The other day I was fighting back the tears of laughter that adrenalin springs to mind. We really are a unique bunch; standing at the sky as our pride and joy bumbles around, our heads, thumbs and fingers waggling frantically at our transmitters." Well thats what it is like for me anyway, fighting this planes through all kinds of manoeuvres and wandering if you can land it."
But then the gust appears, normally in my pants, when you have to land the beast. I quickly calculate the direction and get the perfect landing. In my case if nothing falls off or breaks off during the three bounces, wing tip stike and nose over then its' a landing.
There is always the fear of who noticed your landing; proudly you walk back to the guys, chest pumped out with a swagger of the hips and you continue with the conversational banter. Then Mayoor takes his helicopter up and you realise that you were just lucky.
The other pilots then take to the air; performing stunts and knife edges, loops and roll flips, etc. I wonder if they notice me secretly walking home with my head down.
When I get back, the Misses shouts,
"How was your flying babe?" from the mountain of bubbles and 59 gallons of water in the bathroom smelling like a brothel.
"Um, yeah, it was great,; Mayoor had trouble again with his plane so I sorted it out for him and I showed him how to do the a knife edge properly." I replied.