Night Crawler

Ready, Aim, Inspire
"All three of my brothers are missing one of their front teeth," says R. Burns, a gracious, broad-shouldered rogue who has spent most of his morning imparting firearm etiquette to a few inexperienced shoot-ists. "We played war as boys. Playing war is an undeniable part of America's cultural heritage. We were given BB guns at 9 or 10; we stole our first [real] gun -- a .25-caliber derringer that was hidden in an old car. The old man that owned it told us it was there, like he was inviting us to take it."

The HD-Bye and Mini Car Hunt -- a shooting event held on public lands near Lake Berryessa -- offers remote-control cars, computer hard drives, toasters, and Barney dolls as targets. It is an ideal place for a gun-lover like Burns who, since the innocent sun-splattered days of his youth, has been shooting up a lot of unexpected things -- propane tanks, automobiles with armor-plated engines, other guns, and motorized sculptures that he creates specifically as moving targets. And he's not alone. Of the 40 Bay Area gun enthusiasts who have gathered today on a dusty hilltop in Knoxville, few are what you could call traditionalists.

"I'm a propane shooter," says 46-year-old Nancy Bodeen, who frequently drives out to the Nevada desert to shoot tanks. There, she says, everything is still legal. "The first time I shot a propane tank, I'll tell you, I sure am glad I was wearing a sanitary napkin. This huge fireball came rolling out. I've never been so scared in my life. The fireball burns out, but I didn't know how far it would reach. I ran. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life."

Bodeen has only been shooting guns for a couple of years, but she encourages all women to learn: "Maybe it's just part of my midlife crisis, but it makes me feel strong and confident, like people can't fuck with me."

Lorelei David is a 26-year-old assistant film editor who got her first taste for gunpowder a year ago at the second annual Elmer Fudd Pro-Am Invitational, a similarly serious-but-absurd gun-related event where folks were kind enough to give her encouragement and share their hardware. Now she owns a Russian SKS, and she's a mean shot.

"I wouldn't want to shoot at something living," says David with a huge smile, "but there's something about the marksmanship, the skill, and the concentration that is really appealing."

"It's a martial art," says Sandy Sandfort, a 51-year-old gun owner from Oakland who acts as one of the day's impromptu safety monitors. "You must have the right mental state, allow the bullet to hit the target."

After an hour of cleanup and a little more of setup, the range -- coordinated by Joseph P., a 27-year-old emergency services worker wearing full camos and a hip holster -- is open. Thirty shooters approach the firing line and aim at mounds of computer equipment strewn across the hill. With one word, the quiet blue day is cracked in half by exploding rounds. Hundreds of dollars' worth of shells are spewed across the reddish earth. Bullets bury themselves in blind monitors, shatter disk drives, and send alphabet keys whizzing through the air. A flock of birds rises off of a distant tree like a giant mosquito swarm and flies north. Still, the tumult continues. There seems no end to ammunition or availability of new guns. After a while, the roar of shotguns begins to differentiate itself from that of rifles; the Glocks stand out from the .45s; and the mindless barrage becomes a concerto, with distinct parts that echo through your head long after everyone has been told to hold his fire. Some sort of tension has been noticeably released.

"A lot of these people work in Silicon Valley," explains Joseph P. "This can be very cathartic." Cathartic enough to need a cigarette afterward, according to Bodeen. For others though, the enemy is not computers. For Brody Culpepper, the true enemy is the ever-underestimated toaster. As of today, Culpepper and his crew have destroyed 86 toasters since the beginning of the year.

"More people are maimed and injured by their toaster than any other household appliance," says Culpepper, co-editor of Big Rig Industries Manifesto, which last year published an entire issue dedicated to toast, toasters, and toaster-related nightmares. He flings two shiny, bullet-riddled toast-makers over his shoulder. They lie there like dead ducks, complacent and harmless, thanks to Culpepper.

For a time, individual shooters are invited to walk onto the range and select targets for point-blank destruction. One man goes out with a bag of golf clubs slung over one shoulder and a shotgun slung over the other. He looks like a deranged character from Caddyshack, but I am told that he is quite respectable.

When two Napa County sheriff's deputies arrive on the scene, no one so much as bats an eye -- including the deputies, who casually look over the various assault weapons lined up on brightly colored cases. "Hope you got them registered," they say. Everyone nods pleasantly, and the deputies chuckle knowingly.