When EVERYTHING comes together..
My first half dozen sorties of the new tour had pretty much used up any furniture in the house that you can sit on..
So on this sortie I was seated a old fashioned milkcan that is used in the backyard for emptying the BBQ...
It's the right height but it wears on ya..
So I'm in my one-deee flying cap over our base on the coast as the hordes come in from their CV.
And I'm popping them like fish in a barrel..
Got four in the bag..
I'M ONE BAD MOTHER !!
Crowning achievement was poppin a Tiffy that started doin the "floppy thing" screamin "Oh puuulleez don't kill me"
Two notches of flaps ridin a stall I killed the miserable gamin bastage..
I yell to the lady "NOW" and she hits the stereo for the opening score of Top Gun..
My butt is starting to hurt. There is only so many ways to adjust the way you sit on a milkcan..
One cheek is numb and the other is starting to tingle..
I've got the altitude back and dive on a Spit trying to vulch, light his soggy bellybutton up...
...and hit him on the pass through....
Problem here..
My one-deee isn't handling well, and it's smoking..
Look at my right wing and it's not all there..
Ah jeez....
Drop my gear, start droppin flaps and it's controllable...
The cons have thinned out and I'm gonna put her down..
I no longer feel anything in my butt, and my right leg is getting numb..
I'm hot, can't get too slow, I'm on final..
The gear touch way too fast, fighting the rudder with one foot I can no longer feel trying to keep her straight..
She groundloops and is coming to a stop...
As the field is captured..
And the ack opens up..
