And all's well that does.

Months of research, physical searching, and long hours driving had paid off. Not a lot of people have been close to the Blackbird; more people have stood at the summit of Everest than have flown in one. Fewer still have bits of one hung in their office.

This was my first dabble in aerospace archeology. I don't expect it to be my last, as the hunts are fun, and the conclusions quite satisfying. How many research projects end up with something you can hold in your hands? Not enough, I'd say.

If you're interested in this kind of thing, there are a few good URLs on my links page. If you're interested in this aircraft in particular, let me just say this: don't be. 966 rests forever on private land. The family that lives there is an honest and hardworking one. This does not mean they are any less prone to prosecuting trespassers than anyone else. If you want to follow my research path and figure out where the crash site is, just remember that in some parts of the world they are less likely to call the police on an intruder. Enough said.

I couldn't have done this alone. Many thanks are in order.

- Dave Allison, webmaster of Habu.org, for his unfailing devotion to the most amazing aircraft ever to grace the sky, and his unending patience with little questions.

- Peter Merlin, wreck finder extraordinairre, for being a wealth of knowledge of the little details and a fine example of responsible hunting.

- Tom Mahood, creator of Bluefire, for his inspiring tales of desert wandering and obsession with closure on his hunt for 928.

- Joel G., Raechel W., and Michael B. for their willingness to wander aimlessly in search of a good story.

- The fine folks at the Air Force Safety Center, for the crash report and extra photographs, and their exceptional service to random folks like myself.

- The equally fine people at the United States Geological Survey, for their service and patience as well.