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WSPA 2007 Limerick Contest Entry

The WSPA has a tradition of inviting participants to write limericks about their experiences of the week of the encampment.  This year, I visited by Citabria, and gave a talk about landing site selection and visual size comparisons from aloft. The following two days, I flew with various pilots to practice these skills.  We thermalled with some gliders, and examined cross-country courses.  Based on those two days events, I wrote my limerick entries, and then headed home to Cal City for local responsibilities.

 

There once was a pilot named Cindy,

Who lived in a place that was windy.

She came in a plane

Bright as candy cane,

And flew it as handy as Lindy.

 

The Citabria came to a flare,

It danced along lighter than air.

When the crosswinds were done,

Out emerged pilot one,

And declared the arrival no scare.

 

The red plane was noisy to bear,

But she taught ladies dusky or fair,

The back seat was windy,

But no more than Cindy,

And they smiled for their share of the air.

 

The gliders wheeled higher above,

A Citabria joined like a dove,

Andy giggled to see,

Someone alongside with we,

Who went winging with hope and much love.

 

The engineless climbed on a stair,

The red one nudged into their lair,

And with nary a glance

Her prop made eyes dance,

And the smiles and thoughts turned to a dare.

 

Charts fold and the instruments clamor.

A Claw driven in with a hammer.

The pilots will yammer.

Navigation makes stammers,

In the end it turns out with good manners.

 

What can you learn from the air?

The Citabria lets them all stare,

At a runway unknown

Till it looks just like home,

And then dances them back with no cares.

 

Avenal was a treasure to see.

Skies open for gliders and me.

The promise was grand,

Dan ran from the land,

When the weather turned foul and windy.

 

Paul rigged audio visuals to teach,

Helped launch in such sand as the beach,

His dog was a mooch,

The raven a soft tooth,

And the red plane said, pre-flight's the peach.

 

The 150 coughed, belched and was spent.

The Blanik sat well and content.

The fire trucks roared to One Three.

John Renfro dashed down just to see,

And reported Loyal safe, but heart-wrent.

 

The Husky was promised to help.

When called on, dear Kurt gave no yelps.

He tugged them on high

From morning till nigh,

Regardless of "Cub calls" by whelps.

 

The logbooks were skinny or fat,

The gliders were this one or that,

They told tales of the years

Friends, flights and some beers.

But they all wore some silly sad hats.      C. Brickner   6/20/2007

Posted: 6/22/2007 By: Cindy Brickner


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