No more flying fighters ;-(

[fantom]

 

They  won’t let me fly their jet fighters anymore.  The day after I no 

longer pulled 5-6 Gs (or more) multiple times every day, my middle started  
expanding. It hasn’t stopped. First my toes disappeared, and then the  
equipment in the Nether Regions disappeared except on outstanding  occasions. My 
feet might as well be in China. My toenails are turning into  claws. 

The  ladies no longer look at my ass as I walk  by. 

My  eyesight has started to fade. I once had the best vision of anyone I 
ever  flew with except Chuck Yeager. He could see another aircraft at 60 miles 
and I could not see it until 50 miles. And he was older than me. I guess  
that is why he was an Ace. 

The  music has faded. All those years in close proximity of screaming jet 
engines will do more damage to your hearing than a rock band. The VA gave  
me some very nice hearing aids but I don’t wear the damned things. I don’t 
want to look like an old man. However, it can be a blessing when I piss off Silvia. 

My  prostate started to enlarge and I have to pee every 5 minutes. Speaking 
of  which: The pressure is too low, the hose is too short, and the nozzle 
is  set on spray. I find it advisable to sit down to pee to avoid getting Wet 
Foot Syndrome. I know the location of every publicly accessible bathroom  
within 100 miles. 

My  gyro tumbled and I have vertigo. I have had it many times while flying 
in  Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) weather but this is different. This is  
Visual Flight Rules (VFR) weather all the time. I walk like a drunken  sailor. 
My golfing days are over. My back swing would put me flat of my  back. A 
walker may not be far in the  future. 

If  I were to find myself on the ground in the middle of an empty Wal-Mart  
parking lot, I would not be able to get up onto my feet. The legs are just  
not there anymore. I would have to crawl to a shopping cart or fence to  
pull myself up. 

My  smoking days finally caught up with me and I have emphysema/COPD. I 
used  to cuss while climbing out returning from North Vietnam if I was so high  
that my Zippo lighter would not light so I could have a smoke to help me  
come down from an adrenalin high. I have had to go on oxygen in order to  
have enough to live. It is a real bummer to have to haul a bottle of O2  around 
with me when I go out of the house. I wear a nose harness at home  and drag 
a plastic tube around and an oxygen concentrator out in the  garage runs 
24/7. The tube is always snagging on something or someone  steps on the damn 
thing and it almost jerks me ears off. Don’t get me  wrong. I like oxygen. I 
used to really like it after a night of serious  partying when I had an 
early morning mission. As soon as I got into the  cockpit I went on 100% O2 for 
startup, taxi, and weapons arming pit. By  the time I had wheels up I was 
ready to  fight. 

My  sex life is 99.9% in my head. But I think that is pretty normal for the 
male population, which thinks about sex on the average about every 10  
seconds. At least that has always been my  average. 

And  they won’t let me fly their jet fighters  anymore.

Getting  old is a bitch. 

Some  after Thoughts: 

Some  people wonder why old fighter pilots (there are no Ex Fighter Pilots) 
miss  flying high performance jets so much. A couple of  examples: 

1.  I start up, taxi out and line up on the centerline of a 10,000-foot  
runway. I throttle up to full power, release the brakes and go into  
afterburner. There is a huge shove against my back that pins my helmet  against the 
back headrest. The runway streaks under me faster and faster.  At flying 
speed I raise the gear to get the wheels free of the earth.  Flaps up. Sink 
down a foot or two until the end of the runway and then the  field boundary 
flashes underneath and I pull the nose up to point to the  sky and freedom. The 
horizon rapidly expands and after about three minutes  and 6-7 miles above 
the earth I come out of burner, roll inverted and at  zero Gs let the nose 
slowly drift down to the horizon. I look out the top  of my canopy at the 
earth far below and think about all those pedestrian  assholes down there that 
will never know what true joy  is.



2.  I complete my mission in North Vietnam and climb out South toward home 
base far away. I have to go to 53,000 feet in order to have enough fuel to 
make it. Once there, the adrenalin is subsiding and I turn off my cockpit  
lights to enjoy the view. There is not one light visible an the ground.  
But above: Oh my God!! It is unbelievable! The sight is not describable.  Only 
God could have created something like this. The stars and galaxies  are so 
bright that I do not need cockpit lights to read my  instruments.  This is 
something that an old fighter pilot cannot  forget and it is only one of 
thousands of memories that only an Old  Fighter Pilot can have. 

And  they won’t let me fly their jet fighters  anymore.

 

[carusoam]

Nicely written thoughts Gary, I thought for a moment I was with you in the Fantom!

thanks for sharing.

Best regards,

-a-

[ArtVandelay]

You get no sympathy from me (insert jealous smiley face)

[Loogie]

Fantom, and then your WSO asks you what h$ll are you doing? Trying to kill me?

Just kidding, I think of flying a fighter every day; that sexy single seat machine I flew for 28years, she brought me home every sortie, I chuckle and think how lucky I was to be part of that fraternity.  I hear you brother and pick your nickel in the grass...

check six

Loogie

 

 

[carl]

salute