I Shoulda Stayed Home.

No offense to the other attendees of the Nation of Riflemen Spring get-together, but seeing the sign over the freeway "Accident, Freeway closed 43 miles ahead" should have given me a clue. What should have been a two-hour trip became a four-hour ordeal through back roads and the middle of Phoenix rush-hour traffic. Dinner Friday night was good, but looking back on it, I don't think I was feeling well even then, and when everything came back up at midnight, I could tell that this wasn't going to be my weekend.

Saturday I damned near literally dragged my ass to the range, put a hundred rounds through my AR, twenty rounds through the Winchester 94, and one bandoleer of .30-06 though the Garand (which drew a lot of compliments). In fact, I let one old gentlemen there with his grandson put the last clip through it before I packed it in for the day. I drug my butt back to the hotel, got some Sprite, some Gatorade, and some crackers, and pretty much spent the next 20 hours in a fugue state. I wanted to go to the dinner Saturday, but it just didn't happen. At about 8:00 PM, I pulled up the covers, turned out the lights, and went to sleep.

I got up this morning about eight, showered, shaved, dressed, and lugged my stuff back down to the truck, but instead of heading for the range, I drove over to my brother's house, and spent the day with him and his wife. I just got home a little while ago, still feeling crappy.

Rumpshot, you picked a damned fine weekend for the get-together. The weather could not have been better, Ben Avery is a fine facility, and the company (excluding me) was excellent. Maybe next year?

Update: NOW I understand. I'm having a flare-up of Porphyria. Usually I get some warning, but apparently not this time. Oh well, time for the pasta and hard-candy treatment (which isn't all that pleasant when you're nauseous - let me tell you.)