Weather for the Muncie contest was excellent, which is the weather in which I specialize in flying, except for Saturday evening's practice. The wife of the guy who builds my airplanes flew in and demanded that I practice Saturday evening, although it was blustery and I had my mouth set for Middle Eastern food, there being a new restaurant on Bethel. The restaurant was closed, so we went to the L-pad. My airplane ejected a wheel on takeoff, and I found that I couldn't stand up reliably on the wet pavement with my worn-out sneakers, so I quit after one lackluster flight. Fortunately I found the wheel, one of the pair that people made fun of at the Nats, and put it back on the dog, this time with two (2) retainers per wheel. We got up early Sunday to go to Walmart for new rubber for my feet, but they didn't have any that fit, so we went out to the field. I thought maybe if the circle got wet, I could send somebody out before my flight to dry the center with a towel. That's what James Brown would have had done. I had forgotten my cape, too. I resolved to be better prepared next time. I then flew three stunt flights and drew the ire of the other participants because my airplane wasn't available for postcontest ceremonies that I hadn't considered, the airplane having gone with the car to check out of the hotel. The airplane returned, rituals were performed, and I giggled all the way to the Twelfth Street. After some mush, we went to my sister's house, pruned a tree, shopped for an oven heating element, and replaced a toilet seat.
I lit out this morning before dawn, dropped the W of the GWBMA at the Indianapolis airport, and set out past the ruins of I-74 rest areas toward home. A formation of six biplanes flew across the road near Galesburg, Illinois, there being a Stearman fly-in there that I hadn't known about until just now. Had the aforementioned lunch with the Giffords, but I didn't mention to Russ that the F2B team is all electric, because I didn't want to see him cry. I went past Albert Lea and got out of buying Wayne Willey the dinner that I owe him, because he got an unexpected day off and had gone to Minneapolis to fly. I am in a hotel in Worthington, Minnesota, where the desk clerk is concerned that some shenanigans may be played by the Texans who bring a turkey for the coming turkey race against Paycheck, Worthington's famous racing turkey. I'm not making this up. You can look on the Internet.