The chief RSO at Iggle Crick had brought along his Baughman-ized 4" S&W Highway Patrolman, with a 7-shot cylinder set up for moon clips. It made me feel all tingly and avaricious inside. Especially after I ran a cylinder of smokin' Federal 125gr SJHP through it.
I will never again worry about going to see the Blue Angels or the Thunderbirds. You kids can have your guys in their nomex poopy-suits with their flying tea kettles. The Indy air show had The Horsemen doing their thing: A flying threesome of P-51D's locked wingtip-to-wingtip, looping and spiralling and turning and flat-hatting it over the airfield. If you have never had a trio of Merlins in full song come roaring only a couple hundred feet over your head, you don't know what you're missing. If I found out that the only way for me to keep those 1650 cubic-inch V-12s running was to drive down to the Gulf and hand-paint pelicans with crude oil using a bucket and a brush, I'd do it.
If you like planes, and The Horsemen are performing in your neighborhood, go and see them. Seriously. It is frickin' transcendent.