Guns Guns Guns
A friend and I were heading out the same direction. He was in his Stearman and I was in the VariEze. I slowed and pulled up about thirty yards to his right. We sat there a moment. He was known to be spontaneous. He barrel-rolled to the right and fell in behind me and called “GUNS-GUNS-GUNS!”
I pushed the throttle forward and called, “SPEED-SPEED-SPEED!” and went on my merry way, unscathed I might add.
That evening with friends he started boasting loudly that in our little skirmish he had gotten the best of me.
I responded that he had not even so much as nicked me.
He began walking my way with his chest out. He said, “I rolled in right in behind you and called, “GUNS-GUNS-GUNS!” I got you, dead to rights.”
“No,” I said, calmly of course, “no, when you said “GUNS-GUNS-GUNS,” I called, “SPEED-SPEED-SPEED!” I outran your bullets with my speed. Your bullets fell of their own weight, harmlessly.”
He threw his arms up and spun around and ended up with his face a little closer to mine than before. He pointed his finger at my nose. “I got you with my GUNS,” he said.
“Like I said before,” I said, “I… outran… your… bullets… with… my… speed.”
His face was turning redder.
“And,” I said, “my speed is only slightly imaginary….”
This all came to mind again because we have another gathering coming up and I am going to suggest that we settle the issue with rock/paper/scissors.
You pilots are such fun
Bill James