There comes a time in every man’s life when he longs for the exquisite prancing pony to grace his favorite gun; whether it’s an AR-15, a 1911 or for the lucky, blessed wealthy few, a Python. I’m on a never-ending mission to find the perfect carry gun for the hot weather months. Since moving from the frigid north to the southeastern coast, I have found that a full-sized combat piece prints worse than the National Enquirer when you’re wearing a t-shirt and jeans. These two semi-tangential obsessions of mine collided one day while I was flipping through a gun rag atop the porcelain throne.
After having toured the Colt factory in Connecticut, I anxiously awaited arrival of the New Agent from Mark Roberts for my evaluation. I was headed back from supper when I got the call from Jim at Jim's Guns that there was a blue plastic box sitting on his counter with my name on it. I was headed back home but decided that there is no time better to pick up a new Colt than now. It looked like I would be out a little later than I had figured.
After several days of wandering about the SHOT Show, one begins to get the “2,000-yard stare.” People afflicted by this sorry condition cast a hollow gaze out upon the show floor. Usually the stupor is harmless enough, but occasionally the more serious cases require the patient to be carted off in a white straight jacket. Just about anything can trigger it, but the most common culprit is processing too much data on guns sporting everything but the kitchen sink. And I believe some next year will very likely feature kitchen sinks.