Tom and Jerry do Oshkosh. Our first full day ofOshkosh dished out a heaping helping of true Oshkosh-type experiences. Between watching more planes, and more interesting planes, than I’ve ever seen, a one-legged landing by a P-51, and fierce winds which made crosswind landings more than an adventure and rearranged the camping area, this newcomer got his money’s worth.
After tying down N2329G Monday afternoon (no small feat, which required borrowing a file to sharpen the tie-downs), Jerry Foust and I set up our tents, blew up the mattresses, set up the camp chairs, and made ourselves at home. We were able to find our camping space by looking for the rubber chickens flying from the flag pole. We had arranged for a space to be held. Well, that’s not exactly correct. Several of us sent our registration fee to Brent Blue, of Jackson, WY, and when he arrived on Saturday, he paid for multiple parking spaces and roped them off. For some reason, Brent has painted “Rubber Chicken Airlines” on the side of his Cessna 340, and flies about a dozen real rubber chickens above his campsite.
Jerry and I then made our first trip to the Oshkosh supply depot, otherwise known as Wal-Mart. It’s a healthy mile or so distant, leading to careful shopping with weight and bulk firmly in mind. A cart of some sort might be a good idea. That ice got mighty heavy by the time we made it back to camp. Okay, cart goes on the list of things to bring to the next OSH.
Sleep came quickly, as did dawn on Tuesday. Five o’clock, light seeps into the tent, triggering my memory of the advice offered by a fellow camper the night before who warned that the showers filled quickly. Get there early, he said.
At 5:15 am 
there was no waiting at the showers, but there were 20 or 30 people there. Oshkosh showers have to be experienced. Imagine the flexible hose sprayer on your kitchen sink with a longer hose. That’s it. The water was hot. The facilities were clean and adequate.
How to dry out my towel and wash cloth. I tried draping it over the wing, but that didn’t quite work. Gazing at planes on the adjacent parking line, I spotted towels hanging on props, help in place with clothes pins. Aha! Another item to add to the list for next year.
We set up the table and camp stove and got the coffee pot going. Actually, we just heated water and used the nifty coffee singles (coffee in a tea bag) for no-mess cleanup. While Jerry and I sat and marveled that we were, in fact, really at Oshkosh, a young boy walked up to the camp and offered that morning’s local newspaper. Only 50 cents, and we’re reading the front page story about the opening of Oshkosh, including the sad news of a fly-in bound plane that crashed in South Dakota.
Time to saddle up and hit the show. The Tom and Jerry show headed in. First stop was registration, to get the plastic wrist band that provides access to the show. Even with the map, we stayed only mildly oriented, but were often completely unable to find anything. But, it didn’t matter, because no matter where we went, there were homebuilts, warbirds, classics, modern planes, exhibitors, and just tons of airplane stuff! Who cares were you are when immersed in this flying environment!
We wanted to hit the Fly Market, but couldn’t find it. No matter, we have two more days. Jerry is but a few hours and a check ride from getting his instrument rating, and the drawbacks of renting have piled up. He’s thinking of buying a plane. We looked at Skyhawks, Skylanes, and Cessna 170s. He likes the classic planes, but really hasn’t thought enough about his typical flying mission to be able to realistically look at specific models. No matter. We continued to acquire data for future reference.
Wandering around aimlessly, pulled one way and then another by yet another beautiful airplane, it occurred to me that I was not alone in my “airplane affliction.” There were many other people, a lot of other people, who share my near-obsessive love of all things flying. These are my people, and this is where I belong.
The EAA store provided a couple of T-shirts, at reasonable prices, and I bought a big, floppy hat with a string that I could tie on. The wind had picked up again, blowing 15 knots, gusting to 23, straight out of the west. As we cruised down the flight line west of runway 18/36, we watched the continuing saga of small planes making crosswind landings. Several times we thought the fire trucks would roll at any minute, but skill, luck, and desperation won out, and only one plane (that we know of) ground looped.
The strong wind had me worrying about camp, and I told Jerry we should head back to make sure the tents were still there and nothing had blown away. It took more than an hour for us to work our way back up the flight line to the North 40 parking area. Walking down row 13 toward my beloved Skylane, I see a lump of nylon fabric that is quite similar in color to my tent. Oh shucks. My brand new tent is in a heap, stakes have pulled out, fiberglass pole broken, and it’s just generally a pretty sad looking affair. Thank goodness I had put several duffle bags in the tent, or it might have been wrapped around some guy’s Malibu four rows downwind.
A check showed no fabric torn and with the help of duct tape the pole was repaired. It took all we could do to erect the tent in the gale, but we managed, and added several more stakes, plus a couple of extra ropes. It buffeted, but it held.
In the shade of the wing, we held down the camp chairs with our very bodies, turned on the aviation handheld, and enjoyed the show, watching a zillion planes arriving. Comments were offered about pilots who insisted on calling the controller (didn’t those guys read the NOTAM?), or pulling out to do a 360 for spacing (spacing? This is Oshkosh. We don’t need no steekin’ spacing!). When the flight of two P-51s arrived and broke to the north, I watched through my little binoculars (you must bring binocs) only to see that one of the planes was doing the stork impersonation-only one main gear down. We listened to the controller handle the situation. The wingman had landed and was trying to get back into the air to help out. We learned later that the stricken plane made a one-up-one-down landing 18/36, but we couldn’t see it from our vantage point.
Another strong impression one gets at Oshkosh is that there is a lot of everything. Naturally, there are a lot of Cessnas and Pipers, but there are lot of P-51s, T-6s, Yaks, Pitts, homebuilts, and everything else that flies. Looking around here, there’s no indication that there’s any problem with general aviation.
Another trek to Wal-Mart that evening brought us back to camp as a large group was gathering under the wing of a nearby Beech 18. Taking our camp chairs over, we joined them, to be treated to a continuous string of aviation stories, advice, experiences, and BS. Several hundred years of aviation experience sat around the table, including a 747 pilot, an F-15 instructor pilot, several licensed mechanics (A&P and IAs), pilots of warbirds, and even a couple of low-time private pilots (Jerry and me).
Jerry opted to do the 9:00 pm shower to beat the crowds. I couldn’t tear myself away from the discussions, so I stayed until I was nodding off in the chair. Finally, the sleeping bag called my name, and my first full day of Oshkosh was finished.
