Rolled in one morning during 1st break. Was about -15°F outside, I'd made the 10 mile ride in on the fixed 1x1, sporting my famous Ninja Guinea Pig in a Wetsuit look. As I parked the bike, the smoke brigade collectively clucked how I was insane and I was going to kill myself..............."and standing outside sucking cancer sticks is somehow healthier" I responded.
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This is Africa, 1943. War spits out its violence overhead and the sandy graveyard swallows it up. Her name is King Nine, B-25, medium bomber, Twelfth Air Force. On a hot, still morning she took off from Tunisia to bomb the southern tip of Italy. An errant piece of flak tore a hole in a wing tank and, like a wounded bird, this is where she landed, not to return on this day, or any other day.