In the past couple of days, humorous speculation on this very blog has stumbled uncomfortably close to the truth. Ummm. Confession, here. Somebody's been a very bad dog. Again. It all started earlier this week, when I realized I had only days to remove a, ummm, surplus military vehicle, acquired more or less on the up-and-up in the 1960s, from the sorta disused garage where I stored it (maybe a little less on the up-and-up) at Rockliffe Air Base. Which sadly, is closing July 31.
I just want to say that back in the 60s, I definitely scooped the cream puff. The low-flying lemons went to the US Air Force and the Smithsonian Institute. In fact, for some reason I strangely can't remember, they thought the thing never flew that well. Heh. It's come in really handy. I mean, how the hell do you think I keep evading Temporary Mayor DT's coyote posse?
It's been parked most of this summer - convertible, y'know, and all this rain. But when I started it up and backed it out that night, headed toward a new rented garage in in the west end, it totally purred. It ran so well, I scooted it up to eight or ten thousand feet and started honking up the Ottawa River in the dark. Much like the local Canada geese.
Up there, I am afraid, my natural semi-mythical exuberance got the better of me. When I remembered the parachute flare in the glove box, it just seemed natural to light it off the cigarette lighter and toss it over the side.
Big mistake.
Sigh. You know most of the rest of it. 911 calls. Constabulary and flashing lights and rescue boats and divers and stuff, all over the place. Then the beefy guys with sunglasses and black suits showed up. You know, the ones with inexplicable military license plates on their black Suburbans, and little radar scanners on top. I rather think the cops were politely asked to lay off for reasons of, ummm, national security.
It's all glossed over now, but I'm pretty sure they haven't stopped looking for me. Forty-five years, and they're still cranky about losing their saucer. Some people never know when to give up. Don't tell, 'kay?
