Tales from the Log of the Ruptured Duck
- Thread starter Kayak Jack
- Start date
Wannabe said:
Bob............
The next rendezvous you attend and I am there you will have to remind me or I will forget so I can issue you a Traffic Citation for Impeding Traffic and Failure to Obey Traffic Signs. :roll:
You say failure to obey traffic signs ??? You Bet , it was a Stop sign and not a Parking Sign. :lol:
FLIGHTS OF FANCY
Some I've taken, and some I want to
Much of the time - well, most of it - an airplane is a machine. Just a machine. But sometimes it is more. Sometimes, when things line up, it becomes a magic carpet. Sometimes, it carries us off to other times and other places.
I grew up in the area about 10-20 miles N'ly of where the Duck sleeps in her hangar. From the age of 3, until I left home for the Air Force, I wandered the fields and woods of the area. And now, sometimes, when I fly over there, I see things of yesterdays now gone - 55 to over 70 years ago.
Flying N'ly over Dobie Road, I still see the old, 12 room farm house we lived in during the war. It was nearly a century old then. My sandbox was in the front yard, and was really the top of an old, hand-dug well that had been filled in. And out behind the homestead, is a little, tow-headed boy and his dog.
As a kid, I knew Don Dobie. His home was the first house to the north of us, about a half mile away. Both Dobie Road, and nearby Dobie Lake, were named for his family. Dobie's had the first woven-wire fence around these parts. Where vertical and horizontal wires crossed, the verticals had a sharp kink that protruded through a large flat-washer. Horizontals were strung through those kinks on the other side of the washer. That fence is gone now, and yet - I can see it down there.
That tow-headed boy and his dog are romping back through a hayfield, headed to the pond and then the woods. The dog, a beagle-terrier mix named Tippy, wags her tail in furious circles as she runs. For years, I followed her in full confidence that as long as I had sight of that circling tail, we weren't lost. Only 10 years later did I realize that - as she zig zagged across in front of me, she would realign her track to match whatever twists or turns I'd already taken. While I thought I was following her, in fact SHE was following me! That was an awakening moment.
At that pond, Fred Algate and I had a raft. Well, sort of a raft. It was good enough for us. What it really was, was the gable end of the garage that had been at the house where we lived. A tornado had torn apart the garage in the spring of '42, and spread it across the 40 acre field behind the house. That gable end came to rest near the pond.
Flying overhead, I can see those two boys poling that ridiculous raft out onto the pond. A dog is sitting on one of the triangle's corners, barking sailing orders. Red winged blackbirds are harassing the boys, defending their territory. The boys wave their arms back at the birds. Though their laughter is drowned out by the engine, it's obvious that they are laughing, uproariously.
I hadn't realized you could see that much from this altitude.
Some I've taken, and some I want to
Much of the time - well, most of it - an airplane is a machine. Just a machine. But sometimes it is more. Sometimes, when things line up, it becomes a magic carpet. Sometimes, it carries us off to other times and other places.
I grew up in the area about 10-20 miles N'ly of where the Duck sleeps in her hangar. From the age of 3, until I left home for the Air Force, I wandered the fields and woods of the area. And now, sometimes, when I fly over there, I see things of yesterdays now gone - 55 to over 70 years ago.
Flying N'ly over Dobie Road, I still see the old, 12 room farm house we lived in during the war. It was nearly a century old then. My sandbox was in the front yard, and was really the top of an old, hand-dug well that had been filled in. And out behind the homestead, is a little, tow-headed boy and his dog.
As a kid, I knew Don Dobie. His home was the first house to the north of us, about a half mile away. Both Dobie Road, and nearby Dobie Lake, were named for his family. Dobie's had the first woven-wire fence around these parts. Where vertical and horizontal wires crossed, the verticals had a sharp kink that protruded through a large flat-washer. Horizontals were strung through those kinks on the other side of the washer. That fence is gone now, and yet - I can see it down there.
That tow-headed boy and his dog are romping back through a hayfield, headed to the pond and then the woods. The dog, a beagle-terrier mix named Tippy, wags her tail in furious circles as she runs. For years, I followed her in full confidence that as long as I had sight of that circling tail, we weren't lost. Only 10 years later did I realize that - as she zig zagged across in front of me, she would realign her track to match whatever twists or turns I'd already taken. While I thought I was following her, in fact SHE was following me! That was an awakening moment.
At that pond, Fred Algate and I had a raft. Well, sort of a raft. It was good enough for us. What it really was, was the gable end of the garage that had been at the house where we lived. A tornado had torn apart the garage in the spring of '42, and spread it across the 40 acre field behind the house. That gable end came to rest near the pond.
Flying overhead, I can see those two boys poling that ridiculous raft out onto the pond. A dog is sitting on one of the triangle's corners, barking sailing orders. Red winged blackbirds are harassing the boys, defending their territory. The boys wave their arms back at the birds. Though their laughter is drowned out by the engine, it's obvious that they are laughing, uproariously.
I hadn't realized you could see that much from this altitude.
OVER THE RIVER - but not through the woods
Indian Summer is breaking upon us here. A few leaves are falling, a few are turning. Winter wheat is up, and shows green carpets in the fields. Soy beans are ripening, turning yellow, and providing other carpets to compare with the rich green of wheat. Some cornfields are opened up. Some were chopped for silage; others await full ripening and harvesting for the grain.
Yesterday, Julie and I reflew the Maple River valley. We'd flown it while snow was still on the ground. Now, the brush is thicker than hair on a dog's back. Waterfowl are about done raising their fledglings. And we could see a possible canoe route through it.
Humidity was low - for Michigan - and we could see 25 miles in all directions. That's an area 50 miles across! E'ly of Ithaca, is a windmill farm. About a hundred of the things cover several square miles. Their blades rotating slowly in the wind, maybe 6-10 RPM. I've had tree huggers wax rampantingly about how dangerous they are to birds. When I asked how they were dangerous, I was told that the blades went so fast they hit and killed birds. It would have to be a slow and stupid bird in my opinion. Or, maybe, one committing suicide?
This is an area where German farmers predominate. Two towns serve them, Pewamo and Westphalia. Farmsteads are neat and well organized; barns and sheds house livestock feeding operations, and enterprises cover all areas of these family farms.
On the way home, traffic control vectored us out around flight ops at Lansing Regional Airport KLAN. A buddy of mine controls there, and he helped us yesterday. "Thanks from the Ruptured Duck."
We landed at Mason, washed off a few bugs, and went to lunch. We'd cheated death again.
Indian Summer is breaking upon us here. A few leaves are falling, a few are turning. Winter wheat is up, and shows green carpets in the fields. Soy beans are ripening, turning yellow, and providing other carpets to compare with the rich green of wheat. Some cornfields are opened up. Some were chopped for silage; others await full ripening and harvesting for the grain.
Yesterday, Julie and I reflew the Maple River valley. We'd flown it while snow was still on the ground. Now, the brush is thicker than hair on a dog's back. Waterfowl are about done raising their fledglings. And we could see a possible canoe route through it.
Humidity was low - for Michigan - and we could see 25 miles in all directions. That's an area 50 miles across! E'ly of Ithaca, is a windmill farm. About a hundred of the things cover several square miles. Their blades rotating slowly in the wind, maybe 6-10 RPM. I've had tree huggers wax rampantingly about how dangerous they are to birds. When I asked how they were dangerous, I was told that the blades went so fast they hit and killed birds. It would have to be a slow and stupid bird in my opinion. Or, maybe, one committing suicide?
This is an area where German farmers predominate. Two towns serve them, Pewamo and Westphalia. Farmsteads are neat and well organized; barns and sheds house livestock feeding operations, and enterprises cover all areas of these family farms.
On the way home, traffic control vectored us out around flight ops at Lansing Regional Airport KLAN. A buddy of mine controls there, and he helped us yesterday. "Thanks from the Ruptured Duck."
We landed at Mason, washed off a few bugs, and went to lunch. We'd cheated death again.
If windmill farms kill that many birds, then that sounds like an opportunity to go out and collect fresh protein as they fall to the ground. When handed a basket of lemons, don't gripe, make lemonade 
I'm glad ya'll had a good day Jack.
Bob
I'm glad ya'll had a good day Jack.
Bob
They impact on leading edges. If not washed off, their juice can mess up paint. And, they get on the windshield too.
i hit a big, splatty one at 4,000' one day, and wondered, "What the hell are you doing up THIS high?" He didn't answer.
i hit a big, splatty one at 4,000' one day, and wondered, "What the hell are you doing up THIS high?" He didn't answer.
ALIVE AND WELL
Today, Julie and I ate lunch at Napolean Air Field 3NP. It's about 10 miles SE'ly of Michigan's Jackson State Prison. And, about 5 miles from an International Speedway where NASCAR races are held. The reason for the gathering was a once in about ten lifetimes event. The fella who held the party had died. Here's the story of Lynn Towns.
About three months ago, there was a fly-in lunch at the Tecumseh Airport. (Remember Tecumseh and Power Products engines? The Tecumseh Company was near Tecumseh, Michigan. Their old airfield is now a private field, and our group has an open invitation to drop in any time). I wasn't there, but have heard the story directly from the guy who died, and the ones who brought him back
After lunch that fateful day, Lynn was leaving. But, as he taxied out his Piper Cub to take off - he suffered a complete cardiac arrest. His heart stopped beating - totally. Here, others tell the tale. A young fellow noticed Lynn taxiing by, slumped down over the stick. Instantly, he grabbed the tail of the plane and steered it away from heavy obstacles and into some brush. This got the attention of others, who ran over to shut down the aircraft, unstrap Lynn, and pull him from the cockpit.
The fella who actually lifted him clear had been bent over a nearby plane, looking at something. When Lynn slumped, his plane veered to the right. Had it veered left, the prop would have chewed up the rescuer! Having five people right there who reacted that quickly, got him out and on the ground, and who knew how to successfully do CPR was rare. Keeping him alive for forty minutes before EMTs arrived is phenomenal. A complete recovery with no deleterious effects - either physical or mental - is even more phenomenal.
When figuring the probabilities here, there are a LOT of zeroes to the right of a decimal point before a "1" appears. And yet we were able to shake Lynn's hand today, and enjoy the celebratory luncheon he presented in hangars next to the grass runways, and clebrate his still being alive and well.
Cheated death again!
Today, Julie and I ate lunch at Napolean Air Field 3NP. It's about 10 miles SE'ly of Michigan's Jackson State Prison. And, about 5 miles from an International Speedway where NASCAR races are held. The reason for the gathering was a once in about ten lifetimes event. The fella who held the party had died. Here's the story of Lynn Towns.
About three months ago, there was a fly-in lunch at the Tecumseh Airport. (Remember Tecumseh and Power Products engines? The Tecumseh Company was near Tecumseh, Michigan. Their old airfield is now a private field, and our group has an open invitation to drop in any time). I wasn't there, but have heard the story directly from the guy who died, and the ones who brought him back
After lunch that fateful day, Lynn was leaving. But, as he taxied out his Piper Cub to take off - he suffered a complete cardiac arrest. His heart stopped beating - totally. Here, others tell the tale. A young fellow noticed Lynn taxiing by, slumped down over the stick. Instantly, he grabbed the tail of the plane and steered it away from heavy obstacles and into some brush. This got the attention of others, who ran over to shut down the aircraft, unstrap Lynn, and pull him from the cockpit.
The fella who actually lifted him clear had been bent over a nearby plane, looking at something. When Lynn slumped, his plane veered to the right. Had it veered left, the prop would have chewed up the rescuer! Having five people right there who reacted that quickly, got him out and on the ground, and who knew how to successfully do CPR was rare. Keeping him alive for forty minutes before EMTs arrived is phenomenal. A complete recovery with no deleterious effects - either physical or mental - is even more phenomenal.
When figuring the probabilities here, there are a LOT of zeroes to the right of a decimal point before a "1" appears. And yet we were able to shake Lynn's hand today, and enjoy the celebratory luncheon he presented in hangars next to the grass runways, and clebrate his still being alive and well.
Cheated death again!
Kinda like my Grandson is fond of saying. " He was one lucky little Duck". Or may be that luck had nothing to do with it.
Bob
Bob
I know how he fells .
Oct 29 , 1993 the same thing happen to me , three cardiac arrests while at the Sheriffs Office. When the Para Medics were taking me from the 2nd floor to the 1st floor at the Sheriffs office the gurney would not fit on the elevator so they had to use the stairs , They made it really quick going down the stairs , they dropped me off the gurney and down the stairs from the 1st floor landing to the 1st floor while trying to keep us together , I was told it was a accident. :lol: I can't say either way since I was not aware of anything.
Off to the hospital where the Doc worked on me and then pronounced me dead for the final time.
The nurse in the ER was folding my hands over my chest and getting me ready for the freezer when I squeezed her finger.
Three days later I woke from a comma and it's been fun since then.
If he is diagnosed with the Instant Death Syndrome he is going to get a Defibrillator implanted like they did with me. It's a walking around insurance item that restarts your heart if it decides to stop again.
Oct 29 , 1993 the same thing happen to me , three cardiac arrests while at the Sheriffs Office. When the Para Medics were taking me from the 2nd floor to the 1st floor at the Sheriffs office the gurney would not fit on the elevator so they had to use the stairs , They made it really quick going down the stairs , they dropped me off the gurney and down the stairs from the 1st floor landing to the 1st floor while trying to keep us together , I was told it was a accident. :lol: I can't say either way since I was not aware of anything.
Off to the hospital where the Doc worked on me and then pronounced me dead for the final time.
The nurse in the ER was folding my hands over my chest and getting me ready for the freezer when I squeezed her finger.
Three days later I woke from a comma and it's been fun since then.
If he is diagnosed with the Instant Death Syndrome he is going to get a Defibrillator implanted like they did with me. It's a walking around insurance item that restarts your heart if it decides to stop again.
Flying Low, and Poison Worms
For a couple of years now, Fitch Beach Field KFPK at Charlotte MI, has had an embarrassing NOTAM. "Ground mole holes on runway 14/32." Every time the weather briefers read it, they snort or chuckle or say "WHAT??!?"
The field has two runways - 02/20 is hard surface, and a sod runway 14/32 crossing it. Often, winds are such that I'd kinda like to land on the sod, but don't want to hang up my nose gear in a ground mole hole. Taill draggers ("standard" configuration landing gear with a tail wheel) aircraft can land and take off on rougher ground than can a tricycle geared bird with a nose gear.
Most - not all - nose landing gears are canted forwards, much like the front fork of a bicycle. That angle tends to drive it down into any hole or depression if it gets even half a chance, especially in soft dirt. The Ruptured Duck is a tricycle gear nose dragger, so I have to exercize caution when operating on a sod field. And, where there are known holes, it just isn't wise to tempt fate.
The company that tends lawns here in our condo complex treated our groundmoles to a tasty treat of poison angle worms last fall, and we had only a handful of the buggars left this spring. Now, we have none. So - I sez to myself, I sez, says, I, "Self, maybe these worms coild cure the mole hole problems at KFPK? And get rid of that embarrassingly foolish NOTAM?"
All summer long, I've been trying to match schedules with myself, the guy who does our lawn, the guy who runs the airfield, and the weather gods. Finally, this morning, it all came together. Todd met me at the hangar, we launched , and first flew over the area where he and I grew up as kids, (him about 30 or so years behind me) and then over to Charlotte. Cloud ceiling was low, and ground fog was still hugging a few low spots, so we never got above 2,500 feet. That kept us 1,300-1,500'' above the ground. An antenna farm was in the way, so we swung south to avoid that. Stratus overcast meant no vertical development in the air, and thus a smooth ride this morning. I like that. We squeaked it in, and cheated death.
In the hangar was another friend, getting a trim cable fixed on his bird. Lots of kibbitzing, tail pulling, and camaradarie there. Finally, we loaded into the truck, and toured the field. Lots of mole holes, mounds, and tunnels. Todd explained the worm installation procedure, how to tell where survivors are, and how to remove them. Back to the hangar for coffee and BS.
On our return flight back to Mason Jewett Field KTEW, we had a chase plane behind us. He'd taken off right behind us from Charlotte, and landed right behind us back at Mason. Todd got to watch most of that. We made another squeaker (I'm beginning to figure this thing out) and put the Duck to bed. Having cheated death twice already, I figured that was enough. Todd had to go back to work. I thanked him for supporting my retirement, and went to lunch.
For a couple of years now, Fitch Beach Field KFPK at Charlotte MI, has had an embarrassing NOTAM. "Ground mole holes on runway 14/32." Every time the weather briefers read it, they snort or chuckle or say "WHAT??!?"
The field has two runways - 02/20 is hard surface, and a sod runway 14/32 crossing it. Often, winds are such that I'd kinda like to land on the sod, but don't want to hang up my nose gear in a ground mole hole. Taill draggers ("standard" configuration landing gear with a tail wheel) aircraft can land and take off on rougher ground than can a tricycle geared bird with a nose gear.
Most - not all - nose landing gears are canted forwards, much like the front fork of a bicycle. That angle tends to drive it down into any hole or depression if it gets even half a chance, especially in soft dirt. The Ruptured Duck is a tricycle gear nose dragger, so I have to exercize caution when operating on a sod field. And, where there are known holes, it just isn't wise to tempt fate.
The company that tends lawns here in our condo complex treated our groundmoles to a tasty treat of poison angle worms last fall, and we had only a handful of the buggars left this spring. Now, we have none. So - I sez to myself, I sez, says, I, "Self, maybe these worms coild cure the mole hole problems at KFPK? And get rid of that embarrassingly foolish NOTAM?"
All summer long, I've been trying to match schedules with myself, the guy who does our lawn, the guy who runs the airfield, and the weather gods. Finally, this morning, it all came together. Todd met me at the hangar, we launched , and first flew over the area where he and I grew up as kids, (him about 30 or so years behind me) and then over to Charlotte. Cloud ceiling was low, and ground fog was still hugging a few low spots, so we never got above 2,500 feet. That kept us 1,300-1,500'' above the ground. An antenna farm was in the way, so we swung south to avoid that. Stratus overcast meant no vertical development in the air, and thus a smooth ride this morning. I like that. We squeaked it in, and cheated death.
In the hangar was another friend, getting a trim cable fixed on his bird. Lots of kibbitzing, tail pulling, and camaradarie there. Finally, we loaded into the truck, and toured the field. Lots of mole holes, mounds, and tunnels. Todd explained the worm installation procedure, how to tell where survivors are, and how to remove them. Back to the hangar for coffee and BS.
On our return flight back to Mason Jewett Field KTEW, we had a chase plane behind us. He'd taken off right behind us from Charlotte, and landed right behind us back at Mason. Todd got to watch most of that. We made another squeaker (I'm beginning to figure this thing out) and put the Duck to bed. Having cheated death twice already, I figured that was enough. Todd had to go back to work. I thanked him for supporting my retirement, and went to lunch.
Craig's Landing, Amelia Earhart, and A Boring Town
In another galaxy, long ago and far away, Julie lived in a small, family owned resort named Craig's Landing. A few cabins were near a good fishing lake in southern Michigan. A couple of months ago, we drove down there and she showed it to me. A few days ago, I returned the favor as we overflew it in the Ruptured Duck.
"Kalamazoo control, One One Yankee squawking 7421." "One One Yankee, how much further until you do your photo shoot?" "Kalamazoo, One One Yankee. About 21 miles. Then we'll circle, and proceed northerly to Charlotte Foxtrot Papa Kilo for a full stop." "Roger, One One Yankee, please advise prior to turning. Proceed on course." Julie was clicking away throughout our turn, and as we departed the area. Her camera takes some pretty good pictures. Actually, her Android phone is a lot better camera than it is a phone.
A few minutes after leaving the lake behind us, Kalamazoo control asked us to listen for an ELT (Emergency Locator Transmitter) in our area. We went off control's frequency, turning to 121.5 and listening. There were no characteristic "PREEEReeeew PREEEReeeew" signals. "Kalamazoo, One One Yankee. That's a negative on the ELT." "Hmm, OK, One One Yankee. Thanks." I wonder what that was all about? Maybe someone is down?
Visibility was about 25 miles, and we coild see clear into the middle of next week. Beautiful fall colors, rippling lakes, beanfields with long columns of dust and attendant combines chugging along in their middles, already harvested cornfields being plowed and ready for spring, and traffic flowing along both I-69 and I-94 -were all spread out down there. Off to our right, about 10 miles away, we could look straight down the runway of Marshall Field KRMY where Amelia Earhart used to land sometimes. Wow!
Winds were blowing across the runway at Charlotte. Rather than fly a doubled up turn around to land, I elected to do a straight in approach. It's both simpler and more complicated than a standard traffic approach. In a standard traffic pattern there are practiced points to check and adjust altitude, air speed, and approach angles. Coming straight in isn't something I practice, so don't do it real well. Looks can be deceiving. A runway that is either broader or narrower than what you're used to, can appear closer or further away than it really is. Some familiarity with this field helped me, and it worked OK.
Julie's brother Ken, and his wife Ginger, met us at Charlotte. We parked the Duck and then we all drove to town for lumch. All-you-can-eat salad bars are a favorite of mine. And there was a treat on the line today - kalamatta olives and feta cheese in olive oil! Yum yum. And, since I'd been a good little boy with table manners and all, I got some chocolate pudding. Having some couth pays.
After lunch, I took Ken up for his first hop in a small plane. He was a bit tense, but enjoyed it. We circled nearby Potterville, a town about as boring as its name suggests. We continued and skirted a few miles easterly of the field. Air traffic had picked up after we'd taken off. A student pilot in a Piper Warrior was busy working the pattern. Also, three guys had dropped in to refuel. Ken and I slipped into the pattern and made an uneventful landing. That's the best kind.
After all of our good-byes, Julie and I lifted off for the short flight home. As we were turning to the homeward heading, we could see Ken and Ginger stopped along the road below us. After arriving back at Mason Jewett Field, parking the Duck, and washing off the bugs we'd squashed, we found Doug putting away the flying club's 172. As we stopped to talk we invited him to join us at the Best Sellers Coffee Shop. He readily agreed. All in all, it was a nice, friendly cap on a nice, scenic day.
In another galaxy, long ago and far away, Julie lived in a small, family owned resort named Craig's Landing. A few cabins were near a good fishing lake in southern Michigan. A couple of months ago, we drove down there and she showed it to me. A few days ago, I returned the favor as we overflew it in the Ruptured Duck.
"Kalamazoo control, One One Yankee squawking 7421." "One One Yankee, how much further until you do your photo shoot?" "Kalamazoo, One One Yankee. About 21 miles. Then we'll circle, and proceed northerly to Charlotte Foxtrot Papa Kilo for a full stop." "Roger, One One Yankee, please advise prior to turning. Proceed on course." Julie was clicking away throughout our turn, and as we departed the area. Her camera takes some pretty good pictures. Actually, her Android phone is a lot better camera than it is a phone.
A few minutes after leaving the lake behind us, Kalamazoo control asked us to listen for an ELT (Emergency Locator Transmitter) in our area. We went off control's frequency, turning to 121.5 and listening. There were no characteristic "PREEEReeeew PREEEReeeew" signals. "Kalamazoo, One One Yankee. That's a negative on the ELT." "Hmm, OK, One One Yankee. Thanks." I wonder what that was all about? Maybe someone is down?
Visibility was about 25 miles, and we coild see clear into the middle of next week. Beautiful fall colors, rippling lakes, beanfields with long columns of dust and attendant combines chugging along in their middles, already harvested cornfields being plowed and ready for spring, and traffic flowing along both I-69 and I-94 -were all spread out down there. Off to our right, about 10 miles away, we could look straight down the runway of Marshall Field KRMY where Amelia Earhart used to land sometimes. Wow!
Winds were blowing across the runway at Charlotte. Rather than fly a doubled up turn around to land, I elected to do a straight in approach. It's both simpler and more complicated than a standard traffic approach. In a standard traffic pattern there are practiced points to check and adjust altitude, air speed, and approach angles. Coming straight in isn't something I practice, so don't do it real well. Looks can be deceiving. A runway that is either broader or narrower than what you're used to, can appear closer or further away than it really is. Some familiarity with this field helped me, and it worked OK.
Julie's brother Ken, and his wife Ginger, met us at Charlotte. We parked the Duck and then we all drove to town for lumch. All-you-can-eat salad bars are a favorite of mine. And there was a treat on the line today - kalamatta olives and feta cheese in olive oil! Yum yum. And, since I'd been a good little boy with table manners and all, I got some chocolate pudding. Having some couth pays.
After lunch, I took Ken up for his first hop in a small plane. He was a bit tense, but enjoyed it. We circled nearby Potterville, a town about as boring as its name suggests. We continued and skirted a few miles easterly of the field. Air traffic had picked up after we'd taken off. A student pilot in a Piper Warrior was busy working the pattern. Also, three guys had dropped in to refuel. Ken and I slipped into the pattern and made an uneventful landing. That's the best kind.
After all of our good-byes, Julie and I lifted off for the short flight home. As we were turning to the homeward heading, we could see Ken and Ginger stopped along the road below us. After arriving back at Mason Jewett Field, parking the Duck, and washing off the bugs we'd squashed, we found Doug putting away the flying club's 172. As we stopped to talk we invited him to join us at the Best Sellers Coffee Shop. He readily agreed. All in all, it was a nice, friendly cap on a nice, scenic day.
Good post Jack but for the life of me I could not stop from reading it and thinking all the time of this song. :wink:
[on the cb]
Ah, breaker one-nine, this heres the rubber duck. you gotta copy on me, pig pen, cmon?
ah, yeah, 10-4, pig pen, fer shure, fer shure. by golly, its clean clear to flag town, cmon.
yeah, that Big 10-4 there, pig pen, yeah, we definitely got the front door, good buddy. mercy sakes alive, looks like we got us a convoy...
It was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June
And a Kenworth pullin' logs
Cab-over Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin' hogs
We's headin' for bear on Eye-one-O
'bout a mile outta Shakeytown
I says "Pigpen, this here's Rubber Duck"
"And I'm about to put the hammer down"
C.W. McCall - Convoy Lyrics[/color][/size][/b] | MetroLyrics
[on the cb]
Ah, breaker one-nine, this heres the rubber duck. you gotta copy on me, pig pen, cmon?
ah, yeah, 10-4, pig pen, fer shure, fer shure. by golly, its clean clear to flag town, cmon.
yeah, that Big 10-4 there, pig pen, yeah, we definitely got the front door, good buddy. mercy sakes alive, looks like we got us a convoy...
It was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June
And a Kenworth pullin' logs
Cab-over Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin' hogs
We's headin' for bear on Eye-one-O
'bout a mile outta Shakeytown
I says "Pigpen, this here's Rubber Duck"
"And I'm about to put the hammer down"
C.W. McCall - Convoy Lyrics[/color][/size][/b] | MetroLyrics
chuck I guess KY jack could be CW what cha think? :lol: :mrgreen: yep that was a popular song with everyone in its times especially the truckers. listen to it a many of time still like and enjoy it. just heard it the other morning on local station going to work.
Yep! They are enjoyable. You don't get a thread looked at eleventy eight hunnert times by being boring.texastom said:
Bob