The Warrior Dash

Then tomorrow I’ll be doing the same thing for the base’s Independence Day celebration at sunset.  So if you’re sitting there in your drunken stupor tomorrow and wondering why a giant helicopter is circling overhead, wave back.

I still think I’m getting my hopes up prematurely. We’ll see what happens tonight in game 2.

Now I’m just on hold for the Black Hawk which I’m beginning to think is as elusive as the Loch Ness monster. Last week, I finally asked a superior when I might start. Apparently, I slandered his entire family tree with the sneer he gave me. Come back in a couple months was the response I got. So I still have the vagueness of a class date but now with the impending threat of being here beyond Christmas. Yay!

What does one do while waiting for class, you ask? Sit in a classroom from 9 to 4 unless you can pass a test given weekly on the emergency procedures and limitations of your selected aircraft. Because as an officer you’re still not trusted to take the initiative on your own. Have I mentioned how awesome this place is?!

And before you start suggesting that I take leave, I’ll let you know right now that they’re balking at people taking leave just to take it. You actually have to have a specific and acceptable reason before they approve it. Time off or vacation don’t fly, just like me. So Mom, you’re in town next week if anyone asks, thanks. I don’t think there’s a day that goes by and I miss a reason to be happy I’m in the Guard and not active duty. Then again, that’s only if I ever get out of this active duty nightmare.

To leave it on a better note, I did find this the other day and thought how awesome would this be to have in your garden? They just need to work on the face a bit, more zombie and less “oh my god, I’m getting audited!”

Three months, three weeks and five days since I left Southern California to fly helicopters.  I won’t even mention the missing 24 pounds or my quality time in very small and very dark places.  At least not yet.  I’m still working on that one.  Today is the first day I did something even remotely aviation related.

Hooray, you say!  I say go suck an egg!

For the last two weeks and carrying into next week I have been tortured (pun fully intended) by classes and lectures on the overall workings and organization of specific Army branches, specifically how to deal with the paperwork involved.  You know, the really captivating side of the military!  Today we finally hit aviation, but because Murphy hates me so, it was Aviation Maintenance.  Essentially a review of all the paperwork I’ve been doing the last two years.  Can you think of anything more exciting?  Maybe I’ll run a white hot 10 gauge needle in one eye, through the bridge of my nose and out the other eye.  That might, MIGHT just assuage the boredom.  Or not.

Then I came home, thinking I’d find sanctum and discovered this…

I thought I had reviewed The Day The Earth Stood Still but I guess not.  It’s a great movie as far as 1950s science fiction movies go.  In fact, it is THE grand daddy of all B movies and probably the only one that can actually take itself seriously.  Plus the movie is deeply embedded in our iconic culture.  Trust me, you’ll recognize Gort.  If you can tolerate some black and white science fiction (except for CONN that is) you’ll find a decent movie with a message that still rings true today.

But that isn’t where my ire lies at the moment.  Hollywood, seemingly not slaked on the bastardization and regurgitation of old t.v. shows has deemed it necessary to remake Day. And what seems like they want to pour salt (and lots of it) specifically into MY wounds, no one less better than Keanu Reeves is slated to play Klaatu.

Klaatu barada WHOA

- sigh -

Where’s Jack?  I need Jack…

They called today, interested. That is until I had to explain where I am and what I’m doing. She said she would annotate that in the file. I’m guessing that would be the circular file.

What’s next? Is Independence going to rise from the ashes and recall those that are available? You laugh, I know I do, but with my luck or lack thereof of late I would not be the least bit surprised.

As much as you would never admit it, I know you hated it when I transplanted you to North Dakota, but you were still there always willing to start even in -80 degree weather. When we moved to Virginia I know it was bittersweet for you, the weather being much improved but me not needing you more than once a week. Your age began to show as things started creaking, yet you immediately perked up as I pointed your nose west once more. Sadly, more and more of you began to need special attention. You didn’t like the heat anymore, your skin began to crack. More than once I was advised to part ways with you and I even considered it but I’m glad I didn’t follow through.

After three times across the country and again having to depart your home you still dutifully began trip number four back into the heat of the desert and the humidity of Alabama. I’m still not sure what happened and afraid I never will, but in your death throes you continued to protect me from harm until I turned the ignition off for the last time.

Thank you and goodbye my friend.

One of the more interesting tidbits about the island is that it has indigenous buffalo bison. No one knows for sure how they got there, just that they were there when we got there. How they went from roaming the Plains to a little island only 22 miles at its longest is beyond me. Yesterday was the first time I had actually seen them not wedged between a hamburger bun halfway between the plate and my mouth. Kind of cool.

Another tidbit, I got schooled on the difference between a buffalo and a bison. And it just had to be my dad that did the schooling. Apparently, the buffalo name is reserved for the African and Water buffalo where the American creature is a bison and the two are only distantly related. Go figure. The picture of the raven is only in here because he kept strutting his stuff and I thought it was pretty funny.

So I told the padre I was taking the family out to dinner for Father’s Day. I just never told him how and where. It’s hard to keep much of the surprise when you pull into the airport, but the destination was still a mystery. At that point though I don’t think he really cared, you’d have sworn you just gave Ralphie his Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!

Luckily, he didn’t shoot his eye out.

About the time I swung the nose left, a little island came into view about 30 miles away and the elated smile became a Cheshire grin. I haven’t had a disappointed customer yet when visiting the Airport in the Sky (Catalina). Even the hyper motion sensitive stepmother approved.

We feasted upon buffalo burgers and looked like tourists from hell, every single one of us armed with a digital SLR and shooting anything that moved. Even had to beat the marine layer as it started creeping up the mountain and engulfed the airport about 5 minutes after take off.

Heading back, I gave them a bird’s eye view of the house and then cruised the beach where we waived to some friends enjoying post graduation festivities. Congrats, by the way! And yes, Ini, I let him fly. The rest of the photos are up in the Gallery.

Oh, I almost forgot! The original owners of the DC-3 Cafe, there at the field, are back replacing that really crabby woman that ran the counter. Not that most of you know what I’m talking about, but celebrate anyway it means good things for the airport.