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Health & Fitness

March Field Airfest 2012: Senses, Swagger and Succor

March Airfest 2012, the Patriot Jet Team, The U.S. Navy Blue Angels, Robosaurus video and article.

"All right, stay on the right side of the red line. No coolers, no food, no water, no lighters. Have your back packs open and take your chairs out of the carrying case. Baby formula's allowed..." shouted Brian, dressed from head to toe in camouflage fatigues, with an external leg holster securing a visible pistol. 

Holy Moly, what have I done? How did I end up in a basic training camp? I know, I may have been ever-so-insubordinate on the museum-side of the air base when I kindly refused to pay ten bucks for parking.

"Isn't this a free event?" I asked the young sergeant posted at the west gate entrance just off of Van Buren.

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"Yes, ma'am, over there," he pointed to a long, caravan of cars weaving slowly on the open, designated air strip. Fearful that I was going to miss something, given the nature of the show, I cruised on over to the east side of the airport. Sure enough, I would have missed meeting my new, entertaining buddy, Brian. 

"Is it OK if the baby formula is Kahlua?" asked an unwitting guest.

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"It depends on how old the baby is," answered Brian, as he continued walking up and down his post, shouting out dis-allowances. "...and no Kahlua, either."

"But, I brought doughnuts," said one, elderly woman.

"If they're not Dunkin' Donuts, then forget about it," said Brian.

"How about bottled water?" I asked. "I told my readers they could bring bottled water," as my sense of hunger piqued with the lingering smell of warm, crispy, cinnamon-covered churros.

"Thirsty readers, huh? Gotta toss the bottled water, along with any food items. You can eat and drink until you get up to the check point," he said. And so it went with guests shouting out every, consumable possibility for the keeping and Brian nixing most every one of them as he collected handfuls of lighters. I almost copped an attitude, but Brian salted his orders with so much humor and finesse, I emptied my backpack, save for my writing and photography gear. What else was I going to do? Argue?

No matter, I admit I momentarily forgot why I came until I heard those around me gasping with awe. I instinctively knew to look upward. The bedazzling parachutists, in all of their descending regalia, were floating across the skies like feathers for the opening ceremony.

There I was, standing in a line that was moving very slowly, in the sun, without water, without food, imagining my trek across a desolate air base.  Surely, my senses were being tested for austerity, as very young boys and girls donning military gear marched past, in perfect formation, without so much as a grimace.

Once I set my sight on getting past the metal detectors more than an hour after I arrived with my son at 0800 hours (hip and knee replacements ran the detectors amuck), the vastness of the airfield, dotted with many colorful, stationary aircraft, got my feet and my camera moving into purposeful motion.

The sound of the whirring props on the smaller-winged aircraft, coupled with the acceleration and deceleration of the engines as they loop de looped in the wide, blue yonder, made my incidental frustration worth the journey, however.

Somewhere in the middle of restored, antique, WWII aircraft demonstrating a dog fight, above and around the main airstrip, a military pilot walked by like he owned the base. How'd I know he was a pilot? Maybe it was the navy, blue jumpsuit and the accompanying ball cap. No, wait.  It was the mirrored lenses on his metal-framed shades. Could be. It was definitely how he walked; tall, confident strides as he gazed about, occasionally nodding and grinning at the spectators. Swagger. No doubt, there's lots and lots of swagger to be found on base.

Rightly so, I suppose because no sooner had the smaller-winged aircraft pilots finished their show, replete with twists, turns and nose-dives, than that military pilot took the stage, front and center. 

"Are you ready? Are you ready for The Patriots Jet Team? Look right behind you, because here they come!" he shouted over the microphone.

"Yeeeaaaahhhhh!" the spectators answered from behind the fenceline, demarcating the inaccessible, landing strip.

I love the sound of a revving, Harley Davidson engine as much as I love listening to the roar of fiery, turbine, jet engines roaring through the clouds. On top of all of the welcomed, familiar racket, each L-39 jet had colored smoke emitting from the tailpipe helping spectators to keep the formation in sight. Those jets movefasterthanyoucansay,holdontoyourhats.There's a sense of relief knowing that the U.S. is in the hands of accomplished, practicing pilots who've been in battles which tested their respective expertise. There's also a sense of relief knowing that the Airfest was strictly entertainment, including Brian, who certainly missed his calling as a comedian. Thanks to the March Air Base staff, to the volunteers and to the pilots who saw to it that the Airfest remains an eye-catching, breathtaking, awesome display of aeronautical fanfare. I feel the need for speed....

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