Spreading the Johnson Genes
Handloading some cartridges while truck camping is relaxing and
helps pass the time until supper.
We all need a special place to unwind that’s easily accessible. My hidey-hole is tucked away in the Florida Mountains of New Mexico. I planned to spend a few days tucked away high in the hills doing some truck camping. Though only 20 minutes from home, it feels like I’m a million miles away.
Truck camping is a convenient way of making a fast getaway when the need calls. Son Bart is now a year old and out of diapers, so Sally would have an easier go of it with our little man, although he’s more mobile and getting into everything.
With an article looming and the need for some alone time for thinking and relaxing, a quick campout was just what the doctor ordered. Truck camping is easy. All you need is a truck, minimal groceries, and a bottle of something to keep you company around the campfire.
A good tarp can be used for a more elaborate camp, tenting it to the truck, lean-to style. Add a few blankets for the ground and a sleeping bag, and you’re cozier than a bug in the rug. Speaking of bugs, I brought my bug out bag for handloading .44 Magnum shells, should I get bored.
The first night’s supper consisted of a New York strip steak that I cubed on a rock and skewered on a freshly peeled stick, shish-kabob style. A little salt and pepper and I roasted the meat over the fire’s coals. Side dishes included hobo baked beans cooked in the can with “mucho” habanero sauce and diced green chiles added for extra heat and flavor, along with a store-bought biscuit. A few pulls of Henry McKenna for dessert and I was ready to hit my sleeping bag.
Late Visitor
After pulling my boots off, I hear the unmistakable sound of tires on the dirt road in the quiet desert night. Sitting up, I spot a set of headlights far off in the deep darkness. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I reach for my 7.5” flat top.
The headlights wound their way up the serpentine road as it bounced and jostled its way right to me. Hardly anyone knew of this road, let alone where I camped. I relax when I see the insignia reflect from the glow of my fire. It was the U.S. Border Patrol.
“Skeet, is that you?” said the driver.
It was my buddy and resident agent, Paul Malone.
“Have a seat, Paul,” I rumbled. “You about got yourself shot coming out here. I thought you might be the cartel dumping a body.”
Paul chuckled and said, “No, nothing exciting like that.” As he poured a cup of coffee, he went on to explain that a goofy guy with buck teeth, wearing a cowboy hat two sizes too small and not the sharpest tool in the shed, was trying to get ahold of me.
The stranger stopped by the house, and Sally told him I was truck camping. She told him to stop by the Border Patrol station, as they might have an idea of where I was.
Right away, I knew who it was. “Thanks, Paul. I’ll catch up with him in a few days.”
Jug always had a knack of showing up at the most inopportune times.
Jug
As Paul pulled away, I fell fast asleep wondering what Jug Johnson needed now? I awoke at the crack of dawn like I usually do when camping. I stoked the fire, put the coffee on and started cutting slices of pork belly. When the bacon was done, I cracked some cackleberries into the bacon grease, flipped them once, for perfect over easy fried eggs. Topped off with a biscuit wrapped in foil heated from the fire and I was feeling pretty good.
An idea popped into my head in the wee hours of morning, and I had my article rough draft written by mid-morning. I figured I better get ahold of Jug and see what kind of problem he got himself into. Going into town to the Dry Gulch saloon would be as good a place as any to find him, as Horse Thief only had one motel and bar. Walking in, there he was, buying drinks for the house. The big spender was lucky. Since it was noon, there were only two patrons at the bar.
“Watcha’ celebrating, Jug?”
“He,y Skeet! Ya’ found me! My sister just had a baby boy, and I wanted to tell you the good news!”
Jug’s younger sister lived close by, in Taos, New Mexico. She was married to a cowhand who worked on a large cattle ranch.
“You oughta’ see him Skeet! He’s gonna’ be a biggun’! He weighed over 9 pounds! After I buy you a few drinks, we can go visit him if you want?”
The Henry McKenna loosened me up, and seeing a newborn baby seemed like a good idea. I followed Jug in my truck to his sister’s house. When she answered the door, she looked exhausted and run down, typical of a new mom.
“Hey, Brucella! Congratulations! I brought Skeet with me to see the baby.”
“Jug, this boy is wearing me out. All he wants to do is eat. When I’m empty, I supplement him with formula, but he still wants more after an hour. It’s like his tank is always empty.”
“Let me hold him, Brucella. Come here, little fella. Let Uncle Jug hold you. Your little tank isn’t filled up yet?”
Here’s baby Tank. Damn, that boy could drink some milk.
That was the question always being asked. It was asked so often they started calling the baby, Tank. The name stuck! That boy could drink some milk! Later, when he started on cereal, he progressed from pablum to corn flakes in a week. He was eating steak and corn on the cob when his first tooth sprouted.
As Tank got older, he’d come over to our house and play with Bart. Those boys got into everything and then commenced to eating us out of house and home. They always wanted to see my guns and hear me tell stories of how I got the guns, or where they came from. It was a pleasure teaching them how to shoot. Then, we’d talk about handloading and casting bullets. Tank particularly liked learning about those.
Tank at age 2 was already as big as most 5-year-olds.
Fast Forward
Brucella ended up moving up north to Maryland with her husband and young Tank. The last I heard, he went to college to study law enforcement and got himself a job with the county police where he lived. Maybe I rubbed off on the boy? I guess he could have done worse. Although, the boy does have a lot of the same tendencies as his uncle Jug.
Looking at the calendar as I write this, I see another month has already slipped by and it’s April 1st! What kind of April Fools will we run into today? I can only guess …
