Chapter 10

Jumping ahead before I jump behind...

The Big Horn Buckskinners organized an early season Shoot. The National Muzzle Loading Rifle Association ... the Friendship people suggested that we make our local shoot the NMLRA Western Rendezvous because Wyoming had several Historic Fur Trade sites. Since 90 percent of the Big Horn club membership are also members of The National Muzzle Loading Rifle Association ... they agreed.

Just west of Bear Lodge, there is a vast expanse of shortgrass, stretching from the woods to past the North Tongue river. The meadow trends north north west and slopes to the river whereafter it rises again and finishes off in a sparse woods. It was unpopulated ... I say was because there’s a couple of houses there now. In 1978 it was just grass.

I am a proud and card carrying member of the Big Horn club. Two Cans is part of the club ... and any group Two Cans joins ... well ... they have to be my kind of crazy.

Early June is still winter in the Big Horns ... Hell ... July is still winter. Come to think it, so is August. Big Horn winters don’t know calendars. The bears do. The mountains don’t.

In Indiana, Summer is summer. So, the Friendship people arranged a deal with the Forest folks to block off public access to the entire two miles from the west side of Bear Lodges west the second weekend of June, 1978. That would be Thursday, the 8th, the 9th, 10th, 11th and Monday the 12th ... and no amount of talking would change their minds. They advertised hell to breakfast and over three thousand shooters from the west coast east to the east borders of the Dakotas and south to Arizona signed on. Damn straight ... let’s smell some sulphur smoke! YAHOO!

No club in the 12 state area organized a shoot during the second weekend of June.

So ... the second of June, I am on the way to Bear Lodge having been volunteered to help clean up the grounds. Volunteered by virtue of missing that meeting. I wasn’t feeling my best ... Memorial Day celebrations. The itch for a burger and fries made itself known and I whipped the Dodge in at Arrowhead.

You all remember the last time I was at Arrowhead.

The bartender did too.

He was screwing the pickle jar lid down tight as I trotted through the door.

“You!” Finger raised in pointed admonition, he said, “No pickle for you!” And proceeded to humble and humiliate me to a bar of early risers ... it being close to noon. He described the event in technicolor with captions. I could tell that the EVENT was one of the best because he had the entire story down pat ... letter perfect. Including my having to rent my own room and sleep with the window open.

Those on stools fell off and those at the tables spilled beer.

“I just want a loaded burger and fries,” I said.

The pause was innocent enough but then I said.

“With pickle.”

Evil, evil, evil girl.