Yes, Them was Fun Times
By noderel:
We, meaning me and my wife of 12 years now, were sitting in a local café with other members of the Castlemaine (Australia) Rods club during the regular Saturday morning breakfast thing, and someone mentioned that there was going to be a jet flyby about this time. Honoring a veteran from the area with a flyby. There was a smattering of interest, and I just sat there remembering. No one got up from the table.
Then, I heard that unmistakeable high whine that preceeds a low level jet pass, and suddenly the whole building was rattled by a sound straight out of two top fuelers at a drag fest. Several people jumped up and ran outside. Too late, I thought, you are already dead from the bomb. Remembering. The runner-outers wandered back inside, buzzing about the buzz job, and in the distance I heard the bird making a l80, so I knew the next flyby would be louder, the bird lower, and more remembers.
Like doing some way down inside the Grand Canyon passes in a T-33, and blowing over dead cactus, and lining up for a straffing pass, and knowing all the time that I was, indeed, riding thunder. A deadly spirit spitting fire from a dragon.
When I was a dumber-than-I-Am-Now dumber, I got to do some really amazing things for free. Like fly fighter jets and turn down a professional baseball career and ride the Crazies on a Kern River inner tube (you can find the stuff on that in my bio). There is a full world of really dumb things to do, and a very few really neat things. Fortunately, for me at least, messing with hot rods is in this latter category, and I don’t care a whit about getting a T-shirt. I just like the doing part. Way, way better than the looking-on part.
Like when that jet fighter buzzed town, then pulled into a straight up climb, just riding on the after burners until he was out of sight. And I remembered how neat it was to do that, even with a round motor T-6 Texan trainer. Just lay back in the chair and watch the prop go whack-whack-----whack. Until it couldn’t whack anymore, and the bird fell over on a wing for a nosedive and some flying speed.
Like lining up on the cones at Bonneville and just feather feeling your directional control on that ever-so-skatty slick surface. Which makes me admire George Poteet so very much more.
There are fun times to be enjoyed just hanging at the local county park swimming beach, and that can be rapidly upgraded if you are coming and going in a top down roadster. It doesn’t need to be a trophy winner, just some good dependable wheels. Now, right now, is the time for you to make those fun times you are going to someday remember.
When a jet fighter stands on its tail and rams thunder into the heavens. And you remember.