Now, nobody else flies my 180, and it lives in a hangar, so I’ll admit my preflight often consists of checking that the tires are round, the fuel caps are on and nothing is dripping. An old friend, Bobby Strunk, a retired US Airways captain, has a lifetime of experience in DC-3s and stuff like Beavers, T-6s and a Staggerwing Beech. So I showed him the 180’s only nasty habit — a tendency to bound down the runway on that damned spring steel gear — and told him to use the airplane whenever he wanted. He took it somewhere, filled it up with gas and put it to bed in the hangar. As usual I was in a hurry when I arrived at the airport, so I did my “abbreviated” preflight and started the engine. As usual 72B fired right up, but then it quit. I tried again ... nothing. I primed ... nothing. I cursed and tried again, but now it was getting late and if I was going to make it to the funeral, I had to start driving right now.