Mustang Trouble

 Mustang Trouble

It was the week after the Reno National Air Races and I was out at the Winnemucca Airport working on my airplane, and I heard a plane approaching overhead for landing. His motor was running so rough I had to go out front and watch him land and taxi in. The pilot was obviously highly skilled and experienced, because his airplane, a P-51 Mustang, is not easy to land even when the motor is running smooth.

I went over when he stopped and opened the canopy and I asked if he knew what the trouble was. He said his mechanic team was still back in Reno, and he was going to call them. He went in the building and was soon busy talking to his crew. 

This was one of the race planes that I had watched race at Reno the week before, and it had been running well then, although he hadn’t won his class race. The plane was essentially stock, without the extensive modifications the Unlimited racers have.

The pilot came out in a few minutes and said his crew wanted him to make a couple of fast taxies on the runway (without lifting off) and play with the engine controls and try to fix it or at least find something that helped it.

So he got it started, running rough as ever, and went back and forth on the runway. Nothing changed, and the engine was running bad as ever when he came back to the ramp and shut the engine off. 

As he climbed out I asked if I could look at it up closer. He said sure as he went back inside to talk to his crew. These are very expensive airplanes, and sometimes the owner doesn’t want anybody touching his plane.

On a hunch that some of the cylinders were misfiring, I licked my fingers and slapped one of the exhaust stacks protruding from the side of the cowl. Since each cylinder has a short stack, with no manifold or exhaust pipe, It should be easy to find any dead cylinders, I figured.

The first stack in back was sizzling hot! That one is running fine. The next one forward was cold. And the next and the next one, all the way to the front. I went around to the other side and they were all hot. Just the front five cylinders on the left side were dead cold.  

I trotted into the building and found the pilot still on the phone to his crew. I hollered at him, “The front five stacks on the port side are all cold!” His immediately told his crew over the phone and then smiled. In a few seconds he hung up and told me the crew says the camshaft is broken on that side and they would be out to fix it in the morning.

He thanked me for saving them a lot of time troubleshooting the problem. By the time they would have gotten to the airport, all the stacks would have been cold. 

He asked if I went to the Reno Air Races. I said sure, every year, and I normally spend my time in the pits, since I’m a mechanic, just not an airplane mechanic.

He told me to call him next year and he would get me a pit pass and make me part of his crew. He gave me his card with his info on it. He couldn’t have made me happier!

Well, the next year was the first year in many that I didn’t get to the Reno Air Races. I got pneumonia and watched the races on TV. 

Sometimes you win - sometimes you lose! 

But I still feel like I won.

By the way, 2023 will be the last year for the Reno Air Races. Housing developments are crowding the race course, and it’s too dangerous now.

They are talking about a move to Tonopah or Wendover, but there are no plans yet.

Warning Labels

Warning Label.

I probably owe blogger.com a bit of gratitude for their warning label on a blog post I wrote about seven years ago. I included in the post a warning to the reader that some of the content might be offensive to some people.

I don’t think it was the lyrics to a copyrighted song that started the post, since I gave full attribution to the writer, singer, and publisher of the song.

I purposefully wrote the essay to show the specific horrors that come when a spouse develops dementia. It is harder to deal with than a parent, or sibling, since your whole life is bound up as a loving couple. 

After years of building a relationship built on trust and mutual happiness, suddenly the bonds are being slowly torn asunder, piece by piece, and there is nothing that can be done about it. Ordinary reminiscences about common activities and experiences become impossible to recover and enjoy.

I shed many bitter tears as I gave away a whole closet full of square dance apparel acquired through forty five years of dancing across the nation. 

The whole story was about the night she asked, “Who are you, and why are you in my bed?”

I suspect the warning label was due to the flashbacks I had relating to the exhilarating times of our marriage before the dementia took it all away.

My thoughts at the time were about my children and grandchildren, and the sometimes difficult process of unlearning the anti-sexual teachings of various religious indoctrinations.

I was raised believing that sex was either too dirty or filthy to be discussed, or on the other hand, too sacred to be discussed in polite company. Sex education is vehemently opposed by nearly every religious organization around the world, with few exceptions.

When I decided I didn’t agree with St. Paul’s preferences toward celibacy in 1 Corinthians 7 was the day I went to the preacher and had him remove my name from the membership rolls. 

It didn’t take a lot of research through Kinsey, Masters and Johnson, and others to realize that there was more to this sex thing than I had learned in school or out in the barnyard. It wasn’t just about men having fun and making women pregnant. She was supposed to have fun, too, and the pregnancy was optional if proper precautions were taken.

Nobody told me that in church or school. They should have.

No wonder so many religious leaders get caught in extramarital affairs, and so many supposedly celibate priests are messing with little boys. 

One of my biggest educational resources was Playboy magazine, which surprises many people. Hugh Hefner was one of the first to emphasize the playful aspect of sex, and the fun that is possible if you use your creative imagination.

 I cringe when I see women’s liberation leaders disparage Hugh Hefner, because I believe if he hadn’t started the sexual revolution, women would still be expected to stay barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Some religious zealots today are trying to push women back there.

Brownmiller, Steinem, Jong, Valenti, et al, owe Hugh a debt of gratitude. He opened the door for women, in my opinion. Before Playboy, 30 to 40 percent of American women didn’t know such a thing as orgasm existed. 

After about thirty years of marriage, when I decided to let my Playboy subscription lapse to save money, my wife renewed it for me. She was always pretty plain with her hints.

So no, getting down on your knees and praying before you climb into bed with your wife will not guarantee a happy marriage. Stop being so serious and have fun!

If my children and grandchildren take away anything from our marriage, It is that fun is what it’s all about. If it stops being fun, use your imagination and creativity and find the fun again! 

Thanks for the warning, Blogger! Doubled my readership, I think!