by B.B. Pelletier
A quick correction about the HW30 price drop mentioned in yesterday’s blog. Volvo brought to our attention the fact that this isn’t the HW30S. In fact, it IS HW30S, which means it has the Rekord trigger and fiber optic sights. Apparently, the gun morphed at some time but the web page was never updated. It now has the correct picture and all other data has been corrected.
I’m still in New York with Paul Capello, filming for The American Airgunner TV show that debuts on July 4. My wife (Edith) thought this would be a good time to do a guest blog about me. I blame Wacky Wayne for this. He pressured her into revealing inside info about me during my absence. Those of you who are married will see right through Edith’s so-called revelations and not believe them.
Life with B.B. (aka Tom Gaylord)
by Edith Gaylord (Mrs. B.B.)
Don’t believe B.B.’s preamble to this guest blog…except for the part about Wacky Wayne. If he hadn’t suggested this, you’d never get the scoop on B.B.
Ah, the aroma of cooking bacon…pork fat sizzling in the frying pan first thing in the morning. One problem. It’s 3 pm, we have no bacon and I’m not in the kitchen cooking. That strange porky aroma wafting through the house is the smell of a Chinese spring gun dieseling. I can only assume the Chinese have a glut of pork fat and are stuffing it into every product they ship overseas.
I’ll never forget the first time I whiffed that odor. I was sitting in my office and the cats (we had a whole tribe of them at the time) started lifting their noses to the air, as though they detected the odor of food being prepared. They rose from their sleep and followed their noses…to Tom’s office. (If you’re old enough to remember cartoon character Pepe LePew, picture him floating through the air as he followed a scent!) I followed the cats, and we stood in the doorway and watched as Tom fired shot after shot into a pellet trap. Yup, it was the arrival of the first bacon gun. After some more shooting, he was relegated to shooting them in the basement. Still, the odor found its way upstairs. So, over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to this smell. To make sure nothing’s out of order and that he really hasn’t started a fire with a ham as kindling, I still yell out, “Chinese gun?” So far, the answer’s always been “Yep.”
Last year, my hubby confessed a lot of so-called “accidents” in a blog. Now, he’s found out that his confessions have backfired on him. I use that blog as a reference. If something wasn’t mentioned in that blog, then that means it’s new. And, if it IS new but he didn’t tell me about it, then he’s involved in a cover up. I just want to know when something is damaged. I’ll work it out in my own head after that. If I didn’t yell at him for shooting the couch, then I’d say I’m pretty reasonable about these things.
Bringing you up to date, I noticed a hole in his office wall. When I commented on it a few weeks ago, he said he’d told me about it before…it was an older shot. I don’t think so! Plus, the pellet was still in the wall.
The other day, I noticed a hole in the wall next to the grandfather clock, but he claims it wasn’t a pellet hole…maybe just funny texture on the wall. Texture isn’t dented in about 1/8 inch, doesn’t have a gray tinge to it and usually isn’t perfectly round. Plus, I just took a .177 pellet and it fit perfectly in the hole. A real “Cinderella” moment!
For longer-range indoor shooting that doesn’t involve chronographing, B.B. often sets up the silent pellet trap on his night table. Through a series of doorways and hallways, he can get a pretty good distance for shooting. I just looked at the wall next to the night table and noticed a perfectly round, pellet-sized hole. Our bedroom walls are sand-colored. The hole is white. A round piece of sand-colored wall still rests on the carpet.
In the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I imagine that one day I’ll try to pound a nail in the wall to hang up a picture, and the entire thing will crumble to the ground as a previously hidden network of pellet-sized holes have turned it into Swiss cheese sheetrock. In our next house, I think we’ll forgo the sheetrock and just hang sheet steel.
Shopping with B.B.
I am a different kind of woman: I detest malls and most types of shopping. Yet, the inevitable happens and a-shopping we must go. No matter where we are, you can be certain it’s going to be near a sporting goods store or a gun store. When I say “near,” you’re probably thinking it’s on the way to our final destination or within 5 or 10 minutes of our destination. To B.B., it means it’s on the same planet.
Recently, we were planning to dine in a restaurant located in a strip shopping center. B.B. wanted to stop at a military surplus ammo store “on the way.” Giving it a great deal of thought, I couldn’t see any common streets between the two places. Sure, they’re both in Texas, but no one would consider the store to be on the way to or from the eatery. As it turns out, “on the way” really meant that it would become on the way if we planned to go to the store after we ate. I realize that I’m merely a woman and could never understand the intricacies of planning a travel route (other than traveling cross country several times by myself with a car full of yowling cats), so maybe B.B.’s logic is actually male logic and is not meant to be understood by the female brain.
We have several big box stores within striking distance of our home. Do you think they’re selling pellets, BBs, airguns, scopes and other accessories that Pyramyd Air does NOT sell? I doubt it, but B.B. seems to think these stores could hold a treasure trove of previously unknown products. So, whenever we go out to eat, buy groceries or shop for other necessities, he mentions that a certain store is “on the way” (and you already know what THAT means). Our short trip turns into a much longer trek that involves scouring the shelves of stores that barely have a clue about airguns. I can only remember one time that we actually found something that Pyramyd Air didn’t sell. In fact, it was a product that they DID sell, but the big box store had it repackaged under another name. Yet, this has not deterred B.B. from frequenting every big box store in the area “just in case.”
This is just the beginning
Well, Wayne, I hope you’re happy. Of course, there are more things I could reveal, but I’ll save those for another blog. I’ll continue to collect data to report to later. It’s only fair that you get to know the real B.B.