I recently partook of the opportunity to become acquainted with your successful line of M&P semi automatic pistols. I chose the M&P40 over the Teutonic Brick and the many other polymer pistol offerings because the M&P fit me the best. I bought this for two reasons only: 1) I don't have so much invested in it that I won't mind it being held for evidence if the need arises, and 2) a simple barrel swap lets you shoot 9MM, .40 S&W and .357 Sig (the M&P uses the exact same recoil spring for all three, the barrel dimensions are the same and 9MM will feed from the .40/.357 mags as long as you don't count on the last round feeding due to the slight difference in case dimensions...up yours ammo shortage...I will shoot what I can find). While I can't say that I know the M&P40 well enough yet to provide you with a detailed litany of my thoughts regarding your product, I can say that I've spent enough time with it to have some initial impressions. Please allow me to share.
Aesthetics
It's purtier than the Glock in my opinion, but that's like saying a brick is prettier than a cinder block. I have lost any infatuation I ever had with the tacticool look of black on black with a light rail. Once I decide what design I like the most, it's getting a custom coating. Satin black "ghost" flames over the matte black Melonite finish might be cool. Maybe some color with the Texas and US flags. I don't know yet. However, I do like the fish scale slide serrations. They look unique compared to straight or slanted lines, and they function quite nicely.
The Sights
The sights seem to be perfectly adequate for social work out to 25 yards; however, I will have to confirm that before giving an enthusiastic endorsement. Because I have reached middle age and my eye doc says I don't have 20/20 anymore, a Hiviz fiber optic front sight may make an appearance in the not so distant future.
The Trigger
First, it's not a 1911 trigger. So, let's get that illusion out of the way up front. There is a longer than I would like take up before getting to the advertised 6.6 pound trigger pull to trip the sear. Along the way to the break, it seems like the trigger is crawling through broken glass (it is crunchy and gritty). Reports suggest that this will improve with use as supposedly repeated trigger pulls file off some stamp/tool marks that are left unpolished from the factory. I will endeavor to confirm this if I can. If we get to the 500 round mark with no discernible improvement, more drastic measures will be employed.
Many pixels have been burned into monitors regarding the alleged lack of a tactile trigger reset. Either the wailing and gnashing of teeth has been heard and mercy has been bestowed upon the market, or I lucked into a particularly good example as the trigger reset was fairly short with both tactile and audible sensations confirming for me that the trigger was good to go again. Either way, I see no need for me to drop money at Apex Tactical's feet to enhance the reset on mine. Your mileage may vary.
Full review to follow after I get the recently ordered 9MM barrel and extra magazines in and have some time and money to get rounds downrange.
Sincerely,
Daddy Hawk
P.S. Thank your for trusting your customers enough to offer a range of pistols equipped with a variety safety options including the "Is gun...is not safe...keep booger hook off bang switch" safety option.
Pages
▼
Monday, September 16, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
9/11-- Never. Forget.
By Mrs Mom- Shared from my horse blog.
It's funny. I can't remember the events of three days ago with much clarity,
but I can remember 9/11/01 in great detail.
I can't remember all that I ate yesterday,
Yet I remember what I had that morning.
I can't remember exactly who I talked with 2 days ago,
But I can see and hear each and every person from that day.
I remember being with clients- getting ready to teach 2 homeschooled kids their riding lesson for the week. I remember the cup of coffee, with just a dollop of Bailey's in it, that was presented to me as a pre-birthday gift by my student's Mom.
I had exactly three sips of that coffee.
One, in the kitchen, as we gathered up the kids.
The second walking up the drive to the barn to get the horses ready.
The third before I went to help check tack and get the kids ready.
It was the last time I had Bailey's.
And I don't know that I'll ever be able to drink it again.
I remember the horses- an older white-ish/ gray-ish gelding, retired from a dude string, and a mouse brown gelding who was a camp horse for several years. They had a resigned look on their faces, one of "Oh no. Not this AGAIN."
I remember the excitement in the kids faces, the sheer joy of being NEAR a horse.
I remember the feeling of Fall in the air.
I remember, just before we were going to get the kids mounted up, the sound of their Dad's truck screaming up the mountainous driveway. I remember the look on his face.
I remember his words like he said them just now.
"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"
The details spilled from him with intensity- and a pit of dread opened in my stomach.
I remember stripping tack from the horses, tossing them into their field, and seeing the family running to their house to gather information and news. The father- a veteran of Desert Storm- looked at me and told me that if this went as bad as he feared it could, for me to get my son and come back to their house- he would protect us.
I remember the truck race down the mountain to the school to get my pre-K aged son- the radio blaring the news, the shock, the feeling of sickness and of not knowing what was coming next.
When I arrived at the school, the faces of those with me reflected the shock and horror, the uncertainty. School closed- parents were swarming in to pick up their kids, buses were being scrambled for the rest. We were only 2 hours from Ground Zero- less as the crow flies. Better to send all kids home, to be with their parents, than leave them in school *just in case*. No one ever finished that *just in case* thought.
I remember getting home, turning on the news, and seeing the first tower collapse.
And then the second.
The people jumping from the base of the sky, falling towards the city streets and certain death below.
I remember.
I remember with such intensity it hurts at times.
I remember the friends I lost that day.
I remember the 343 brother and sister first responders lost that day.
I remember the police, the port authority, the innocent civilians.
I remember Flight 93, who said NOT ON MY WATCH.
I
Will
Never
Forget.
Have you?
Now, we also have to remember Bengahzi. The four people lost there- and still- no answers.
Have you forgotten them?
9/11
Never
Forget.
It's funny. I can't remember the events of three days ago with much clarity,
but I can remember 9/11/01 in great detail.
I can't remember all that I ate yesterday,
Yet I remember what I had that morning.
I can't remember exactly who I talked with 2 days ago,
But I can see and hear each and every person from that day.
I remember being with clients- getting ready to teach 2 homeschooled kids their riding lesson for the week. I remember the cup of coffee, with just a dollop of Bailey's in it, that was presented to me as a pre-birthday gift by my student's Mom.
I had exactly three sips of that coffee.
One, in the kitchen, as we gathered up the kids.
The second walking up the drive to the barn to get the horses ready.
The third before I went to help check tack and get the kids ready.
It was the last time I had Bailey's.
And I don't know that I'll ever be able to drink it again.
I remember the horses- an older white-ish/ gray-ish gelding, retired from a dude string, and a mouse brown gelding who was a camp horse for several years. They had a resigned look on their faces, one of "Oh no. Not this AGAIN."
I remember the excitement in the kids faces, the sheer joy of being NEAR a horse.
I remember the feeling of Fall in the air.
I remember, just before we were going to get the kids mounted up, the sound of their Dad's truck screaming up the mountainous driveway. I remember the look on his face.
I remember his words like he said them just now.
"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"
The details spilled from him with intensity- and a pit of dread opened in my stomach.
I remember stripping tack from the horses, tossing them into their field, and seeing the family running to their house to gather information and news. The father- a veteran of Desert Storm- looked at me and told me that if this went as bad as he feared it could, for me to get my son and come back to their house- he would protect us.
I remember the truck race down the mountain to the school to get my pre-K aged son- the radio blaring the news, the shock, the feeling of sickness and of not knowing what was coming next.
When I arrived at the school, the faces of those with me reflected the shock and horror, the uncertainty. School closed- parents were swarming in to pick up their kids, buses were being scrambled for the rest. We were only 2 hours from Ground Zero- less as the crow flies. Better to send all kids home, to be with their parents, than leave them in school *just in case*. No one ever finished that *just in case* thought.
I remember getting home, turning on the news, and seeing the first tower collapse.
And then the second.
The people jumping from the base of the sky, falling towards the city streets and certain death below.
I remember.
I remember with such intensity it hurts at times.
I remember the friends I lost that day.
I remember the 343 brother and sister first responders lost that day.
I remember the police, the port authority, the innocent civilians.
I remember Flight 93, who said NOT ON MY WATCH.
I
Will
Never
Forget.
Have you?
Now, we also have to remember Bengahzi. The four people lost there- and still- no answers.
Have you forgotten them?
9/11
Never
Forget.