It was tough to drag my arse off the couch given that my bowels are bound up tighter that a bull's arse in fly season but it was an offer that I couldn't refuse ... a call from my young friend Mark. He more or less insisted that he was coming up in his Yak to pick me up and fly to Arlington Washington for the airshow where it was promised that many of my friends would be there and there was lots of good flying to enjoy.
I had flown his Yak before and had carressed this lithe beauty into some smooth aeros and so I settled into the familiar back seat for the thirty minute trip that took me to the Mecca of aviation. You see people at their best at these events and even the customs clearance was both friendly and enjoyable.
We parked in the warbird section next to the Mustang , two Grumman Wildcats , T28's , T6 Texans , 2 L39 jets , Beech 18's , more Yaks, numerous ultralights , homebuilts and restored classics ... hundreds of motor homes , tents and thousands of people with some camped for a week or more.
We then made our way to Camp Sea Bee , a group of outlaw aviators and performers on the fringe. They are the true Rat Pack in the aviation world and yet were always visited by the top performers and aviators and even some aviation loving Transport Canada inspectors on their own time.
They had circled the wagons way off in the far corner but failed to be invisible to the lawmen whose visits bacame more frequent as the week rolled on. And sure enough , there were many of my friends at this den of iniquity where the overwhelming presence of His Immenseness , Jerry Janes , presided. The party was in full swing with a background of tumbling Sukhois and Yaks , snarling ballets of John Mazurecks T6 , Mustangs and all manner of antics but I was most impressed with the gasoline powered marguirita machine that produced two gallons a minute and I was soon to become one of it's victims. The mix of morphine and marguritas felled me like an ox after a brief period of laughs and tales of daring-do so I rested in one of the motor homes only to be awakened later by some bagpipe music that tempted me to rejoin the meelee..
The grandson of His Immenseness at the tender age of fifteen or so was the piper and his younger brother was playing the kettle drum with much flourish and were joined by a young sixteen year old princess with enormous talent. They played with such beauty and finesse that even the oft harrased neighbours couldn't resist to come and enjoy this pleasurable example of youth. I had a bad case of the shakes and couldn't stand up so I settled into a chair with the lovely Donna comforting me. Bud Granley , probably the best living airshow performer (he does a snap roll just after take off in a T6 that defies logic) wrapped my old bag of bones in his jacket as we enjoyed the pipes. I shook like an old radial engine with a bad mag and three plugs oiled up.
Bud wanders off to the pipers ... I sense something going on ...a quick glance at grandpa Jerry ... he is in on it too.
Bud speaks as the crowd hushes. He draws attention to our friends and fallen aviators and suggests we sould never forget them and I am touched.
But then .... " and to them we pay tribute , but also we should pay tribute to those amongst us who will soon pass on ... (a powerful pause) ...and this is now dedicated to Duke Elegant."
First one piper .... Amazing Grace ... the haunting , powerful wailing of the pipes..... and then the second piper kicks in.
My cancer , the pain , the shakes ... all displaced by a joy hitherto unimagined..... hands on by bony , wasted shoulders ... Bud , Mark , Paul , Donna. And a glance at Big Jerry so proud of his grandkids ... this beauty awash in tears of joy.
And all I could say was "It seems like everything is OK."