Stearman... lost...

DISCLAIMER: Those of you from rc forums who take yourselves too seriously will not enjoy this true story told with a sense of humor, so you should stop reading now. The rest of us, please enjoy this tongue-in-cheek telling of my minor tragedy!

Alas, let me tell you, dear reader, a tale of great woe, one not for the faint of heart, for tonight our much beloved Eflite Stearman sleeps with the Ents! Let us hope that they be good and kind Ents...

Our land is a peaceful one, The Field. We are flyers of RC aircraft, one and all. We are peopled by a friendly few but generally a good motley brethren, quick with a smile, a kind word, and occasionally a fart. Though our land be fill that undulates greatly, it is our home and we keep the grass quite low cut, flush the toilet regularly (whose seat we leave up without condescension) and police our trash. And we have electricity in the pits for those small among us who fly not the Nitro. We, the people of The Field are a generally happy bunch.We find ourselves bordered to the west by The Unknown Lands, so named not because we know not what lies there, but in that we know not how to get there from here. To the east lie the wastelands of Mordor, inhabited by the occasional bunny rabbit, snakes chasing bunny rabbits, and many ticks. Mordor is fairly harmless unless you land there, and then your chances are 50-50. Beware of the hills of the northern edges of Mordor, for there be dragons there that eat planes, and evil magic that sucks the life from planes even as they fly over! The lands of east Also Mordor be where the occasionally curmudgeonly Gatekeeper be. Less said of the Gatekeeper the better (for if he hears you not, he knows you not). But the most nefarious of lands, the ones we fear most, are the lands of the great and not so great Ents of the North and South. They are a persnickety bunch, kind one moment, humorless the next... Yea, these be the lands of horrible sadness and death for planes, some whose bones are found years later, spit out by the Ents and carried down by the great south winds. (Click ye, the map to make it magically bigger).

This morn was beautiful, of fair winds and clear skies, though it was hot as Hades. Flying the Stearman this morning was a gift! She flew so incredibly well, and I grew fond of her with each moment of flight. She took off fine (a bit touchy, but we came to an understanding), and she climbed and flew with grace. She handled the winds that came out of eastern Also Mordor fine. After 12 minutes of dancing flying bliss, I flew her downwind, over the Blackberry patch, to show her the way home. But the winds from Also Mordor carried her quickly downwind, and I underestimated the drift, for I am but a novice. I knew I needed to turn, and quickly, but I was losing sight of her! My heart began to race, and my palms to drip with anxiety! I blinked sweat from my squinting, blurring eyes. I could not figure out what she was doing! TOO HIGH! TOO FAR! SHE IS DYING! I could feel her coming death, it enveloped and suffocated me... I became more and more frightened as she was deep over the Lands of the Southern Ents, whom I fear greatly! I could not breathe! I thought I was turning her, but it seemed she was going straight... I could not make sense of it, and my brains became befuddled by the power the Ents have over me. I was in trouble! I called out to my friends of The Field, but before they could arise to my aid, gallant every one, I saw her roll right and stall spin deep into the Lands of the Southern Ents and she was gone! Gone... WHAT HAVE I DONE? OH, WOE IS ME! WHAT HAVE I DONE? I nearly fell to my knees, overwhelmed with confusion, fear, grief, and anger, for surely she was lost to me forever! 

Lost in my deep, dark emptiness, I walked the lonely desolate land south of the Land of the Southern Ents from west to east.  Bill came over from the far side of Mordor and walked the southern edge as well. We saw nothing. I went into the Lands of the Southern Ents along the line of the Green Arrow, but my way was blocked, I could not pass. I walked the northern boundary of the Land of the Southern Ents, and still I saw nothing... nothing.Not even dwarfs. Or bunny rabbits. Not even snakes chasing bunny rabbits.

I returned to The Field, crushed, broken, and despondent. There in the pits, wallowing in my pain and loss among the kindness of my friends who shared my woe, for all loved her, I heard tales of a man. A special man, who has traveled the Lands of both the Northern and Southern Ents, whom he knows well, and they know him, yea verily, they fear his tread! There is hope, they told me! Cry not, young man, there is hope! Many an Ent has fallen before him, and they tell their children of Greg the Merciless! But to us, who depend on him for we cannot walk that far, he is occasionally known as Greg Reed the Searcher (sometimes known in his day job as Greg the Master Builder of Planes, and sometimes, well, I am sure there are many names for our Greg...). The stories told of how he had returned many a lost plane to a grateful pilot, even some un-harmed by the Ents! In some stories Greg waged a terrible battle against the Ents, facing their vines, poisonous and hurtful, their vipers, and their ticks, the deep, gator infested Swampy Way in the middle of the Land of the Southern Ents, all who know his wrath, and he has even then returned victorious! Yes, there is hope!

So, it is to Greg Reed the Searcher, Greg the Merciless, Greg the Master Builder of Planes, Greg of Many Names, that I appeal! Please, kind sir, find my lost Stearman, and bring her back to me! A king's ransom, if only you can bring her to this broken hearted pilot, and give me reason to live! For you are my hope! Our hope! She is alone and frightened, cold and hungry... Please, your best effort for me, for the people of The Field, for our beloved beautiful Stearman! Find her... find her... I beg of you, find her!

The emptiness...

(Let us hope, dear reader, that this ends well...).