Birds sang and the sun shone in the big Texan sky. Yes, it was time to head out to the countryside yet again as part of our ongoing investigation into the scourge of rural systemic racism. And before you could whistle Dixie there I was, in a ranch shop, talking guns.
You know how it is, one thing led to another, a couple of Polaris quads revved up and there we were, slinging skeet and shooting plates. Racist? Well, the guns were black and brown, the plates white and the skeet orange. The quads were green. Hmmm.
It was hard to stop myself admiring a WWII trophy Luger as I reflected on this knotty indigenous peoples justice conundrum, to say nothing of a canned Enhanced Remington 1911. The latter shot well, scoring hits on a plate at around 75 yards, big fun.
Then it was time to visit the Confederate Air Force at an aerodrome not too far from my friend's ranch, DD has a hanger there where he builds and restores airplanes.
There was a CAF trainer on the tarmac about to get ready for take off. Some of you'll know the make/model but I forget the details.
Regardless, DD was working on a Cessna and the wings of another plane, which he showed us after a delicious snack of poppers, smoked sausage and ice cold beer. What a gentleman, I do not say that lightly. And he still flies, though in his '80s. He'd been in the US Aerobatics team.
Then it was time to head back to the bucolic haven that is this small farming community in North Central Texas to hear someone's confession. Was this whole experience irredeemably, incurably, insufferably racist?
I can't answer that but I do say this, it was big fun.
Your Pal,
LSP
