My dear fellow, can I interest you in a scotch? The Orvis Sandanona Shooting Club in upstate New York is about as old school as it gets. Think dark oak panels, plush leather armchairs, a roaring fire to ward off the encroaching autumn chill, and of course a bottle of 18-year old scotch nestled between rows and rows of polished shotguns.
They let women in? My how progressive old chap, we must be in a blue state.
According to Dick Cheney you should be pointing the gun the other way.
After a brisk morning shoot it's time to retire back to the lodge for the post-mortem. Not quite literally, despite Mei's best efforts to completely ignore the where-not-to-point-a-gun safety briefing.
The biggest shock of the day is that CounterStrike skills don't seem to translate into shooting a clay disc out of the air. Apparently computer games really do lead to a wasted youth.
"It's not impossible. I used to bullseye pukeho in my gumboots back home, they're not much bigger than two meters." - Reuben Paddockwalker.
Fortunately the chili con carne comes pre-hunted, otherwise the iceberg lettuce would have Rock's name all over it.
There's nothing more patriotic than using a double-barreled shotgun to blow a Made in China clay disc out of the sky.
All this blowing stuff up is thirsty work. Luckily the Millbrook Vineyard is just up the valley.
The old barn from the dairy farm that originally occupied the property now churns out beverages with a little more potency than 2% milk.
In an interesting piece of trivia, the owner of the winery is the dude who came up with the now legendary logo that defines a city. Somehow I don't think their Pinot will ever reach quite such lofty heights.
Saddle up folks, next stop the spooky village of Sleepy Hollow. Did anyone check if the Zipcar insurance covers supernatural incidents?
The Headless Horseman Bridge. Since everyone other than Cheney's hunting buddy managed to escape the morning's activities with their heads intact, here's a second chance to part ways.
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