“Holy Cow, it goes on forever!” exclaimed my friend’s 16-year-old son, Connor, who was experiencing his first Oshkosh. He stared wide-eyed at the endless field of planes as we moved along the flight line from the homebuilts to the classics, to the antiques, to the ultralights, to the amphibians — almost halfway to the seaplane base.
“I told you it was big,” I said. “Twelve thousand airplanes. Remember?”
