w i n t e r
quietus
Quitting smoking again. It's a hard thing to do in a small town with few distractions. I read of other places in the world that have trains, real trains, not just the scrap hauling things that come through here. Trains with people waiting on them. Beautifully ugly subways.
Streets busy with cabs and hundreds of cars going by. Full of people all going somewhere. Doesn't matter, except that they surround the buzz in the eardrum. They supply definition to the chaos I couldn't (can't) reason otherwise.
Every time I hit the ground again I ask myself why do I do it. Why fly. And I keep thinking about it until I climb in the plane again and bump down a grass field, gaining speed until I've enough lift to overcome the force of weight and I'm off. Then it all fades away in 65 degree bank turns or low passes over Carthage field.
I've been learning the plane lately. Learning from an old marine who worked on AD-1 Skyraiders. The same plane my father-in-law (soon enough to call him that) flew for so many years. I'm learning radial engines. I'm flying a plane that hunted U-boats over the English Channel 54 years ago. I've met men whose lives were saved by that plane as they moved from England to France in Liberty ships to fight the last days of WWII.
But this town is small. This area is small. Lazy. Put the top down, drive the 80 or so miles to SOP, Moore County, and pull up next to the hanger. Pop the top on a beer and get to work. Pull the cowling off. Cut the safety wire. Remove a few plugs here and there, take the pin out of the butterfly valve and...out pours 3.5 gallons of black oil.
It's impressive to stand on a scaffold at one end of the wing and look all the way down to the other, the full span. 41.5 feet I think. It looks so much bigger.
These are the distractions. These are the things that will get me through Winter. I've no subway, God sometimes I wish I did. Something I could ride and ride. The buses stop running after dark now. I can still drive, but it isn't the same as being able to look around, just take everything in.
It must be a wonderful thing to be so close to humanity and be able to turn your back on it if you want. I have to go looking for it and my back is usually unwillingly turned. At least this time of the year anyway. Small, cold, college town, that's what it will become in a few months. For now it fades with the weather. And for now, I fly...
goodnight 9.28.98