By Kip Biby
I visited Cabela’s instead of a specialty archery shop to buy my first bow because I presumed the folks at Cabela’s were used to ignorant neophytes like me and therefore had developed a high level of patience.
I waited around in the bow section with my hands in my pockets for 20 minutes before a chubby guy of about 25, dressed in the trademarked tucked-in safari shirt, walked by. His gait had the determined quality of an employee on his way to the breakroom for his union-mandated 15 minutes. I gave him a quick wave and he disappointedly stopped for what he knew would be an hour-long consultation.
From the top I explained that I knew nothing about archery except what I’d seen in Rambo. He pointed out a couple of “starter bows,” but I opted against them because I didn’t want to spend $400 this year and then another $700 next year after enduring jeers about my training bra bow from my buddies throughout the season.
Finally I chose my weapon and took a few shots in the store’s backroom archery range. The employee, whom I doubt ever ventured a day afield in his life, chose a draw weight for me. He explained that Ted Nugent only sets his bow at 40 pounds. “Whatever is good enough for The Nuge is good enough for you,” he said.
That seemed weird but I accepted it.
After picking out some accessories for me, he was finally free to take his break. So I headed straight for my local archery range to get my sights dialed in.
After clipping off all the price tags, I nocked my first arrow (a phrase I learned that day) and at the end of my Ted Nugent draw, the string snapped. I looked down as a brutal welt formed on my forearm.
I still don’t know if it was my form, the bow or some spiteful sabotage for ruining the worker’s break. Something to ponder while I’m on the way to buy a crossbow.
