Mid-day, I see the Colonel who wrote that book on the F-117 and had been doing forums and selling books that year, getting packed up to leave, in the row across from our 182. We'd had an evening conversation the evening prior about his 182 and how often he flew and why and all that jazz. I walked over and helped him push without waiting for him to ask.
This is commonplace in the North 40. There will be people standing next to your strut before you even go looking for help. Everyone there is a pilot or knows enough to know you'll need a hand.
That's part of the magic of the place. It isn't about the big tents and fancy displays. It's about hanging with your tribe. Folks who already know exactly what you're doing because they do it too.
I go to see people I otherwise wouldn't see all year. The continuous sound of radial engines and jets and the occasional Extra flinging itself around the sky and the never-ending helicopters going around the sightseeing pattern, are just a great backdrop for hanging with people who "do" aviation.
I still credit Kent for banging that into my thick skull the first year I went. I was all twitterpated that we were stuck in a hotel room in Green Bay instead of on the field. He showed me around the ramp and Scholler around midnight one night and got me to really look at what I was standing in the middle of.
You go to be a tiny part of a small CITY of nothing but aviation enthusiasts. A city that only exists together for one week every summer and then disappears until next year.
Some of us are slower than others. If you think it's all about all the airplanes and "stuff" and alphabet soup groups and the crap in the magazines and here all year long about regs, and gear, and techniques, and teaching methods... Yadda yadda yadda... Stay on the grounds until well after dark and all that stuff is shut down other than the magical linemen changing the static displays in the square... And just look and listen and realize there's no other place on the planet where you are completely surrounded by thousands of other people who "get it".
It's a week long family reunion. You might even run into Harrison Ford or Bob Hoover being shuttled around on a golf cart, or catch Sean Tucker signing autographs somewhere, but you'll guaranteed run into tons of people like yourself that you'd be happy to sit next to in a lawn chair with a radio on, watching airplanes land on 27 for hours while baking in the sun and everyone making running commentary on the good and bad landings, crazy traffic, and the occasional mishap. ("Did that Taylorcraft just have a prop strike? Oh man..." Or... "A flight of six warbirds just checked in over Warbird Island and there's one, two, three... I count seven in the downwind. You?" ... "This is going to be interesting!")
Or there's always just getting to meet well-sunburnt and possibly intoxicated PoAers. That's possible at other PoA fly-ins too, but OSH is different.
You could tear your motor mounts. Or engine frame stress.
