I remember gawking at the racks of recurves that lined the wall of Bart's Sports World. I had my hundred dollars and a notion to get that Deliverance set-up that Burt had. I didn't know the difference between a Bear Super K and Kellog's Special K.
I remember trying to get the salesman to sell me a manly 50 pound or up bow, and being steered to a what I thought was a wimpy 40X. I remember wondering why some of the bows were a gaudy green, and some were almost six feet long. Then when I was getting ready to buy, I remember the shock of having to fork out more money for a string and arrows and field points. I was shocked that the aluminum arrows cost so much, and settled for a manly brown Super Grizzly. I remember that the salesman put on my string and installed a brass nock point for free. Wow, a free nock point!
Then I looked at my set-up, priced the gloves, arm guards, and targets, and set off to find a nice dirt clod. I knew that the pointy end goes on the front, and the nock goes into the string under the nock point, and everything else was trial and error.
But one day that summer I also remember the feeling of robinhooding one of my priceless arrows and shattering the nock. It was the second arrow I shot that day, and I felt like a Zen master archer. (These were the days of "snatch the pebble from my hand.")