Oklahoma Day Three

Cheerios, coffee and conversation ushered in the next day. After an hour or so the three of us were off to Watonga. So here's a correction, my dad lives in Watonga not Okeene. My cousin Kenny lives in Okeene.

We traveled northwest from Oklahoma City and I noticed that the complaints my dad had regarding his van's steering control didn't seem so accurate. He complained the steering resembled something similar to forcing a boat to remain straight in water. I didn't think the situation was truly terrible. It wasn't until the last day I realized the danger. But that's another story.

We drove through farmlands and small towns. We saw pieces of cars decorating lawns. We saw cows grazing behind fences. We saw the decaying carcasses of deer, raccoon and coyote littering the shoulders of each roadway we rolled down.

We stopped in Kingfisher (the birthplace of Walmart's creator Sam Walton) to buy ammunition in a Walmart. The bullets were for the guns we were going to shoot later.

I thought the highlight of my dad's house tour would be the pink and purple room where one wall was dedicated to Dog the Bounty Hunter in black ink, but finally being able to check out my boat proved better.

The 12 foot aluminum boat is sitting there waiting for me to tow it home. I'm not sure when that will actually occur, but I'm looking to make it happen soon.

My dad isn't the fan of Dog. The kid that used to live in the house is. The three bedroom home is new to my dad and he's been working on it, but hasn't painted over the black Sharpie graffiti left by the child.

Noon was close enough so we started drinking. Jeremy and I were able to examine all the firearms we would be dealing with later. At this time I had never shot a gun in my life and when I revealed that to my dad a few years ago he made it a sort of mission to get me to fire at something, especially during this trip.

The temperature outside remained low throughout the day – probably around 30 degrees. We were all determined though and headed out into the country. My dad hauls wheat for Wheeler Brothers and the company owns an extreme amount of land. All the employees are given permission to use the land to hunt and camp. The section we drove to had a firing range.

Here I am trying desperately to hit a can of soup. I couldn't for a few rounds, but when I finally did I couldn't miss. After the cans were on the ground I started making them dance.

Jeremy had no problem. The jerk hit the can on his second shot.

We moved on to rifles after the pistols. Again, I couldn't hit shit. The rifle we were shooting was a 30ot6(?), and this rifle plays a huge part in turning me into a murderer the next day. (A little teaser for those who will be pissed while reading the next post.) The scope was set for 100 yards and Jeremy killed a can of peas right away.

Soon our hands were ice cold and we were forced to quit. We headed back to my dad's house, gathered some belongings and headed to Okeene to meet my cousin Kenny. Kenny Synco is my second cousin. I met him once when I was a child, but I don't remember the meeting.

Immediately we started drinking. Kenny and Jeremy drank beer and my dad and I drank whiskey. Then after awhile I started drinking beer too.

The conversation never stopped. Kenny and dad had stories that seamlessly lead into one another. After the bottle of Blanton's dried out I started drinking Bud Light. All of a sudden Kenny wanted to go to the bar, but the problem was the time – 2:30 a.m. arrived quickly and the bar was closed. The next thing I remember is Kenny telling us we were going hunting instead.

We began gearing up. The weather was freezing. Everyone was drunk and the guns were out. All of a sudden it's the next day and I'm hurling in the bathroom.

We didn't make it. Everyone passed out instead.
Thinking back, that night could have been legendary, but someone might have died. Not from a gun shot wound or a freak auto accident, but from a night so extremely cold that the nuts on any man's body may have iced up and fallen off.