The Road is a cruel B*%&CH...

I get out here and after a while all I want to do is go home. Then, I get home and after a while all I want to do is hit the road.

As a longtime recovering Rover Dog in good standing I thought I had it under control.

It only took one good hit off of the tail pipe to start jonesing.

Here on the second and much better trip I have the shakes.

It has been really affirming and reassuring to be here at the site formerly known as RAS-FTY.

"You're back!"
"When did you get back?"
"Where have you been?"

HUGS! Actual squeeze my breath out hugs.

History. There are a couple of people here that I have know since the beginning of my career.

It is so freakin' cool to be around them. I recall some piece of useless trivia and THEY REMEMBER IT. They add to it and elaborate on it.

There is nothing quite like being with someone that you share history and common roots with. That something is impossible to duplicate.

J. T. C. and Beeper are two prime examples.

J.T.C. called me a 'big stupid jerk' for not going to the Braves game with the rest of the crowd the other night. I explained my emotional aversion and the explanation was understood and accepted. We talked about shared times and experiences. I believe it was comforting to us both.

I helped Beeper deliver an airplane this morning. It could have been 20 years ago in Selma, AL. Wordless communication. Hand signals are a fact of life in this business but when it's done in a minimalistic way, with facial expressions even. Hell, even the sound of the PT6's was enough to tell me what was going on. (When the turbine began to spool and the ignitors started to snap and my mental TACH said "12% or better, Beeper pushed the fuel lever up and... the 'three of us were in synch. R/H engine was slooooow to come out of feather. )

More to follow. I'm in a writting mood.