Post by sistema1927 on May 18, 2017 19:06:40 GMT -5
In short, a BHP is the only firearm that I have ever had to point at another human being, and it saved my bacon that day, and possibly more than once.
Now, the longer version:
Back in the mid-1970's, as a young man, my job would not pay overtime, but did allow me to accumulate comp time. That was fine with me, and allowed me to take extended fishing/camping/hunting trips. My '66 Ford F-100 with camper shell continually had my camp stove and sleeping bag in it, and whenever I got the chance I would light out.
I was living in El Paso, TX, but found that my travels would take me into NM, AZ, and CO. Early one spring I had been on a fly fishing trip to CO, and was driving back through NM. I stopped for gas in Tierra Amarilla in Rio Arriba County, totally oblivious to the unpleasantness that had taken place just a few years prior. In those days even if you were paying with a credit card you had to go inside the store so that they could run your card over the carbon paper charge slip. However, I was paying cash, and it would be a few years before I even possessed a credit card. I had just finished paying when I saw the clerk's eyes get as large as saucers.
Now, here is the strange thing about this incident. Not a single word was spoken by any party at anytime during this event.
I turned around, and standing about 12 feet away were three mean looking guys standing shoulder to shoulder. I say mean looking since the one in the middle was halding the largest Bowie knife I had ever seen. I made a tactical decision right there and then. See, I was wearing a down vest, and tucked up under my right armpit (I am left handed) was a 1970's vintage BHP stoked with 14 rounds of Super Vel hollow points. (It was an expensive journey making sure that they were 100% in that pistol, but that is another story.)
I drew, established a two handed hold, flicked off the safety, put my finger on the trigger, and placed the front sight squarely on the chest of the knife brandisher. I had already made up my mind that if they attempted to close the gap I was gong to double tap him, and then see if any fight was left in his buddies. I then started backing towards the door, and they matched me almost step for step. I only removed my right hand from the BHP in order to open the store door, fish my keys out of pocket, unlock my truck, and roll the window down. I then started the truck, drove out of town for about 30 minutes, made sure that I wasn't being followed, and then sat on the side of the road, shaking, for about another 30 minutes. This was the closest I have ever come to shooting somebody.
For all I know, that was the Tierra Amarilla welcome wagon, but the knife led me to believe differently. However, I was sure glad to have that pistol.
That same pistol came into play in 1980 during my military move taking my family from El Paso to Ft. Knox, KY via Carlsbad, NM after visiting with my wife's Aunt & Uncle. We were heading up deserted Hwy 285 between Roswell and Vaughn. It was only a two lane road in those days. I was driving a '74 Ford LTD, pulling the biggest trailer that U-Haul had. A group of about a dozen motorcycle riders fell in behind me, and eventually one came up on the shoulder, and the other in the other lane. By that time I had unzipped the pistol rug and had that BHP sitting on my lap. After getting a good look at it they dropped back, and then the whole group made a U-turn. Of course, the car and trailer would have been the first weapons. but once again it was comforting to have that pistol with me.
I almost can't believe that I sold it to pay for a semester of my Master's degree studies a few years later. I have since rectified that deficiency with both an FEG and an FN.
Now, the longer version:
Back in the mid-1970's, as a young man, my job would not pay overtime, but did allow me to accumulate comp time. That was fine with me, and allowed me to take extended fishing/camping/hunting trips. My '66 Ford F-100 with camper shell continually had my camp stove and sleeping bag in it, and whenever I got the chance I would light out.
I was living in El Paso, TX, but found that my travels would take me into NM, AZ, and CO. Early one spring I had been on a fly fishing trip to CO, and was driving back through NM. I stopped for gas in Tierra Amarilla in Rio Arriba County, totally oblivious to the unpleasantness that had taken place just a few years prior. In those days even if you were paying with a credit card you had to go inside the store so that they could run your card over the carbon paper charge slip. However, I was paying cash, and it would be a few years before I even possessed a credit card. I had just finished paying when I saw the clerk's eyes get as large as saucers.
Now, here is the strange thing about this incident. Not a single word was spoken by any party at anytime during this event.
I turned around, and standing about 12 feet away were three mean looking guys standing shoulder to shoulder. I say mean looking since the one in the middle was halding the largest Bowie knife I had ever seen. I made a tactical decision right there and then. See, I was wearing a down vest, and tucked up under my right armpit (I am left handed) was a 1970's vintage BHP stoked with 14 rounds of Super Vel hollow points. (It was an expensive journey making sure that they were 100% in that pistol, but that is another story.)
I drew, established a two handed hold, flicked off the safety, put my finger on the trigger, and placed the front sight squarely on the chest of the knife brandisher. I had already made up my mind that if they attempted to close the gap I was gong to double tap him, and then see if any fight was left in his buddies. I then started backing towards the door, and they matched me almost step for step. I only removed my right hand from the BHP in order to open the store door, fish my keys out of pocket, unlock my truck, and roll the window down. I then started the truck, drove out of town for about 30 minutes, made sure that I wasn't being followed, and then sat on the side of the road, shaking, for about another 30 minutes. This was the closest I have ever come to shooting somebody.
For all I know, that was the Tierra Amarilla welcome wagon, but the knife led me to believe differently. However, I was sure glad to have that pistol.
That same pistol came into play in 1980 during my military move taking my family from El Paso to Ft. Knox, KY via Carlsbad, NM after visiting with my wife's Aunt & Uncle. We were heading up deserted Hwy 285 between Roswell and Vaughn. It was only a two lane road in those days. I was driving a '74 Ford LTD, pulling the biggest trailer that U-Haul had. A group of about a dozen motorcycle riders fell in behind me, and eventually one came up on the shoulder, and the other in the other lane. By that time I had unzipped the pistol rug and had that BHP sitting on my lap. After getting a good look at it they dropped back, and then the whole group made a U-turn. Of course, the car and trailer would have been the first weapons. but once again it was comforting to have that pistol with me.
I almost can't believe that I sold it to pay for a semester of my Master's degree studies a few years later. I have since rectified that deficiency with both an FEG and an FN.
