The Wind Creek blimp was cruising the beaches this morning, and I remembered I owed you a New Year's Eve story. I'm not sure why it's been so hard to write about a fantasy fulfilled. Maybe I'm embarrassed at what a big kid I am.

If I know you even casually, you knew how I'd be escorting in 2010. Former Huntsville coworkers knew. My hair stylist knew. The drive-thru girl at Starbucks knew. "Guess where I'm spending New Year's Eve ... In the Wind Creek blimp!"

Evening found Dennis Holt and me motoring around Brookley Field, right off the Bay. We groped around in the dark searching for the cluster of maintenance trailers that housed the ship's ground crew. We wondered why we hadn't arrived in daylight as we dodged restricted zones and avoided the active runway.

We finally found them in an unlighted corner of the field. The crew chief met us and launched into his safety briefing. "Keep away from the aircraft until I lead you in. Our safety word is 'bees.' If I wave my arms, yell 'Bees! Bees!', and run like hell, you do exactly what I do."

And then we practiced. "Bees! Bees!" screamed the chief. We flailed our arms and dashed across the tarmac. It may not have added to flight safety, but the rest of the crew seemed to enjoy it. The greenhorns had passed muster.

Ready for a blimp ride, reader? Watch this space next week for part 2: June Bug on a String.

And remember, get out there in it!

6 Hawks