Flying Low and Fast

It was a perfect day; the day before back to the cloud mines. The wife of my youth left for work at 6:20 A.M. At 6:21 A.M. I was pre-flighting my single seat Japanese death missile for a run deep into the deserts of Arizona. Pre-flight completed at 6:25 A.M.; run the before start checklist, and then battery switch ON. The annuciator panel comes to life, testing itself as the fuel pump primes the injectors with a whine. Press the start button and the 147 horsepower, four cylinder, liquid cooled engine instantly comes to life and settles into a rough, staccato thrumming as it warms to it's happy operating temperature of 176 degrees. Even after 30 years on two wheels and seeing first hand, as an air ambulance pilot (during an airline furlough), the carnage and death possible from this type of motorcycle, I still love these beasts. It must be a pilot thing...

Leaving my favorite station with a full load of 91 octane gasoline, I merged onto the interstate westbound, quickly up-shifting through the smooth gearbox. I reached zero speed differential with the traffic at 85 m.p.h. The Arizona sky was becoming a cold blue as the sun rose behind me, with calm surface winds; outside air temperature was 50 degrees Fahrenheit, i.e., perfect weather for the mission. Between my Joe Rocket covered legs, the engine was loafing at 5,500 r.p.m.; still another 6,500 before the 12,000 redline... Yikes! Rude and crazy drivers, as always, were reduced to a simple calculus problem of changing velocities and vectors, solved by brutal acceleration and razor sharp handling.

Forty miles behind me, then a sharp right bank off the interstate onto a little known two lane road through some of the most beautiful desert country in the southwest. The road was empty except for a middle-aged airline pilot on a contemporary Nipponese two wheeled version of the A6M Zero. The bike's excellent engine has two very different personalities; below 6,000 r.p.m. it is docile and easily handled by almost any reasonably competent biker. However, above 6,000 r.p.m. is Demon seed country... Danger Will Robinson!! The curving, undulating road was easy prey for the wailing super bike and before I knew it... The first refueling stop was twelve o'clock and less than a mile. I really love to refuel, because I can push the start button, after I finish, and listen to the engine come back to life. Oh, yes, it is so sweet!

After a hot coffee and more 91 octane fuel, the little station vanished in my six. Thirty miles later, I stopped for breakfast at my favorite small town cafe. Another opportunity to push the start button... Oh, Baby! Leaving the little town was an exercise in caution... 45 m.p.h. maximum. Back on the open road, I settled into a cruise profile where the only sound was the force of the slipstream... All other sounds carried away by the wind.

Ninety minutes later, the super bike was ticking as it cooled in the garage.

Out of the blue, rolling thunder filled the streets of my neighborhood. What the heck is going on? Overhead, flying low and fast, a pair of blue and yellow F-18 fighter jets. I could read Navy on the fuselage. It was the Blue Angels!!! I forgot... They were practicing for an airshow tomorrow. I could feel the crackling thunder in my chest. Could my day possibly get any better?

Well, yes, but I would have to wait until she returned home.