I was flying the jet over the Pacific enjoying the view when it became necessary to take a physiological break. Having made the requisite arrangements with the Cabin Crew, I stood up to make ”ready” by the cockpit door. As I left the pilot seat I put the armrest up to clear the way for my exit, but it did not lock up in the stowed position. Instead, as I shuffled between the center control pedestal and the seat, the armrest came down and gently bumped my right knee. The unimaginable pain I felt when this happened made me say “golly” as tears squirted from my Ray Bans.
You see, my knee is swollen as big as my head, and quite an awful color. This is due to the war waged against me by Section 8 at Cahuilla last weekend. My first, second and third attempts garnered me a 5, a 3, and a 1. Just before my last attempt, my good friend “Crofty” managed a clean with virtually no toil whatsoever. So in my mind the gauntlet had been thrown down. It was clean or 5, no options. Well long story made short, I carded a “go for it” 5. That is, after the bike was pulled from on top of me and Sam the checker dug my card out of my shirt pocket while I went into shock.
So, just before the cockpit door was opened and I was freed to go visit the lavatory, the pain subsided, the tears stopped, and I gathered my self so as to look calm and professional. I exited the cockpit with a smile. I have a great job that makes me smile, but this smile was different. This smile was the smile of a trials rider reflecting on that last glorious attempt at perfection.
When my leg gets better, I will wash my bike.