Dumpster Diver
Practically Family
- Messages
- 952
- Location
- Ontario
Imagine soaring 20,000 Feet above Sea level in the pitch Black of night, past the English channel somewhere over Germany.
The Cold has turned you into a block of Ice, and your Oxygen Hose freezes from the condensation of your warm breath. taking deep and heavy, hard heaving inhales in a cold sweat, the strain is mind numbing. Firing your Guns, four red hot Barrels delivering deafening rounds as they glow in the night. Gunsmoke fills your turret and scalding hot Shells Rain down from the sky.
Your headset Crackles, Calling out tracers arcing up through the pitch. Scanning Frantically-
A blazing barrel Answers back with bursting staccato Rage. An intimidating Rush of fearless flashes from the Muzle of a 20mm Cannon glint through the darkness. Deaths oblivion washes through your mortal soul for a quick instant, Snapping you up in a surge of Adrenaline.
Fighters Lurking up from behind through the Cloudy depths to Blow holes through your thin aluminum Shell. You feel the hollow tinking of slugs slap through the underbelly as they begin to Hammer and wail.
Jerrys light your posterior up like an old Christmas tree tonight.
Guts are empty, feeling sick, a paralisis finds you, Gripping hard.
Fighters Swoop by in series dead astern, unseen in the blind of the starless night.
The hydraulics whine, Strut cables Twanging, Flaps Groan as the Plane shakes and Shudders violently to stay aloft, Like someone Dragging a Filing cabinet across the floor. a freezing Draft Rips right to the tail of the aircraft. Exhaust heat from the four manifolds barely keeps you alive in the frigid cabin. An Engine Errupts with a sudden Bang and a fluttering Weeze- Bullets pounded through the block. You stop shivering as you are more frozen with fear now.
Torn Strips of Aluminum flapping, the ride has now become profusely Grinding.
Minutes pass, and the Frigid air feathers out the dead engine, holding flames at bay.
The wind pushing you back with a shreiking Howl Like a violin bow slowly Dragging across the open strings.
All you see through your thin plexiglass panes are tight movements roving searchlights now as youre nearing the Target, Still in the game.
Peppered with Flak as your trapped in the crosshairs of the searchlight beams, glowing bright orange Bursts making you flinch with every one that grows closer...puffs send burning steel shards Tearing through your plane, making sound like Stones Clattering on a tin Roof...Cutting Intercom wire and Shredding Wing pannels, some ricochet off mechanics of your Merlin Rolls Royce V12 Engines, sparks from battered electrics ignite beneath the controls. The cockpit Fills with thick black smoke, Rich Oil gurgles and spatters out of your smouldering Starboard Engine. Hacking away in an off-key drone, it putt-putts still clinging dearly to life.
Oil pressure guage dropping.
So is the cracked Altimeter.
You stagger and Crawl through the dark of the bombay half blinded, fumbling for a Fire Extinguisher, now in hand to battle the Flames, You are literally In the belly of a Giant Gastank, and the smell of high octane is un-mistakable now. Too late and you wont be able to bail out in time. You are praying.
the inferno intensifies, Using one hand to block the heat, douse the flames but begin to feel the heat through your pant leg above the ankle, at first you think *Im hit*
youre pressed tightly against the crawlspace straining your last nerve as the Heat brands a mark into your pant leg, soaked in Exhaust fumes and coated with thick Blackened Grease from crawling through the fuselage of your machine, Ready to burst into flames like the head of a match...Survive this one, and hundreds of flight hours yet to come.
It is my Dream that
Hundreds of years from now, The legend still lives on.
these Irvin Trousers survived the worst. (Wether or not the story I told is Merely speculation or actual fact...the contemplative burn marks could be from the Pipe off a motorcycle in post war use, same with most of the black sooty Grease these are saturated in.)
Regardless, something tells me these were truly there.
One day they will hang in a museum like a suit of knights armor, and re-tell their story.
---My restoration work from the past few nights.
These are Literally Saturated in Charred black Motor Oil and carbon Exhaust, Dried into the hide for 70 years.
Saddle soap, then neatsfool oil revives the moisture, and pulls out the grease from the leather as I wipe them down, and sticks to the rags brown and black...The smell is of Stale engines and gunsmoke, Gasoline...and Bravery is born again in a distinctly powerful Aroma...
Smells like Victory.
1. the before and after colour variance during the extensive Cleaning process. Note the Dramatic difference, even though they are permanently stained in a darker hue.
2. You can see the burn mark mid shin level at the bottom clearly.
3. Grease Rags that smell like an auto-body shop, sapped in stale engine oil that stained into my fingers, and permeates the air in my living space. And the foul water Dumped outside, I have no Faucet, I clean and wash Like a pioneer!
4. Try em on for size, still solid after so many years...somebody kept these because there is something very special and significant about them.
Not even half the work is done yet, Rigorous I can tell you.
I will report Back soon, the next steps are cleansing the zipper tape, and polishing the Teeth of the D.O.T. Zippers. Then last but not least I will Eucalan the fleece and brush it thoroughly. So far this has been three nights of work.
before I forget, I will be happy to do this type of Service for minimum wage if you ever need me to do some work for you!!!
I garauntee my work to be honest and satisfactory at the very least. Just wait...more pics soon.
thanks for checking it out.
My mom actually bought these for me as a Christmas gift back when I was in highschool, Seems fitting I work on them now. My heart soars like an eagle on christmas eve!!!
The Cold has turned you into a block of Ice, and your Oxygen Hose freezes from the condensation of your warm breath. taking deep and heavy, hard heaving inhales in a cold sweat, the strain is mind numbing. Firing your Guns, four red hot Barrels delivering deafening rounds as they glow in the night. Gunsmoke fills your turret and scalding hot Shells Rain down from the sky.
Your headset Crackles, Calling out tracers arcing up through the pitch. Scanning Frantically-
A blazing barrel Answers back with bursting staccato Rage. An intimidating Rush of fearless flashes from the Muzle of a 20mm Cannon glint through the darkness. Deaths oblivion washes through your mortal soul for a quick instant, Snapping you up in a surge of Adrenaline.
Fighters Lurking up from behind through the Cloudy depths to Blow holes through your thin aluminum Shell. You feel the hollow tinking of slugs slap through the underbelly as they begin to Hammer and wail.
Jerrys light your posterior up like an old Christmas tree tonight.
Guts are empty, feeling sick, a paralisis finds you, Gripping hard.
Fighters Swoop by in series dead astern, unseen in the blind of the starless night.
The hydraulics whine, Strut cables Twanging, Flaps Groan as the Plane shakes and Shudders violently to stay aloft, Like someone Dragging a Filing cabinet across the floor. a freezing Draft Rips right to the tail of the aircraft. Exhaust heat from the four manifolds barely keeps you alive in the frigid cabin. An Engine Errupts with a sudden Bang and a fluttering Weeze- Bullets pounded through the block. You stop shivering as you are more frozen with fear now.
Torn Strips of Aluminum flapping, the ride has now become profusely Grinding.
Minutes pass, and the Frigid air feathers out the dead engine, holding flames at bay.
The wind pushing you back with a shreiking Howl Like a violin bow slowly Dragging across the open strings.
All you see through your thin plexiglass panes are tight movements roving searchlights now as youre nearing the Target, Still in the game.
Peppered with Flak as your trapped in the crosshairs of the searchlight beams, glowing bright orange Bursts making you flinch with every one that grows closer...puffs send burning steel shards Tearing through your plane, making sound like Stones Clattering on a tin Roof...Cutting Intercom wire and Shredding Wing pannels, some ricochet off mechanics of your Merlin Rolls Royce V12 Engines, sparks from battered electrics ignite beneath the controls. The cockpit Fills with thick black smoke, Rich Oil gurgles and spatters out of your smouldering Starboard Engine. Hacking away in an off-key drone, it putt-putts still clinging dearly to life.
Oil pressure guage dropping.
So is the cracked Altimeter.
You stagger and Crawl through the dark of the bombay half blinded, fumbling for a Fire Extinguisher, now in hand to battle the Flames, You are literally In the belly of a Giant Gastank, and the smell of high octane is un-mistakable now. Too late and you wont be able to bail out in time. You are praying.
the inferno intensifies, Using one hand to block the heat, douse the flames but begin to feel the heat through your pant leg above the ankle, at first you think *Im hit*
youre pressed tightly against the crawlspace straining your last nerve as the Heat brands a mark into your pant leg, soaked in Exhaust fumes and coated with thick Blackened Grease from crawling through the fuselage of your machine, Ready to burst into flames like the head of a match...Survive this one, and hundreds of flight hours yet to come.
It is my Dream that
Hundreds of years from now, The legend still lives on.
these Irvin Trousers survived the worst. (Wether or not the story I told is Merely speculation or actual fact...the contemplative burn marks could be from the Pipe off a motorcycle in post war use, same with most of the black sooty Grease these are saturated in.)
Regardless, something tells me these were truly there.
One day they will hang in a museum like a suit of knights armor, and re-tell their story.
---My restoration work from the past few nights.
These are Literally Saturated in Charred black Motor Oil and carbon Exhaust, Dried into the hide for 70 years.
Saddle soap, then neatsfool oil revives the moisture, and pulls out the grease from the leather as I wipe them down, and sticks to the rags brown and black...The smell is of Stale engines and gunsmoke, Gasoline...and Bravery is born again in a distinctly powerful Aroma...
Smells like Victory.
1. the before and after colour variance during the extensive Cleaning process. Note the Dramatic difference, even though they are permanently stained in a darker hue.
2. You can see the burn mark mid shin level at the bottom clearly.
3. Grease Rags that smell like an auto-body shop, sapped in stale engine oil that stained into my fingers, and permeates the air in my living space. And the foul water Dumped outside, I have no Faucet, I clean and wash Like a pioneer!
4. Try em on for size, still solid after so many years...somebody kept these because there is something very special and significant about them.
Not even half the work is done yet, Rigorous I can tell you.
I will report Back soon, the next steps are cleansing the zipper tape, and polishing the Teeth of the D.O.T. Zippers. Then last but not least I will Eucalan the fleece and brush it thoroughly. So far this has been three nights of work.
before I forget, I will be happy to do this type of Service for minimum wage if you ever need me to do some work for you!!!
I garauntee my work to be honest and satisfactory at the very least. Just wait...more pics soon.
thanks for checking it out.
My mom actually bought these for me as a Christmas gift back when I was in highschool, Seems fitting I work on them now. My heart soars like an eagle on christmas eve!!!
Last edited:
