Folks, I don't know what it is, but I just can't stop taking my single-action wheelies to the range. I'm still paying my dues with a j-frame on the side, because I'm going to run one in ECQC in a few months as an experiment, but I've totally fallen for the lure of the old thumb busters otherwise.
Since I'm on break for a few days, I spent the better part of an indie film's run time putting 150 rounds of .22LR (that's 25 cylinders... it's like a new age mini-meditation retreat for rednecks) through the old flatgate single-six that I learned to shoot on as a little kid. First gun I ever pulled a trigger on (with my dad's help), and it's just as fun to shoot today as it was 40+ years ago. It's in original condition, so it still makes that addictive clack-clack-clack sound; none of this transfer bar upgrade stuff. It's like a cross between a COSC Swiss watch and John Henry Holiday's fidget spinner.
Add to this my recently acquired 50th anniversary Blackhawk--which is like a cross between Doc "the first tactical dentist" Holiday's fidget spinner and a Judas Priest festival set when I run 145gr Silvertip .357 magnums in it; just totally loud and in-your-face, quarter-sized group end lane hot dogging--and I can't put the things down.
I open the safe door, and there's the top shelf with a row of plastic, and various orange-topped magpuls sized for 9mm, and I'm like "Nah..." and out comes the old '56 Ruger from the next shelf down. I've been seriously skipping "student of the pistol" class lately; I think I need help.