Old things
Well, apparently I ain't superman and I finally had to (and brother I mean HAD to) take a nap today. Two weeks of 4-6 hours of sleep a night and running full tilt finally caught up with me and I passed out on the couch while the peach pie I made was baking. By the way, if the pie and the oven are 425 degrees, chances are the pie bird which fell over during the baking process is also 425 degrees. Just sayin'.
Yesterday was a work day and I needed Chevron to help me out just one last time. She's still wounded and I'm wondering now if the problem is in the intake manifold. But Chevron was good for just one more roadie...just one more, and she didn't let me down.
My truck is starting to show her age. She's 15 and never been garaged. It's starting to show, especially on the top of the cab, where the sun has been a little brutal to her. Things under the hood aren't so great these days either and as much as I hate to say it, the diagnosing is past my limited ability to figure out. The elements can be tough on stuff.
I stopped and looked at the airplane at the Hill AFB Museum that I used to work on. 1510 is the tail number and I can say that I was one of the last mechanics that worked on it to make it fly. They had the gear doors open and I showed my friend that was with me where we'd hurriedly strung the wire to repair it so it could make its last flight on time. There were reporters waiting. There is also a C-130 at the museum, which is what I work on these days. They still make C-130s. They quit making tankers in 1964. They still fly 'em, but not 1510 and several more like it. They are retired now.
1510 is looking a little rough. the paint is faded like my truck. The elements have taken a bit of the coating off the radome. It looks like crap. It's sad to me that things get old. Even dependable things like 1510 and Chevron. And people like me.
I feel 50 today. I don't mean that I feel like I'm 50 today. I mean that I feel the effects of 50 today. In my mind, I'm still 25 and bullet proof. Physically, parts of me are stronger than I've ever been but the knees and my ankle are letting me know that 50 is real and 25 and bulletproof is a memory.
I like old things. I like 1510 and if it were up to me, we'd just pass the hat and get the thing pained. It should be a source of pride to us that someone thought enough of what we did when we were young to put one of our jets in a museum; if only to preserve that memory. Few will ever know the story of 1510 (I wrote a great story about the day it retired for a contest NPR had back in the day); the trips we took in it, the times it made us mad, or the people we know that worked on it. They just see an aging airplane that needs some TLC.
Like my truck.
And me.
Yesterday was a work day and I needed Chevron to help me out just one last time. She's still wounded and I'm wondering now if the problem is in the intake manifold. But Chevron was good for just one more roadie...just one more, and she didn't let me down.
My truck is starting to show her age. She's 15 and never been garaged. It's starting to show, especially on the top of the cab, where the sun has been a little brutal to her. Things under the hood aren't so great these days either and as much as I hate to say it, the diagnosing is past my limited ability to figure out. The elements can be tough on stuff.
I stopped and looked at the airplane at the Hill AFB Museum that I used to work on. 1510 is the tail number and I can say that I was one of the last mechanics that worked on it to make it fly. They had the gear doors open and I showed my friend that was with me where we'd hurriedly strung the wire to repair it so it could make its last flight on time. There were reporters waiting. There is also a C-130 at the museum, which is what I work on these days. They still make C-130s. They quit making tankers in 1964. They still fly 'em, but not 1510 and several more like it. They are retired now.
1510 is looking a little rough. the paint is faded like my truck. The elements have taken a bit of the coating off the radome. It looks like crap. It's sad to me that things get old. Even dependable things like 1510 and Chevron. And people like me.
I feel 50 today. I don't mean that I feel like I'm 50 today. I mean that I feel the effects of 50 today. In my mind, I'm still 25 and bullet proof. Physically, parts of me are stronger than I've ever been but the knees and my ankle are letting me know that 50 is real and 25 and bulletproof is a memory.
I like old things. I like 1510 and if it were up to me, we'd just pass the hat and get the thing pained. It should be a source of pride to us that someone thought enough of what we did when we were young to put one of our jets in a museum; if only to preserve that memory. Few will ever know the story of 1510 (I wrote a great story about the day it retired for a contest NPR had back in the day); the trips we took in it, the times it made us mad, or the people we know that worked on it. They just see an aging airplane that needs some TLC.
Like my truck.
And me.
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