Don't say I didn't warn urbanites against sneering at us bucolics who while away hours at tiny gun shows. The 75-table extravaganza Sunday boosted my lethality potential noticeably but cheaply.
Item 1: The Stevens 110e lacks visual grace. One's impulse is to opine, however wrongly, that such ugliness bespeaks British origins (think Webley). Never mind. Its hole accommodates .30-06. A quick trial proves it feeds, goes bang, and ejects, plus you can see all the way through the genuine Bushnell Sharpshooter 3-9 scope. (Always insist on quality.) Two hundred bucks including the extended warranty, to wit: "I haven't shot it, Jim. But take 'er home and if it isn't right, I'll take 'er back."
Item 2: The Japanese once decided they could sell a four-inch lockback with a floating hilt or whatever you want to call it. It looks like a shabby Buck knockoff, but a substantial handguard folds and deploys with the blade, something new to me. Ninja-mod cool.
The rifle is a low-round piece, though it needs a little cosmetic help. The goofy knife requires replacement grips. (I have some cocobala; nothing like a ten dollars worth of wood on a three-dollar knife.)
Okay, so the knife was a foolish extravagance. I made up for it by getting my buddy to pay for the beer.
Since you insist, the Stevens did not come with documentation. Worrisome as Hell, eh Ms. Pelosi?
Next up: The big and beautiful Dakota Territory Gun Collectors Association show is 11 days away. It's in Sioux Falls, but I suppose I can tolerate a megalopolis for a day or two. I mean, how often does a guy get to ogle the four or five old revolvers that killed Jesse James?