gray wool socks and the round-toed worn-out tan cowboy boots, packed
his flightcase,
packed Pute, grabbed a banana in the kitchen, put on his very faded
brown leather Navy
flight jacket with the brown wool around the neck and the white wool
inside (his usually
needs dry cleaning), then his brown "Indy Jones" hat, clipped his sunglasses
onto his Gold
wire rim glasses and carried everything out to his '77 Dodge 4-wheel-drive
gray half-ton
pickup and started warming it up. The early April air at their 10,216
feet, more or less, bit
at the exposed flesh on his face and hands as the morning fog clouds
floated along the
treetops. Julian came out and over to the truck and Kit rolled down
the window.
"Started huh?" Jul smiled,
then let a little laugh go through his nose.
"'Mazin', huh?" Kit came
back, nodding and smiling as he ate the banana.
"Hey...you have a safe trip,
'migo,
you hear? You really have Ria concerned....We'll
be ready for ya tonight. O...by the way...now I don't mind smoothin'
out your runway for
ya," smiling again as he put out his hand for their shake.
"Gracias, 'meeg.
Sorry I wasn't here to help," Kit answered in his early morning frog
throat.
"Yeah, right," Jul
chuckled and they shared another little laugh. "Me an' Huli'll get the
gate for ya...we'll follow y'out...if your low rider here's goinna
make it that far..." and they
had a well subdued guffaw together. Kit nodded with a big grin, knowing
he would let the
laugh out if he said anything.
Julio had come out while
they had been talking and was warming up their '76 gray
Dodge 4-wheel-drive three-quarter ton pickup. In moments the three
were driving the two
trucks out their trail over the frozen ground, rocks and snow through
the pines and aspen
and other flora and wild fauna to the "gate". Kit walked to the edge
of the national forest dirt
road, checked for sounds of any vehicles, then signalled "clear" to
the guys and they moved
away the logs, rocks and brush that hid their "driveway", which went
down a hill from the
road, took a hard right and disappeared into the trees, so it was darn
near invisible, and the
gate blended in with the rest of the surrounding forest floor. They
were hidden well.
They got both the Dodges
up on the road, then "closed" the gate and, with their last
shakes, Kit was saying, "have a grande one, 'migos. See
ya pards real soon."
"Vaya con Dios,"
Julian answered as Juli saluted. Kit returned the salute and winked to
Julian, then headed on down the forest trail to the headwaters of the
Pecos, then onward
down Route 63 (always making him remember being in court for a speeding
ticket when he
learned of JFK's assassination) and on down the valley, then West for
Santa Fe and the
airport on the West side of town where he bought a $144 ticket for
Fort Worth with cash.
After a little bacon, eggs,
toast, 'taters' and coffee over a Santa Fe "New Mexican", he
called his friend Octavian, a vice president at First State Bank, got
a $9o,ooo loan on his
account, then ambled by the ATM to add several grand to the $5,ooo
and change he already
had on him. He was on his flight within an hour and landing in Fort
Worth in another, called
Ed and took a taxi over to Luck Field, South of town.
Ed, a 50-something tall
thin man, was in the hangar. Kit paid and "adiosed" his driver,
Cord, then walked over to shake, say hey and get to business. They
started a preflight
walkaround right there at the tail and looked up, down, in and all
around - hinges, rods,
surfaces, lights, antennae, landing gear, tires, ports, tubes, in the
fuel tanks, under the engine,
in it, checked the oil, the prop, drained the sumps and continued back
around to the tail. Ed
was explaining everything he could think of about his craft as they
went. And Kit was in love
at first sight, as usual. He was buying that bird.
"What a beaut!" he told
Ed.
"Sure is, i'n' she? Makes
you wanta fondle 'er, d'n' she?" Ed smiled. "So...you wanta
fly 'er?"
"Vamanos!" Kit affirmed.
They took that Mooney up and flew around, then came
back and shot some landings, Ed a last one, and taxied back in. Ed
got the documents and
books out after shutting down at the hangar and they went through them
all - airworthiness,
registration, airframe and engine logs, weight and balance, radio license,
minimum equipment
list, manual and title.
"Everything looks in perfect
shape, Eddo."
"Yep, it's all been done
right, Kit. Looks like you've gone through this before."
"Uh, no...not really," he
fibbed for cover, though what of it he might retain uncertain,
then felt a twinge of remorse over that while he got his briefcase
out of the cockpit, took out
his checkbook and cut a check for $76,ooo.
"How's this look, Ed?" and
handed it to him.
Ed looked at it, then said,
"well...it looks fine, Kit, but....I'm sorry...I'm real sure I can
get what I'm asking...if not more..."
"Yeah...you're right, Ed.
Well..." Kit opened the snap on his right jacket pocket,
pulled out one of his wads of cash and started counting out hundreds
on the wing. "I did
come prepared, amigo," smiling at Ed until stopping at 30 bills.
"How's this?"
"O, it's real good, Kit,
but...she's still worth everything I'm askin'....I'm sorry, I don't
mean to be a sidewinder or anything..."
"Naw. You're right on, Ed,"
and Kit counted out another 10, which was all he had in
that roll, then coyly checked the balance in his check book with a
furrowed brow,
pretending to figure up if he could afford a dollar more.
"What do you do, Kit?" Ed
seemed to be giving in, though it had sounded kind of like,
'where were you when JFK was assassinated'.
"O...heck, Ed, uh, I have
a little ranch with some 'migos...and invest a little. How 'bout
you?"
"Electrical engineer...what
kind of investing? Stocks?"
"Yep."
"You any good?"
"Aw, fair....Heck, Ed, pretty
all right, I guess."
"Well...tell you what...let's
go to my bank...and have your check checked out and...
if you wouldn't mind giving me some good stock tips...maybe we can
work this thing on
out. I haven't been too lucky lately."
"Well, sorry to hear that,
Eddo, but...yeah!, that sounds like the winner! Let's vamos,
A?" He grabbed his things out of the plane, Ed locked up the hangar,
and they jumped in
the Beamer and talked stocks, planes and flying on the way.
"Good as Gold," the bank
VP apprised Ed on the check, hanging up the phone as
they sat around the old oak desk there in South Fort Worth. Ed turned
his head to Kit and
said, "well, Kit...I guess we've got a deal," stretching out his right
arm until his big hand ran
into Kit's.
"Aw YES! Terrific, Ed!....you
are a great living American!"
They did the signatures
and, in Ed's Beam on the way back to Luck, talked stocks.
Kit got in some questions on computer engineeering and reaped some
knowledge he hadn't
had, then their discourse flowed back to flying.
Kit got to telling the story
of when his Cessna 152 tail was almost ripped off by some
kind of wire when he and one of his doctor-students were flying up
a river on the deck in the
Phillipines. He proceeded to tell Ed how he had climbed them up a couple
hundred feet
while he was looking back at the tail flapping in the wind and noticing
all the popped rivets,
then slowed that Cessna to near stall speed to have the nose block
the wind for that vertical
stabilizer while the doc was yelling not to stall out and kill him; then
chose the closest runway,
even though figuring if they had made it that far they would
make it home but why risk it,
and made a good landing in crosswind, even though that rudder was dysfunctional,
on that
constabulary airfield, a grass strip maybe 1,5oo feet long. And Kit
went on a little more,
telling Ed about the twenty miles or so he and the doc had taken that
crowded open-air bus
with the chickens and such on the roof back to Clark Air Base. Ed was
cracking up.
"Just dropped the right
wing," he told Ed, "to straighten out the nose just before
touchdown....and grounded myself. Turned out...that was my last instructin'."
Ed wanted more. So Kit,
after a thought, went to the story of teaching trim to Vernon
back in South Carolina. Ole Kit had rolled in full forward trim to
teach how much pressure that
could put on a yoke - why forward and not back Kit did not know - and
had "gived" ole Vern
the airplane. That following moment they were headed more than straight
down - maybe, O,
12o degrees, Kit told - with cruise power. Vern had let go of
the yoke, something Kit had
not figured on. So Kit told Ed how he had pulled the power and smoothly
leveled them off at
O, 14o knots or so above the tree tops after seeing all the cigar and
cigarette butts and ashes
floating around the cockpit, including in their faces.
"So I learned better judgement...I
thought...among other things," Kit admitted during
Ed's strong guffawing. "Guess I was lucky he didn't sue me."
Ed offered the story of
when he had bought the Mooney and had run into one dam
hellacious squall line about 1oo miles from Fort Worth near empty on
fuel and was following
the expressway at about 5o feet above ground - to see it - then saw
the fuel tanks filled with
the maximum usable fuel load after landing.
"Guess I taxied in on the
last drops..." he confessed.
"I'll be damned," Kit laughed,
"I did that too!" and added the time he landed his out-of-
gas Pawnee sprayer on a dirt road on a Georgia island - "St. Mary's,
I think" - crossing an
old wooden bridge in the rollout, hitchhiked to a gas station and back,
and dodged the huge
oaks after liftoff by going wings vertical through the gap in the branches,
then didn't make it
home to South Carolina until after dark and "landed" without lights.
"Jeezuz, Kit...you sure
were crazy," Ed laughed. "Well, anyway...Juliet's a great girl.
You'll sure love 'er...if you don't kill yourself," he smiled.
"Yeah. I don't know how
many lives I have left. But, yep, she's really goinna be a ball!"
"I'd like to stay in touch,
Kit, I mean, especially on the investing..."
"Hell, you just wanta see
if I kill myself."
"Well...yeah," and laughed,
"...so here's my number," handing Kit his card.
Kit put it in his left jacket
pocket and pulled out his little notebook and Gold Cross,
wrote down his number on a page, ripped it out and gave it to Ed. "Here's
mine."
"You sure drive a hard deal...sidewinder,"
Ed smiled over, "I sure didn't think I'd let her
go for any less. But I'm going to buy some of that internet stock you
seem to like most. What
is it? Yeehaw?" he joked. "And we'll see what happens." (It was 1995.)
"Here's hopin' we both
make good money on it, 'migo," and they were back at the
hangar. "So, Ed...now you're without a plane," he added as they got
out of the sedan and
went in the hangar door.
"I'm close to finishing
up a Lancair kit...Kit."
"Ho man, that's upstanding!"
he answered as he went to Juliet's door.
Ed ran the electric motor
from the control on the wall, opening the hangar door, and
came back, "yeah! Three hundred miles per, they say! Did it for under
a hundred thow, too!"
"Awesome, pard!" opening
up Juliet and putting his things inside while glancing back at
Ed with genuine admiration.
"Yeah...I hate parting with
the Jul. But it's time, I guess. Had her seven years. And now
have the...kit," and laughed. "Where'd you get a name like that,
anyway?"
"O...the folks tell me somewhere
I'm related to Kit Carson. But I think Dad just had one
wild West fantasy too many."
Ed chuckled, "wow, Kit Carson,
huh...he was some pi-on-ear, wa'n'ee? Guess I have to
read up on 'm now." He reached into his pocket as he walked over to
Kit, who was coming
out of Juli, pulled out the keys and handed them over. "All your's now,
captain."
"Thank ya mighty, captain,"
Kit returned in kind. "Sure 'preciate all your consideration and
...well, heck, it's been good gettin' to know ye, Ed," and they shook
heartily once more, then
pulled the Mooney out and hugged very briefly, patting each other's
backs, like real friends
do, then Kit walked around Juliet's right wingtip and stepped up on
her wingwalk when he got
to the root, saying, "happy trails, pardner."
"Yeah," Ed laughed, "that's
what Kit Carson always sang, wasn't it?"
"Yip. Right along with Tom
Mix, Dale and Trigger, I guess," laughing as he got inside and
scooted over to the left front seat.
"I'll be in touch, amigo,"
Ed added, leaning against the front of his black Beamo off the
right wing, smiling, hands in his pockets. "I guess I've got to see
her go."
"Well, Eddo, it's not like
she chose me."
"Hell, Kit...sometimes we
may not think so, but women always do the choosin'." Kit gave
a thumb and eyebrows up. "Hey, Kit...you have done this before,
haven't ya?"
"Well, yeah, Ed. I won't
lie. Hope there's no hard feelin's," and smiled his good pearlies
back as he turned the key, toggled up the master, rotating beacon and
fuel pump and pushed in
the fuel mix.
"No problemo," Ed
came back, "I figured you were tryin' to buffalo me. You just did
it
right, that's all," and smiled.
"Gracias, 'migo...clear
prop," Kit all smiles too.
"Clear prop, Cody. Adios."
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