Early in June I flew up to Antique Aero's annual barbecue at Paso Robles, an hour north of Los Angeles. I had been invited the year before and hadn't made it, and now I didn't know what to expect. A few old guys standing around a fire pit? No, as it turned out; there was quite a bit more man mat.rnI parked in the rough beside the taxi-way, near a beautiful little Swearingen SX300. Looking farther down the line I could pick out a Ryan ST, aT-28, several T-6s and a whole slew of Stearmans before perspective convergence merged the still more distant cowlings into an indecipherable blur.
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