Jay Honeck
Touchdown! Greaser!
- Joined
- Jun 6, 2008
- Messages
- 11,571
- Location
- Ingleside, TX
- Display Name
- Jay Honeck
- Home Airfield
- KTFP - Ingleside, TX
As anyone who has ever been to Oshkosh knows, it is aviation nirvana. Think Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but with every airplane, and every airplane gadget, you've ever imagined -- all in one place.
Every year since 1983, I have labored to attend this misnamed "convention", for it is far more than that. After 31 years, OSH has become my touchstone, my Mecca, my imagined "perfect place" that exists only in memory and fantasy -- except for one week each year, it becomes REAL.
Every year gets harder. When I lived in Wisconsin, it was an easy 2 hour drive. When we moved to Iowa, it was an easy 2 hour flight, now, it's an epic, 2500-mile round-trip cross-country flight, right up "Tornado Alley".
And, of course, our business is not conducive to our attending this event. Our hotel is profitable just 110 days per year, and the 10 days we're gone for OSH are right smack in the middle of those busy days. Thus, we must bring in temporary inn-sitters to run the place with our existing staff, at enormous expense.
We do it anyway. Oshkosh is non-negotiable. In fact, during our interview process, being able to work extra during OSH is a requirement. Got something going on the last week of July? Sorry, next applicant.
To say we move heaven and earth to attend OSH would not be an understatement. And every year seems to get harder.
So, when we finally kiss the wonderful soil of the North Forty, and I've got a moment alone, away from the greeters and friends that we only see at OSH, I must confess to shedding a few tears of joy, as I realize that once again I have made it back to Oshkosh.
Then, the whirlwind. After 31 years, we have a routine that is both wonderful and exhausting. THIS party on THAT night, that event on this night. All the while meeting and greeting people we've met 25 times -- or for the first time. It is exhilarating, wonderful, and sleep is optional, despite walking 3 - 6 miles per day.
The week rushes by in a blur. By Day Four, all the exhibitors start to develop the Thousand Yard Stare, and every product starts to blend together. That's when you take a break in the woods, or stroll through Vintage, slowly appreciating the antiques that someone has lovingly restored and maintained.
And then....it's over. Before you know it, it's time to leave that hallowed ground. Every year it gets harder to leave, and, again, I must confess to shedding a few tears when I realize that I may never return to this wonderful place. The place where my children grew up. The place where old friends gather, and new ones arrive as if on schedule.
All of this is subsumed by the epic nature of our all-VFR journey home -- there literally is no time to ponder anything but weather, mechanical condition, etc. This year was even more complicated, and wonderful, as we first stopped back in Iowa, where our son got married.
But, sooner or later, after the inn-sitters have been paid and gone, after all the paperwork is caught up, and after the week's deferred maintenance is addressed, there comes a quiet moment where its possible to reflect on the experience.
That moment is now, finally.
And then, the depression sets in. The thought that we won't be back to OSH for an entire year is crushing. I look back at all the Oshkosh journeys, and remember...
I carried first my son, then my daughter, across those grounds -- in a backpack. Then, I pulled them in a wagon. Now, they are adults that drove in to be with us again. How did THAT happen?
I first attended OSH as a young man, a non-pilot with an intense curiosity and enthusiasm about aviation. Now, I'm the "old Guy" who has attended for three decades. How did THAT happen?
I've seen aviation greats, sadly now gone West. Jimmy Doolittle. Pappy Boyington. Paul Tibbets. So many of my heroes, growing up. All gone, now.
We've had lunch with Harrison Ford, Chuck Yeager, and Bob Hoover. Well, okay, they were two tables away, and don't know us -- but just ask my now-adult son how cool it was to sit next to Han Solo!
And finally, of course, there's mortality. We all must confront the Grim Reaper, sooner or later -- and I've become uncomfortably aware that I've got more AirVentures behind me than ahead of me. If I made it to 31 more, I would be 85 years old. Not impossible, I guess, but unlikely. The fact is, I'm on the downhill run with Oshkosh, and there is no guarantee that I will ever return.
And that's just an awful thought.
So, I keep busy with the hotel, and trying to sell Atlas. And, of course, we're flying the pants off Amelia, our new RV-8A.
But somewhere inside, I'm still in the North 40 with my friends and family. I will never leave that place, fully.
Every year since 1983, I have labored to attend this misnamed "convention", for it is far more than that. After 31 years, OSH has become my touchstone, my Mecca, my imagined "perfect place" that exists only in memory and fantasy -- except for one week each year, it becomes REAL.
Every year gets harder. When I lived in Wisconsin, it was an easy 2 hour drive. When we moved to Iowa, it was an easy 2 hour flight, now, it's an epic, 2500-mile round-trip cross-country flight, right up "Tornado Alley".
And, of course, our business is not conducive to our attending this event. Our hotel is profitable just 110 days per year, and the 10 days we're gone for OSH are right smack in the middle of those busy days. Thus, we must bring in temporary inn-sitters to run the place with our existing staff, at enormous expense.
We do it anyway. Oshkosh is non-negotiable. In fact, during our interview process, being able to work extra during OSH is a requirement. Got something going on the last week of July? Sorry, next applicant.
To say we move heaven and earth to attend OSH would not be an understatement. And every year seems to get harder.
So, when we finally kiss the wonderful soil of the North Forty, and I've got a moment alone, away from the greeters and friends that we only see at OSH, I must confess to shedding a few tears of joy, as I realize that once again I have made it back to Oshkosh.
Then, the whirlwind. After 31 years, we have a routine that is both wonderful and exhausting. THIS party on THAT night, that event on this night. All the while meeting and greeting people we've met 25 times -- or for the first time. It is exhilarating, wonderful, and sleep is optional, despite walking 3 - 6 miles per day.
The week rushes by in a blur. By Day Four, all the exhibitors start to develop the Thousand Yard Stare, and every product starts to blend together. That's when you take a break in the woods, or stroll through Vintage, slowly appreciating the antiques that someone has lovingly restored and maintained.
And then....it's over. Before you know it, it's time to leave that hallowed ground. Every year it gets harder to leave, and, again, I must confess to shedding a few tears when I realize that I may never return to this wonderful place. The place where my children grew up. The place where old friends gather, and new ones arrive as if on schedule.
All of this is subsumed by the epic nature of our all-VFR journey home -- there literally is no time to ponder anything but weather, mechanical condition, etc. This year was even more complicated, and wonderful, as we first stopped back in Iowa, where our son got married.
But, sooner or later, after the inn-sitters have been paid and gone, after all the paperwork is caught up, and after the week's deferred maintenance is addressed, there comes a quiet moment where its possible to reflect on the experience.
That moment is now, finally.
And then, the depression sets in. The thought that we won't be back to OSH for an entire year is crushing. I look back at all the Oshkosh journeys, and remember...
I carried first my son, then my daughter, across those grounds -- in a backpack. Then, I pulled them in a wagon. Now, they are adults that drove in to be with us again. How did THAT happen?
I first attended OSH as a young man, a non-pilot with an intense curiosity and enthusiasm about aviation. Now, I'm the "old Guy" who has attended for three decades. How did THAT happen?
I've seen aviation greats, sadly now gone West. Jimmy Doolittle. Pappy Boyington. Paul Tibbets. So many of my heroes, growing up. All gone, now.
We've had lunch with Harrison Ford, Chuck Yeager, and Bob Hoover. Well, okay, they were two tables away, and don't know us -- but just ask my now-adult son how cool it was to sit next to Han Solo!
And finally, of course, there's mortality. We all must confront the Grim Reaper, sooner or later -- and I've become uncomfortably aware that I've got more AirVentures behind me than ahead of me. If I made it to 31 more, I would be 85 years old. Not impossible, I guess, but unlikely. The fact is, I'm on the downhill run with Oshkosh, and there is no guarantee that I will ever return.
And that's just an awful thought.
So, I keep busy with the hotel, and trying to sell Atlas. And, of course, we're flying the pants off Amelia, our new RV-8A.
But somewhere inside, I'm still in the North 40 with my friends and family. I will never leave that place, fully.
