Boy that sure is a fancy smattering of words... bet you even spelled most
of them correctly...
The Love is of things mechanical and of the joy associated with making them
operate to their peak efficiency .... NOT less then the Peak... but the
Peak... to find that you have to tip over the other edge now and again....
( in other words your going to buy some parts with this destructive testing
method )
In Flying I used to teach that there are No "gray" areas.... there is
simply black and white..... sometimes you pass into a black area and come
back alive... that then becomes a new White area.... but there is NO
gray.... In Land speed racing there is a record.... everything past it is
a Black area... a place where no man has trod.... it's our basic instinct
to search out places that are new in this world. Everything up to that
Record is white.... the term Also ran applies... just another car... a
participant... fun stuff for some folks... but not enough for others.
Guys like John Rains.... well it's his goal to get Past that and so far
into the black area that not many men can follow.... same thing with Kugal
and Lefevers.. they finally hit the mark.... Looking at Vesco and his goal
to take a Wheel Driven vehicle to 500mph is the same thing... it's just the
ultimate black area today....
But if you look at Doug King or Jack... they pick different black areas to
play in... and the truth be told.... I sure as hell don't want to run
against Jack's records.
As for girls.... shoot... why not keep them Bare foot and .... oh
nevermind...
Keith ( someone has to pull her chain.... )
----------
> From: Louise Ann Noeth <lanoeth@earthlink.net>
> To: land-speed@autox.team.net
> Subject: the biggeer picture
> Date: Saturday, January 05, 2002 2:30 AM
>
> I have long endured because I have chosen to do so.
>
> Passion has an inherent, impenetrable amour that permits one to see
beyond
> the myopia that is the reward of a closed mind and the energy-draining
> burden of a vengeful heart.
>
> When Al Teague drives the 76, I am with him, along with every other soul
who
> wishes him well. As Don Vesco spools up the Lycoming, my spirit rises
> exponentially past the power of the axial shaft, through the mesh of the
> gears and thunders out through the whirring bearing boxes. When Jack
folds
> himself into the tiny orange dart, I fly through air alongside. It is the
> smile that Tanis wears inside her helmet that radiates out covering the
salt
> with speed's gossamer, giddy glow. The boulevard cruise that Rick and his
> Hayabusa take is a ride we should all be lucky enough to share from
> sidelines.
>
> I stand alone, silent, rocking my center of gravity ever so gently from
toe
> to heel and back again taking comfort in the sound the saline crystals
> crunching below waiting for the next car to unzip the sodium in my
> viewfinder. Tracking the image, I hold my breath and pray the focus holds
as
> the shutter trips at the exact moment the parachute plucks the racing
> machine from the chilling thrill of accel drawing it back fitfully into a
> mundane reality called stop.
>
> Laying in the intake nacelle of Andy Green's black beauty just hours
after
> it had romped to supersonic land and back again, or watching from above
> suspended in flight by a mechanical dragonfly wing were the best hammocks
> this gal ever had.
>
> It has been my great pleasure and good fortune to steer, coax and flog
many
> fine machines on land, at sea and in the glorious air. Whether it be the
> snap and crack of 1/4 zip, the raw fatigue that gnaws at your
concentration
> during an endurance contest like the La Carrerra Pan Americana and the
Mille
> Miglia, the throbbing euphoria as I find groove of Willow Springs, Road
> America, or the dear curves of Laguna Seca, the struggle to climb the
banks
> of the Las Vegas tri-oval at 175mph trying to find the courage to stab
the
> pedal further into the floor.
>
> Nine knots might sounds slow, but try holding the helm of a 60-foot
racing
> Swan on third watch in the Atlantic with your toes. Alone on-deck,
leaning
> against the backstay watching the moon unmelt from the watery horizon and
> disappear up through the foot of the spinnaker in the wee hours of the
> morning and you ache with swelling joy as you fly across the sea caressed
by
> warm Caribbean breezes whispering past your cheeks. We ran that sail for
29
> hours straight, normally suicidal, but never once did it misbehave.
Magic,
> pure magic.
>
> It may have only been a stinky little Cessna 150, but flying solo for the
> first time . . . right into a glowing harvest sunset remains a tingling
> highlight in my life: that first moment of flight by my own hands and
wits!
> Stupid grin was evident for days afterward.
>
> From the Goodyear Blimp that takes forever and a month to spin a
doughnut,
> to the high-speed blast down the active at Point Mugu Naval Air Station
with
> the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile (only 87mph with tail wind) or riding
shotgun
> in the Baja 1000, its all about the speed, the control of a machine as
you
> hunt for its limits and yours.
>
> Because God saw fit to toss a little perspicacity my way, it has been
rather
> easy to soldier on even when surrounded by prevaricating bullys. It
leaves
> more time to enjoy the larger view and share it with others.
>
> Tell me more about Bridgett . . . sounds a great story.
>
> Be Vigilant,
>
> "LandSpeed" Louise Ann Noeth
>
> LandSpeed Productions
> Telling Stories with Words and Pictures
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