, Scott, helped get my horses settle in. We hooked together all the hoses we could find for water. After being cooped up in stalls for 4 days, they were happy ponies to get out in a large enclosure.

Another day of my adventure comes to an end. When I look back on the weekend – I find I do not think much on the broken gun and missed balloons. Instead I remember the handful of people I was blessed to meet. The kindness and courage of Lynn that is indicative of a cancer survivor. Kathleen; her innate ability to put others first shone through as she became our tour guide and local resource. I will remember Jean's welcoming and vivacious personality. Scott's hospitality. Rogers plethora of Snowbird knowledge. And mostly I will remember Peter as proof that pure joy comes not from what you can see or hear – but from what you feel from within your heart.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-18-2020

Candy Canes and Bisley Hammers

I got up early enough for the horses to finish breakfast and take them out for some exercise before stalling Jack for most of the day. I hate leaving him cooped up like that. He didn't want to go back in but I didn't want to worry about him tied while J'Lo runs her stages. I'd take him out for a run when we were through.

This is by far the biggest shoot I've entered. There are over 133 shooters. They ran two arenas. Great – I was barely getting comfortable with managing one. They ran stage 1 in the main arena, stage 2 in the side arena and stage 3 back in the main arena. You had under 30 minutes between stages 1 and 2. I found I like it better...you don't have time to sit around and work yourself into a frenzy between runs.

It doesn't matter that I didn't know anybody before coming here. I recognized the names: 2019 World Champion Dylan Lawson jumped straight off the cover of my RUNDOWN magazine. I watch every You Tube video Kenda Lenseigne puts out. Seeing her run Sparky in person kind of gives you goosebumps. Dan Byrd, Rob Boucher and Cecil Berry under the same roof. The coolest part about it is each of them seem to be as down to earth as people get. You don't get the feeling they are doing you a grand favor by greeting you with a genuine smile and a hello.

It took me a while to figure out the logistics of a shoot this size. Where are the boundaries of the gun loading area? I found that out in short order when the lady running the entry gate kindly pointed out I was in the wrong area after loading. I've been to shoots where the person running it was down right mean if you made a lesser mistake. I'll never figure people like that. I would think it would take less effort to be kind...but whatever. We got other things to do.

There are 13 ladies in my class. I've never had a class close to this size and lucky to get a full class at all. I wasn't as nervous as usual. I think because I didn't expect to be competitive anyway. I'd just run, not safety up and go with it. I didn't know who to follow because I didn't know any of them. The gal running the gate took the time to show me who to follow and when to get loaded and ready. Again...very professional people running the shoot. I would follow Jean and would later get to know her better as a real kick in the pants.

J Bird made her circle and we were heading to my least favorite course in the book – the “Candy Cane,” aka “The Fast Five.” I reminded myself not to safety up. I cleaned up the random five – turned the rundown barrel, pulled the trigger and....click. Damn. I've been doing that a lot in practice. I assumed it was my ammo. I legitimately missed the next balloon and finished off the rest. I had a raw time of 13 seconds. The fastest time on any course for me thus far. J'Lo ran flawless. I was happy regardless of the missed balloon and the clicker. I gained a little confidence thinking maybe I could be competitive with this group.

The next stage was an easy flowing stage. Surely I got this. J' Ran like a rock-star. I finished off the random five...pulled my gun for the rundown and hit a clicker on the 9^th balloon. What the hell? I unloaded and inspected my gun. The cylinder on my second gun was spinning free. The dimple on the ammo hit in the rim and not the primer. Shit.

Lynn disappears and magically reappears with a young girl who's not only a gunsmith, but L5 Rylee Lawson...Dylan Lawson's sister. “Oh...that's not supposed to happen,” she says as she watches my free-spinning cylinder. She asked if I had another gun. I said I did not. I was up in 5 minutes. She ran off with my gun and returned with another for me to use. “Here, use this one until I can get yours fixed.”

I've never shot guns but mine with the exception of the first day I tried mounted shooting with a borrowed gun and horse. Besides the bisley hammer I'd never seen until now, it felt pretty good.

It was another smooth course. J'Lo did her job well. I cleaned up the random five, drew my borrowed gun at the rundown and started to pick them off. It felt different, but not terrible. I thought I had this...I was going to shoot a clean stage. I leveled in on the 10^th balloon and “click.” What the hell. I don't know if I slip hammered or didn't stage the gun correctly. Still, I was OK with it – our raw time was competitive with the other ladies in my class.

I gave J'Lo an extra cookie before stalling her for the night. She ran harder and smoother than ever today. Even with 20 seconds in penalties, I felt like I shot better than I have in the past. I didn't safety up. I successfully tried a few things like longer shots, tracking my targets and running through gates faster. I felt better about my runs today than I have about some shoots I've won. I am more confident now that I can be competitive.

I haven't seen Rylee or my gun since we made the quick trade. She is shooting in some of the auxiliary events going on as I type this. I can hear the announcer and shooting over the loudspeaker - it sounds like she is doing well. I don't know if I'll have my gun back tomorrow for the final two stages. I hope so. I'd like the chance to shoot clean not only to redeem myself, but for J'Lo. She really did give it her all. If not, I guess I better figure out how to maneuver this bisley thing before 9:00 AM.