Drink Rum

I'm going to apologize now. This post will probably not be terribly entertaining as I was struggling to think of something to write about.

Recently, I was pondering smells. It's very interesting to me what smells some people consider very appealing, while others consider them to be rather nasty. Take for instance the chlorine smell of an indoor pool... someone finds it awesome, others probably not so much.

I determined that my favorite nostalgic smell is that of jet fuel (JP-40). My earliest childhood memories are of being at an air force base with my father and standing as close to the jet exhaust of the planes as possible without getting burned. The high pitched whine of the engines and that smell... the smell of burning jet fuel... completely surrounded me.

I'd stand on the flight line as each plane would taxi past me headed towards the runway. The pilot of each aircraft would look over at me and salute. And I saluted back. When the planes were positioned for weapons checks, I would hop in a jeep and a pilot would drive me out to the middle of the airfield next to the runway. I'd climb out of the jeep and stand on hood sometimes. The planes would then light their afterburners and the high pitched whine turned into an infernal roar as the planes tore down the runway in pairs. As the planes went past I was hit with a blast of exhaust, sound, and heat. As soon as two planes were halfway down the runway, two more started their afterburners and screamed to life. Then two more, and two again. By then my ears felt as though they were going to burst, but it didn't matter. I'd watch as the planes rose into the sky at the far end of the field and continued out of sight. Long after I could no longer see the dots on the horizon, I could still here the distant rumble of their engines. I wouldn't leave until I couldn't hear them anymore. Then I was driven back to the operations building to wait in the pilot's lounge. That where I learned to throw darts. Killing time until my father and the other pilots returned.

About an hour later the pilot with the jeep would come in and get me when the planes were 15 minutes away. Back out by the runway I'd listen to the radio and hear familiar voices while I scanned the skies looking for planes. Then I would see the break through the clouds... flying a formation. They'd fly straight over the field in a diagonal line formation, tightly grouped together. Then one at a time, they would break and roll hard to the left and spread themselves into a well spaced line that circled overheard. They would drop altitude and land... one after the other... quietly. Unlike the take off, landing doesn't require much input from the engines so they land much quieter than they take off... but as they past me I was hit with the familiar smell of that jet exhaust. I remember waving to my father as he landed his plane and him waving back from the cockpit and then rumbled on down the runway.

It wasn't until much later in lafe that I realized what a rare and unique experience that was. I still love the smell of jet fuel. It's a special treat anytime I get to go to the airport. It takes me back to a carefree time when the only things on my mind were enjoying a day with my father and experiencing several million dollars worth of military equipment in action.