Planes, bicycles, and waiting

Today was another outing for the guys here at the park.  No Blueberry Festival craft show for the men.  This was going to be real men's stuff.  The smell of aviation fuel, the roar of radial engines, the chance to touch and feel those magnificent machines that allows one to 'escape the surly bonds of earth'.  It was the annual South Haven Fly-In pancake breakfast at the airport. 

Since we are a tough lot and shun the thought of eating pancakes in an outdoor hanger with lesser types, we settled in at Cousins restaurant for a normal man's breakfast.  You know ... pancakes.  So after filling our faces with all types of breakfast goodies we headed off to the airport, some 5 miles away.  

One car headed off following the northern most path while Bill and I decided to take the southern route as Bill convinced me that this was much shorter.  Something about Pythagoras's theorem  c squared equals something plus something ... it sounded believable at the moment.  Anyway were rolling along quite well thinking that we'd arrive early (certainly ahead of those other guys) when the traffic began to slow, then stop.  In the distance we could see flashing red lights at our upcoming turn so something was wrong.  After a few minutes and still no movement, I could see something pass near the flashing red lights.  Closer inspection determined that they were bicycles.  Lots and lots of bicycles streaming across our road heading south.  We waited, inching our way forward ever so slowly until we were next to turn.  Two Michigan State troopers were manning the traffic and were holding back east and west traffic that was now backed up at least a half a mile in each direction.  Across the road the bikes streamed.  The riders all decked out in their brightly colored skin tight Lycra race outfits.  Heads adorned with Stars Wars helmets and arms and legs marked with large black numbers (apparently given out by the race people to identify their name and class).  Where in the world were they coming from and where were they going I wondered.  Well I actually didn't care but just wanted them to pass.

The trooper came over to my window and gave me a little advice.  'Go like the wind when I give you the high sign' he said.  As the racers occasionally got spaced out he would let a car make the turn and I was next in the launch lane.  After a few minutes I got a quick nod and an authoritative hand gesture and off I went.  Probably the best left turn I have every made and ... I did it without my turn signal being on.  Now this is real grey power.

From that point it was another mile to the airport and when within sight of the place we again came to a halt.  The bikers continued to stream past us.  Hundreds of them of all shapes, colors and sizes.  The highly tuned two wheeled pedal pushers hummed with precision as they flew past me.  Every now and then I could catch some of them talking as they went by.  "The poor suckers and going to miss out on their pancake breakfast" was said more than once as the minutes ticked by.  My thoughts raced on how smirky they'd be if I all of a sudden I open my car door as they flew by?  Evil thoughts like this are really just thoughts and besides ... it was Sunday.

 

We could see the rest of our group inside the  airport enjoying the exhibits while we sat idling on the road.  

As I looked into my rear view mirror and the stream of cyclist disappearing down the road I could only hope that this nightmare was soon to end.

Some 45 minutes and several hundred more bicycles passed and we finally got in.  Our short cut was not so short. 

Anyway we walked around the parked planes in the cold, overcast day but were treated to a couple of the old WWII war birds tearing up the sky over the airport.  Engines roaring as they made several low level passes over the crowd before landing and allowing the crowd to examine these beautiful old fighter planes up close.  

I did manage to take a few photos while there:  No this isn't Pappy Boyington's 'Black Sheep Squadron' but some of the finest RV jockeys around. 

 

Bill, Jerry,Rod,Don,Charley, and Corky.  Concealed under Don's shirt is junior pilot Evan.

Here's a Grumman trainer (I think) that's tight on space but looks like a hoot to fly.  Painted pretty, this pint sized  aircraft was a crowd pleaser.  Pretty confident nose art for such a little puddle jumper.

And all this was going on before noon on Sunday.  I think I'm exhausted but wait!  There's more to come this afternoon.  To be continued on the next installment.

Still livin' the dream.

Phil