Flying with Fred - Volume III, No 9
Before we
start, a word of thanks to Vincent C., who braved the
office of the Presidency until job requirements forced
his leaving the Driver’s Seat- congrats on your
promotion, and thanks for your efforts and hard work.
Along similar lines, many thanks to Martin B. for
taking over the reins “pro-tempore”, and running the
meetings, not to mention his work on the club charter,
and other small but important details taken care of.
Next is kudos to Jay B. for his Newsletter initiative!
He beat me to the punch with a great mass launch, and
has the first issue out to all of you as we speak. If
you want a copy mailed to you, let him know. Last, but
not least, a big hand to Dave L. for the great new
flight line tables- MUCH appreciated.
Okay, where’d it go? Had it right here a moment ago… could have sworn I saw it just ahead of me. Did anyone see it? I’m talking about June… you know- the month of June. When we last chatted, it lay before me with the promise of a beautiful start to the summer, with lots of flying and building and…now it’s gone, disappeared- like the proverbial labial fricative in the wind. Damn, I was looking forward to June. But a few other things started barking for my attention (one of them was Brandy the dog, who needed a small medical “procedure” done- she’s OK for now) and before I knew it… After all, if the house was still standing after 25 years without repainting, what the heck- I was counting on maybe one more year. Wasn’t to be, however- so much for June.
And now here we are halfway into July. Fireworks (soggy this year) Day came and went, along with some more weird weather. The French celebrated Bastille Day this last Saturday. And truth be told, I was already starting to, once again, be caressed (engulfed?) by an all-too-familiar companion- Ms. Inertia. Then, just about last Friday, I started to feel a tug in the “other” direction. Very imperceptible, but it was there, starting to pull my considerably sized gluteus maximus out of the stupor of everyday goings-on. The grass could wait, along with a number of other necessary annoyances- at least they seemed like annoyances. I felt drawn to the building table in the cellar, all at once in a strange and, yes- familiar- way.
My hands picked up a ratchet tool, and started to take the engine off the Fokker DR-1 that had been patiently waiting since…could it be…last September? Next thing I know, it’s on the test stand, in the driveway, with the first of a number of break-in runs pop-popping away. I start looking for my fuel bottles- need to order some more, it looks like. This ni-cad starter looks like it’s died- main battery voltage in the field box looks OK. Item by small item I start to nimbly hover over the DR-1 and start clearing the table of accumulated debris. I start putting everything misplaced back in its place. I leave the building materials and tools neatly line up- it looks like a surgeon’s tray before the operation.
I’m not really aware of time, or it’s passage. I know it’s Sunday afternoon, and it’s not raining, thank God. A steady flow of energy that is physiologically rare for me these days seems to be unending. It’s not a torrent; mind you- just a gentle, but persistent, stream pushing me on. Finally the wings are out of the box that is almost the size of a small coffin. Said box constantly on the move around the cellar for all these months. The servos are ready to go in. Radio is out of its carrying case. Where’s that check list…
Okay, where’d it go? Had it right here a moment ago… could have sworn I saw it just ahead of me. Did anyone see it? I’m talking about June… you know- the month of June. When we last chatted, it lay before me with the promise of a beautiful start to the summer, with lots of flying and building and…now it’s gone, disappeared- like the proverbial labial fricative in the wind. Damn, I was looking forward to June. But a few other things started barking for my attention (one of them was Brandy the dog, who needed a small medical “procedure” done- she’s OK for now) and before I knew it… After all, if the house was still standing after 25 years without repainting, what the heck- I was counting on maybe one more year. Wasn’t to be, however- so much for June.
And now here we are halfway into July. Fireworks (soggy this year) Day came and went, along with some more weird weather. The French celebrated Bastille Day this last Saturday. And truth be told, I was already starting to, once again, be caressed (engulfed?) by an all-too-familiar companion- Ms. Inertia. Then, just about last Friday, I started to feel a tug in the “other” direction. Very imperceptible, but it was there, starting to pull my considerably sized gluteus maximus out of the stupor of everyday goings-on. The grass could wait, along with a number of other necessary annoyances- at least they seemed like annoyances. I felt drawn to the building table in the cellar, all at once in a strange and, yes- familiar- way.
My hands picked up a ratchet tool, and started to take the engine off the Fokker DR-1 that had been patiently waiting since…could it be…last September? Next thing I know, it’s on the test stand, in the driveway, with the first of a number of break-in runs pop-popping away. I start looking for my fuel bottles- need to order some more, it looks like. This ni-cad starter looks like it’s died- main battery voltage in the field box looks OK. Item by small item I start to nimbly hover over the DR-1 and start clearing the table of accumulated debris. I start putting everything misplaced back in its place. I leave the building materials and tools neatly line up- it looks like a surgeon’s tray before the operation.
I’m not really aware of time, or it’s passage. I know it’s Sunday afternoon, and it’s not raining, thank God. A steady flow of energy that is physiologically rare for me these days seems to be unending. It’s not a torrent; mind you- just a gentle, but persistent, stream pushing me on. Finally the wings are out of the box that is almost the size of a small coffin. Said box constantly on the move around the cellar for all these months. The servos are ready to go in. Radio is out of its carrying case. Where’s that check list…
I’m
conscious now of being immersed in the process. The
Creation Process, that is. Or, more to the point these
days, the Assembly Process. But I’m on a roll now- more
runs on the engine- more assembly going on. All due to
that one word that is THE word for me, arguably my
favorite word in the universe of things aeronautic and
related to modeling…RHINEBECK! That’s right- most of
you are familiar with my love affair with the
Mid-Hudson RC Society’s jamboree the weekend after
Labor Day. It’s actually more of an… obsession?, as in
Magnificent, and one of my true passions. It’s two
months away, and it’s calling out to me…
It’s right about this time I start to do a mini-panic, thinking about all the things that have to be returned to “nominal” status, as they say, and be prepared for the trip to the aerodrome. Most of this “stuff” being the items that I should have taken care of the third week of September of 2006! No doubt about it- “The Surge” is sweeping up everything in its path. The Four Star 60 ARF seems to be coming out of its corner in the basement. I’m even (gasp) looking on the Internet for electric components for an old SE-5A item that has been gathering dust since whenever. I’m taking care of things large and small all over the cellar.
JEESH, I feel great! Money suddenly is no object, God help me (“Hello, Tower Hobbies?”) The list of RC items to do is growing longer, and I don’t care- it’s all do-able! Dinner? What Dinner? Last of the engine runs for today- it’s getting dark, don’t you know. I go upstairs to answer Nature’s call, and grab something cold to drink. My wife asks me what the heck I’m up to, and before she can finish the sentence, I kiss her big-time in a massive bear-hug, and without a word head back down to Shangri-La again. (Later on she mentioned that, at precisely that moment, our observing dog’s eyes grew to a size she had never seen before). Yes, I’m going to work tomorrow, but who cares. I am in the middle of four things at once, and fully engaged and ready to work through the night- I’m on a roll.
All sorts of things are magically coming together out of nowhere. However, I happen to peek through one of the small basement windows. I notice all of the lights outside, except for the weak streetlight, are shut off. I look at the small clock on the shelf… and reality sets in. Can I function for my employer tomorrow with only four hours sleep? I shut everything down and put everything away for the night- or more correctly, morning. I go upstairs as quietly as possible- the house is dark. On the love seat, I see two small eyes looking at me, and they seem to be… floating? I head towards the front door, grabbing the leash as I go.
The early morning air is soft and cool, and it feels good. The stars are still out, and Brandy doesn’t fool around- done with her business in a flash! Back inside, off with the clothes, into bed. I don’t realize it, but I’m out as my head hits the pillow. I’m dreaming, and it’s a good dream…
Fly safely, but… FLY!
It’s right about this time I start to do a mini-panic, thinking about all the things that have to be returned to “nominal” status, as they say, and be prepared for the trip to the aerodrome. Most of this “stuff” being the items that I should have taken care of the third week of September of 2006! No doubt about it- “The Surge” is sweeping up everything in its path. The Four Star 60 ARF seems to be coming out of its corner in the basement. I’m even (gasp) looking on the Internet for electric components for an old SE-5A item that has been gathering dust since whenever. I’m taking care of things large and small all over the cellar.
JEESH, I feel great! Money suddenly is no object, God help me (“Hello, Tower Hobbies?”) The list of RC items to do is growing longer, and I don’t care- it’s all do-able! Dinner? What Dinner? Last of the engine runs for today- it’s getting dark, don’t you know. I go upstairs to answer Nature’s call, and grab something cold to drink. My wife asks me what the heck I’m up to, and before she can finish the sentence, I kiss her big-time in a massive bear-hug, and without a word head back down to Shangri-La again. (Later on she mentioned that, at precisely that moment, our observing dog’s eyes grew to a size she had never seen before). Yes, I’m going to work tomorrow, but who cares. I am in the middle of four things at once, and fully engaged and ready to work through the night- I’m on a roll.
All sorts of things are magically coming together out of nowhere. However, I happen to peek through one of the small basement windows. I notice all of the lights outside, except for the weak streetlight, are shut off. I look at the small clock on the shelf… and reality sets in. Can I function for my employer tomorrow with only four hours sleep? I shut everything down and put everything away for the night- or more correctly, morning. I go upstairs as quietly as possible- the house is dark. On the love seat, I see two small eyes looking at me, and they seem to be… floating? I head towards the front door, grabbing the leash as I go.
The early morning air is soft and cool, and it feels good. The stars are still out, and Brandy doesn’t fool around- done with her business in a flash! Back inside, off with the clothes, into bed. I don’t realize it, but I’m out as my head hits the pillow. I’m dreaming, and it’s a good dream…
Fly safely, but… FLY!