In his aerial travelogue of flying a newly-purchased Stearman across the country, aviation writer Stephen Coonts wrote, “Flying is like sex – I’ve never had all I wanted but occasionally I’ve had all I could stand.” There are still three days left of what we pilots call “Oshkosh” (and what the locals call “EAA” because, you know, every day is Oshkosh for them, right?). But I’m done. Four days of every size, type, shape and manner of plane you can imagine – and many you can’t – packed over almost every flat surface of Whitman Airport’s 1500 acres. Everything from powered parachutes to business jets, B-52s, and the Air Force’s latest spaceplane. The crush of over half a million pilgrims to aviation’s Mecca, the shriek of turbines and blare of flat-propped round engines, the scent of jet fuel mingled with grease from a thousand deep-fat fryers feeding the faithful. It’s exhilarating, of course, but a fellow can only handle so many days of exhilaration.

There’s also the treasure-hunt aspect: Oshkosh is that once-a-year chance to catch up with all those far-flung aviation friends in one place, if your phone can just manage to get a couple of messages out through the once-a-year woefully overtaxed cell system.

Don’t get me wrong: this is fun.

Backing up just a touch, I didn’t head straight to Oshkosh from Minot. As I mentioned in my last missive, my next stop was in the tiny burg of Walker, Minnesota to spend the day with friends Paul and Lisa. Suffered through an idyllic afternoon sailing off the dock behind their house and catching up on all things Antarctic. Then through dappled skies  into Appleton, where we picked up our rental car, met up with Tad and Ellen for dinner, and girded ourselves for the coming days.

Speaking of “girding,” this was Paul’s first Oshkosh. And I have to say, I’m seriously impressed that at no point in my endless Brownian traversals of the field (“Ooo – ooh – there’s a Comanche meetup all the way at the south end of the airport! Ooo – ooh, now let’s rush all the way back to the north end to meet up with a warbird friend who just might be by his plane! Ooo – ooh…”) did he slow, balk, or even show a moment’s hesitation for my manic itinerary. You couldn’t ask for a more solid wingman.

We managed to catch up with about half of the people I had on my list, which is not a bad record, given the size and chaos of the place. Sat in a bunch of airplanes, saw a bunch of things I’d like to have but am not going to buy (everything from balanced fuel injector nozzles to those latest, shiny pressurized turboprops), and each got a demo flight with one of the gyrocopter dealers.

That Cavallon looks good on Paul

But now I’m feeling kind of done. Planning to stay one more day here in Appleton to catch their annual big Art in the Park festival tomorrow (speaking of crowds and noise), then head west to visit another old friend or two on the way home. I’ll try to keep you posted!