July 24, 2025 • 8:16 AM • North 40, Oshkosh

The grass is still jeweled with last night’s fireworks—tiny prisms on every blade. A volunteer in a sun-faded vest pirouettes with orange wands, guiding a blue-and-white Piper Saratoga II HP (tail N4128W) toward her tie-down. The prop carves slow, silver circles; the wingtip light blinks like a metronome for morning. Inside, a young right-seater lifts her eyes—half wonder, half checklist—while departures stitch the low clouds, one more single-engine lifting into the Oshkosh sky beyond the tents.

This is the quiet courage of AirVenture’s dawn: 700,000 souls, 10,000 aircraft, and an army of volunteers choreographing a city of wings. The Bonanza Lane behind me is waking up—116 Bonanzas & Barons we taxied with earlier in the week—coffee in one hand, tie-down ropes in the other. My two talks are done, my voice a little hoarse, but my head is loud with ideas from Robometrics® Machines Demo Day IV—AGI meeting airmanship, algorithms meeting airmass.

The Saratoga rolls past my tent flap. Fun fact: the Saratoga II HP carries a 300-hp Lycoming IO-540, six seats, and that distinctive double passenger door—the family road-trip of the sky, cruising around 155 kt with manners to match. This morning she’s poetry on tricycle gear, brush-stroking dew off the grass as the marshal’s wands trace neon calligraphy.

“To invent an airplane is nothing. To build one is something. But to fly is everything.” — Otto Lilienthal

I stand there, damp sneakers, grin I can’t delete, and think about how flying and research rhyme: both demand discipline, both reward wonder.

My two cents from the North 40:

• “I measure days in prop arcs and ideas that refuse to land.” — me

• “In Oshkosh, you don’t sleep under a wing—you sleep inside an unfinished dream.” — me

See you on the flight line. The runway is a sentence; the airplanes, our verbs.

Tagging friends & hosts: @eaa, @piperaircraftinc, @robometricsmachines
(If you’re here, come wander the North 40—follow the scent of avgas and coffee.)

July 21, 2025 • 10:32 pm • North 40, Oshkosh
The day finally exhales.

My tent glows like a paper lantern under a bruised Wisconsin sky. Solar path lights stitch a soft constellation across the grass. Just beyond the guy lines, a Bonanza wing shelters the canvas like a guardian—aluminum halo catching distant ramp lights. In the hush, you can still hear it: the day’s echo of props and applause dissolving into cricket tempo.

Earlier, 116 Bonanzas & Barons—the famous Bonanza Lane—arrived in chorus, blades carving time, radios singing brevity. A few minutes ago a late taxi rolled past, the prop wash tugging the tent flaps as if to say, sleep if you can; the sky is not done with you yet.

I’m standing outside, boots damp with dew, heart still flying from two talks earlier today—sharing our Robometrics Machines AGI work for aviation at EAA AirVenture before a city of aviators (700,000 people, 10,000 airplanes!). Tonight the North 40 is a cathedral without walls. Every zipper, every tie-down, every red beacon down to a heartbeat. This is how pilgrimages end—in quiet—and begin again at first light.

“The airplane has unveiled for us the true face of the earth.” — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Watching the flight line earlier, a Bonanza slipped past our camera—spinner a silver comet, strobes painting the twilight. Adventure is not always a roar; sometimes it’s a whisper of trailing vortices over grass, the tent seam vibrating like a plucked string, a reminder that tomorrow’s brief is wheels-up, souls-high.

My two cents, for the logbook:

• “The runway to wonder is paved with curiosity—and lit by courage.” — me

• “We don’t sleep at Oshkosh; we dream at 2,700 RPM.” — me

And yes—this is La La Land for pilots. The place where time keeps Oshkosh standard, and every wingtip is a promise.

See you at sunrise. 🛠️🤖✈️

Tagging friends across the ramp: @eaa • @eaaairventure • @b2osh (Bonanza/Baron family, you’re the heartbeat).
Videos & longform to YouTube: @RobometricsMachines.

July 19, 2025 • 5:20 PM
B2OSH XXXV • La Crosse (KLSE) ➜ over Holmen, WI

From the right seat of our Bonanza A36, I’m watching the sky braid itself into geometry. We’re Charlie-4 Lead—Tim flying left seat, me eyes-out—and our right wingman Pat slides into view in his 1975 Bonanza A36, N4572S. The prop disc glows like a silver halo; twin blade shadows lick the cowl. Below us, Holmen’s quilt of cornfields and oak-dark ridges rolls by; church spires and gravel lanes drift past like notes on staff paper.

N4572S holds station—blue cheatline, tip tanks shimmering—steady as a heartbeat at 120 knots. Off the nose, three bright specks blossom: Charlie-3 in perfect echelon, a miniature galaxy hung over Wisconsin. This is the Bonanza Air Force of 116, strung out to the horizon, each airplane a promise pointed at Oshkosh.

“To invent an airplane is nothing. To build one is something. To fly is everything.” —Otto Lilienthal

An A36 fact I love: the Bonanza line is general aviation’s longest continuously produced family, and the A36’s long cabin turned “family airplane” into “go-anywhere machine.” It’s the philosopher-athlete of GA—IO-520 muscle, cross-country manners.

The radio is ballet; the spacing, calligraphy. My gloves rest on the rail; my camera drinks in Pat’s ship as we turn north. I think about the week ahead—AGI for aviation on the world’s largest stage—700,000 dreamers and 10,000 airplanes. Then the VOR sings, the horizon opens, and the only thesis that matters is lift.

My notes from the right seat:
“Formation sharpens the airplane until it becomes a mirror for your mind.” —@RobometricsMachines
“Some journeys are measured in nautical miles; this one is measured in goosebumps.” —@RobometricsMachines

See the last frames: C-3 locked in, three white arrows carving light. Next stop: the yellow dots of KOSH and the sound of a million stories starting at once.

Tagging the tribe: @B2OSH • @EAA • @textronaviation

July 19, 2025 • 4:43 PM
La Crosse, WI (KLSE) → Oshkosh (KOSH)

I’m standing on the wing of our Bonanza A36, the aluminum warm under my palms, while 116 Bonanzas and Barons breathe in unison—cowls open, strobes winking like a runway full of fireflies. Alpha and Bravo have spun to life; props carve the afternoon light, and the ramp becomes a metronome of purpose.

Ahead and abeam: crimson-striped N1565Z, the classic lines of N8055U, rainbow-piped N6322A, red-silver N5637S, ivory N69GD, and the blue N120MP—tail numbers like call-sign poetry in a Beechcraft sea. Somewhere a crew chief taps a cowling, somewhere a checklist whispers “mixture rich.” It’s romantic, ridiculous, and completely serious.

Fun fact: the Beechcraft Bonanza (first flight 1945) is the longest-running production piston aircraft in history—and the A36 turned that lineage into a six-seat adventure machine with IO-520/550 heart and cross-country grace. Formation today isn’t just geometry; it’s community—discipline braided with trust.

“Engines up, hearts steady—formation is friendship at 120 knots.” — me

“Oshkosh isn’t a destination; it’s a promise we keep to our younger selves.” — me

And because every ramp philosopher needs a north star, I’m thinking of Richard Bach:
“Aviation is proof that, given the will, we have the capacity to achieve the impossible.”

See you over the river, stacked and sparkling, on a heading for the week where I share our AGI-for-aviation work with 700,000 dreamers and 10,000 flying machines. Onward.

Mentions: @eaa @beechcraft @textronaviation @aopa @boldmethod @foreflight @sportyspilotshop @jeppesenaviation

July 21, 2025 • 7:41 pm • EAA AirVenture, KOSH

This is the Cessna quarter of La-La Land—where wings become roofs, tie-downs become tent stakes, and the day exhales into gold.

Rows of Skyhawks and 150/152s glow like lanterns in the low sun. Prop socks dangle, pitot covers wink red, and tents bloom beneath the wings—tiny cathedrals of canvas and dreams. A school bus idles beyond the sea of tails; a little A-frame ramp sign leans into the wind like a pilgrim’s staff. One blue-striped Cessna with a sleepy cowl cover keeps watch while N1777TS stands sentinel near a bell-tent village. The grass is cool, shadows long, and somewhere down the line a Lycoming coughs to life—one note, then a chord, then the whole field hums.

The thrill here isn’t loud; it’s inevitable. You feel it when a spinner flashes at the edge of the frame and a white tail lifts toward the parting sky—just enough to remind you that every campsite is a preflight in slow motion, every coffee mug a fuel cup, every story a flight plan.

“I fly because it releases my mind from the tyranny of petty things.” — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Two lines for the logbook of the soul (mine):

“A tent under a wing is a promise under a horizon.” — me
“We don’t ‘camp’ at Oshkosh—we hold short for wonder.” — me

To everyone who builds this temporary city of air and hope—salute.
@eaa • @textronaviation (@cessnaaircraft on YT) • @aopa • @faa • @oshkoshpilots 🍃

July 25, 2025 • 12:31 pm • Oshkosh

Some airports are destinations. Oshkosh is a feeling.

Across the grass, the Hilton by the runway lounges like a grandstand for dreams, balconies full of wide eyes and bigger stories. In front of it, a white Cessna naps under a summer haze while the red-top Cirrus (N473P, SR22 “Carbon”) hums a soft promise—carbon flash against green lawn, spinner drawing circles around time itself.

Up on the white controller platform, the red-shirt wizards—EAA’s tireless air-ballet directors—trace geometry in the air: two fingers for hold short, an open palm for flow, a point to the horizon that says go live your life. The taxiway heat wobbles like film grain. The prop washes the grass, and suddenly the world is a metronome.

The Cirrus rolls. Nose light kisses the centerline. A heartbeat of silence—and then lift, clean and inevitable, as if gravity has manners here. Hilton windows flash like applause. The Cessna across the way tips a wing, the way friends do when words would be too heavy.

“We don’t escape to the sky—we remember we belong to it.”

Oshkosh is La-La Land for pilots: where hotel balconies become opera boxes, ground crews become poets, and every departure writes another verse. The red tail dwindles to a ruby on the horizon, and for one long breath the field is a cathedral.

🎬 In the video:
• N473P (Cirrus SR22, Carbon scheme) idles, taxis, then rises past the Hilton on the runway, while the red-shirt ATC team orchestrates traffic from the white stand.
• A white Cessna lounges opposite the hotel—runway neighbor, witness, and chorus.

Quote to pocket:
“Runways are pages; aircraft are pens. Write bravely.”

Tag love: @eaa @cirrusaircraft @flyeaa @hilton

July 23, 2025 • 8:22 PM • Oshkosh Night Air Show

The ramp hums like a cello string as four checker-nosed Texans roll past show center—prop discs a blur, exhaust crackling like campfire applause. The Titan Aerobatic Team—flying vintage North American T-6/AT-6/SNJwarbirds—slides into fingertip as if the evening itself were magnetic. Each ship breathes through a Pratt & Whitney R-1340 radial—600 horses of starlight and thunder—while AeroLEDs ignite their wings with cold fire, turning twilight into a runway of constellations.

They lift, bank, and the night becomes handwriting: barrel rolls drawn with smoke, a looping Cuban eight stitched above the crowd, then a formation pitch-up that pauses time. You can feel the prop wash on your chest and the piston rhythm in your ribs; it’s choreography with consequences—WWII trainer bones, modern showmanship soul.

“A good formation is a promise kept.”
— an old lead once told me. Tonight, every line they draw keeps it.

Close up, the checkerboard cowls look like chess kings mid-charge; wheel pants branded Desser Aerospace, tires by Goodyear, canopies glinting with sponsor decals—AeroLEDs, Aspen Avionics, Bose—history and hi-tech shaking hands at golden hour. When the lights bloom for the night sequence, sparks feather off the tips and the four-ship becomes a comet with choices.

Fun fact: The T-6 first flew in 1935; nine decades later it’s still teaching—now it teaches crowds how to gasp in unison.

Quote to pocket: “Speed is useful, but grace is unforgettable.”
Tonight we got both—plus smoke, fire, and a sky that said encore.

Tags & Shout-outs:
@EAA @aeroleds @goodyearaviation @desseraerospace @aspenavionics @boseaviation

July 19, 2025 • 1:00 PM • La Crosse, WI (KLSE)

116 Bonanzas & Barons sit nose-to-tail like chess pieces in a hangar-scented cathedral, waiting for a single word: GO.

From the hangar threshold, I watch the red Colgan tractor lean into the towbar and coax N4519S across the ramp. The IO-520 sleeps, but the Bonanza still radiates intent—rivets winking in the sun—while the marshal carves the air with twin batons, trimming wingtip spacing to millimeters like a conductor finding the downbeat

Colgan Air Services—Western Wisconsin’s premier FBO—plays master of ceremonies: fuel bowsers glide, chocks kiss pavement, and the ramp becomes a living timeline pointed squarely at Oshkosh. Our pilots lean forward—sunglasses, caps, and that “hurry-up-and-wait” grin—because when 116 Beechcraft launch in formation, time itself stands at attention.

We’re minutes (or hours, hard to tell) from the ritual: the roll, the rumble, the river-turn, and that first fingertip-close join-up that never fails to put static in your bones.

“To most people, the sky is the limit. To those who love aviation, the sky is home.”

Today it’s also our runway to a different mission: wheels-up to EAA for a week where I’ll be talking AGI for aviation—taking the same precision we practice here and teaching our future copilots (silicon and carbon) to fly with judgment, grace, and grit.

Salute to the ramp crew. Respect to the formation leads. And a quiet nod to every pilot on those folding chairs who knows: the hardest part of flying is sometimes the waiting—because momentum has a sound, and it’s almost our turn to make it.

Tagging friends in the flightpath for extra lift:
@americanbonanzasociety @textronaviation @eaa

🗣️ Quote of the hour:
“Formation isn’t about being close—it’s about being exact.”

July 19, 2025 • 4:57 pm
La Crosse, WI (KLSE) • B2OSH XXXV

I’m strapped into our Bonanza A36, radios quiet, prop ticking at idle. Outside my window a neon-shirted air marshal stalks the centerline like a maestro with red batons—micro-adjusting the ocean of aluminum around us. Up the taxiway, 116 Bonanzas and Barons—tails straight and V—glitter in the Wisconsin sun, strobes winking like a runway full of metronomes. The bluffs over the Mississippi sit calm in the distance, but on this ramp: electricity.

He gives a tiny cross of the wands—two inches left—and a domino of winglets shivers into perfect spacing. I can feel the formation breathe as one machine. This is minutes before the launch, the world’s largest civilian mass-arrival lining up to thread the sky to EAA AirVenture. My checklist ends on a grin: the same hands riding right seat in this A36 will be on stage in Oshkosh, demoing our Robometrics Machines AGI for aviation—because why not make tomorrow think for itself while we fly there today?

A Bonanza fact for your inner nerd: this lineage is the longest continuously produced aircraft in history (since 1947)—which means the sound in my headset is the soundtrack of seven decades of “let’s go.”

📣 Quote I hear in my bones right now:
“A lineup like this isn’t a queue. It’s a promise.”

The marshal snaps both wands forward. Throttles nudge. Props bite. And for a heartbeat I’m not a pilot, I’m a pixel in a living mosaic—116 ships, one intention—aimed at the purple dot in Oshkosh—spoiler: bullseye.

Tagging the family: @americanbonanzasociety @beechcraft @textronaviation @lseairport @eaa
(see you on the purple dot—bullseye!)

Oshkosh • Thu, July 24, 2025 • 3:25 pm
(Day after the Wednesday Night Airshow—mid-afternoon warbird/pyro slot.)

A polished-silver MiG-17F slides in lower than a secret handshake—side 1726, twin red bands, red star winking. The crowd barely exhales before the VK-1F lights; an afterburner rapier stabs the air and the pyro wall of fire answers. Cameras flinch. The Fresco skims the line like a tuxedoed getaway car—cool, rude, and very, very fast.

He’s so low you can count the wing fences and rivets on the drop tanks. Whistle to furnace, the jet “bombs” the runway, kicks to a climbing break, and signs the overcast with flame. Q would call it a demonstration; M would call it paperwork. We call it cinema.

“The name’s Fresco. MiG Fresco. Shaken camera. Stirred soul.”

Nerd intel
• Afterburning VK-1F (~7,450 lbf), automatic leading-edge slats; not supersonic in level flight but a turn-fight artist.
• Typical bite: 1×37mm + 2×23mm cannons—headlines from the Middle East to Vietnam.

🎥 Tags/Thanks: @mig17demoteam @randyw.ball @mike_terfehr @migwhisperer21 @tumbling_goose @eaawarbirds @eaa @vac.inc @RandyWBall

Oshkosh • Wed, July 23, 2025 • 4:45 pm

Hours before the Wednesday Night Airshow, a two-seat F/A-18 from VFA-106 “Gladiators” rolls past show center, canopies up like theater curtains. Modex 206, tail code AD, Spartan helmet on the fin—carrier swagger in slow motion. The CO sits up front, visor gold as sunset; the WSO in back throws a shaka that ricochets down the flight line.

Nose strut flexes, catapult launch bar glinting. Slime lights and stencil art razor-sharp; you can read the rescue triangles and feel the hydraulics breathe. Twin intakes sip air, the jet taxis light, then the throttles nudge and the sound arrives—clean, surgical, hornet growl over fresh-cut grass. Somewhere a kid drops his popcorn. All of us become kids.

Interesting bit: the “F/A” isn’t a typo—the Hornet was built from the start to be both Fighter and Attack, the Navy’s multirole play before “multirole” was cool.

“Cool is speed you can steer.”

Showtime was still hours away, but 206 gave us the opener: discipline, attitude, and a salute you could hear.

Bonus nerd fuel: it’s the two-seat F/A-18F Super Hornet—twin GE F414s shoving ~44,000 lb of thrust, 11 hardpointsplus a 20mm M61A2 tucked in the nose. Fly-by-wire, 9G, folding wings and launch bar—born for the boat, trained by the VFA-106 Gladiators to fight and strike on the same sortie.

Oshkosh, July 20, 2025 — 12:43 pm (Sunday)

Haze shivers off the taxiway as a Northrop T-38C Talon glides past with both canopies popped—front-seat gloved hand on the rail, back-seater scanning the line. The tail flashes “VN” and AF 70-0562—Vance AFB colors, 25th FTS “Shooters” script right under the beacon. “U.S. AIR FORCE” is stenciled clean across the fuselage; the centerline tankrides shotgun; the J85s breathe heat like kettledrums.

You can read the DANGER—EJECTION SEAT triangles, the EMERGENCY RESCUE arrow, the wear-polish along the spine where crews have lived with this jet for decades. The Talon rolls, light on its legs, nosewheel ticking centerline paint. Then the pilots give that casual, practiced head-tilt—the universal we’re home—and nudge the throttles. The sound arrives a beat after the motion: dry jet thunder, crisp and surgical.

For a heartbeat the field goes quiet enough to hear your own pulse. We know what’s next—the U-2 Dragon Lady is inbound—but right now the show is this: the world’s classic supersonic trainer doing runway swagger with two open canopies and a thousand quiet stories in the scratches on its skin. It’s the jet that taught generations to think fast, fly smooth, and earn the right to wear a patch with edges.

“Speed impresses. Discipline lands the jet.” — A line to live by on any flight line.

Robometrics® Machines is running AI Demo Day IV across the grounds, but this is pure analog poetry—Talon cadenceand human hands, just before the Dragon Lady paints a shadow over show center.

Oshkosh, July 22, 2025 — 5:39 pm, Tuesday

Four North American T-28 Trojans tip in from the east and the sky gets loud in the best way—nine cylinders at a time. Smoke on. Gear down. The formation drifts across show center like a flying drumline, each prop carving commas in the blue.

Up front, the red-nosed “747”—the VT-27 starburst bird—leads with that classic trainer swagger. Off the wing, the midnight-blue “576” NAVY machine flashes the white bars and stencils under its wings. Tucked in trail, the MARINES grey ship marked “0009” (Beaufort tail) holds it rock-steady. Anchoring the stack is the SEA-camo T-28D with the “TO” tail code—muscle and history in the same silhouette. You can read the underwing NAVY and MARINES, see the tires hanging in the “dirty pass,” watch the flaps and doors breathing with every turn. These aren’t museum pieces—they’re living metronomes powered by Wright R-1820 radials.

They roll into a left echelon, then flare apart—a Maverick-style break without the afterburners. The sound hits half a second after the motion: a warm, percussive thunder that you feel in the ribs. For a heartbeat Oshkosh becomes a carrier deck with grass, and the Trojans write their names in smoke above it—“747,” “576,” “0009,” “TO.” Trainers that taught generations to fly the boat. A D-model that went from classroom to combat. Cool? It’s the kind of cool that earns its paint.

“Grace is what happens when horsepower learns choreography.”

Robometrics® Machines is running AI Demo Day IV this week—but here, right over our heads, analog legends and human hands put on the masterclass. Sensors can model it; souls can feel it.

Oshkosh Flight Line — July 22, 2025, 5:53 pm, Tuesday

The ramp vibrates before the eyes even catch up—nine-cylinder radials thumping like a heartbeat you can stand on. A phalanx of North American T-28 Trojans snakes past the cones, canopies flashing sun, prop discs turning the evening air into glass. Taxiway swagger. Top-Gun energy, piston-prop edition.

Up front: “744” in hi-viz orange and white, VT-5 “USS Lexington” on the flanks, tail code 2S / 0514—a T-28C with the carrier tailhook fairing you can actually spot under the tail. Civil reg on the aft fuselage reads N28XC. Right off its wing is “747”, the starburst tail from VT-27, listed as T-28C 146262 (NX7160C)—call it Bulldog 1 the way the crew has it stenciled. A few lengths back, the classic grey-over-white “300” rolls by with MARINES on the tail, “BEAUFORT 0009” and N300JH T-28B under the flag—clean, purposeful, no hook, all attitude. Bringing up the rear, a Southeast-Asia-style camo T-28D wears a TO tail code and the lean look of the counter-insurgency conversions—more grunt, hardpoints, history.

They rumble so close you can read the rescue arrows, see the rivet lines, watch the nose struts working the pavement. You feel the radial heat, smell the avgas, and catch a gloved wave from the front seat—Warbird grace moving past at walking speed, every inch a story. For a minute, Oshkosh becomes a carrier deck that grew grass.

“Speed is loud. Swagger is quieter. The Trojan does both.”

Robometrics® Machines was running AI Demo Day IV in parallel this week—but right here, right now, it’s human hands on throttles, analog needles at the edge, and living history taxiing an arm’s length away. Need for speed? Confirmed. Need for awe? Absolute.

July 22, 2025 • 4:50 pm • Oshkosh AirVenture flight line (KOSH)

The flight line was holding its breath when the silver twin-boom knifed across the grass, smoke on and canopy glinting. Wingtip tanks sketched a razor-straight line as the jet slid past the camera—close enough to read the V on the nose and U-1229 on the tail. In the background a domed skyline peered over the trees, but every eye was locked on the Vampire. The pass felt low, fast, and perfectly smooth—like someone dragged a scalpel along the horizon.

Throttle came up and the Goblin’s howl rolled over the field. You could see the details flashing by: the black nose cap, the Swiss cross on the fin, the small intake cheeks ahead of the wings, and the landing light peeking from the belly. Parked fighters blurred beneath the booms as the jet floated past—old-school cool threading a modern crowd. For a heartbeat the world narrowed to polished aluminum and shockwaves, and you knew you were watching a classic do what it was born to do.

“Speed is a story best told at ground-level.”

Aircraft

• De Havilland DH.115 Vampire T.55 “Vampy Too” (ex-Swiss Air Force) — U-1229 / N171LA, c/n 989. Built 1959, license-built by F+W Emmen.

• Powered by a de Havilland Goblin 35B turbojet—the signature whine you hear on the pass. 

Thirty seconds of film, a lifetime of grin. If Maverick flew a museum piece, this would be the deck pass.

B2OSH XXXV • La Crosse (KLSE) • July 18, 2025 — 11:57 AM

Midday ramp heat, hangar doors yawning open at Colgan Air Service. A star-spangled mini-rig hisses to life, smoke curling from a Traeger like wingtip vortices you can taste. On the tailgate: paper plates stacked like chocks, mustard at the ready, and a runway-length formation of brats and links awaiting clearance for takeoff. Our ground support? A dust-clean PRO-4X truck, gravel in its voice, barbecue in its heart.

Then the cameo everyone double-takes: a Beechcraft Bonanza reborn as a BBQ on wheels—blue stars, polished aluminum panels, an American flag snapping overhead, and a cooling Igloo standing by like a flight doc. Cowling becomes “cow-ling.” The nose art grins; the doors open like cowl flaps; the smoke rolls like a lazy taxi down Alpha. Somewhere between pitmaster and pitot tube, aviation turns into lunch.

And the soundtrack? “Hotel California” by the Eagles floats from the tailgate speaker, those shimmering guitars gliding over the ramp like a sunset approach—classic, unhurried, perfectly timed with the sizzle.

Pilots drift in from the flight line, hands still smelling of 100LL and safety wire. Brats sear, chips rustle, stories spool up—B2OSH families, engineers, dreamers. We preflight the grill, brief the condiments, and brief again because that’s what aviators do. It’s ridiculous. It’s wonderful. It’s exactly the kind of inventive joy that powers Robometrics Machines’ AI Demo Day IV—because if you can turn a Bonanza into a barbecue, you can absolutely turn ideas into airworthy realities.

“We don’t just preheat—we preflight.”

Roll the clip. Hear the sizzle, feel the chord change, and taste the camaraderie. 🌭🎸🇺🇸

July 19, 2025 • 7:31pm • La Crosse, WI (KLSE)
B2OSH XXXV had just tucked the day under a quilt of low clouds when the ramp turned into a quiet ballet. A Colgan Air Services tractor—safety-orange driver, cherry-red sheet metal—eased forward, towbar taut, and N656PT rolled with the kind of grace only a V-tail can get away with.

Center frame: the Beech floats toward camera, prop at rest, rivets catching the damp evening light. The Mississippi bluffs smudge the horizon; rows of Bonanzas sit with pitot covers like little nightcaps. Colgan’s crew—Western Wisconsin’s family-owned, premier FBO—does what great FBOs do: make heavy things feel light and complicated things feel simple. (Their welcome center literally faces those bluffs—nice touch. )  

N656PT, the star of our tow-show: a Beechcraft K35 Bonanza (1959 model), serial D-5910, one of the classic V-tails that turned utility into sculpture. Under the sleek cowling, the K-series’ Continental IO-470-C pumps out 250 hp, a smooth six that made mid-century cross-countries feel like cheating.

The video breathes: tires hiss on damp pavement; the tractor noses left; the V lifts just so as the towbar draws a perfect line. The ramp lights glint along that blue-and-red cheatline, and the Bonanza’s windows hold the last of the day like pockets of molten pewter.

Then—perfect timing—Mark, my good friend, strolls into frame wearing the B2OSH tee, delivering the most Oshkosh line ever:
Mark: “Lot of airplanes.”
Voice off-screen: “And they are all nice looking.”
Mark (grinning): “Yes, they are.”

It’s small talk with big engines behind it. Community is the secret fuel here: tractors and tail numbers, hand signals and head nods, the shared reverence for aluminum that somehow still smells like tomorrow.

“Some machines fly on thrust. Ours also fly on trust.”

Colgan edges N656PT into her spot, brakes set, pins out. The towbar drops with a polite clink. The camera lingers on that iconic V—geometry that still looks like a dare—and the shot fades with the sound of distant run-ups and the soft applause of wheels on wet concrete.

B2OSH XXXV • La Crosse → Oshkosh
Colgan Air Services—keeping the dance smooth on the west bank. Explore Colgan Air Services

(If you love V-tails and good friends who photobomb at the perfect moment, this one’s for you.)

July 22, 2025 — 3:54 PM, Tuesday.
Heat shimmer over Runway, crowd humming, phones up. Then that shape emerges out of the green Wisconsin treeline—razor nose, bubble canopy, twin canted fins—Mikoyan MiG-29UB, N29UB, ghosted in digital winter camo like a snow leopard stalking summer grass.

She floats the last beat of flare, nose high. Landing lights burn through the haze; the mains kiss the concrete with a whisper that sounds like thunder. A heartbeat later the drag chute blossoms, a white silk cathedral yanking the Fulcrum straight and true. The air smells of hot kerosene and wet grass. You can hear the rivets remember cold mornings in another hemisphere.

Taxi lights wink. The green wheels—that signature Soviet emerald—roll past our lenses. Under the canopy: two seats in tandem, trainer and hunter fused, the UB variant that teaches pilots how to pull time into a tighter circle. The twin gulletsbeside the cockpit gulp the humid air, the nacelles purr, and the wide-spaced tails cut their own calligraphy against the gray sky.

This airframe’s passport reads like a novel: ex-Ukrainian Air Force (c/n 50903014896), once with Paul Allen’s Flying Heritage Collection, now Jared “Rook” Isaacman’s under the Polaris Program—wearing that Ghost Squadron vibe—one of the few airworthy Fulcrums on the U.S. civil register. Rare metal. Rarer sound.

The MiG leans into the taxiway, a predator idling, canopy glinting like a shard of winter sun. Vapor threads the spine. The parachute collapses and drags, like a exclamation point fading. For a breath the world stands very still, and all you can think is: how did the sky ever hold this much attitude?

“Some machines don’t arrive—they make an entrance.”

—

🎥 What you’ll see in the video

• Approach from the south with landing lights spearing the haze.

• Touchdown, parachute snap-open and billow — textbook Fulcrum finish.

• Taxi-by detail: digital camo, bubble canopy, intakes beside the cockpit, twin tails fanning out, emerald hubsrolling through Oshkosh’s green.

• Crowd soundtrack: gasps, cheers, a thousand shutters. The good kind of jet lag.

“When four radials clear their throats, history stops whispering and starts shouting.”

July 23, 2025 — 2:27 PM, Wednesday. The ramp at OSH trembles like a bass drum. Heat mirage ripples over polished aluminum, and there she is: N2871G, the last airworthy Consolidated PB4Y-2 Privateer—a silver cathedral on wings, taxi light winking like a heartbeat.

The camera finds the greenhouse nose, ribs of glass catching sun; a small Stars & Stripes flutters from the cockpit like a wink from another century. Ground crew signal. Primer strokes.
“Clear prop!”
The first Twin Wasp coughs, spits a smoke ring, and settles into a throaty purr. Then the second joins, then the third, then the fourth—four prop arcs carving ellipses into the afternoon. The ramp vibrates; your sternum becomes a tuning fork. The air smells of avgas, hot oil, and legend. (Only flyable PB4Y-2 confirmed; home base Casa Grande, AZ.)

Look close: the single tall tail that set the Privateer apart from its B-24 parent; that long patrol fuselage built for oceans and hours; a platform born to hunt horizons. Original PB4Y-2s left the line with Pratt & Whitney R-1830-94 Twin Wasps—today’s survivors, including firebomber conversions, wear the scars and upgrades of later service. (PB4Y-2 specs/engine type.)

This specific airframe’s story reads like an American road movie: US Navy to US Coast Guard, then refit as a “Super Privateer” aerial tanker—its radials upgraded to Wright R-2600 Cyclones with B-25 cowlings for more grunt on the fire line—before restoration to the warbird you’re watching now. Owned by 4Y-2 LLC (Phoenix, AZ) and operated by GossHawk Unlimited, she’s the only one still flying—a four-engine autobiography written in aluminum and decibels. (Firebomber/R-2600 conversion notes; only-flyer status and operator.)

The props beat time like four metronomes. Sun flashes off the nacelles. People stop mid-stride, phones halfway to their faces, because this isn’t nostalgia—it’s presence. She rolls, unhurried, monarch-calm, right down the yellow centerline. If you listen hard enough, you can hear Pacific salt and wildfire smoke in the same breath. The video ends with that unmistakable cadence of four radials in sync—a chord you don’t hear so much as wear.

Quote to keep:

“Some machines don’t retire—they just keep reporting for duty in our imaginations.”

July 19, 2025 — 8:44 p.m. After the margarita-and-pizza debrief, we rolled the white Chevy Malibu onto the velvet turf of the North 40 and parked right beside our blue-striped Bonanza V-tail—our favorite hybrid of sculpture and speed. The trunk popped open like a gull wing; the wingtip answered back with its own graceful curve, beaded in raindrops that caught the sky’s last neon—pink, peach, and a hint of lavender.

Bags slid out from under the wing like mission crates: a fire-engine red duffel, a black soft bag, a blue roller. The grass pressed little constellations into the nylon. The Bonanza’s flap line wore a small strip of blue tape—a badge from the day’s weather—while the spinner faced a horizon of orange tents and parked airplanes that looked like sleeping sharks in a sea of green.

Across the field a lane marker—536—winked in the dusk, and the bunting along the taxiway fluttered like pennants after a race. The Malibu’s paint wore the same raindrop freckles as the wing; reflections of runway lights and camp lanterns slid over the doors as we ferried load after load. We moved with that post-flight rhythm pilots know: quiet, precise, almost ceremonial.

The V-tail stood there like a compass needle, the dew tracing the air it had sliced a few hours earlier, and we worked by feel—one of us on the wing, one at the trunk, both listening to the evening: a distant generator, a laugh from the tent city, a last pattern call out over the field. Behind us, the whole North 40 exhaled—formation flyers turned sunset campers, trading smoke trails for campfire rumors.

Checklist complete:
— Payload transfer: ✅
— Tires in grass, hearts in clouds: ✅
— Sunset caught and logged: gold.

“Adventure is what happens after the checklist says ‘done’ and the sky says ‘one more look.’”

July 19, 2025 — 6:44 p.m. The B2OSH gaggle kissed the grass, throttles quiet, and Oshkosh exhaled. Then the sky changed its mind.

Fine needles of rain stitched silver onto the Bonanza’s wings until every rivet gleamed. Our blue B2OSH shirts darkened shade by shade as the call went out: “Hands on the spar—ready… push!”

The scene snaps into focus:
— Palms flat along the wet leading edge, fingers well clear of ailerons, shoulders set like a scrum line.
— Raindrops bead and race across the aluminum; a tiny GoPro blinks stoic on the right wingtip, capturing the whole muddy ballet.
— Someone jogs past with bright yellow chocks on a rope like a lasso; another eyes the tire tracks to line up on the staked tie-downs.
— Grass squelches under sneakers and boots; you can smell avgas, rain, and cut clover.
— “Hold—rudder clearance… good! Walk it, walk it… push!”

The Bonanza V-tail (N8346D, a 1958 BEECH J35) is heavy—a beautiful kind of heavy that asks for teamwork. We move as one organism: wing walkers calling inches, a tail spotter guarding the VOR blade, a cockpit check through rain-speckled glass. The leading-edge tap, the micro-corrections, the soft grunt when the mains roll over a rut. Then: click—the mains settle exactly where we want them. Chocks in. Straps out. Stakes bite the earth.

In the last frames, the second ship (N57RB) eases into view—the one I flew in with Tim from LSE—nose glistening, prop ticking, that same rain-lit sheen. We trade nods in the downpour. No speeches. Just the quiet satisfaction that comes from putting an airplane to bed in a storm with your people.

“In formation we fly; in weather we arrive—because on the ground we push together.”

🎯 Mission Complete: Airplanes aligned. Tie-downs taut. North 40 humming. Rain still falling. Spirits way up.

July 24 2025 — 9:00pm. We taxi out of Oshkosh’s evening glow and roll straight into a time machine: Ardy & Ed’s Drive-In, its neon heartbeat reflecting off rain-polished asphalt like runway lights after a summer shower. The red sign hums “Since 1948,” and the night says copy that.

A carhop in classic skates glides past like a low-drag airframe, order pad in hand, ponytail tracing contrails in the humid Wisconsin air. Inside the window, chrome gleams, a grill sizzles, and the jukebox crackles out 50s riffs that feel like magnetos coming alive. Out front, frosty mugs form tiny cirrus on the lip — real draft root beer, cold enough to fog a canopy.

We park nose-in, brief the mission:
Objective: root beer floats, cheeseburgers, crispy fries, and a side of nostalgia.
Radio check: “The Friendly Place” reads the marquee.
Lake Winnebago sends a soft crosswind; the orange beacon on a nearby truck throws amber arcs across the fenders like ramp lights at blue hour. Families lean on tailgates, pilots trade hangar tales, and our brains — still stuffed with AGI flight-deck diagrams — finally throttle back to idle.

The carhops—part dancer, part dispatcher—roll the trays like service trolleys to a flight deck, clipping them to the window sill with a satisfying ka-chunk. The first sip is takeoff: sweet, creamy lift under the tongue, vanilla prop-wash swirling with bubbles. Burgers arrive wrapped like little logbooks; curds crackle like tiny afterburners. Every detail is analog joy—hand-lettered menus, neon trim, the soft whine of skates on concrete—proof that speed and wonder aren’t only found at Mach 1.6. Sometimes they’re poured, not pushed.

“Some runways are asphalt; others are neon. Either way, line up and live.”

Thanks, Ardy & Ed’s—Oshkosh by day, a Blast From The Past by night. Cleared direct to happiness. 🥤🍟🌙

July 23 2025 • 5:40pm • OSH Runway 18R/36L

The Wisconsin sky goes full cinema-blue. The crowd hushes; foam ear defenders go on; brats are paused mid-bite. Then—like a graphite arrow—the USAF F-35A Lightning II (HL tail, Hill AFB) slices overhead. The F135 coughs thunder with edges, wingtip vapor nibbling at the air. Show pyro sleeps along the runway like a dragon that knows its cue.

I’m rolling camera. You can feel the pressure wave in your ribcage before your brain registers “jet.” And then our pilot drops a little radio poetry…

“Tape rolling—this is how the mission sounded.”

Tower (OSH 18R/36L): “Lightning One, Oshkosh Tower. Cleared show pass. Pyro hot on your ‘mark.’ Wind calm.”
Lightning One: “Tower, Lightning One—copy pyro hot. Pushing show center. Angels two-five hundred. Speed high, stealth low.”
Airboss: “Standby… stand by… MARK.”
Lightning One: “In hot. Guns—simulated. Rippling across the line.”

—The runway erupts. A wall of orange blossoms and cathedral-black smoke climbs like it’s trying to join the clouds. Kids cheer. Grownups forget to breathe.

Lightning One (second pass): “Show center. Doors, doors, doors.”
(Weapon bays blossom open—bird-of-prey showing talons. Your spine tingles; your camera forgets auto-focus.)

Lightning One (with a grin you can hear):
“Ladies and gentlemen—missiles simulated, targets satisfied. Mission success. Fox-none. I’m Winchester and bingo on likes. Going feet-dry to the barn. See ya, Oshkosh.”

Tower: “Lightning One, exit show, rejoin. Thanks for the paint-shaker.”
Lightning One: “Anytime. Lightning One, RTB.”

He tilts a wing—just enough swagger to make Maverick nod—and spears for the horizon. Behind him, heat shimmers dance over 18R/36L while the last fire fans itself out and the crowd finally remembers how to clap.

Quote: “Stealth is quiet—until it decides to autograph the sky.”

KLSE — July 18, 12:47 PM. 2025
The tug coughs to life, a cherry-red tractor with a neon-vest driver and a purpose. The towbar tightens, the ’69 Beechcraft Bonanza A36 (N789JH) nods once, and then we see it—the kind of scene you only catch when the ramp turns into a movie set.

Two pilots—red shirts, sunglasses, summer-day grins—are perched on the right wing like they own the sky and the punchline. Heels drumming the wing walk, soles skimming over flush rivets warm from the noon sun. One palms the fuel cap like a ship captain resting on a compass; the other leans back, knees out over blue trim, letting the slipstream of motion lift the edges of his shirt.

The prop sits silent, but the airplane still talks—ailerons twitching, elevator bobbing, aluminum whispering its creaks as the Bonanza rolls. Every few feet the wing hums over a seam in the pavement—thunk, hum, thunk—like a metronome for the day. Cloud streets stack overhead, popcorn cumulus throwing silver freckles down the fuselage. Behind them, a fence of Bonanzas and Barons looks on like a proud posse.

They ride past hangars and yellow taxi lines that point straight to destiny. A kid by the ramp freezes mid-sip, red cup raised; a lineman gives the smallest salute; someone calls, “Nice seats!” The pilots don’t look back. They’re wing-riderstoday—equal parts mischief and mastery—escorting their A36 to its parking spot like cowboys walking a champion horse to the rail before the big show.

Heat shimmers off the asphalt. The tug eases to idle. One pilot taps the airfoil as if thanking a friend; the other swings off the edge, landing with the soft thud of a well-kept secret. Tomorrow is Oshkosh. Today is the inhale before the roar.

“Why sit in the cabin when the story sits on the wing?”

The afternoon airshow turns into a three-act play:

Act I—The Stroll.
An F-35B Lightning II rolls by like a panther that knows the whole airfield is its carpet. Facets and saw-tooth edges glint, the canopy golds over, and the nosewheel kisses the taxiway centerline as if it were drawn for this jet alone. On the fuselage we catch the dedication stencil: “LCPL T.W. HAWLEY — LELAND, MI.” (That’s the plane captain/crew chief dedication, not the pilot’s name.) The jet itself is BuNo 169168 (c/n BF-48), a USMC F-35B from VMFAT-501 “Warlords,” MAG-31, MCAS Beaufort, SC—the short-takeoff/vertical-landing variant powered by the Pratt & Whitney F135-600 and that party-trick LiftFan that turns concrete into launchpads. The Marine at the stick keeps it quiet-cool; names rotate on these sorties and weren’t published for this taxi—so today the Lightning lets the hardware do the talking. (USMC F-35B featured in Tuesday’s afternoon show at AirVenture 2025.

Act II—The Dance.
Behind the stealth silhouette, a smoke-trailing high-performance biplane scribbles corkscrews into the Wisconsin sky—pure Pitts-style theater, vertical rolls drawn with a smoke pen. It’s the old school writing poetry while the new school struts.

Act III—The Pause.
Stage right, the Red Bull aerobatic helicopter (Bo 105) sits tiger-still, rotors at rest, like a stuntman waiting for his cue. (Red Bull’s Bo 105 headlined afternoon acts during the week) Three temperaments, one runway: stealth, swagger, and showtime.

Quote of the moment:
“Some machines roar. The Lightning whispers: watch.”

Nerd notes (because we can’t help ourselves):

• F-35B Lightning II — STOVL beast with a swiveling rear nozzle + shaft-driven LiftFan, integrated sensors (EOTS, DAS) and low-observable shaping that makes shadows for a living.

• This airframe: 169168 / BF-48, VMFAT-501 “Warlords.” The side stencil LCPL T.W. HAWLEY honors the dedicated Marine crew chief whose name rides the jet.

• Setting: EAA AirVenture 2025 (Tue, July 22 ~6pm)—Marine Lightning taxiing as the biplane carves smoke, Red Bull helo nearby. (F-35B listed on Tuesday’s lineup)

🔥 Moral: When 5th-gen stealth, a smoke-drawing biplane, and a stunt helo share the same frame, you don’t pick a favorite—you hit record and let aviation be larger than one era.

3:00pm, July 22—Oshkosh exhales. After an afternoon of biplanes sketching spirals and F-35s punching holes in the horizon, the field goes… quiet. Then she arrives: Goodyear’s Wingfoot Two—blue-and-gold, unhurried, and absolutely unbothered.

From our spot on the grass, you can hear the soft whirr of those vectored props and watch the gondola’s picture windows drift past like a skybound porch swing. Technically, she’s a modern Zeppelin NT airship—helium lift, semi-rigid spine, fly-by-wire finesse, and a landing wheel that kisses the wind like a ballet slipper. Symbolically? She’s aviation’s heartbeat at rest—proof that not all heroes need afterburners; some cruise on poise.

Where the fighters roar, the blimp whispers. Where the biplanes scribble, she signs her name in cursive across the clouds. It was “their” turn at AirVenture—and Wingfoot didn’t just show up; she floated in like a VIP who owns the room and the altitude.

🗨️ Quote for the clip:
“Jets carve signatures in the sky; airships write love letters.”

And yes—somewhere between the hush of helium and the hum of propellers, the whole crowd remembered: flying can be thunder… and it can be wonder.

We touched down Saturday. By Sunday, the North 40 had turned into a sky-town picnic—blue shirts as far as the eye could taxi. Bonanzas lounging like chrome sea creatures, tails glowing in the last light, wing roots doubling as shade and side tables. Folding chairs click open, plates balance on knees, and the sizzle of brats competes with the soft tick-tick of cooling engines.

Somewhere between the grills and the grass, the sunset throws gold across spinner cones; navigation beacons wink awake; a line of Beech tails traces the horizon like tuning forks for the coming week. Flight plans get traded for stories. Checklists become punchlines. Someone passes a red cup; someone else passes along a legend. It’s the kind of evening where you learn a lifetime of air sense just by listening.

B2OSH Sunday Party Schedule

• 4:00 p.m. First beer keg tapped—soda, water, refreshments begin 🍺

• 4:30 p.m. Special entertainment 🎶

• 5:00 p.m. Mark & Jay debrief the B2OSH flight 🗺️

• 5:30 p.m. Raffle begins (must be present to win) 🎟️

• 6:00–6:30 p.m. B2OSH Team Photo 📸

• 6:30 p.m. Raffle continues 🎁

• 7:00 p.m. BBQ food service opens—buffet line first for kids with parents 🍖

🗣️ Quote of the night:
“Runways end, but the stories taxi all night.”

(B2OSH XXXV — the hangar intermission)

The big hangar door yawns open like a movie curtain, and the whole cast is in blue.
Rows of B2OSH shirts—“WORLD RECORD HOLDER” stitched in swagger—glow cobalt against the shadowed ribcage of corrugated steel. Fluorescent bars hum overhead; light pools on the pale concrete, then spills across the threshold to the warm ramp. An American flag watches from the back wall. A hand-lettered banner—“Thank you, Colgan Air”—hangs near the brief tables like a quiet bow to our hosts.

Outside, KLSE looks deceptively fine. Inside, 116 pilots read the sky with their shoulders. Kneeboards rest on folding chairs. Fingers drum on coffee lids. Headsets hang from elbows like spurs on a rail. Brief-talk turns to hangar humor, then back to maps, then to silence—the disciplined kind that sounds like a prop just before it catches.

The call was “Noon.” The ceiling at LSE said, “Not yet.”
So we wait—four extra hours of patience, professionalism, and that peculiar ache of formation pilots who’d rather be carving sky. We roll a golf cart down the flight line like a prairie scout—“the Blue Posse”—counting Bonanzas and Barons, trading nods with friends who’ve become family, rehearsing tomorrow’s geometry in our heads.

Because this isn’t a delay; it’s choreography. When the weather lifts, 116 airplanes will rise as one sentence, every comma and cadence in place—destination: Oshkosh, where I’ll be sharing our Robometrics® Machines work on AGI for aviation at the world’s largest air convention (700,000 people, 10,000 aircraft). Today we hold. Tomorrow we write.

🗨️ Quote for the moment:
“Delay isn’t defeat—it’s discipline with the brakes set.”

Saddles cinched. Checklists folded. Courage on standby.
When the ceiling climbs, so will we.

The canopy cracks. A gold pressure suit glows in the Oshkosh sun.
Checklists flap above the rail like prayer flags.
Call sign “GoGo” looks left—toward a crowd that includes neighbors, teachers, and a few kids holding hand-drawn signs for Dad—and smiles the way only a pilot can when the runway is spelled W-I-S-C-O-N-S-I-N.

For one perfect Sunday, the U-2 Dragon Lady didn’t just represent American reconnaissance; she represented a homecoming.
Lt. Col. GOGO, Inspector General of the 9th Reconnaissance Wing, 99th Reconnaissance Squadron, flew the black swan of Skunk Works to EAA AirVenture—just 20 miles from his hometown of Fond du Lac. From Beale AFB to Badger country, from the stratosphere to the street where he first learned to look up.

She taxis like a cathedral on bicycle wheels; the little red pogos wink as the crew shepherds her in. Families press forward. Airmen from maintenance and physio stand tall on the ladder, equal parts pride and precision. And in the middle of it all: a father in a space suit taking a breath he’s probably imagined since childhood.

“Some aircraft carry fuel. This one carries secrets—and stories.”

“Home isn’t a coordinate; it’s the echo of your name over Unicom.”

The meet-and-greet turns into a memory-making line. Handshakes. Photos. Kids trying on the helmet. A pilot who has spent nights above 70,000 feet now grounded by something higher: family.

To the crews of the 9RW and the 99RS—thank you for hauling a legend halfway across the country so a small town could see a big dream taxi by and wave back. And to every kid on that fence line: keep looking up. The sky has your name on it.

Four hours to kill at La Crosse Regional, B2OSH XXXV on pause.
So we did what any self-respectin’ sky-cowpokes would do: saddled up a golf cart and went ridin’ the ramp like a pair of tumbleweeds with badges.

From the cart, the taxiway stripes turned into cattle drive trails. Bonanzas and Barons lined up like polished longhorns, spinners flashing like spurs under a big Wisconsin sky. Tower on the horizon? That’s our water tower. And me? Narratin’ the roundup, grinnin’ at the week ahead where I demo AGI for aviation to the world’s biggest fly-in crowd—700,000 people, 10,000 airplanes. Not bad for a day’s ranchin’.

We moseyed past rows of aluminum mustangs, counted herds, traded tall tales, and checked on our birds like ranch hands before a formation stampede to Oshkosh. Delay or not, the air had that itchy, electric feel that says this ride’s about to matter.

Quote of the ride: “When the herd holds short, a real wrangler tips his hat, spins a yarn, and waits for the wind to say giddy-up.”

Saddle cinched. Checklists humming. When 160 knots’ worth of yee-haw finally calls, we’ll boot-heel the throttle and chase the sun to Osh.

From our North 40 tent on Bonanza Lane, the afternoon heat turns the taxiway into a mirage.
A white-and-cobalt jet noses up to the hold short, engines whispering promises.
Two beats of stillness. A handoff. Then—throttles come alive and the air ripples like film grain.
This is the poetry of patience meeting permission.

The star of the scene: Cessna Citation Bravo (Model 550), N998SR—serial 550-1136, a Bravo airframe seen at AirVenture 2025 and previously known as OE-GMV/LZ-GMV in an earlier life.
It’s a twin-engine business jet powered by Pratt & Whitney Canada PW530A turbofans, each pushing ~2,887 lbf of takeoff thrust; ceiling up to FL450 with that classic Citation grace.
(If you follow paper trails: current registry hits list the owner as N612VR LLC.)  

Why I love this clip: it captures the whole arc—
the hush of the hold, the controller’s unseen nod, the runway becoming a violin string, and the jet’s bow stroke across it.

“The runway is a blank page. Throttle forward is the first sentence.”

Mission-vibe moment: The jet rotates just past the hotel, riding its own heat shimmer like it stole the script. We watch, grinning, half pilots, half cinematographers, all heart.

Quick Specs (for the fellow nerds)

• Type: Cessna Citation Bravo (C55B / 550) 

• Engines: 2 × P&WC PW530A ~2,887 lbf each 

• Ceiling: Up to 45,000 ft; range ~1,470 nm in typical configs.  

“Some runways test your patience. This one rewarded it.”

RTB: California in sight. After a week of sky-high ideas at Robometrics® Machines Demo Day IV, the Bonanza hums west—checklists crisp, gauges steady, prop carving sunlight into silver ribbons. The emerald tint of the skylight paints little clouds on the panel; my kneeboard is scribbled with routes, callsigns, and big plans.

Somewhere over the patchwork earth, Creedence Clearwater (1969) plays in my head:

“The man from the magazine

Said I was on my way

Somewhere I lost connections

I ran out of songs to play

I came into town, a one night stand

Looks like my plans fell through

Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again

If I only had a dollar

For ev'ry song I've sung

Ev'ry time I've had to play

While people sat there drunk

You know, I'd catch the next train

Back to where I live

Oh Lord, I'm stuck in Lodi again

Oh Lord, I'm stuck in Lodi again”

CCR might’ve meant a dead-end gig… we just mean a landing into one of California’s friendliest wine towns. If this is being “stuck,” then we’ll take it—vineyards rolling to the horizon, locals who wave at strangers, and sunsets that look like they’ve been slow-aged in oak barrels.

Sometimes the best part of coming home is making a stop where nobody’s in a hurry to leave.

🖤🎶 “Sunday Bloody Sunday?” Not quite. More like Runway Loudly Runway with the U-2 (the spy plane, not the band) and a few hundred of its newest fans at Oshkosh.

The Dragon Lady rolled past in matte-black silence—long glider-wings shimmering, little red pogo wheels tucked under each tip, gold visor glinting in the cockpit. Kids waved “Proud of Daddy” signs, crews saluted from a KC-135 stairs, and—yes—we broke into a goofy chant with the Team Beale folks because how else do you celebrate a legend?

From Beale Air Force Base to Boeing Plaza, the 9th Reconnaissance Wing brought the jet and the village: maintainers, life-support, physio support—the whole traveling orchestra that keeps a U-2 humming at the edge of space. They didn’t just project airpower; they brought people power—smiles, stories, and selfies—proving reconnaissance can also recon-connect.

“To fly is to borrow the sky’s freedom for a moment—and to give it back with gratitude.”

Here’s to the Dragon Lady’s shadow sliding over green grass, to families cheering on the fence line, and to the quiet courage it takes to point a black needle toward the stratosphere.

Also check out  the U.S. Air Force story by Tech. Sgt. Samuel Burns, 9th Reconnaissance Wing (July 29, 2025), United States Air Force, Air Combat Command.

Hold-short at Rocky Mountain Metro (BJC). The radio hums, the Rockies lift the horizon, and this jewel rolls past: Morrisey 2150A, N5112V—registered to Harry Z. Mertz in Douglas County, CO (FAA lists a Castle Rock address in the Castle Pines area).

🎞️ Scene composition
Foreground: clean white fuselage with classic blue cheatline, tall greenhouse canopy catching Colorado sun.
Midground: the ramp ripples in heat shimmer.
Background: Denver’s skyline sketched in soft blue—like someone penciled a city behind a daydream—then the Front Range rising in layered stone. It’s a three-act play: airplane → city → mountains.

🧭 A little lineage (and why this matters)
The 2150A traces its DNA to John Thorp’s school of clean, honest airframes. Al Morrisey’s original design led to Clifford Shinn’s production run of the 2150A, before the type moved to Varga (the Kachina). It’s a boutique, hand-built chapter of GA history—serial number SP-12 (1961)—that still turns heads on a modern ramp.

🗨️ Quote for the logbook

“To fly is to throw your heart into the sky and chase it with an engine.”

💫 Why this shot sings
The aircraft is all intention and purpose, yet the mountains make even metal look humble. The frame whispers: we make lines; nature makes horizons. And between them, aviation finds its poetry.

(Operation B2OSH-Return, Classified Debrief)

After a week of Robometrics® Machines Demo Day IV dominance at Oshkosh, our escape route west wasn’t just plotted—it was orchestrated.
🎯 First checkpoint: La Crosse, WI (yes, back where the B2OSH saga began).
🎯 Second checkpoint: Rocky Mountain Metropolitan Airport (BJC), Broomfield, CO.

The mission? Dual refuel—aircraft tanks topped, pilot caffeine recharged.
The setting? A cinematic line-up against the jagged skyline of the Rockies.
The vibe? Somewhere between Top Gun: Maverick and a Swiss watch ad.

Two aircraft. Two crews. One horizon.
And if you think this was just a gas-and-go, you haven’t seen what a Cessna and a twin-engine beauty look like when the Rockies decide to photobomb.

Because in this light—under a sky brushed in soft blues and mountain shadow—flight feels less like transport and more like a whispered conversation between wings and peaks.

Aviation Quotes That Just Feel Right at BJC
🗨️ “Altitude is life insurance. The Rockies are your underwriter.” — Someone who’s seen turbulence up close
🗨️ “A good pilot is always learning. A great pilot is always caffeinating.” — Airport café philosophy
🗨️ “If the mountains don’t move you, check your pulse.” — The passenger who stopped breathing when the view hit

🔥 Mission Status:
✅ Fuel secured
✅ Crew operational
✅ Next leg: Westbound, with style and altitude

(Operation Bay Area Extraction, Leg 1)

After a week of high-octane briefings, packed flightlines, and just enough sleep to keep the engines legal, Robometrics® Machines Demo Day IV wrapped at Oshkosh.

The mission: get the crew and our Bonanzas back to San Francisco Bay Area HQ.
The first stop: La Crosse, Wisconsin — also known as B2OSH Ground Zero.

Inside Colgan Air Services, the scene looked like the calm before a spy movie chase:
🕶️ Sunglasses on the table like a calling card.
🥪 Classified sustenance disguised as a Ham & American Swiss sandwich.
📖 “Explore La Crosse” guidebooks — a subtle reminder this was where our formation began.
Out on the ramp, our aircraft stood like agents awaiting extraction orders, fueled and ready.

🎬 In true Mission Impossible style, the plan was simple:
1️⃣ Top off the tanks.
2️⃣ Top off the pilots.
3️⃣ Vanish into the blue, heading west.

🗨️ “A good getaway starts with a full tank and a full stomach.” — Every pilot ever who’s made it home

🗨️ “In aviation, the only impossible mission is leaving Oshkosh without a story.” — B2OSH veterans

🗨️ “Some people refuel for range. We refuel for legends.” — Robometrics® Machines playbook

🔥 Moral of the story:
Whether you’re escaping enemy agents or Wisconsin’s humidity, the first leg home always tastes like jet fuel and airport lounge coffee.

(AirVenture 2025: Bonanza Lane, North 40, and a Runway Exit Worthy of the Big Screen)

The scene: 700,000 people, 10,000 aircraft, and one week of aviation mayhem.
The objective: Survive Robometrics® Machines’ AI Demo Day IV, present on AGI for aviation twice in one morning, camp under the wing for seven days… and then vanish into the skies without a trace.

📽️ Cut to: The cockpit of a Beechcraft Bonanza, propeller spinning like a countdown clock.
Runway stripes rushing past, the Garmin screens glowing like mission control, and a departure plate clipped in front—your escape blueprint in plain sight.

🎙️ The soundtrack? That invisible Mission Impossible bassline only pilots can hear when ATC clears them for takeoff.
No smoke, no disguises—just lift-off speed and a clean break westbound to San Francisco.

🗨️ Quotes From a Pilot on a Getaway Run:
💼 “Some people check out of hotels. We check out of runways.” — Me, wheels up
🕶️ “Every good exit is planned. Every great one has a tailwind.” — Covert Bonanza wisdom
🛩️ “You don’t leave Oshkosh. You launch from it.” — Anyone who’s ever taxied out of North 40 after a week in the madness

🔥 Moral of the story:
We came for the AI and the airplanes. We left with data, stories, and just enough fuel to make the next adventure classified… for now.

Caught on the ramp at Wittman Regional with the elite crew of 1-147th AVN BN and their UH-60 Black Hawk—aka the military’s idea of a luxury twin-engine, rotor-wing beast with zero regard for turbulence or fashion faux pas.

They showed up mission-ready in full camo and combat boots. I showed up in crew rest jeans and a shirt from Gate D4. Let’s just say I was not cleared for takeoff in that formation.

But hey—rotors were spinning, checklist was tight, and for a moment, I felt like I belonged in the right seat… until I saw the jump seats and remembered: no inflight snacks.

Huge respect to these legends. Next time, I’m filing a flight plan just to hang out again. 🇺🇸🛫

(Oshkosh 2025: The Interview You Didn’t Know You Needed, with the Aviation World's Coolest Operative)

Meet Lisa Glysch.

She runs the EAA Press Conference Center desk like it’s MI6.
Her code name? Captain Lisa.
Her mission? Keep media in line, flash her gold wings, and casually drop stories that sound like deleted scenes from a Bond film—if Bond were a toddler with a Cessna yoke.

🎬 The Briefing (a.k.a. our 1-minute Instagram interview):

🧒 Age 3: First flight.
🎛️ Took the controls.
🔁 Attempted a roll in a Cessna.
🛑 Stalled the engine.
🧓 Gave her flight instructor premature white hair.
🪂 Result? He left her his gold wings. Literally.

📛 Now she’s “Captain Lisa,” volunteer, gatekeeper of the media center, and keeper of the best aviation origin story this side of Hollywood.

🎤 Bonus: She’s also my best friend at EAA HQ, and made this week unforgettable.
Rain or shine, deadline or not—Lisa’s always got your six.

🗨️ Quotes from the Interview Vault:

🕶️ “You can't roll a Cessna… but I tried anyway.” — Captain Lisa, age 3
🪙 “He said his hair would be white forever—and left me his wings.” — Lisa, now a legend
🎥 “We’ll get the full story next year. This is just the trailer.” — Me, already editing the sequel

🔥 Moral of the story:
If you want the press tent to run like a stealth mission and still get life lessons in aviation, find Lisa.
Or wait for the movie.

(AirVenture 2025: Ford Tri-Motor, rain, and the people who make aviation feel like home)

You think you’re just ducking into the Ford Tri-Motor tent to escape a soggy Wisconsin morning and ask about seats.

Suddenly—two volunteers hustle over and share their umbrellas, shoulder to shoulder like wingmen. In 30 seconds I had a dry shirt, a laugh, and three new friends. Only at Oshkosh, where strangers arrive as pilots and leave as family.

☔ The flights? Fully booked—the Tin Goose was a hot ticket.

But under those umbrellas the magic of Oshkosh kicked in: names exchanged, numbers shared, manifests checked, and a plan sketched.

“Come back next year when Peggy Messenger’s husband is flying—he’s one of the Tri-Motor pilots.”

Copy that. Mission accepted. 📋✍️

What started as a rain check turned into a team effort—volunteers, docents, and new friends connecting dots so one more aviation dream can rotate. That’s Oshkosh: kindness as SOP, collaboration as airspeed, connection as lift.

🌀 The Ford Tri-Motor isn’t just aluminum and engines.

It’s a passenger-first time machine—a cabin built for conversation, three engines built for confidence, and a legacy built by communities exactly like this one.

Quotes That Belong on the Tin Goose

🗨️ “At Oshkosh, weather is just another crew member—we work around it together.”

🗨️ “You don’t just fly the Tri-Motor. You time-travel with friends.”

🗨️ “Two umbrellas, one invite, and a whole village making it happen.”

🔥 Moral of the story:

Even if the seats were full this year, the story is already airborne. See you next year—when Peggy’s husband is on the controls and this umbrella squad becomes a boarding party.

July 21, 8:51 PM — the kind of Oshkosh evening that deserves its own logbook entry.
The day had already been a win: two back-to-back presentations at 8:30 AM and 11:30 AM on AGI for aviation—and they landed perfectly. The rest of the day was a blur of handshakes, hangar talks, and people asking, “So when can I fly with it?”

Then night drifted in, slow as a downwind leg, and North 40 turned cinematic.
A blue-and-gold Goodyear Blimp slid across a sherbet horizon, its green nav light winking, nose lamp glowing like a beacon. Below, a patchwork of tied-down airplanes, tents, and folding chairs—campfires of conversation at the Cessna Formation camp lane, just a few steps from our B2OSH row.

Under a wingtip, silhouettes leaned back in camp chairs, coffee cups in hand. The blimp floated by like a celebrity cameo in slow motion, and for a minute, no one said a word—because some aircraft don’t just fly; they set the pace of the whole field.

🗨️ “Blimps don’t hurry. They arrive exactly on time—and alter it.”
🗨️ “AirVenture is the only place where a sunset counts as a scheduled event.”

(B2OSH XXXV • La Crosse, WI • KLSE)

Purple aviators on, B2OSH tee locked, standing on the wing of a Bonanza A36 with a runway of Bonanzas and Barons behind me. Tom “Cruz” does stunts with 2 airplanes. Cute. Today’s selfie is backed by 116. 💅

Horsepower flex (a very scientific runway breeze test):
Assume ~106 Bonanzas @ 300 hp each + 10 Barons @ 600 hp (two engines).
That’s 106×300 + 10×600 = ~37,800 horsepower of piston thunder lined up nose-to-tail. No gym membership needed—just stand there and let the slipstream do core day.

Why we’re here: tomorrow we launch the world’s largest civilian formation into Oshkosh. Then I switch from formation briefings to AGI for aviation—showing how we’re building copilots that think, never get tired, and make flying safer. Robometrics® Machines from runway to research stage in 24 hours. Startups + avgas = momentum.

🗨️ “Formation flying and startups share one rule: trust your wingman and keep your scan moving.”
🗨️ “If your heart rate doesn’t spike on run-up, check your magnetos—or your mission.”

🔥 Moral: Tom, call me when you’ve got 38,000 hp of friends queued up for a single takeoff. We’ll compare notes. 😉

(B2OSH XXXV, La Crosse, WI — July 18, 2025)

Some people take pre-show selfies.
I take pre-Oshkosh runway meditations.

Yes, that’s me—centerline, Hawaiian shirt, calm as a Bonanza on final.
We’re at KLSE for B2OSH XXXV. 10,000+ aircraft inbound. 700,000+ people.
And tomorrow? I fly formation into the largest aviation convention on Earth…
...then present my work on building AGI for aviation at Robometrics® Machines.

📍 Location: La Crosse Regional Airport
📅 Vibe: 80% Hangar Party, 20% Air Traffic Control zen
🛩️ Mood: Ready for takeoff. And takeovers.

Behind me? Rows of Bonanzas and Barons that stretch longer than most VC cap tables.
In front of me? The future of flying, powered by artificial general intelligence.
And a hangar full of pilots who all brought both the airplane and the stories.

✈️ Quotes That Make Sense When You're Sitting on a Runway in a Tropical Shirt

🗨️ “Every formation starts with stillness.” — Some zen pilot, maybe me

🗨️ “Some founders build pitch decks. Some fly them to Oshkosh.” — Every hustler with a headset

🗨️ “Control your breathing. Then control your Bonanza.” — Formation wisdom, AI applicable

🗨️ “What you see here is not just an aircraft lineup. It’s a startup runway.” — Investor, probably

🔥 Moral of the story:
If you're building the future of flight, make time to sit on the runway, soak it in…
…and wear a shirt loud enough to be spotted from 3,000 feet AGL.

(Oshkosh 2025: Where even the clouds RSVP)

It started with wine.
Then came the winds.
And somewhere in between, someone pitched a startup.

The Daher tent at AirVenture 2025 wasn’t just a party—it was a Silicon Valley boardroom with better aircraft and no NDAs.
You had TBMs glistening like they just got IPO’d.
Kodiaks basking in the sun like they knew they were about to be the next Patagonia of aviation.

🍇 Cabernet in hand.
🧀 Cheese cube skewered.
💡 Startup idea casually pitched between runway rumbles.

The sky? Oh, it tried to shut us down.
A surprise gust at 5:12 PM nearly yeeted a wine glass into a Kodiak intake.
But Robometrics® Machines founders don’t flinch.
We hustle. We adapt. We toast.

🎯 Real entrepreneurs know:
→ The best tech isn’t built in glass towers.
→ It’s prototyped next to a turboprop during an airshow night display.
→ And you always carry an umbrella. For your prototype. Not you.

Aviation Quotes That Just Feel Right at the Daher Tent

🗨️ “Build fast. Fly faster.” — A TBM whisperer, probably

🗨️ “Startups are like weather in Oshkosh. Blink and they pivot.” — Every Silicon Valley pilot ever

🗨️ “It’s not turbulence. It’s user feedback from the sky.” — Our AI team mid-wind gust

🗨️ “Raise funds. Raise flaps. Repeat.” — Robometrics® Demo Day motto

🔥 Moral of the story:
If you want to build the future, start with a drink in one hand…
…and a Daher tail number in your field of vision.

(Oshkosh 2025 Edition — Day 3, Sunrise, North 40, a folding chair, and a billion-dollar dream.)

Let’s talk hustle.
You wake up next to your tent, dew still on the wings (metaphorically and literally).
You’re running Robometrics® Machines—
🚀 Building embodied AGI,
🧠 Giving robots feelings,
⚙️ Rewiring the future of aviation and eldercare with silicon and soul.

And for breakfast?
✨ A strawberry Protein-Bar.
🧊 Warmed only by ambition.
☕ A can of La Colombe Draft Latte (Vanilla, obviously).
🪑 One red camping chair. $19.99. Probably borrowed.

Because this is how we do it in Silicon Valley:
Forget croissants and investor brunches.
Forget catered AI panels.
We show up at AirVenture, pitch next-gen AGI on the flightline,
and eat shelf-stable pastries while the sun rises behind a hangar.

🧾 Notes to investors:

• Yes, this is your capital at work.

• No, we didn’t expense the coffee.

• Yes, we are changing the world.

• No, that Pop-Tart does not count as burn rate.

🗨️ “Some people fuel startups with VC cash. Others? With sugar and resolve.” — A tired founder, chewing

🗨️ “You can camp. Or you can found. But the real ones do both.” — North 40 philosopher

🗨️ “AGI doesn’t build itself. It takes humans, hunger, and highly questionable breakfast choices.” — Silicon Valley Gospel

🔥 Moral of the story:
In a world of flashy decks and catered off-sites,
real innovation still begins in a field, with a tent, and a toaster pastry.

(AirVenture 2025 Intel Drop — Straight from the Spycraft Side of the Ramp)

What happens when you stumble onto a squad of U.S. Air Force personnel casually eating burritos near one of the most secretive aircraft in history?

You salute.
You don’t ask questions.
You definitely don’t touch the foil.

📍 Wittman Regional Airport
🎯 Mission Objective: Meet the legendary U-2 team
📸 Results: Burrito acquired, coolness confirmed, secrets still classified

The vibe? Think Mission: Impossible meets Top Gun... with fewer explosions, more sunscreen, and one guy who brought a personal fan and said, “I fear nothing but heatstroke.”

🚀 Bonus: The U-2 spyplane itself was spotted — sleek, black, and probably listening to your Spotify playlists from 70,000 feet.

🗨️ Quotes from the Field:

🕶️ “Some aircraft whisper secrets. The U-2 listens to yours.” — Probably that guy with the shades and classified clearance.

🌯 “You haven’t really served until you’ve eaten a burrito in full gear next to a $50M spyplane.” — A USAF legend in the making

🫡 “Who wouldn’t want to join the Air Force after this?” — Everyone standing nearby, taking mental screenshots

🎬 Moral of the story:
You don’t find the U-2 team.
They let you find them.

(Oshkosh 2025 Edition — Where Midwestern hospitality meets high-altitude espionage and unapologetic girl power)

Welcome to Wisconsin, where the cheese is sharp, the skies are loud, and apparently this is how you ground-handle a $50 million spyplane:

📸 One woman.
🧥 Orange vest, cut-off denim shorts.
😎 Reflective shades that scream “I see through more than just radar.”
👟 Sneakers planted, baton raised, hair in a no-nonsense ponytail.
💅 Confidence? Nuclear-grade.
🌪️ Vibe? If James Bond and a B-2 had a daughter who works weekends marshalling jets.

And then there’s the aircraft.
The U-2 Dragon Lady.
All matte-black menace, sprawling wings, and Cold War mystery.
Nose pointed like it’s sniffing secrets, with “BB #076” on the tail like a barcode for classified ops.
It doesn’t taxi. It stalks.
It doesn’t turn corners. It patrols airspace at 70,000 feet and judges your Wi-Fi password from orbit.

🎯 The moment?
A woman guiding this legend like she’s been doing it since preschool.

🗨️ Quotes from the Classified Channel:

🎧 “This aircraft has probably overflown foreign governments. She just told it where to park.” — Someone hiding behind a lens

🧤 “You can’t spell command without her.” — Aviation truth

🕵️ “Some planes collect intelligence. She just collected all our respect.” — Ground crew, in awe

🥇 Bonus Intel:
This isn’t just power—it’s poise, presence, and precision.
The same Midwestern welcome you'd get at a diner… if the waitress had the launch codes.

🔥 Moral of the story:
The Dragon Lady may own the stratosphere.
But down here on the ramp? She answers to the Lady in the Orange Vest.