The Prickly Pear Chronicles - Major Rewards and Ghost Chickens in the Sky

 

11-28-2020: Major Rewards and Ghost Chickens in the Sky

It's been awhile since I've competed off J'Lo. She's had most of the shooting season off this year while I focused more on Jack. I decided to put her up for sale if the right person comes along willing to pay what I think is a fair price and give her a good home. If not – I will try to have her bred in the spring. I've always heard if you want to assure your animals a good home, make them the best they can possibly be. I intend to compete off J'Lo while I winter in Arizona and get her into top form. I'll use Jack at clean shooter jackpots and other less pressure competitions.

The Tombstone Ghost Riders put on an amazing shoot. Saturday would be one shoot and Sunday another. The Sunday shoot would be for bragging rights only (no cash or awards for the class winners) Basically, a glorified practice for CMSA points only.

I really like the competitions where they have two separate shoots in the weekend. If you mess up on the first day, you still have a chance to redeem yourself the next.The down side to that is if you don't want to move up all that bad but happen to win both days on a full class, you could be moving up that much faster. There were 7 ladies in my class...the biggest class I've shot in thus far.

J'Lo was a rock. Our first stage was flawless. I told myself I would not safety up, something I have a tendency to do. Clean shooter was included in your fees...so I pretended like I didn't even enter. It's hard to get it through your head, but most of the time, to safety up can cause you to miss balloons. The harder J'Lo runs, the smoother she levels out.

We had the fastest time on stage one by .608 seconds. I missed a balloon on the second stage, but had the fastest raw time by over 3 seconds. – dropping us down to 3^rd place. Kathy, my closest competitor – shot clean. I had 1.6 seconds to make up if I wanted to win.

I seldom look at the results as they are posted through each stage. It makes me more nervous. The advantage of looking is you know where you stand and can try to adjust accordingly. Ideally, a person would go out and run their hardest each and every run. I'm getting better at that – but sometimes a little strategy is in order. If you have a good shot at winning if you don't miss a balloon and don't need to run your hardest, I see nothing wrong with that. In may case – I had to run hard and hit all my balloons if I wanted to place.

J'Lo smoked the final stage and I shot clean. They don't post the final results until awards. I felt like we might have gotten 2^nd place. There was a gal that ran after me. I could not tell if she was in my class or not. She didn't look like a senior, but neither do half of the ladies in the senior classes. If she was a senior, then I would likely take 2^nd or 3^rd. Regardless of the outcome, I was proud of J'Lo. She ran harder than ever and kept up with the levels above us. She walks into the arena calm, waits for the go...pins her ears back and gives whatever I ask of her. Once her stage is done...she exits the arena as calm as she entered. That means a lot to me. I see horses run in sideways, backwards or on two legs. They often make smoking runs....but I don't want my horses to do that. I'm too old for that shit.

The Tombstone Ghost riders know how to put on a fun shoot. Awards were at 6:00PM with a talent/non talent show to follow. My class should pay two places. The TGR gave buckles to the winners of classes 1 through 3. Normally, the only buckles given out are to the 1's.

Diana Olsen – president of the TGR club, began the awards. Diana is a riot. She should have been a stand up comedian. I sat through the wranglers, the 1's, the 2's...the SL1's and the SL'2's...finally it was time for the SL3's. I held my breath when she called the 2^nd place winner for my class: “Kathy K”...YES!! Does that mean I got 1^st? Blake was almost positive the gal I was worried about being in my class or not, was an L3. I sure hoped he was right. I held my breath as Diana got side-tracked. Several minutes went by while she entertained the crowd with her hilarious antics. Surely this is it...she looks down at the checks in her hand: “And the 1^st. Place winner goes to.....(I hear drum rolls...but it could be my heart palpitations)...the winner is...Darien Ross!” WTF!! I don't remember a Darien Ross! Blake had been wrong...Darien must be the SL3 that doesn't look a day over 30!! Maybe she's using a fake ID! That must be it! I will admit, my heart sank more than a little. I put on my very best fake smile and courtesy applaud for this “Darien” woman whoever the hell she is. Good for you girl...may you age exponentially in the next 20 minutes.

Someone from the back of the crowd shouts out: “Hey – you skipped the SL3 winner...Darien is a 4! There was still hope. This Darien, however, was not the gal I was worried about. Diana fumbles around with her papers and makes a few jokes. Everyone laughs. Ha ha. I'm dying here. I want to win a damn buckle. A few more jokes and shuffling about and I beat my head on the table. Finally, Diana finds the correct check with the SL3 1^st place winner: “Here it is! The winner is....(blah blah blah...more funnies. More laughter. Ha ha. I think my heart has stopped.) SL3 1^st place goes to.....Laurie (The thought crossed my mind that at this point in the game, there could be another Laurie in my class. Hell, maybe we were all named Laurie in my class!) – Bryan.”

Thank you Jesus. I tried my best not to jump up and down in an inappropriate display of “I WON! I WON!” Take that...you 30 year old with the fake ID! I walked up as calm as I could muster, which really wasn't calm on any level, to receive my major reward. I told Diana that next time she could just stab me in the heart and make it quick.

The talent/no talent show followed the awards. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. The first act was a rendition of the poem “pert-near Perkins” as told by the Pastor for Cowboy church and several unrehearsed actors.

The second skit was Diana's TGR club dressed up as chickens acting out the song “Ghost Chickens in the Sky.” The comedic timing and nuances were impeccable. I hope somebody got it on video.

There were a couple other funny acts finished off with Dave accompanied by a guy (I don't know his name) singing and playing the guitar. Dave doesn't think he sounds very good but he really does. I just wish he would sing louder and use is phone voice!

Blake suggested we go out and celebrate. I suggested we not. Tomorrow was another shoot and fake ID or not, I've always been too old for this shit.

11-29-2020: Whore-Durbs and Silver bullets

Sunday's shoot was a different format. A sixty dollar entry fee got you bragging rights only, no money for a class win. The only chance for money was clean shooter. It was still an official CMSA shoot and would count for points and a qualified win with a full class. There were 5 gals in the SL3's– 1 more than needed for a full class.

I've been wearing the same plain Jane chinks I traded for when I first started mounted shooting 6 years ago. They look like something a kid would dress up in to play cowboys and Indians. I've wanted a nicer pair, but could not justify the expense for something I wear only when I'm shooting. A pair of purple/lavender and gray chinks hanging from hatcreek leather beckoned. I felt a little guilty buying them. I figure since J'Lo does all the work – I should buy something for her. But they are purple. My favorite color. The guy wanted $265.00 for them. I offered him $250.00 cash. He had them cut down and adjusted to fit by my first stage.

Sporting my new chinks, I damn near missed my stage. I'm usually way early. All prepared an hour a head of time and jumpy as a frog in a hot skillet. I've yet to witness a frog in a hot skillet – but I imagine it would be pretty jumpy.

J'Lo smoked the first two stages. I was ahead by enough that I could miss a balloon and still take 1^st. The only money would be clean shooter. I debated whether or not to safety up. I decided not to. I've regretted doing so in the past. I didn't send her out whipping and spurring. I don't do that anyway – but I do ask for more speed when I want. This run I let her pretty much run at her own pace. I held up a little more than I should on the gun change and rundown. I have a tendency to hold her back on the rundown unless I'm doing shotgun. Still working on fixing that.

The final stage wasn't the fastest or smoothest of the weekend, but I was clean. We won our class and clean shooter. I was a happy shooter. The TGR gave out cool prizes for the overall's and some other side pots. Clean shooters took home a shot glass with a silver bullet and 50 dollars.

Now I could relax and celebrate. Blake and I drove to Margaritaville for my last prickly pear margarita and hors d'oeuvres, (that would be whore-durbs without spell check) It's a good thing I can shoot because I'd never win a buckle in a spelling bee.

I text Cindy that Margaritaville was open and had live music. Her and Dave met us there shortly after. The same man that performed last year was the evenings entertainment again this year. He plays a 16 (or so) string guitar (among others) and sings. He has a wonderful voice and takes requests. I had him play El Paso. It sounded a lot better than my rendition and I doubt it took him 4 shots of jeep'in juice to get it done.

11-30-2020: To launder or not to launder?

Blake and I left the Livery bright and early Monday morning. I had copious amounts of laundry to do before putting Blake on the plane in Phoenix Tuesday morning.

Tired and road weary, we decided against driving back in to Wickenburg to do laundry. Blake would pack his dirty clothes home with him and I could wait and do laundry on my way back from Phoenix

We watched “The Three Burials of Melquiadas Estrada” with Tommy Lee Jones and Julio Cesar Cedillo. I don't think Tommy Lee Jones can make a bad movie. His role as Pete Perkins is my favorite so far.

Blake appeared as tired as I was. We turned in shortly after the movie. We needed to be up early and headed to Phoenix to make his plane. I'd be sad to see him go home, but I know he was excited to get back home to his three kids and dog.

12-1-2020: Skinny Jeans and Endless airport loops

Driving to the Phoenix airport during rush hour is an experience I hope to never repeat. We were on the road by 6:45 am. A tad earlier than intended. As it turned out – it's a darn good thing it was.

Blake gives me shit about my compulsion to keep my truck on the top side of half. I guess I get it from my dad. He instilled in us girls to always keep enough gas in your rigs to get you as far out of Dodge and into the boonies as you can get should shit hit the fan. Said shit was about to hit said fan.

I was not the last to drive my truck as Blake had driven home from Tombstone. He said my driving scares him. I don't know why! I think I am an excellent driver...as long as it's not dark...or the suns not in my face...or there are no lights coming at me...or.

I fired up the Dodge to find the fuel gauge at 1/8^th of a tank. Ok...no problem. We could make it to the Shell station just outside of Wickenburg. We pull into the Shell station to find all of the Diesel pumps out of order. Not just 1 or 2. All of them. There is another station outside of Morristown we 'might' make. I debated going back into Wickenburg for fuel but Blake was fairly confident we could make it...he runs on less all the time! Ugh

I fretted as the gas gauge hovered over empty. I'd never let it get this low and I hadn't been getting that great of gas mileage. My relief at pulling into the Shell station outside of Morristown quickly faded. Every diesel pump was marked out of order. What the hell? I ran into the store to inquire what the deal was. I envisioned a national diesel shortage to go along with the elusive and fabricated coin shortage. Great...you can finally buy a roll of toilet paper but you can't purchase the fuel required to drive to the store to buy it.

The clerk assured me it was a Shell thing only. They were replacing their pumps or some such shit. It's hard to tell, they were kind of vague about it. We couldn't make it back to Aquila and we couldn't go on. What now?

I swear, I have the best guardian angle ever. This time he made an appearance as a somewhat sketchy looking dude in skinny jeans. “I have a diesel pump in my truck. I can give you some diesel if you want. What kind do you need?” What kind do I need? There's different kinds? My brain was too fried to understand what he was asking. “I need the kind that will get this truck on the road so I can get my son to the airport.”

I was a little hesitant. Paranoid might be a better word.  Was this a scam? Was skinny jeans really a serial killer working the truck stops in search of his next victim? I've seen the movie “Breakdown” with Kurt Russel and Kurt wasn't here to come rescue me in my hour of need and Blake was nowhere in sight. Where was that kid, anyway? I had no intentions of following skinny jeans out into the parking lot without Blake knowing what was going on.

Skinny jeans seemed a tad impatient when I hesitated. I told him I would be right there as soon as I found my son with the 3^rd degree black belt and an oozie strapped to his belt. Not really...but it was tempting. I found Blake and we met up with skinny jeans in the parking lot...where Skinny jeans waited with the hood of his truck open trying to get it jump started. This was looking weirder with each passing moment.

Not entirely sure I wanted to give SJ more information than necessary...I waved in no general direction when he asked where I was parked. “Bring it on over here and I'll fill it up. I can't move my truck to you until I get it jumped started.” I did as SJ requested. I know your not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I gave the fuel he was about to dispense a good looking over before he started pumping it. It smelled and looked like Diesel to me. I payed Skinny Jeans 20 bucks for 10 dollars worth of fuel and thanked him profusely. (Not only for the fuel, but for not stuffing my unconscious body in a wooden crate in the back of a semi to be found later by my unsuspecting son.) Yeah – I watch too many movies.

We were back on the road with enough fuel to get us to the next gas station. Blake mentioned something about off road diesel, dip sticks and a hefty 10K dollar fine that I chose to ignore. I figured if I get pulled over and questioned I'd just start crying. I was close to it anyway. It's never worked in the past, but there's always a first time.

I have no words to describe the traffic going into the Phoenix air terminal. I don't know how we made it. I pulled up to what we hoped was the departures lanes – terminal 4. Cars cut in and out a mere inches from hitting each other. Blake grabbed his duffle-bag of dirty clothes as I literally opened the door and kicked him out on the curb and sped away. “WISH ME LUCK” was the last words I heard my baby boy utter as I pulled back into traffic.

I was becoming quite familiar with terminal four. My GPS was stuck in a perpetual terminal four loop. About the fourth time past the same terminal, I powered off Gigi and struck out on my own. The airport seemed to be built underground with tunnels and dim, artificial lighting. I headed for the nearest ray of natural light I could see. Miraculously, I found myself back on the 202 loop heading in the right direction. Gigi gained satellite connectivity and recalculated our route toward home. Traffic going out of Phoenix was not near as traumatic to my nervous system. Once off the I10 onto 303 North, I could finally breath. I said a quick prayer of thanks to Jesus and Skinny Jeans for getting us to the airport on time and safely back.

Blake landed at the Boise airport the same time as I pulled the last load of laundry out of the dryer. I thanked him for driving south with me. I imagine most boys (men I suppose) have things they would rather do than spend 11 days in a tiny 8 foot short-wall with their mom.

I tried not to lord over him, judge him or otherwise be his mom. Other than fretting over whether he'd been kidnapped by Coyotes, upside down in a wash or picked up by the border patrol, I think I succeeded for the most part. I enjoyed our time together and hope he did, too. I got to know him a little better and maybe he got to see a side of his mom that he didn't know existed as well. One side he'll for sure never see again is the 4 shot of Jeep'in Juice, El Paso singing drunk Karaoke side. Nobody needs to see or hear that....nobody.