Dispatch from KABI, Abilene, Texas: I’m perched on the left wingwalk, leaning into the open cockpit. My shirttails keep coming untucked, and I’m praying that the waistline of my pants is high enough that I won’t be mistaken for a plumber, instead of an air racer.
I point to the instrument panel, “This one tells me how fast I’m going through the air, and this one tells me how fast I’m going up or down. This one here tells me what direction I’m going. This is the throttle, I use it to make the plane go faster or slower. Any questions?”
The 7-year-old boy looks up at me with big brown eyes and asks, “Where are the machine guns?”
No one’s ever asked that before. [Read more…]