So we went to this really nice place; "resort" is not quite right - and it's not a dude ranch. It's an old ranch, historic, fixed up very nicely and very relaxing. They have a very nice runway, as well.
At this place, meals are served in a dining room with a couple of long tables, all guests sit at the tables, so you inevitably end up chatting with the other guests, something I really enjoy.
During one of the meals, the husband / father (of a couple of real charmers, good kids) asks me if that's my Bonanza up at the airstrip, and I admit (!) that I am, and in the conversation, he admits to being a pilot too, nothing fancy (he says). Tells me he's an aerospace engineer, works in Houston.
Yeah, right.
Found out later, that (1) yes, he's an engineer, (2) yes, he's a pilot, and (the Paul Harvey moment) (3) he's a week off of a Shuttle mission. From his modest demeanor, I believe he would have denied it if I'd recognized him by trade.
By the way, we left about the same time, we in the Bo, and they, in a Suburban (for the 9-hour drive). Astronaut, yes, but they still pulled to the side of the road and watched us take off. Pilots is pilots, after all.
Imagine, watching your spouse or dad strap on a rocket and blast into space. These are strong souls!