By David Shapiro

I fly bumpity-bump into the teeth of the storm that batters the Islands, hoping as we approach Hilo that the pilot knows where Mauna Kea is in this turbulent air with visibility so poor you can barely see the tip of the wing.

Why do I subject myself to this? Interisland airfares are so high that I could almost finance a junket to Las Vegas for what this ticket from Honolulu to Hilo costs.

I've endured security lines and the special screening reserved for wheelchair passengers who can't walk through the metal detector. They've patted me down in private places where no American would ever care to be touched by an agent of the federal government.

I won't even be able to enjoy Hilo. I'll be heading back to the airport for the flight home less than five hours after I land.

But it's well worth the hassle. I'm going to see old friends at the annual luncheon of the Hilo football club I belong to.

We are eight members strong: five now-retired Hawai'i County employees — Elaine, Jane, Howard, Bob and Marvin — and three mostly retired former Big Island journalists, Eugene, Hugh and me.

The club's concept is simple: Each week we all try to pick the winners of NFL games and throw a quarter into the pot for those we lose. At season's end, we invest the kitty in a nice lunch at Hilo's finest Chinese restaurant.

The member who loses the most becomes president and has to bring the wine. The three journalists have held this honor a woefully disproportionate number of times, although Eugene broke form this year and had the fewest losses. Of course, he was insufferable about it.

The best anyone can figure, we've been doing this since 1973, the year Richard Nixon began his second term and O.J. Simpson beat Jim Brown's NFL rushing record. We've made out better than them.

Gordon Pang, the Advertiser political reporter who used to work in Kona and never gained admittance into the club, is cruel in disparaging our devotion to these gatherings.

"I thought it was some big whoop-de-do party, but all you do is have lunch," he needles. "What's the big deal?"

The big deal is that we've been doing this for more than 30 years —and have remarkably kept the friendships intact.

The big deal is that we range in age from 55 to 74 — I'm the baby — and we're all still alive. (Knock on wood.)

It's a big enough deal that former Big Island Mayor Steve Yamashiro will rue the day he stood us up after accepting an invitation to this year's lunch from our leader Elaine, whom you just don't cross.

Going from politician to real-estate developer must have fogged Steve's memory. Then again, many constituents thought he was already pretty foggy when he was mayor.

We managed to have our usual great time without him, and any doubts I had about making this trip in bad weather were erased when I left the restaurant and looked skyward.

If there's nothing more miserable than being stuck in a terrible storm, there's nothing more exhilarating than when it finally breaks into blue skies and crisp air.

And there's no better place to watch a storm break than Hilo, as dark clouds part to reveal Mauna Kea in its divine splendor. This storm left a breathtaking new snowcap down to the 9,000-foot level.

Talk about a sign that I was meant to be here.

David Shapiro can be reached at dave@volcanicash.net.