Skystrider wrote:Just doesn't happen while you are in the air! I have no idea what he was doing up there but there was no doubt he was clearly having fun!

Down here in the vast desert wastelands of sunny Nevada, I was riding my four-wheeler back towards home from the old ghost town of Marietta. It was June or July, mid afternoon and hot, and I had just ridden out from underneath a thunderstorm, and had gotten drenched in a little gully washer rainstorm and looked like a drowned cat. Once the sun popped back out I stripped off my shirt to soak up some sun, and was tooling down the trail fat, dumb, and happy.
I crested a ridge and started down this big, empty, open valley aiming at a little spring called Rattlesnake Well. Being the careful, conservative trail rider that I am, I had my ball cap on backwards, a cigar in my right hand, and a cold beer from the cooler in my left. Just a little slice of perfection. It smelled good, I could see forever without a single sign of human mess except for the trail I was riding, just one of those glad to be alive moments. I gave the bike it's head, and rode along daydreaming about nothing, sipping my beer and savoring my smoke, just completely wrapped up in the moment.
Then somebody hit me between the shoulderblades with a two by four. My beer went flying, and I damn near swallowed my cigar. As my head snapped up I saw a blurred image of rows and rows of gray rivets, and then just noise.
F/A-18. From Fallon. That sumabitch must have spotted me, put the pedal to the metal, dropped down to the dirt, and swung in from behind to make the kill. He came over the top of me at maybe 30 feet, down the mountainside and across the valley floor kicking up dust as he went, then pulled it up to the vertical and poof, was gone. Of course I was sporting wood by then, and yelling at him to come back and do it again. But the guy must have been afraid I was someone who didn't like airplane noise or appreciate a good buzz job, because he fled the scene.
Gump