Or not, in this case.
Someone needs some balls. Big ones.
I think my uncle has been dead enough decades that I can mention that
he had a set of wires right across the road at the threshold of a grass strip
on his farm.
So he did what anyone with my Y chromosome would do - pulled the wires
down with his tractor, and called Hydro and told them he hit them with his
airplane, landing.
So, Hydro comes out and fixes the lines. Next day, my uncle gets the tractor
out and pulls them down. Calls Hydro. Hit the wires again with his airplane,
they fixed them.
This goes on for a while, until Hydro gets the bright idea to run the wires
underground across the threshold, and my uncle can land on his grass strip
without dodging wires, big balls or not.
I have some truly incredible stories to tell yet, but I have to wait for the people
to die before I can tell them. Sorry about that.
I have this dead friend, he was an amazing craftsman. Built a super cub, on
wheels and skiis. Built another cub, this one on floats. Gorgeous workmanship,
they never came that good from the factory. Now my buddy took electrical tape
and put the letters from his first super sub on his second super cub. They were
both yellow, and he said he could only fly one of them at a time. Made me a tad
nervous, to tell you the truth.
He was a thousand hour student pilot, which I didn't have a problem with, except
for the passengers he carried. When he died, I put my friend Bobby on my right
wing and we pushed the props up and circled his open grave with his body in it,
both prop discs pointing right at the grave. Apparently it was so noisy, no one
could hear a word that the preacher said. Perfect.
Terrible day, when they buried him. Freezing rain, low cloud so time for some
low-altitude close formation. But we put some airplanes in the sky for his funeral,
and lots of airplane noise into his open grave, so I think we did good.
For my burial, I'd like eight afterburners at 50 feet, if that's ok.
PS. Apologies if the talk of testicles and death is a downer. To cheer you up, here's
a blueberry pie I made from scratch:
The granulated sugar, egg wash and bits of butter stuffed in the openings is essential.
Who doesn't like blueberry pie?
I think I've told this story before. Go to the district TC office, I think to get a type rating
signed off, carrying my logbook. TC Inspector - nice lady - comes out and I greet her,
"So, what have I been up to, lately?". She sees my (latest) logbook on the counter and
blurts out, "Gosh, I'd like to get my hands on that!". I laugh, and say "No". She's retired
now, so I think I can mention her without her being destroyed at work.
