Me and My Arrow

1971 Piper Arrow 200

OK, I admit it. I’m in love with an inanimate object.

But if you could see her, you’d understand. In fact you might feel the same way.

Sometimes I even wonder, if she really is inanimate? So what if she’s forty years old. So what if she’s high maintenance? So what if her paint is not as fresh as it once was?

Where else could I find a thoroughbred steed that can take me and my family whizzing across country at 160 mph, above the clouds and haze of summer, through mild or threatening weather, day or night, eating up the miles like a horse on speed.

Her heart is 200 horsepower of whirring, fuel-injected cylinders. When given her lead, her three-bladed propeller slices through the air turning it into powerful thrust, like the magic machine she is. Her graceful wings vault her into the air, reaching for heaven, and finding quiet solace two miles high.

To understand her best is to realize she’s more than a magic machine; she is veritably a time machine, leaping us across country on a time schedule simply unimaginable any other way.

And the sights from her cockpit are unmatched by any artist, especially when a mixture of stormy and clearing weather paints a palette of color and texture that exceeds the  human capacity to absorb, visually.

What is left is raw emotion.

She may be inanimate, but riding her is like clinging to the back of an angel. What’s not to love?

An undercast, seen from 9000 feet

In 1971 Harry Nilsson wrote a song I’ve always loved, and now I can claim it as my own. At least I imagine it that way.

Me and my Arrow
Straighter than narrow
Wherever we go, every one knows
It’s me and my Arrow

Me and my Arrow
Taking the high road
Wherever we go, everyone knows
It’s me and my Arrow

Here is how it sounds, from Harry Nilsson himself.

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