Well, not really. It’s actually some spare propeller spinners, beatifically resting in the outfield at Mt. Home Airport.

We’re parked for the night in one of our favorite en-route stopovers, Mt. Home RV Park in Tehachapi. Our mission this trip is basically a systems check. I’ve done so many changes to Howie and Ralph that we felt it was a good idea to check everything out before we launch on a four-month trip to Alaska in May. So far, so good. New towing setup is sound, all the electrical and plumbing are operational, and (most importantly), the new composting toilet is – well, composting.

We keep some basic-minimum office essentials with us, such as a mini-printer. The only real use for this appliance is to print/sign something of importance, thence to scan or photograph it and send it back. Sadly, an un-tested USB cable is uncooperative today, and we’re unable to use the printer. Tomorrow, the local Radio Shack will be our first port of call, to purchase a new cable.

The wind has been picking up all day long, and is howling past Howie at 15-20mph, with stronger gusts. Despite the intemperate breeze, we elect to take a two mile hike around the premises, examining the airport, sailplanes, and junk and paraphernalia left by citizens of bygone days.

Down at the western end of the airfield, we point our shadows away from the setting sun. The distant windmills are almost 100% engaged (a rare sight). Closes to us, the RV park and airport buildings cluster against the span of the mowed airfield and spindly runways.

This is predominantly a glider field, although power planes are permitted. But most of the powered flight takes place at the municipal airport about three miles northwest. Here at Mt. Home, motor-less aviators come to enjoy the wonderful air currents and mountain waves for which the Tehachapi area is famous world-wide.

One of the world’s records for sailplane altitude was made here some years back. The pilot had done prodigious research on weather conditions, and picked a landmark day for what most pilots would avoid – severe winds (and turbulence) over the ridgelines. He found “lift” in abundance, and climbed almost without pause up to over 47,000 feet – and remember, no motor, just gliding! Even though he was still climbing at over 2,000 feet per minute, and had plenty of breathing oxygen remaining, he had to abort the climb and descend. The reason was simple – he had no pressure suit, and if he had continued the climb, he would have reached an altitude at which his blood would begin to boil at body temperature.

Most of us would understand this to be a very bad thing.

Suffice it to say, most folks who fly sailplanes here don’t try for 47,000 feet. But they do ride the ridges and thermals to find lift. Today, though, we didn’t see any. I suspect it was just too dang windy for the typical glider crowd.

Tomorrow, we’re off to St. George, Utah. We’ll meet up with our nephew and his wife, chew the fat, and have just a ridiculously good time. Life is good.