Chapter 5

Well, I didn't die. I did prove the efficacy of the new life suit for ocean racers but that's a whole new story ... I was only in the water 2 days. Daddy was going to have to look elsewhere to enact the "Spare" clause.

Over the years I grew ... life is like that. Taller, stronger, better looking. My acne cleared up. I learned how to dress myself in a manner that college girls found acceptable.

"What Frat?"

I heard that often.

"Sorry, actor."

"Oh really?" I detected an interest.

"College plays."

"Nice talking to you."

And she moved on to the next guy in tan slacks, button down collar, sweater tied around his shoulders and loafers. Nothing bright, flashy or jeans.

I still sailed, crewed, helmed my Lightning, met boat owners and other helmsmen and managed to stay aboard ... generally.

College in the winter, Pentwater in the summer ... girls on the beach, on the sidewalk, at hotels, cabins, motorboats and skiing. Graduated, ROTC, NAVY Officer. Too important for the troubles in the far east, did my time on an island 2500 miles off the California coast ... had an idea, developed it ... sold it ... retired ... at 28.

No ... I can't tell you.

Invested, divested, invested.

Paid my taxes ... got audited ... took three wine boxes full of three years paperwork and got a huge refund. I'll bet the IRS hated that.

Managed to avoid the traps of beautiful gold diggers and married a librarian from East Kentucky ... the state with three million people and two last names. She wasn't pretty but she was smart ... smart trumps pretty any day of the week ... and she was FUN. She was fun pregnant ... right up to the day she slipped and fell on the ice. After they got her hand away from my nuts ... she delivered.

I had no idea.

Six months later she crawled into bed ... this is after she swore she'd never do it again ... and ... lo and behold.

Yup. Three times ... lo and behold.

She got a library job in Montana. I had no reason to stay where I was so I sold the house and went with her.

Montana is more of an Ice Boat state ... and Skiing ... mountains. Except eastern Montana. Eastern Montana will give Kansas a run for the flat money.

Oh Shit. I heard the engine go POP CLANK POP-POP-POP CLANK ... BANG I watched the propeller hesitate, hesitate, hesitate, stop. The first unusual noise was the tearing away of the NACA cowling.

The glint of spark plugs cutting nifty arcs on the way down to the Italian sage in the fields along US 191 as the other cylinders shed bolts and began the flop sway flop of an infatuated young girl stripping her clothes for her boyfriend. The sway should be sexy as hell ... with cylinders ... it's not.

I was already in trouble. Somebody shoulda slapped me for driving down the road less traveled by ... somebody shoulda made me turn left instead of right. Had they, I wouldn't have found that moldy old hangar in the big middle of the Great American Desert ... and If I hadn't found that damned hanger then somebody else woulda found this here Monocoupe D-145 with the 145 hp Warner Super Scarab seven cylinder engine. The widow Montgomery wouldn't have given the damn thing to me ... nor made me promise to take the hangar full of parts ... and the damn hangar to go along with.