Pilot's Log

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In 1979 we moved from Pittsburgh to Florida. Took us two days. We slept in North Carolina just so we could do breakfast and souvenir shopping at South Of The Border, SC. Lynn had an adventure with her cat at a Rest Area.

We listened to a lot of disco. It hadn't died yet.

PS: Actually, I think it took us more than three days. 55 was the national speed limit then because of the Energy Crisis and fuel rationing. We stopped first in Baltimore at Dad's brother and his family there. Then NC/SC state line. Then I think we took one more stop in Georgia before heading down to Peachtree.

I Think This Was Part Of My Costume For That Star Wars Movie We Made In Gifted Class.

This weekend is the final regular season set in the National Football League. While the six teams of the NFC playoffs are set, it still needs to be decided which teams play each other. Meanwhile, there are seven contenders in the AFC for two playoff slots, and all that will be decided Sunday.

Being the Steelers fan that I am, I will need to watch this intently. For the Steelers to make the playoffs, not only do they have to win their game against the Dolphins in Miami...

They need the Patriots to eliminate the Texans (likely), and/or...

The Raiders to eliminate the Ravens (perhaps a 30% likelihood?), and/or...

The Chiefs to eliminate the Broncos (not frickin' likely).

And even if the majority of the above happens, the Steelers can still be knocked out if...

The Jets beat the Bengals in prime-time.

But that last game is probably the only game I'll be likely to actually see, as here the expected televised games will be:

The Colts at Buffalo.

The Falcons at the Bucs.

And the Titans (boo hiss!) at Seattle.

I hate the TV here.

I realize that I've been a lot poorer than even I feared. I had tech envy for my uncle's computer (even if it was running Vista), his high-speed internet, his satellite TV (and the fact that both his flat-screen sets were bigger than our old cathy tubes)--even his coffeemaker. But we got a lot of use from his GPS receiver, which guided us through what had once been familiar territory in Western Pennsylvania. Dad and I would never have found Robert and Grace's gravesite without the GPS, and it did an okay job getting us to Fawn Haven #3 and the house on Skyview Terrace.

But as for finding the school site, I did it completely by seat-of-pants, as the old site wouldn't have been in any GPS database that I knew. We left Gibsonia for Florida long before I learned to drive, but I rode the bus there from Fawn Haven over 500 times as a kid...

...And I amazed myself. I'd forgotten the street names, but still knew which directions to turn and everything.

Maybe I shouldn't have trained to be a Pilot at all. Maybe I should have been a Navigator from Day One.

I Used To Adore Him As Much As I Adored Any Sports Superstar.

My adoration of super stars is strictly Platonic. If not from beyond the orbit of Pluto.

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I want the WORKS. I live in the "rough", whether I want to, or not!

After lunch, I'll go with Dad and Uncle Dan to Grandpa Bierce's permanent address, and from there to Gibsonia/Bairdford/Allison Park.

Recon photos to come.

FP

Going on a very long road trip first thing in the morning; need to make sure I have everything packed.

* T-Shirts, Sweat shirts, long sleeve shirt, raincoat √
* Slacks, jeans, jammies, undies, socks √
* Slippers, bathrobe, belt, toiletries pack, toothbrush, towel √
* Camera (fresh batteries loaded), clipboard, pens, key drive, binoculars √
* Road maps, atlas, trip planners √
* Munchies, Drinks, First-Aid kit, medicines √

And I'll be wearing my "chocolate chips" BDU suit with pockets for my wallet, keys, sunglasses, notepad, datebook, Duck knife, hankie, and other tools.

1) Not a Wal*Mart, a Home Depot. So shows me Google StreetView.

2) The Venus Diner was sold in 2006 and moved to Cleveland according to sources. Gibsonia, you did NOT know what you had when you had it!

Thirty years ago this month, the Bierce Family moved to "Peachtree", a plot of land that previously belonged to Dad's half-brother Patrick and his family. The town to which it belonged changed in the times since we got there. First it was "El Pico North", allegedly an outskirt of Brooksville. But then the Postal Service decided that Spring Hill was big enough to become a de facto municipality (even if the place didn't formally establish self-governance itself) and Peachtree was counted as Spring Hill some years later.

We arrived from Pennsylvania after two days of driving to an almost completely empty house. Our household items took a few days to catch up with us. So us kids slept on the floor, and danced to a tape of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack in the wide-open living room much of the day. It was way too hot outside for us to do much outside. That and the grass was long and we noticed something new: sandspurs. Our habits were going to change...just about ALL of them.

MORE TO COME.

Hey.

If I didn't mention it before...my mother's hometown hero during WW2 was the flying ace Francis Gabreski. I've been interested in him since we visited his family's grocery in the Seventies (on the occasion of being in that town for the funeral of my maternal grandmother) and afterward receiving an autographed picture of him.

Well, part of his story was how, because he was the son of Polish immigrants, he was able to take exchange duty with one of the Polish exile squadrons in the Royal Air Force in the time between the entry of the U.S. into the war and the establishment of regular American combat units in Britain.

The plane he flew on his missions with the RAF was a Spitfire Mark IX, serial number BS410. He had good luck in surviving his missions against enemy fighters but never got to shoot down an enemy with it either. After his tour was over, BS410 was reassigned to another pilot, who was brought down in France and captured. Gabreski took his education in air combat from the Poles to the 56th Fighter Group of the Eighth Air Force and wrecked 31 German planes under the guns of his P-47 Thunderbolt.

The crash site for the Spitfire was found and excavated in recent years. Pieces of the plane were collected.

Some of these pieces are being included in the brand-new build of a Spitfire that will have the serial number BS410.

I don't know whether I should consider that to be a tribute or a disservice to history.