10/22/98 
Quad Cities International Airport, Moline, Illinois
Sixty years, six months, and seven days of age

My first solo.

     My flight time was 9 AM but the Vice President of the United States
was due in for some talkin' and fanny pattin' of the locals running for
office. Airforce II, a new 757, landed right about 9 so we had to wait 
until all of the baby kissing, hand shaking, and picture ops were done 
and they got the entourage in their limos and left the airport grounds.
     Lee Raymer, my CFI, and I took off at 9:30 and did four or five 
touch and goes before he ask me if I was ready. Having gained some of 
that pilot confidence, I said yes. Being a clear day and the wind was 
calm also helped a lot.
     I parked the Cessna 150 back on the ramp and we went in the office 
so he could sign my med./student permit. Lee said to do a walk around and
two T&Gs and a full stop.
     Walking out to the plane alone was normal because I had done all 
of the preflights for weeks. When I got into the cockpit and knew Lee 
wasn't coming things started to change. First, and most important, I 
prayed not to screw up. Then I flew just as if Lee was in there with me. 
The two things I did notice was that the plane had a better climb rate and
there was a lot more room in the 150 with only one person. Everything went 
by the book except when I lost the mike on the floor and then stumbled 
with the repeat of clearance for the option. All three landings seemed 
better than the ones I did when the CFI was with me.
     The entire twenty minutes was uneventful, thank God. I didn't get that
real good feeling until I was about half way home in my truck. To think 
I had flown in a real airplane alone, at the age when airline pilots 
must retire, took a while to sink in. And then to have the Vice President 
fly all that way just to watch me solo was a real ego booster.

Jerry Arzdorf (EAA#571310)
Rock Island, IL, now of Wickenburg, AZ
[email protected]
Flight Sim aircraft builder and almost real pilot.

Boredom


It’s always so dark in here. If it wasn’t for that small opening 
it would be very dark. All of the sticks and dead grass don’t make 
it comfortable either. There are some old feathers and what looks 
like tissue paper that are, at least, soft. 

The bugs are the worst. I’ll bet I’ve been bit ten times today.

Wait. All I do is wait and scratch. I could go and look out the 
hole but I was told it is too dangerous. I don’t know why but I 
still stay away from the hole. So here I sit, waiting.

Well, somebody’s here. I hope they brought food. Seems like I’m 
always hungry. It’s mom this time. Now I can open my mouth wide 
and get something to eat. I don’t know what it is and I don’t 
think I want to know. After all, I’m just a baby sparrow.

The BOX mystery

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was 
only 6 P.M. on a spring evening but it was 
stormy. Well, it had been raining and you 
could still hear a little thunder.
A dull grey, cloudy, drizzly evening doesn't 
sound like a good way to start a mystery novel. 
Well, not really a mystery but a lot of guessing 
about the ending of this tale.
It had not rained enough to come in the baesment 
yet. That was the good part. If it had gotten in the 
baesment I would have lost a bunch of my stuff.
 My whole life savings of junk is in Mom's 
basement because the storage room wanted 
$30 a month. I could not think of anything, in
 all of those boxes, that was worth $30 so I moved 
them to the basement a few at a time. Most of the 
boxes are up a couple of inches of boards so the 
water has to get that high before I panic. See I used 
the word "panic" to make this sound more like a real mystery.
I will, from time to time (that means,  Mom has  
ask me to something about the mess it the basement 
again), go down and sort the stuff from one box to 
another. As I transfer my worldly belonging I relive a 
lot of my life over. Other times I throw the jusk in
another box just to make it look good. When ever 
I get this done I always have an empty box left. 
Now I haven't thrown anything away, or set it aside 
for a yard sale, or called the Salvation Army to come 
and get some of it. But still, there is that empty box.
 I figure if I sort through these boxes 126 times there 
will be no boxes left and will have not had to throw
anything away.
 Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm?

What This Country Really Needs

More Humility is what this country needs. People should not look down 
on other people. The best way to attain this would be for everybody to 
go back to using Outhouses. There is no way you can be Snooty when
 the neighbors can hear the pinto beans working. If you think you can
 carry out the honey jar and still be better than anyone else you've got
 another think coming. And don't forget Halloween. If the kids are out 
tipping over halfmoon hotels they won't be driving drunk or doing drugs.

Another thing, outhouses would be good for the economy. Sears would
 have to start making catalogs again.

Look for the song by Billy Ed Wheeler
"Ode to the Little Old Shack Outback"

 A Bandits Life


There she is again. Her and that damn plastic tub of nickels.
Boy, I hope she doesn't come down at this end to play. Working on
this riverboat casino is hard enough without people like her
around.
Well, I guess it is just part of the job. I knew it, here she
comes, and just because I gave her money last time.
Oh well, stick those nickels in me and pull my one arm again.
Beats being a coin operated toilet door I guess.

   SPEED BUMPS



     I am offering a way the Illinois state highway
department can save the all important dollar.
     While traveling south to Peoria Sunday I could not help
but notice all of the signs marking the, gosh I wouldn't have
known except the car would leave the ground, bumps across the
interstate highway.  Now with that many bumps in that many
miles they, the highway department, should just install one
large sign at Moline stating that the next 150 miles of road
has numerous bumps across the highway thus saving the cost
and maintenance of all those small signs.
     On the other hand, if those bumps are intentional, then
that stretch of interstate highway is the first one in
history to have, as we trailer park inhabitants know,
 SPEED BUMPS.

                  MORE NEW THRILLS
     The Illnois Quad-Cities has not advertised or informed
 the public of it's best and most thrilling amusement ride.
 It is not for the faint of heart or typical merry go round
 riders. With it's rapid acceleration and quick stops, down
 and up steep hills at gut emptying speeds, and corners that
 will tear your hands from the handhold.

     With the right advertising campaign it should equal some
 of the rides at Great America and draw more people than the
 riverboats.
     One of the best things is that it is already operating
 so will cost nothing except the advertising.
     AND!, It only cost 70 cents to ride. With extended rides
 for a small piece of paper called a transfer.

  Lost on the dirt



The dirt cracks between your teeth as you charge up the dry wash
bank. Cresting the top, your gut keeps going up as you and the
bike hit the sand. In the distance you can still see the mine
that surprised you. That is the fun of exploring the desert.
Trying to get lost and finding your way back without getting
ripped by catclaw. Lost? Your never lost in the desert.
Something always knows you're there.

Maid-Rites Make Me Cry


     I am going to stop eating Maid-
Rites. For 30 years I lived in the
Midwest and enjoyed eating the crumbly
hamburgers. The last 25 years I have
lived out west and only had a chance to
eat a Maid-Rite was when I would come
home to visit my Mother.
     Fifteen years ago I inherited
Sparky. The little white cockapoo was my
best friend and traveling companion for
most of that time. The first three years
I was married and he was our dog but I
got custody in the divorce. After that,
he and I traveled the west and
occasionally we would return to the Quad
Cities. One of the first things I would
do is go to a Maid-Rite shop. The Maid-
Rite, to those of you who have not had
the pleasure, is steamed, ground beef on
a bun. If the person making the sandwich
does it right, there will be a lot of
meat left in the paper that wraps the
sandwich. That was always Sparky's meal.
He would lick it up like a vacuum
cleaner.  Sometimes I would get a Maid-
rite just to watch him chase the paper
across the kitchen floor.
     Sparky's gone. The fun, taste, and
anticipation, of returning back home and
have a Maid-Rite, is gone. I had one
today, and it's not the same without
putting the paper on the floor and
watching Sparky consume it in seconds.
     Good-by Maid-Rites, you don't mix
well with tears.

The Agony of Victory


You made it at last, a victory of sorts, the highest peak in the
range. As you survey your domain you feel the power surge through
you as you look down on all the little people below.
Then in a flash it's over. The adrenaline is sucked from your
system and you feel drained of it all. Because from far below,
way of in the distance, you hear a familiar voice exclaiming,"
Jerry, get off that damn shed roof, NOW!"

My last wish, as the end of my

life draws near, would just be to 

walk up one more, good,

Arizona,dry wash.

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