After class I strolled on down to Quinlean Creek to do some thinking. Green was beginning to replace the winter gray around it. I walked along from a footbridge on campus to the Travis street bridge and back down again. I knew I needed to push the news away and start focusing on basics. The recent rains had altered the channel a bit and the creek had a clear heavy flow. I found myself amazed at the change from beauty to beauty. I saw a couple sunfish near the fringes of the deep pool. They were fat and somewhat round in comparison to the smooth lines of a large mouth bass. They also stuck out with their bright orange color and distinctive bluegill. As I crossed back on the dorm side of the creek at Travis Street I found myself relaxing again. I walked along the creek on the other side to the Rex Kelly Pavilion. Even in Kerrville the culture war could rear its ugly head. I had been in the thick of it. I noticed even with all the blazing intensity I felt a bit more relaxed and I actually enjoyed the debate with Huddleton even though it was boring. The outcome was never in doubt and the maneuvering occurred slowly and lazily. This kind of thing the fear element was vanishing and an honest bit of fun was entering the equation. If there had been a greater challenge I would have enjoyed it more but just firing up those sections of the brain was run. I was getting loose on the stick. Getting loose on the stick though had made me a smoother pilot. I had ducked out at one point when we discussed the slim possibility of a foreign attack and he said all foreign policy was amoral. I could have responded but there were too many unknowns and there was a distinct possibility of me losing. My debate style had become somewhat more conservative: this was for real I knew and why bother with a difficult shot when odds were an easier one would prop up anyway. So what wound up happ-ening was not an intense maneuvering debate it was a couple missile shots fired from long range with something only more steep than a standard rate turn. There was more than a fair amount of anticipation knowing where he was going next and having a counter preset to it. I did respectfully but gosh darn getting a kill even an easy one was a call for some celebra-tion. I was learning to fight my style long-range anticipation and little close in mucking. At every opportunity I practiced the point by point high maneuver debate style knowing that once I became engaged one I had to win it quickly or end it with a draw. Some of what I had done with my professor was point counter point but he was highly predictable and I knew every move he would make before he made it. I practiced point counter point debate at every opportunity with people who weren't as predictable simply because I knew it was a big weak-ness of mine. There were a percentage of people that if once they got me in one I was meat on their table. By practicing with friends in the dorm about petty issues of world history, I reduced the number of people who could beat me in that kind of debate by a small but significant number. I headed back to my dorm room and as I relaxed and prepped myself for the trip to the café. I had a feeling that the howling crescendo of the week was beginning to lighten a bit. Walking alone besides the creek was a good way to evaluate things.

As I flew I found myself admiring the country. I almost had to pinch myself from the lime in the water to odd ball sound track of KFAN that I had tuned in the VOR. I found myself enjoying life while pondering another question brought up by a line from Ray Wylie Hubbard's new release entitled "Ballad of the Crimson Kings." The chorus was haunting, "There are those who can rise above blind faith..... others just can't seem to pray..... then there are those condemned by the Gods to write they just sparkle and fade away." The whole song was dark. I considered myself a writer and beyond the culture war and my love of the hills I found myself blown away by the people I had met as if my life was in a constant state of flux with a large number of life change units per month. I wrote to tell the tale tales of beauty and tales of horror I had seen a whole lot was that my "condemnation." I flew on with another riddle to solve. The bleak mood was broken with Jimmy Buffet's new song "Fruitcakes." Parrot heads are Calvinists and some Calvinists might just be parrot heads I discovered. I sang the chorus along almost laughingly, "Fruitcakes on the galley fruitcakes in the street walkin naked through the cross walk in the middle of the week. Half-baked cookies in the oven Half-baked humans on the bus There's a little bit of fruitcake in everyone of us." I came to the conclusion might was well laugh at ourselves and enjoy the gift of life. KFAN was a weird station. I turned it off as I entered a downwind heading due south with a Pitts S2B in front of me.

The final was short of the S2B and my extension of downwind proved to be highly unnecessary. I noticed that once the power was off the S2B had all the glide of a weakly thrown brick. I wound up having a final so long I could drank half a cup of coffee and eaten a donut during the time. I taxied to my spot and quickly shut down.

As I was shutting down a short muscular lady approached in a flight suit. She had blond hair and blue eyes. The Pitts was clearly an air show performer. She offered to help me tie down my airplane if we did hers together. I being the consummate gentleman was more than happy to do so. As we tied down the airplanes we chatted a bit. She was a flight attendant for Southwest who was working on her masters in Aeronautical Engineering. She flew Air shows on weekends was en route to Uvalde and decided to stop in for a burger and fly back before night fell. Her name was Cheryl Ann Blackshear. She had wanted to take a look at the fabled cafe. We had served several airline captains with Piper Cubs and they recommended the joint to her. She was somewhat taken aback by the few remaining scorch marks from the cafe's explosive opening.

I took her order and I walked in washed my hand and laid a burger down the grill. It was done in a short time. Donna's stare said a five hundred-word essay (relating to the potent and intoxicating mix I was dealing with good looking women and hot airplanes) when she saw the silly grin on my face. I was doing my best to hide it. It was like any other burger I made I could honestly admit. She wanted it medium she got it medium like one of hundreds I had sent out. She offered to give me an intro to aerobatics course the following morning. She showed me her instructors rating. The Pitts was a two-seater. She did not have to ask twice. We had a few more friendly words and I heart another airplane come in. She was an instructor seeking out new students she was an evangelist of aerobatic flight. She was preaching to the choir.

There was the distinctive throaty bass rumble of a round engine. It was a sweet sound to my ears. Cheryl Ann Blackshear uttered one word, "Stearman." She said a sentence and I flew out the door to behold the sight. She joined me hamburger in hands. It had a silver paint job. Someone had done the research and painted it the correct WWII Army Air Force colors. My jaw fell the floor as I examined the airplane. The chrome on the spinner was glistening. The deep-throated rumble of the airplane at idle subsided. Donna said, "Now behave like big boys and girls drooling is impolite." I laughed and this was joined by a cackle. Cheryl Ann looked back and was shocked I heard her call out "Captain Edwards!"

He had graying hair fairly closely cropped. He asked me, "Has she suckered you into an aerobatics lesson?" I replied "Yes she has." He looked at me, "Don't eat two hours before hand unless you want to see it twice." He then ordered a half-pound burger, which I cooked and served. The locals came in and I soon found myself busy trying to keep up the orders. Cheryl Ann caught my attention and looked me straight in the eye, "Seven o'clock Louis Schreiner Field Kerrville Aviation be there." I replied, "Yes ma'am."

I heard the sound of the Pitts higher pitch of the Lycoming idling followed by the Stearman starting. The Pitts took off first followed by the Stearman. I snuck a glance out the back door and could not help but grin.

The Pitts was flying lead. I thought to myself: so airline captains on occasion do take orders from flight attendants. I briefly admired the formation tight and well flown. I hoped to have both of them crewing my next Southwest flight. The rush subsided and by nine I was back on the way back to school. I got very little sleep in my dorm room that night.

I was there at the when Joey opened up. Cheryl Ann was waiting for me. She asked me if I had eaten. I replied no. She had her Pitts taken out of the hangar and gave me a briefing. First she asked if I had ever spun an airplane. I told her about the spinning of a 150. She grinned. Every student pilot has their own horror story to tell. Cheryl Ann Blackshear's introduction to aerobatics as a pilot happened in a similar fashion. She then told me we would do a series of spins followed by a series of rolls followed by loops then another series of spins rolls etc. She would demo each one and talk me through we would do alternating sides the whole point was to keep my level or arousal at the highest point. She then said if I enjoyed the flight on he way back Uvalde she would have another intense session that I would pay for. I strapped on the parachute and I climbed into the Pitts with dual controls. She told me to put on the 5-point harness as tight as I could possibly get it. She told me that taxing landing and getting the Pitts airborne were done by Braille and even though I had a good amount of tailwheel time I was still woefully inexperienced to handle what could be a horribly unforgiving airplane. We taxied out to 12 after the run up we were off.

I was surprised at the Pitts. I was nailed to the seat and takeoff run was fast and short. She replied, "A bit loaded today" we were climbing like a rocket! The airplane had the wing loading of Cessna 150 with twice the power to weight. I knew this ahead of time and I the fun factor combining both the power loading and wing loading. As we climbed at faster than a thousand feet per minute seeing the actual fun factor at work was spectacular. At five thousand she said, "Your airplane and we went through the three way procedure in which three calls were made to assure we knew who had the airplane at all times. She started instructing "Give me a power-off stall talk me through it." I pulled the power to idle and first came the stall warning horn it changed then buffet." I heard "Mash the right pedal now!" I did so we were now spinning and I was listening as the corkscrew my cheeks started flopping back as we got some negative G's began "Stick forward get the wings flying." I slowly pushed it forward. The spin developed faster as a result. This also was greeted with a comment "This ain't a 150 you gotta start the recovery it won't start it for you." Cessna 150s have wild spin behavior that in most cases convinces the unlucky soul never to spin one again or gives him or here a ride that they would pay gladly for since it makes any amusement park ride boring in comparison. Yet the violence of a first turn tends to rapidly un-stall the wings and one can let go of the airplane and recover. All this though is besides the story. I did as she called out 180 degrees at 270 she told me to hit the left pedal. The rotation stopped. We were fifteen degrees beyond a full turn. She then said ease back on the stick and get a slow rate of descent 5 above stall speed and add power while making sure the ball is centered. I was slow and gentle but still it felt as if two hands were on my shoulders wanted to shove me out the bottom of the airplane. The climb was rapid. We were back at 5,000 feet. She warned me that in my Decathlon that I had to have much more lead with the rudder to stop the spin. We did a spin to the left. We followed with a couple of rolls and loops. We did the series over again and after it ended I was exhausted. I could feel the parachute on my butt and the five-point harness. My loops were beginner's loops. The P-factor and my sloppiness on the pedals had the loops way short of vertical as the nose was sliding one direction or the other instead being straight up. The rolls were worse then those of typical starters. They were plain old sloppy very unsteady roll rate with wild variations of pitch attitude coupled with at times a high descent rate. Despite all this Cheryl was a pro. I gave her high marks as an instructor.

Her debrief on the flight was factual complete amazingly authoritative and brief. Her guesses on what was causing my difficulty were accurate. I had to add a glass of water to dehydrate the shear volume I was overwhelmed with in a short series of five word sentences. As I walked out I heard Joey comment to Michael: "That boy looks like his is in love." Michael responded, "You mean lust." Joey asked, "Is it the airplane the flying or the woman." Michael proved to be wise man with his response, "Knowing him all three." I could not help but laugh as I headed out to my car. Both people knew me too well and there was more than a grain of truth to the conversation.

I drove back to campus pumped about flying and in a hurry for breakfast. I normally had some sort of smile after each flight. There is something about a wild ride and conquering all three dimensions of flight that are just exhilarating. I don't think my feet touched the ground from the parking lot till the time I sat down with my biscuits and gravy sausage juice and milk. It was hard not too smile but today was different I had done what I had always been interested in. I yanked and banked hard core. I was hurting all over due to G's and being jostled around but I could not be happier. I noticed that there was a meeting for the new Schreiner College cross-country team I after lunch. I penciled it in I had to go.