Leigh Sherrill is going to fly again and I want to be there when she does. So, it was going to be this past weekend, but the weather got in the way. Saturday rain was predicted and Sunday the fog rolled in.

I went up to Wiscasset on Sunday morning anyway because, sometimes when we are socked in on Southport, a quick drive inland reveals full sun. But, it was not to be. Flight postponed.

Leigh soloed in 1957. I couldn't be there then, although we were both in Pennsylvania at the time. She promised to let me know when her next flight will be. Stay tuned.

On the way to the airport I was listening to a radio station that plays country music. Just after the Edgecomb line on Route 27, Bobby Bare popped over the air with an old beauty, “Drop kick me Jesus through the goal post of life” and I was immediately transported to a foggy night hitchhiking on the Pennsylvania turnpike from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh in 1969.

I'd just put my thumb out when a cranking tractor trailer smoked to a stop. It was late at night, the fog was thick, and I needed a ride, bad. When I climbed up into the cab, there was Jesus, and the goal post of life, blasting on the radio. The driver could barely speak. He was popping black beauties like M&Ms and digging Budweisers out of the cooler. I knew we were in for a ride.

Coming up on the Bedford exit, the driver hit the air and locked up all the wheels, crazy yelling about the damned circus elephants crossing the highway. I bailed outta that rig and ran for the woods.

The fog had lifted.

I'm sure Leigh will have a great flight, and I hope to be there.