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  • Hey, I'm outta here

    Qittin' the racing game. It's been real and it'sbeen fun, but it ain't nol onger real fun. And the message boards are just brawl forums. For the record:

    I was Tommy Hubbs at Indystar.com

    THJ at Speedtv.com

    and Barstow Kid here at Trackforum this go round.

    Hubbster at Trackforum some time back.

    Time to call it quits. I am tired of motor racing.

    Best wishes to you all.

    I quit. Goodnight.

  • #2
    We need to have a site here at Trackforum entitled "Good Byes" of all the people who post their farewells.

    Comment


    • #3
      Originally posted by Barstow Kid
      Qittin' the racing game. It's been real and it'sbeen fun, but it ain't nol onger real fun. And the message boards are just brawl forums. For the record:

      I was Tommy Hubbs at Indystar.com

      THJ at Speedtv.com

      and Barstow Kid here at Trackforum this go round.

      Hubbster at Trackforum some time back.

      Time to call it quits. I am tired of motor racing.

      Best wishes to you all.

      I quit. Goodnight.
      What will your new name be when you register next?
      “Jealousy is the tribute mediocrity pays to genius.” -- Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen

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      • #4
        See you when you get back.

        Comment


        • #5
          Why can't people just leave quietly when they're fed up? These pity posts are just obnoxious...
          -Kaaveh
          http://www.humansofracing.com

          Comment


          • #6
            #3 Pierre LaPoone' is KILLED


            This is a little long, so try to stay with me........

            PROLOGUE...................

            In motor racing, there are the road racers and their counterparts, the oval racers. In R/C aircraft there are those so obsessed with safety that they ruin everyone else's fun, and we called them the "safety patrol." The counter group (us) was the reckless, irresponsible wild man maniac aerobatic pilots and racers.

            This was the way it was in every club I ever visited or belonged to. And just like cart/IRL (an auto racing rift), there was considerable animosity between the two groups. See where this is going?

            Of course, my group, in my home club, were always flying 150mph planes just for our everyday sport aircraft. We would buzz up and down the runways upside down two feet off the deck. We would carve our own propellers so the engines would turn 20,000 rpm and used the loudest tuned pipes we could find, just to go as fast, make as much noise, raise as much hell and have as much fun as we could. The only problem with this is it scared the crap out of everyone else.

            We really never did anything overtly dangerous to anything but our own aircraft, but some people were scared to try a simple loop, so what we were doing was inconcievable to them. And the "safety patrol' would just lose their minds when we brought out the 200mph+ racing planes. heheheh.

            Of the two groups, those obsessed with safety almost never even flew their aircraft. They would taxi them up and down the runways, and resolutely refuse to let anyone else even on the field when they were doing their "taxi tests." These "tests' had to be done under the absolutely safest possible conditions. No one else was allowed to fly. We just had to wait. Is this a flying club or what?

            Oh, they would build wonderful, giant and elaborate airships crafted to wonderful extremes, but they were normally afraid to fly them.

            Now the safety patrol were obsessed with their wind sock, a sort of flag that pilots would use to tell the wind direction. And if you even tried to fly when the wind sock was not up, they would throw a fit. It was silly because you have a flag on the end of your transmitter antennae anyway, but they were convinced they alone knew the way to truely safe Nirvana. If you tried a difficult downwind landing, they would go out of their minds and call for a tribunal.

            The wind sock was on a pole just in front of a covered area in the pits where all transmitters were impounded when not in use.

            Everyone would sit under there, because it is pretty miserable in in the Florida summer sun.

            Main story: LAPOONE' KILLED

            There may have never been a finer aerobatic pilot moulded than Pierre LaPoone'. He served me well in many aerobatic competitions, and together we wore out several aircraft. Of course, he crashed a few too, but we were men's men and that's how it goes in a man's sport.

            Well, maybe I was a man's man, but Pierre's French tri-color scarf created much animosity amoung the others who thought he might have been gay. Since he was merely a bust, and moulded from only the shoulders up, I suspect he didn't care either way. It never effected his gritty devil-may-care, in-your-face flying style.

            My other best flying buddy, Rich, had a plane absolutely identical to mine, except his pilot had no scarf. We would fly formation, chase each other around, race, and do all sort of stupid things just hoping we would have a nasty crash, or so it would appear. We really knew exactly what we were doing because we would practise for hours during the week, and on the weekends when the crowds would come out, it was always fun to do some wild things and entertain people.

            And one day, it finally happened. I don't even know who did what because it all happened so quickly. We were forced to wait a full two hours before we could fly because one older gentleman had spent the entire time taxi-testing a beautiful new 1/4 scale Stearman bi-plane. It was gorgeous, but he was a d*ck, and the head of the safety patrol too. We were not his favorite guys, so he relished making us wait. You know, just fly ther damm thing. Jam the throttle forward and see what happens. But, no, lets putt around and tie up the field for two hours.

            We finally got to fly.

            Rich and I somehow got into each other. I don't know how it happened, but my aircraft lost half of a wing, and with the other aileron jammed, it went into an uncontrolled roll and headed right for the pits, all the parked cars, and spectators. By furiously playing with the elevator and rudder (all I had left), I managed to just clear the pits, but not before I knawed the wind sock into a billion pieces with my propeller and smacked the top of the tramsmitter impound, which knocked all the tramsmitters out of the impound and onto the concrete slab, demolishing several of them. That, and what was left of my plane hit a fence post, broke it off and burst into flames.

            Pierre died instantly.

            Rich's plane? Well, you saw it coming, didn't you? It drilled itself right through the top of the beautiful Stearman's top wing, all the way through the fuselage and right on through the bottom of the bottom wing. It literally cut the plane and both wings in half. And since we parked next to our pit spaces, the debris put a hole in the trunk of the guy's brand new Jaguar!

            So, the safety patrol puts out the fire, and with the gentle afternoon breeze, we stood amoung the falling little pieces of wind sock and surveyed the damage. Pierre was melted beyond recognition, and while my plane's radio was not fully destroyed, the elevator was jiggling back and forth on it own just a little, sort of a death spasm or something.

            I sifted through the debris and muttered something about "Well, maybe I can save the motor......." when the owner of the stearman came up and began jumping up and down on what was left of my plane and screaming ;

            "NO! NO! THIS PLANE IS ****ED!!! ****ED!!! ! ****ED!!! I TELL YOU!!!! ****ED!!!

            It's ****ED!!! He jumped up and down, up and down, and squashed the debris deeper and deeper into the ground until he collapsed from exhaustion and we were forced to drag him into the shade and pour water on him.

            And he never stopped screaming ****ED!!! ****ED!!!

            Pierre was replaced by hapless Frenchman Jacques LaBonne, who was so happlessly french that he lasted merely one aerobatic contest before he........oh, it was a horrible, flaming death. Another story for another day.......................

            And, oh by the way, the safety patrol had their day. Of course there was a tribunal and plenty of long, drawn out testimony. The accident was analysized on a big chalkboard and none of the participants, or our supporters, were allowed to speak in our defense. Of course, we were found guilty, given the death penalty and banished for life. If they had been given the power, I'm sure I would still be wandering around Syberia.

            The end result was a club divided, with all racing and aerobatics banned. Undeterred, the wild man aerobatic racers formed a new club in Tampa, which eventually merged back with the old club because the old club lost it's flying field. But alas, it was a mirage. The new club absorbed the old one's treasury (over $20,000), threw the old men out of power and became the hotbed of the southeast for blood curling racing action.
            "Is that my *** that I smell burning?" ... Helmet Stogie from "Death spasms of the Mabuchi"

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            • #7
              I finished reading that, then thought to myself, "WTF????"
              -Kaaveh
              http://www.humansofracing.com

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              • #8
                like he will be missed

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                • #9
                  Buh-bye.
                  "Reckon so" - The Outlaw Josey Wales

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    Na, na, na, na.........................
                    "Is that my *** that I smell burning?" ... Helmet Stogie from "Death spasms of the Mabuchi"

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                    • #11
                      Pierre LaPoone'.........didn't he used to post here too?

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                      • #12
                        adios, amoeba !

                        <img src="http://rds.yahoo.com/S=96062883/K=adios+amoeba/v=2/SID=e/l=IVI/SIG=12efb70n4/EXP=1130615464/*-http%3A//sciweb.hfcc.net/Kelly/images/bio131/adiosamoeba.jpg">
                        http://thepurginglutheran.wordpress.com/


                        http://thegatwickview.tumblr.com/


                        http://thepurginglutheran.tumblr.com/

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                        • #13
                          Nice story Doc. You spin a good yarn, true or not. By the end, I had forgotten the topic of the thread and was thinking your offering had something to do with the split and reunification. Liked the story though. How 'bout another one?

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            Pierre died instantly.





                            Oh, the humanity!

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              ...sniff...
                              ...sniff...
                              ...sniff...

                              If a TF poster falls in the desert and there is nobody around, does he make a sound?

                              "The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you've got it made."
                              ~~Groucho Marx
                              I have the hots for Khaleesi...

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