Yesterday I went to our local municipal airport to see a Douglas DC3.
First designed and built in the 1930's, this plane is truly a work of art, with its gentle, but modern lines, and its patriotic paint job.
We got to see it take off and land, but we didn't ride it (seats cost $150-- I think I'll pass.) When the engines cranked, billowing clouds of exhaust came sputtering out, but the engines weren't very loud, and we were standing right next to it (behind a chainlink fence).
Here I am dwarfed by the art-deco American Airlines logo on the side. I'm not sure why I'm not smiling. I was really tired yesterday (I got up at 5:30 and went to bed at 11:30 on Friday). Plus my shoulder was hurting. But I was having a good time. Honest!
The day was fantastically cool & blustery with grey cloudy skies and gusts of wind that tousled your hair. Seeing that big old plane take off made you really think about the miracle of flight. Back in the old days of flight, it was sort of this risky, adrenaline-laced, "are we going to make it?" kind of thing. Everything is aluminum and wood. It's just cool.
Nowadays think of flying, and you come up with pictures of security checkpoints, taking off your shoes, and gargantuan jetliners that make flying look like it never took any thought at all.
Back then the skies were a frontier. And 'aviator' was the equivalent of 'hero'.
Huzzah for the DC3! (Even though it's not rocket powered!)
---misterbingley | 
