Ferrari Mailing List: Re: Fwd: Why It Was Great to be A Pilot

[LS (lashdeep]

Don't get too excited, notice the elegant use of upper case/lower 
case...probably his secretary.

LS

----- Original Message ----
From: "red5hilser [at] aol.com" <red5hilser [at] aol.com>
To: LS <lashdeep [at] yahoo.com>
Cc: The FerrariList <ferrari [at] ferrarilist.com>
Sent: Wednesday, October 24, 2007 1:59:07 PM
Subject: Re: [Ferrari] Fwd: Why It Was Great to be A Pilot


No shit, cLYDe(TM). This is the 1st time you've ever e-mailed back to me. 
Including the two (2)   Cavallino Tatoos that I sent you gratis. I even picked 
up the postage on them. After this ... maybe the sun will rise in the west 
tmorrow?



Still yer humble pal, Shitbox(TM) Bubba




-----Original Message-----
From: clyde romero <clyderomero [at] worldnet.att.net>
To: red5hilser [at] aol.com
Sent: Wed, 24 Oct 2007 11:53 am
Subject: RE: [Ferrari] Fwd: Why It Was Great to be A Pilot




Thanks for this it was interesting
        


lyde

obile 678 641 9932
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-----Original Message-----
rom: red5hilser [at] aol.com [mailto:red5hilser [at] aol.com] 
ent: Tuesday, October 23, 2007 6:35 PM
o: clyde
c: The FerrariList
ubject: [Ferrari] Fwd: Why It Was Great to be A Pilot
This was sent by an old friend of ours, a 30+ year retired Air Force pilot
ho runs a B&B 2 blocks from the track at Indy. We met him when we were
eporter/photgraphers for 'Prodigy.com' our internet providers and have
tayed with him for both the USGP and the 500. The pay was lousy, but we got
ree internet and all the working press credentials we could use, hot pits
nd everything. As my grandma from the old country used to say, "Vat a
eal!" He mostly flew C-141s, but had hours in all kinds of other aircraft.
very interesting guy to talk to.  --  Bubba

hy it's Great to be a Pilot


ou won't have all of these memories, but you'll have enough of them to
make you smile . . .

ome may be hard to understand unless you've been there. Add your own
one-liners anywhere herein and keep it moving.  The last eleven are mine.
 
HY IT'S GREAT TO BE A PILOT

lying close finger-tip formation in a flight of four.

osing an engine in an F-84F while taxiing back to the ramp after a
mission.

erminating afterburner at 1.85 Mach in an F101 and experiencing
deceleration so hard that I flew off of the seat and into the harness so
hard that I had strap bruises on my body, and needed a change of
underwear.

ull afterburner take off in a clean F101 in 20 below zero weather at
night. Or just a max effort takeoff in an empty C-141.

omehow, all the jet-lag and other problems had a compensating balance!
Now I get tired just cause I'm old.

oing formation join-ups in the F4 or T-bird around big beautiful
columns of cumulus out of every fighter base.

unrises seen from the high flight levels that make the heart soar. Or
worse when high, just flying west into the setting sun.

he patchwork quilt of the great plains from FL 370 on a day when you
an see forever. Or seeing the glow of L.A. over ABQ at FL430.
Cruising mere feet above a billiard-table-flat cloud deck at mach .86,
ith your chin on the glare shield and your face as close as you can get
o the windshield.
Knowing you've got to land a fighter on a five thousand foot runway that
s covered with hard packed snow, and no drag chute. Or landing a heavy
-141 on a snowpack runway with an RCR of 4 (as in real slick).
Punching out the top of a low overcast while climbing 10,000 feet per
inute in AB or a light C-141..
The majesty and grandeur of towering cumulus or the rockies for low
ltitude.
Rotating at VR and feeling 400,000 plus pounds of airplane come alive as 
he lifts off. Or the smooooth rotation, gentle liftoff and roar of the
ig 4 with 10 pallets of hand gernades.
The delicate threads of St. Elmo's Fire dancing on the windshield at
ight as you're descending into Clark. Playing with it and moving it
round using your metal Cross pen or pencil from your flight suit
ocket. Hearing the flight engineer telling St Elmo's Fire stories of
-124 props flinging it off the prop tips.
The twinkle of lights on the Japanese fishing fleet far below, on a
ight crossing of the North Pacific and Ivan spoking your weather
adar...probably because you were bored driving along the High Speed
orth Pac route and aimed the sector scan at the Kurile Islands to light
im up at oh dark thirty in the morning just to provoke him.
Cloud formations that are beautiful beyond description. Except when you
re at FL390 and the bastards are climbing faster than you.
Ice fog in Anchorage on a cold winter morning as you takeof using
ompass and flight director.
Going missed approach at Elmendorf because of the ice fog and being able
o look down and see the ramp as you fly over.
Seeing the approach strobes appear through the fog on a 'must do' zero,
ero approach when there is no other place to go.
Seeing geological formations that no ground-pounder will ever see as you
ook up at the sides of the Grand Canyon from just above the river doing
00 KTAS in a 4-ship trail formaton.
The chaotic, non-stop babble of radio transmissions at O'Hare during the
fternoon rush. Worse yet, at Rhein-Main at 4pm on Friday in the fog, a
aturated airport, and pissed off German controllers. Add in a dumb-ass
opilot who cannot understand a word they're saying. You tell him to
it there, don't touch anything, and shut up. You do it all yourself.
The quietness of center frequency at night during a transcontinental
light ... or over the Amazon at any time.
A cone for the Zone!
Watching St. Elmo's fire all over your windscreen in the winter night
kies over Alaska. Or flying around a pacific typhoon in a KC-97.
The welcome view of approach lights appearing out of the mist just as
ou reach minimums. Amen!
Finding yourself in a thunderstorm with 750# bombs hanging on your
ings.
Behind the tanker, hooked up, and the interphone comment, "Taking fuel."

ightning storms at night over the Midwest.
The "Rocket City ALCE"
Picking your way through a line of huge thunderstorms that seem to go
ll the way from Chicago to New Orleans.
The soft, comforting glow of the instrument panel in a dark cockpit.
The dancing curtains of colored light of the aurora on a winter-night
orth Atlantic crossing or trans-arctic flight from AK to Greenland.
The taxiway names at O' Hare before they were renamed: The Bridge,
akeshore Drive, Old Scenic, New Scenic, Outer, The Bypass, Cargo,
orth-South, The Stub, Hangar Alley.
The majestic panorama of an entire mountain range stretched out beneath
ou from horizon to horizon.
Lenticular clouds over the Sierras.
The brief, yet tempting, glimpse of runway lights after you've already
ommitted to the missed approach.
The Alps in winter.
Watching a fellow pilot do an engine out flameout approach and making it
n an F-100.
Seeing a "dumb" bomb you drop hit a target and knowing you had all the
arameters right. Seeing them gooks firing their guns at you until the
mart bomb hits them square in the gun pit!
The lights of London or Paris or LA or SF or NY at night from FL 430.
Squall lines that run as far as you can see.
Exotic lands with exotic food and you got the 2-step trots!
Seeing Tokyo lights at night from FL350 stretching from horizon to
orizon.
Maneuvering the airplane through day-lit canyons between towering
umulus clouds. 
The deep blue-gray of the sky at FL 430.
The hustle and bustle of Hong Kong Harbor.
The softness of a touchdown on a snow-covered runway.
Hearing the nose wheel spin down against the snubber in the well after
akeoff. A delightful sound signaling that you were on your way!
Old Chinatown in Singapore before it was torn down, modernized, and
terilized.
Watching the lightning show while crossing the ITCZ at night.
Long-tail boats speeding along the klongs in Thailand.
The quietly turning paddle fans in the lobby of the Raffles Hotel in
ingapore.
Trying to order room service from the Filipino Hotel clerk at Clark AB.
Dodging colored splotches of red and yellow light on the radar screen at
ight. Or dodging red, white and green tracers over the "Trail" on
hristmas Eve.
The sound of foreign accents on the radio.
Luxury hotels: Bangkok, Singapore, NY, SF, Paris, London, Rome,
ncirlik, Addas Abba....Yeh!!!!!!!!
To paraphrase the eloquent aviation writer, Ernie Gann, The allure of
he slit in a China girl's skirt.
Sunsets of every color imaginable. Again, while flying west into the
laring bastards!
The tantalizing glow of the flashing strobe lights just before you break
ut of the clouds on approach.
Yosemite Valley from above.
The almost blindingly-brilliant-white of a towering cumulus cloud.
A cold San Miguel in Angeles City after a long day's flying.
The putrid smell of Turkish Base Ops at Incirlik when you go over to
urn in a copy of your flight plan - that you suspect nobody ever looked
t.
The Diamond Horseshoe at Itazuke.
Ocean crossings and in-flight refueling. Bingo fuel and heristerical
ighter pilots!
Hearing every sound a single engine fighter makes at night over the open
cean.
The taxiway sentry (with his flag & machine gun) at the old Taipei
owntown airport.
The manned AA guns at airfields in South Korea. 
The Navy chatter on guard (243.0) and the comment, "Say again. You were
ut out by a Mayday."
Seventy-thousand-foot-high thunderstorm clouds in the tropics.
Sipping Pina Coladas in a luxury hotel bar, while a typhoon rages
utside.
Chinese Junks bobbing in Aberdeen harbor.
The smell of winter kimchee in Korea.
Watching the latitude count down to zero on the INS, and seeing it
witch from "N" to "S" as you cross the equator.
Wake Island at sunrise.
Oslo Harbor at dusk (3:00 P.M. in Winter).
Icebergs in the North Atlantic.
Contrails.
Pago Harbor, framed by puffy cumulus clouds in the late afternoon.
The camaraderie of a good crew.
Ferryboat races in Sydney Harbor.
Experiencing all the lines from the old Jo Stafford tune:
ee the pyramids along the Nile. See the sunrise on a tropic isle. See
he market place in old Algiers. Send home photographs and souvenirs.
ly the ocean in a silver plane. See the jungle when it's wet with
ain.
White picket fences in Auckland.
Trade winds.
White sandy beaches lined with swaying palms.
Double-decker buses in London.
The endless expanse of white on a polar crossing.
The Star Ferry in Hong Kong.
Bangkok after a tropical rain.
The unmistakable stink of the Bangkok floating market.
Mono Lake and the steep wall of the Sierra Nevada range when approached
rom the east.
The bus ride to Stanley ... on the upper deck front seat of the
ouble-decker bus.
The Long Bar at the Raffles. or the Basement Bar with a bay window to
he swimming pool at the Reef Hotel, Honolulu
Heavy takeoffs from the "cliff" runway at Guam. Or at Riverside when it
s 115 degrees Farenheit.
Landings in the B-767 when the only way you knew you had touched down
as the movement of the spoiler handle.
Jimmy's Kitchen.
The deafening sound of tropical raindrops slamming angrily against the 
indshield, accompanied by the hurried slap, slap, slap of the
indshield wipers while landing in a torrential downpour in Manila.
Endless ripples of sand dunes across the trackless miles of the Sahara
esert.
Miller's Pub in Chicago.
German beer.
Oktoberfest.
The white cliffs of Dover.
Oom-pa-pa music at Meyer Gustels in Frankfurt (with a G.I. guest
onductor).
Fjords in Norway.
The aimless compass, not knowing where to point as you near the top of
the world on a polar crossing. The whiskey compass on a steep tilt.

he old Charlie-Charlie NDB approach into Kai Tak.

he 4 NDB approach into Teheran.

rain bags crammed with charts to exotic places.

he Peak tram in Hong Kong.
Breaking out of the clouds on the ILS approach to runway 13 at Kai Tak,
nd seeing a windshield full of checkerboard.
An empty weight takeoff in a B-757 or a C-141.
The bustle of Nathan Road on a summer day.
Sliding in over Crystal Springs reservoir for a visual approach and
anding on 1R in SFO.
The smell of tropical blooms when you step off the plane in Fiji.
The smell of clean air as you step off the plane in Alaska.
The quietness of a DC-10 cockpit.
The rush of a full-speed-brakes descent at barber pole in a B-727.
Deadheading in First Class.
The Canarsie approach into JFK.
The Eiffel Tower.
Max gross weight takeoffs.
Cross-wind landings at 29 Kts/90 degrees.
Good co-pilots...worse yet, bad copilots!
Man-sized rudder pedals as big as pie plates.
Leak-checking your eyelids on a long night flight.
The cloud of haze emanating from the crematorium adjacent to Yokota on a
old day (there's a little nip in the air).
And, as one friend so perceptively pointed out, payday!
Making an aural null range approach . . .
Then there was Venus coming up before the sun in the Eastern sky, giving
he horizon a light show like no other! 
Aerobatics -- in any airplane!
And the best . . . watching countless rounds of 23/37/57 MM being shot
t you, at night, and ALL missing. Again, Red, white, and green tracers
n Christmas eve!
Your first solo ... in any airplane.
The smell of cordite after your first strafing run.
Hitting the target with your first willie pete ... then having the first 
ighter hit your smoke with his first bomb (back in the pre-LGB days).
Purposely flying through a rain shower hoping to wash the mud off your 
irplane.
Doing a split-S in 600 feet (OV-10).
The nickle ice cream cone at Wake Island base ops.
Wondering what that huge trail of smoke/contrail was that suddenly streaked 
ownward from above off your right wing while flying your C-141 at FL350 
id-Pac one night. (Meteor? Space junk? So THAT'S what happened to those 
lanes crossing the ocean that were never heard from again.)
Happy Hour ... anywhere.
The 15-piece Philippino band at the Clark O-Club. (They allegedly played 
or MacArthur when he was there, then for the Japanese when they were there,
hen for the USAF at the crossroads of the Pacific.)
Loading six F-5s onto your C-5 and taking off past the ferris wheel at 
adati AB, Iran.
 Six-ship KC-10 flight, three-on-three refueling.

earing 'Bah, Humbug!' on company frequency when you're at FL410 mid-Pacific
n Christmas Eve.
nd the vague comfort of hearing it echoed and knowing you're not alone in
oneliness.

eer and Eggs during Happy Hour at Yokota starting at 0500 (5:00 AM), a
ight's rest in those wonderful three men to a room quarters, and a bowl of
OC Soup in the O'Club served so hot it was gurgling like a Yellowstone lava
it.

hat pet monkey tethered outside the door at Base Ops (ALCE) at Tan San Hut
hat always grabbed your pens & pencils from your sleeve pocket and wouldn't
ive them back and bit them in half if you pressed him. 

tarting a trip from a MAC base with a crew of five total strangers and
oming back ten days later fully coordinated and good friends.

he efficiency of the tailors at Fussa outside Yokota, first trip-measure,
nd trip-final fitting, 3rd trip-pickup, ready!  Never dressed better.

earing the Fright Engineer say, 'Sun's coming up AC, time for the gear to
o down!'  And how often that was true after flying all night.

xperiencing what a beautiful place was Beirut, Lebanon before some warped
hinkers decided to blow it all up.

eeing those railroad tracks crossing the threshold of the runway at
eshawar, Pakistan and wondering who controlled the trains.  And the great
ives Club who met the MAC flight and fed the flight crew refreshments
uring the short stop there.

hose ten pound boxes of frozen king crab you could purchase and have
elivered right to your aircraft.  The loadmaster stored them in an unheated
art of the airplane and they were still frozen solid when you got back
tateside.

ountry ham and grits for breakfast at Charleston.

he veteran aircraft commander to the puzzled co-pilot who couldn't
nderstand the foreign controller, 'Just say Roger'.




elp yourself to FREE treats served up daily at the Messenger Café. Stop by
oday! = 
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