"Well, Mack the finger" said Louie the King
"I got 40 red white and blue shoe strings
And a thousand telephones that won't ring
You know where I can get rid of these things?"—Bob Dylan, Highway 61 Revisited
Well, it ain't Highway 61, it's the future site of a bunch of pseudo-affordable tract housing built way too close to the tracks. But we were back to assault the skies with paper tubing and sheet balsa. There was very little breeze, the temperature was actually comfortable, and we had polka dotted sidewalk chalk to boot.
Mr. Creosote got to fly!
I'd done my best to sand out his launch lugs, but it's tricky to do. And I siliconed the shit out of the launch rod. Almost tried to launch him off the little rod but he overwhelms it. And I think he needs a few more inches to get up to speed for fin stabilization.
Evidently, what I did was enough. He got maybe 70 feet in the air, barely deployed his parachute before he touched down, but it was a successful flight.
Lola made three flights, the third being apparently terminal. We went looking over at the cometary where she seems to have drifted, but no sign of her.
Em brought her markers and muses to go with Mo's sidewalk chalk. She made me hold off on launching to make sure she got everything she was trying to sketch. And when I asked her which rocket to launch next, she told me I was disrupting the muses.
And Peter Pan just Bermuda Triangulated after I'd told Em how beautifully slow he comes down on his streamer.
Tony Gonzalez didn't drive out of range but threatened to. He really flies beautifully, tall and fast like his namesake.