The Twenty-Fifth Anniversary
Sixty two airplanes I think they said.
The Canard driver’s best flyin destination, I think they say.
Dave and Betsy Russell and the others out did themselves again. Great folks, great planes, great weather, and some great stories. Stories in the night chill under the trees and stars that you decide not to miss, and just sit and hug yourself rather than run back to your room to get your jacket. Well, maybe a quick dash.
A little fun coming home.
The GPS was showing around 215 mph much of the way. Passing Texarkana I called the tower for a Parrot check. The controller came back with “We have you fifteen miles northwest, westbound, squawking one-two-zero-zero, at eight thousand four hundred feet, doing one thousand one hundred ninety five miles an hour. “
I started to key the radio and hesitated, feeling like everyone within earshot wanted to say something. But we were all temporarily speechless, especially the controller…
After a moment I replied “That’s not bad on six gallons an hour.”
He replied “That would be… one hundred ninety five miles an hour.” You could hear his buddies heckling him in the background.
I said “Aw Heck.”
I will be requesting a copy of that tape
