Return to Tyndall
The 2004 air show season started back up for me in March, and the first show was in Panama City, Florida, the show we lost Chris at. As we flew over the top of Tyndall Air Force Base, I tried to pick out where he might have died. It had been a year, and of course there were no marks to tell me where he hit the ground. We were weaving back and forth as Buck and Dan observed the field to see where the crowd line would be, and what landmarks they would use as references. I missed the signal when they went into the break, a steep pull around to the downwind leg for landing. I was not expecting it, and didn’t even brace for the pull. I sank into my seat and slumped as I almost lost consciousness. I didn’t fight it.
The show went well. After the Saturday performances, Buck’s smoke system was acting up and he pondered how he could fix it. The pump was acting up, and I offered a suggestion: Didn’t he use an automotive fuel pump for the express reason of having a way out in case of a scenario just like this? There was an Auto Zone sitting a few miles away where I could get a pump, if he wanted to go that route.
He looked like someone turned on a light bulb. I made record time driving to the store.
The guy behind the counter didn’t seem especially bright, until I told him I needed a Holley fuel pump. Then he blew me out of the water with a volley from nowhere.
“Hey, you’re with the air show, aren’t you?”
I had a Red Eagle shirt on and passes hanging from my neck. It was pretty obvious.
“Yeah, I am,” I said.
“I bet you’re using that to inject oil into the exhaust to make smoke.”
I couldn’t believe he would know that. I stopped just short of an offer for a job with us.
“How did you know that?”
“Well, he said, “there are a bunch of pilots around here that use them for that.”
People never cease to amaze me.