Speaking of getting old...

Other day I was dropping Mom off at her senior luncheon. This little guy (couldn't have been 140# soaking wet) pulls up on a Suzuki Marauder 800. He takes off his helmet and strikes up a conversation. An elderly English dude, he has one of those personalities that lights up a room. Lady comes by with two kids in a stroller, he squats down to shake their little hands and get their life stories.

"What a lovely day! Perfect flying weather." Turns out he has three airplanes, two of which he built, and an old Cessna 150 a mile away at Santa Monica airport. Says he's been flying out of there for nearly 50 years. He detailed many of the crashes out of the airport, some of which I remember as a boy. He remembered the types of planes, injuries/deaths, what went wrong, even streets where they crashed. I told him that my 1st flight was in a shiney new 150 out of Santa Monica in ~1975, and remembered the tail number (N11775). "Must not be here anymore. I know all the numbers of the 150s at the airport."

At that point I asked him how old he was.

"I'm 85." My Mom (also 85) confirmed his age. Seems it's been a topic of discussion among the oldsters at the senior center.

I've gotta pick this guy's brain to find out how he does it!