Of course, the biplanes in Bealeton were not there by coincidence. Nor was I. From May through October, a 200-acre field off Ritchie Road becomes a nostalgic showcase for the early decades of American aviation when the Flying Circus Aerodrome puts on its weekly show—a swirling mix of genuine skill, bravery and (very) old-fashioned fun. A typical Flying Circus show features about 10 sturdy, open-cockpit biplanes—mostly early 1940s (Boeing) Stearmans, the U.S. military’s primary flight trainer prior to World War II, along with a pair of Wacos, a couple of single-wing Piper Cubs and a 1929 Fleet Model 7, the oldest plane in action. All but one of the classic aircraft are owned by their pilots. The planes are in prime condition, have their original Navy or Army Air Corps paint schemes—and very much capture a big-stakes era of scrap drives, big-band music and, above all, global conflict: “Hand me my goggles, baby, and I’ll see you after the war!” In the air or on the ground, they are a colorful sight.
During the 90-minute Flying Circus extravaganza, the pilots fly in formation, pop balloons with their propellers, drop “flour bombs” from the sky, grab a mail bag and perform aerobatic stunts that shame other men whose most daring display of courage might be climbing atop a riding lawn mower. The acts are loosely built around a loopy narrative starring a dastardly Prussian ace named the Black Baron and a ditzy dame named Fifi (in a sequined dress) whom he’s teaching to fly. There is also a parachute jump and an amazing, high-speed aerobatic routine featuring a modern propeller-driven plane.
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