Monday, July 5, 2010
Iditarod - The Last Great Race
I've been a fan of The Iditarod Dog Sled Race for a long time. There is something about the cold weather competition for men and women, and their dogs, that appeals to me. I had always thought that someday I would like to attend at least the start of the race. My ideal would be to be at the start in Anchorage, Alaska, follow the race as it progressed westward through 1,000 miles of extreme weather conditions along the race route (as cold as -40F) and see the winner cross the finish line more than a week later in Nome on the Bering Sea.
As an accountant, March is the busiest month of the year for me. The Iditarod Dog Sled Race begins on the first weekend in March and the winner usually crosses the finish line in Nome about 9 days or so later. Some of the mushers take up to two weeks to cross the finish line. I thought I would never be able to get away in March to see the Iditarod up close and personal, at least until I retired. When grandson Scott was born on March 13, 1995, the day after my 50th birthday, I had said that I wanted to take him to see the Iditarod when he was old enough to enjoy it. But then I kept working and retirement kept looking farther and farther into the future.
Then earlier this year, Leslie suggested to me that this would be a good time to finally take 15 year old grandson Scott to see the Iditarod. My automatic response was that I couldn't take that much time off in the middle of tax season. When she asked me, "Why not?" I found I didn't have a good answer for her. I wouldn't retire until I was no longer able to work, and then I probably wouldn't be physically able to enjoy and adventure of this sort. At the same time, I was starting to think about how I wanted to spend whatever time I had left in this world. Leslie was right: This was the perfect opportunity for a grandfather to go on a trip like this with his grandson. And if I was ever going to attend the Iditarod, I should do it sooner rather than later.
All I really had to do was to move a few appointments around, to clear off a few days from the office. I could always make up for the lost time when we returned. That's it! We're going to the Iditarod! I immediately went online to book our plane fare and order us both a good pair of winter gloves. I already had boots and a good parka, so Leslie went online to order boots and a parka for Scott.
None of my clients seemed concerned when I rescheduled their appointment. In fact, they were happy and excited for me, that I was not only able to go on such an adventure with my grandson, but that I was actually going to do it. And Ellen didn't balk at taking Scott out of school for the trip. She thought it would be great and contacted all of his teachers to arrange for getting his homework assignments early. As it turned out, he could only get his assignments the day before we left, so he would have to do homework while on vacation. Scott is well disciplined about doing his homework so he didn't mind spending a little time in the evening or during spare moments to take care of it. I wish it had been that easy with my kids when they were that age!
The day before we left, Leslie picked up Scott on her way back from a visit with her friend Melissa. We both got everything packed the night before, so we'd be ready early in the morning to catch our flight. Fortunately for Scott, I don't like 6am flights. They're just not worth it. I booked a noon flight so we would have plenty of time to get there, miss all of the commuter traffic jams, and still arrive in Anchorage at a decent hour in the evening.
We made our flight in plenty of time, changed planes in Seattle, and arrived in Anchorage about dinner time. There was snow on the sidewalks and piled up along the sides of the streets. Brrrrr. It was somewhere around 25F. We got our rental car (4WD Ford Explorer) and took off for Girdwood, a little town in the mountains about an hour's drive to the East on the Seward Highway along Turnagain Arm Inlet.
I had originally planned on getting a room for Scott and me in the Millenium Anchorage Hotel near the Anchorage airport. The Millenium Hotel is the staging area for the Iditarod. An Iditarod Help Desk is set up in the lobby. Iditarod souvenirs are sold from another corner of the lobby. Makeshift offices are setup in several ground level rooms, to handle the various Iditarod events, hand out event tickets, etc. It would be shoulder-to-shoulder people the entire time, but it would be fun and definitely centrally located to all the events.
But friend, client and Rotary President Georgeann Cowles insisted that we use her cabin in Girdwood for our trip. The offer of having our own cabin and saving whatever 5 days would cost at the Millenium Anchorage Hotel was an offer too hard to resist. And it worked out very well indeed. It was perfect for two guys on their own. We had a full kitchen, full bath with shower, separate bedrooms and lots of movie videos to play on the TV. The cabin was in an area with lots other cabins nearby, a few small stores and a restaurant not too far away. A gas station and other small retail stores were about 5 miles away down at the Seward Highway. There was a lot more snow in Girdwood compared to Anchorage, and only the main roads were clear of snow. Snow was piled up high alongside all of the roads.
The next evening we attended the Mushers Number Drawing Banquet in downtown Anchorage. This is where the mushers all draw their starting number for the race: and introductions are made of volunteers, special sponsors, politicians and other dignitaries. They also held some open auctions of special fundraising gifts. Georgeann and her friend Grant Wrathall were also in town for the Iditarod and they sat at the same table with us at the banquet. Before dinner, she grabbed Scott and said, "Let's go find (4 time Iditarod Champion) Jeff King." All of the mushers roamed the dining room, letting fans take their photos and autographing programs, etc. Georgeann introduced Scott to Jeff King, took their photos together and brought Scott back to the table with a big smile. She said, "I got a couple of good shots that I'll blow up for you and Scott."
We all had a great time at the banquet and left about 9pm. It was 26F. I went to bed about 10pm; but Scott made himself a snack and then watched videos until sometime after midnight. I slept in until 7am on Friday, but I let Scott sleep in for a while longer. This was our only unscheduled day, and I wanted to do some exploring and visit the Iditarod Museum in Wasilla, about an hour north of Anchorage.
It had been snowing during the night and it seemed to me that it was still steadily snowing at a pretty good rate, although I really wasn't sure. We got in the car and tried to leave about 11:00, but couldn't budge the car out of the snow. As I was rocking the car back and forth, trying to get out onto the road, the neighbor from across the street came over to me and said, "You don't want to go to town today. There are white-out conditions on the Seward Highway with 80mph winds. This is the worst storm I've seen in 20 years. You might be able to leave tomorrow, but not today." Thank God he bothered to come over and warn me. If I had managed to get out, we would have surely been stranded somewhere, if not worse.
We went back into the cabin to wait out the storm and soon determined we had little real food, but lots of videos. Georgeann was really upset with herself and felt guilty when she found out we were snowed in. She was afraid we would miss the Iditarod Start the next morning. Actually, Scott and I thought it was kinda fun, since neither one of us had ever been snowed in before. Life is full of twists and turns or, said another way, life is what happens when you're making other plans. We were having a great experience, and it wouldn't be the end of the world if we missed the event we came to see because of a snow storm. It was all new to Scott and me.
Fortunately, the storm stopped by mid-afternoon, and within an hour there were several snow plows out on the roads; and the roads were clear within another hour. So Scott and I were able to go out for a pizza for dinner. I also decided to stock up on some prepared meals just in case we or anyone else were stranded here again. Just after we walked in the door with our pizza, Scott informed me that he had lost one of his gloves. We soon decided it must have fallen out of the car when we stopped at the pizza restaurant, down the hill about 5 miles. I wanted to call first before driving all the way down the hill, but we couldn't find a phone book to get the phone number. Then I realized I could Google for it on my iPhone. Sure enough, I got the number and called the pizza place. The lady found it in the parking lot right where I thought she would. Whew! So I drove down the hill and retrieved his glove. My iPhone saved the day.
We rose early the next morning so we could get to 4th and D Streets in downtown Anchorage by 9am for the ceremonial start of the Iditarod. We got to town in plenty of time and parked about 4 or 5 blocks away. Again, the temperature was in the mid-20's. The (ITC) Iditarod Trail Committee, Inc. is a non-profit entity that puts on the annual Iditarod Race. They bring in snow for the ceremonial start each year, just to make sure there's enough (most years there isn't enough snow). 4th street is blocked off for several blocks both before and after D Street. A couple of blocks leading up to the starting line at D Street is used at the staging area for all the mushers and their teams. It is blocked off from foot traffic for several blocks after the starting line. But Scott and I were allowed entrance to the staging area since Georgeann had purchased passes for us. It was very thoughtful of her, and we really enjoyed it. We could wander among the mushers and talk to them as they got set up.
At 9:00 they started off the mushers, beginning with #2 and then each musher in numerical order, two minutes apart. #1 was an honorary musher, a long time race supporter elected each year by the ITC. Like many civic events, The Iditarod Dog Sled Race is operated as a fundraiser with the net proceeds distributed to local charities. As part of the fundraising, the ITC auctions off rides in the sleds of the mushers. People bid on particular mushers, and the winning bid rides in that mushers sled at the ceremonial start in downtown Anchorage. Our gracious host, Georgeann, submitted a winning bid with one of the mushers, and was able to ride in the sled for the first several miles of the start. What a treat for her!
After a while, Scott and I decided to get a hot dog from one of the many street vendors. Scott had a regular hot dog, but I had to try a reindeer dog, a local favorite. I tasted very much like a "regular" hot dog, and it was actually pretty good. Eating was difficult though, because you needed to take your gloves off to eat, but then our hands got too cold really quickly and we had to keep putting our gloves on to warm up. After most of the mushers had started (it takes over two hours to start all 70), Scott and I were ready to leave so we walked back to the car. It was still below 30 degrees then.
We went to dinner that night with Grant and Georgeann, and another couple they knew who lived in Anchorage. We had a real nice dinner and enjoyed visiting with all of them. Grant took an interest in Scott and the two of them talked for quite a bit. I hope they get a chance to connect more on the future.
The next day (Sunday) was the official start of the Iditarod in Willow, Alaska. We rode a school bus from the Millenium Hotel for about two hours to Willow. The race was set up out in the middle of a big frozen lake, maybe two miles wide. Temporary fencing was set up with a staging area for all the teams, funneling them through the starting gate, where they once again let a team off every two minutes. The temperature was 16 degrees on the lake, and the ice covering on the lake was probably a couple of feet thick. The cold quickly went through my L.L. Bean hunting boots and made my feet really, really cold. Georgeann had done this before and knew to bring some very big throw pillows for us to stand on. I felt silly standing on the pillows at first, but quickly got over it when my feet warmed up again.
The race started at 2pm, with #2 starting first, #3 starting two minutes later, and so on. That allowed each musher to bring his team up to the starting line, make some last minute adjustments and hug each dog before they started. Each and every one of these mushers is obviously a dog lover. But these dogs are born to run! While in the starting gate, there are at least six people along the dog line, holding the dogs back; and 6 men holding the sled back. Otherwise, the dogs would take off without the musher. The dogs are jumping up and down and trying to pull the sled, the whole time they're in the starting gates. One look at these dogs and you know they are not running under protest. They live to run! They can hardly wait for their turn. In fact, they can't wait. They have to be held back until it's time to go.
Rules have been developed over the years for the benefit and protection of the dogs; but most of the mushers are way ahead of the rules. Each dog wears protective booties to protect their feet from sharp ice, rocks, etc, with lots of spare booties carried in the sleds. The dogs are fed and rested regularly. Each dog is checked by a vet at every rest stop along the way, about every 50 miles on average. Any dog showing any signs of illness or stress of any sort is immediately withdrawn from the race. Each musher starts with up to 16-20 dogs, so that he can continue on even after having several dogs withdrawn.
When reaching a rest stop, the musher firsts checks in with a volunteer who logs in his number and time, then the musher checks each dog, lays out some straw for the dogs to rest on, feeds the dogs, takes care of any special needs of the dogs; and then and only then does he take care of his own needs for food or rest.
So just over two hours later, the last musher (#70) leaves and the festivities are over for that day. So we got back on the bus for the two hour ride back to Anchorage. Of course, the mushers have just started their trek and the leader will arrive in Nome roughly 9 days later.
It was an amazing time for Scott and me, to see one of the most famous races in the entire world. We really enjoyed the fun and excitement of the festivities, not to mention the introduction into what cold weather is really like. I guess the next time we go, we'll be veterans at this Iditarod thing.
Several times that week I had asked Scott if he was having a good time. He always said yes, but I wasn't sure if he was just being nice (that's how he is) or he really was glad he came. But the next morning as we were heading to the airport to leave, he said to me, "Bopa, the next time we come to the Iditarod..." Yeah! That's all I needed to hear. He wants to do it again. Of course, he finished his statement with, "..I'd like to arrive the day before the real start (in Willow) and then just hang out at Georgeann's cabin for a few days." So what if he didn't care for the Musher's Banquet or the ceremonial start. He liked the race and hanging out with his grandpa in a snowbound cabin. I definitely enjoyed spending time with Scott.
After we got home I decided that next year we could go to Nome to see the winner cross the finish line. But we couldn't make arrangements for a place to stay, so we'll have to skip it, at least for next year. Maybe some other time.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
EAA AirVenture in Oshkosh, Wisconsin
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Mountain Flying in McCall, Idaho
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Emergency Maneuvers
Santa Paula is about 10 miles inland from the coastal town of Ventura and nestled in a small valley that protects it from the coastal fog. The locals claim that Santa Paula stays clear most of the time, and is the last place to get fogged in when it does get overcast. In fact, the entire coast was fogged in during my 2.2 hour flight down from Marina Sunday morning, November 22. I was beginning to think I would need an alternate airport, but as soon as I turned inland toward Santa Paula, the sky cleared up and there it was below me! It was beautiful VFR weather the entire two days I was there.
I was scheduled for two days of one-on-one instruction from Rich. It turned out to be a lot more laid back experience than I was expecting. I arrived at the Santa Paula Airport about 9:30am and Rich was there to greet me. The first thing I noticed was at least a dozen Citabria's parked in the transient area, and in front of CP Aviation. The predominant model seemed to be the Decathlon/Super Decathlon. I also noticed a couple of low wing aerobatic planes parked in an open maintenance hangar. I later learned that there were several aerobatic instructors, students, and pilots at this airport. In fact, it seemed to be the major reason for this airport's existance.
After tying Victor down and making a potty stop, we went into the classroom at CP Aviation. He briefed me about our schedule and what to expect both days, and then got into about an hour's worth of ground school on Dutch rolls, stalls, and spins. I told him I had only done one spin, with someone else flying the plane, and my stomach didn't take it very well. He assured me I would not only learn how to get out of a spin, but I would be able to exit at a predetermined compass heading. I found this hard to believe, but I was willing to give it a try.
Then we went outside to take a look at Victor, to be sure he felt it would be OK for the training. He looked closely at the wing struts, wire braces, landing gear, and interior. After he satisfied himself that Victor was in good shape, we climbed in for the first flight. Once in the air he told me to climb to 3,500' for our maneuvers, to which I responded, "Are you sure that's high enough?" Of course he said it was. I cannot describe my apprehension about doing the first spin.
As it spun to the right, I was supposed to hit hard left rudder after we had turned 270 degrees, i.e. when the highway appeared to be level with the wings. Then I would push the stick slightly forward until I felt the wind catch the wings again, and then level the wings with the horizon. Theoretically, the spin would continue for a 1/4 turn after my recovery inputs (opposite rudder and stick forward) and we should exit heading parallel to the highway and on the same heading that we started on before the spin started. Of course, I was a little nervous about this entire maneuver, to say the least, so I anticipated way ahead and we exited after completing only a 3/4 turn. I didn't care; it was a complete success from my point of view. Whew, what a ride! And my stomach was only slightly annoyed at the wild ride; it wasn't nearly as bad as my first experience. Maybe I could do these spins after all!
We did one more power off stall at 45 knots, but this time to the left. Once again, I hit the opposite rudder too early and we exited after only a 3/4 turn. Then we did a power on stall, with about 1/2 power, followed by another right hand spin. This time I came out at about 5/6 turn, so I was getting better. We did one more power on stall with a left hand spin, and then called we it quits. That flight had so much going on and seemed like we were up there for some time, but it was on 7/10 of an hour.
Before this flight, I couldn't understand how anybody could possibly count the turns in a spin because things were moving too fast. But by my 4th spin, I was actually watching the ground (highway) and keeping track of where we were in the spin. We only did one-turn spins that day, but I know I could have counted the turns if we had done multiple-turn spins. Just as Rich said, after your first couple of spins, they actually appear to be slowing down. They don't, but they appear to be, because you're focused on details and keeping track of your progress.
The afternoon included two more lessons. Each lesson included between 30-45 minutes of ground school, followed by 30-45 minutes of flying. The next maneuvers were aggravated spins. Rich would take the controls and simulate an accidental spin-inducing maneuver, and then I would take the controls and recover from the spin.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Council Bluffs
So I landed in Council Bluffs, tied down Victor, asked the maintenance guy to fill up my two O2 tanks and checked in at the FBO. This is a larger airport with big runways and full fuel and maintenance facilities, but doesn't have a tower. That is probably because it is so close to Omaha, whose controllers take care of Council Bluffs air traffic.
Bob and his wife Karen had all the visiting Rotarians over to their home for a wonderful dinner on Thursday night. Guests included: Robert Steinberg, Gord Hankin, Stella Russell, Stella's daughter Heather, Dave and Mary Flinn, Carl Cardey and yours truly. Bob barbecued a turkey, which I had never eaten before, and of course Karen had prepared several side dishes to go with the turkey. But first we had to taste the trays of cheese, crackers and nuts before dinner; to be washed down with some special single malt scotch the Gord had brought with him, or wine, beer, etc. All in all, it was a wonderful evening for fellowship and great conversation. I can't thank Bob and Karen enough for such a wonderful introduction to Midwestern hospitality.
Saturday was our conference day. A meeting room of geeks, each of whom had a laptop out and connected to the hotel wireless network, was a sight to see. Most interesting was the fact that we were all old geeks. No one was under age 50 for sure, and I'm not sure any of us were under 60. Gary Bren gave a presentation on the history of computers, with samples of early CPU's, RAM, circuit boards, laptops, etc. to pass around the room. It was quite interesting. The afternoon session included a presentation by Chris Russell, the manager of the local Google Datacenter, telling us all about Google's products and services. Later we had a long discussion with Chris, and a RI (Rotary International) IT manager in Chicago via video-phone, discussing the possibility of mapping all 32,000 Rotary Clubs on Google Maps. In the end, we decided to do a test case with the districts represented by our Board of Directors, which we will submit to RI and Google, once all the data has been collected.
We finished up with a short board meeting Sunday morning, before Bob took me to the airport to begin my trip home. By leaving around noon on Sunday, I thought I would be home Tuesday evening. It was not to be.
I took off around 11:00am from Council Bluffs with some fairly strong headwinds. I knew this would slow me down. My flight planner indicated that it would take 1:45 to fly to my first stop in Mankato, NE. I spent most of that leg with 60 knot headwinds, reducing my 125kt airspeed to 65kt groundspeed. I was barely keeping up with the cars below me! It took me 2.6 hours to get to Mankato, which was pretty much deserted. Landing at Mankato was a real challenge in the strong winds blowing from the right a 45 degree angle. They must have been in the neighborhood of 30 knots, a challenge for even the most experienced tailwheel pilot! After taxiing over the to the fuel pump, I had to set the brakes on Victor, which I rarely do, because of the strong winds trying to lift his wings off the ground again. Finding the fuel pump inoperable, I checked out the restroom, which was non-functional as well. I relieved myself behind the outhouse, and called the nearest airport in Smith Center, KS to make sure they had fuel. I didn't want to attempt another cross-wind landing like the last one if there wasn't fuel available and waiting for me. The city dispatcher answered the phone and said she would send an officer to the airport to meet me and unlock the fuel pump. It was only 26 miles, but took me another 1/2 hour to get to Smith Center airport.
After another challenging cross-wind landing at Smith Center, I taxied up to the fuel pump to find a police officer (Jamey) waiting for me as promised. The winds were blowing extremely hard on the ground, requiring me to set Victor's brakes again. As the officer unlocked the fuel pump, I noticed there was no static line to attach to Victor's exhaust pipe, and I mentioned it him. He responded, "Yeah, we don't have one of those." That was very disconcerting. A static line is meant to prevent static electricity from building up and causing an explosion. Oh, my God, what do I do? Against my better judgment I decided to go ahead and fill up the plane. Fortunately, because my fuel tanks are relatively small, nothing happened as a result of not using a static line. Whew!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Victor
About a year ago I started thinking about buying my own personal plane. I wanted to have a plane I could fly at a moment’s notice and not have to schedule days or weeks in advance. I also wanted something with better performance, i.e. would climb and cruise faster, and could fly comfortably over the 10,000′ Sierra Nevada Mountains.
In early 2006 a friend, Mike Eynon, told me he was selling his 1974 Citabria. It didn’t appeal to me at first, because it was a high wing plane and it was smaller than I thought I wanted. I had flown in it one other time, but he took me up for another ride. We were barely rolling down the runway before it left the ground. It climbed easily at 1,000′ per minute. It sure had plenty of power. He let me take the stick to see how it handled. I was used to a yoke, so it didn’t feel very comfortable at first. I let him do most of the flying. But even with Mike flying the plane, I could tell it was very maneuverable. And it had great visibility. The Citabria is similar to a Piper Cub, in that it has a narrow fuselage and tandem seating, with the passenger sitting behind the pilot. Both side windows are only inches from your shoulders, so you have a great view from either side. I felt more one with the plane, rather than a body sitting inside of a plane and looking out. It was what I imagined it was like to be a bird. I thought to myself, “This is why I learned to fly!”
In April 2006 I bought Mike’s Citabria. It happens to be a tailwheel plane, which I didn’t know how to fly at the time. So I started taking tailwheel lessons in my own plane. After about 25 hours of mostly takeoffs and landings over a month or so, I was finally signed off for the tailwheel. Using a stick felt weird at first, but very soon became very intuitive for me. A stick gives more precise control, which is why fighter jets all have control sticks instead of yokes.
I’m thoroughly enjoying my new “taildragger” and fly it every chance I get. I’ve flown it several times now to Fresno to visit my mother; to Pine Mountain Lake to visit Eric and Nealy; to Cloverdale to visit Kenny, Ellen, Scott and Sarah; and to various other places just because they’re there, like Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, Harris Ranch, Half Moon Bay, Napa, Red Bluff, and even Orland International to visit Sy and Melissa.
With urging from Leslie, I’ve decided to give my plane a name. In pilot-speak, my tail# N8571V is pronounced “November-8-5-7-1-Victor.” So now I call him Victor.
But once again I’m feeling the need to stretch my wings. Fortunately, I have an opportunity to fly myself to Salt Lake City in June to attend the Rotary International Convention. Stay tuned!
Happy flying!
Sky King
The Flying Bug
During high school and college I wanted to learn to fly so badly I could taste it. But being as poor as a church mouse I saw no way of ever getting enough money together to make it happen. So I eventually forgot about flying and got on with my life.
Over the years I was able to take fairly short flights with pilot friends on various occasions. It was always exciting for me, no matter where we went or how long we were gone. Around 10 years ago, after our son Eric had learned to fly, he took his mom and me flying as a Christmas present to us. I loved it! I didn’t want the flight to ever end. But I still wasn’t quite ready, financially that is.
During Christmas 2002 Leslie and I were visiting Stephanie and her family in Alabama. Steph’s husband Rich took me for a short flight in a Cessna 150. We were no sooner leveled off when he had me take the yoke and steer the plane. That’s all it took. I was hooked. I thought to myself that maybe it was no longer out of reach financially to be able to fly. I allowed myself the privilege to think it was feasible. By the time that short flight was over, I had made up my mind that I would learn to fly!
The day after returning home from Alabama I walked into the Santa Cruz Flying Club at the Watsonville Airport to sign up for flying lessons. A young woman standing there said, “Hi, I’m Amber. I’m an instructor. Would you like to take an introductory flight to see how you like it?”
I said, “No. I want to learn to fly.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to start with an introductory lesson,” she said. “It’s just a short 30-minute flight to see how you like it.”
Somewhat more forcefully I said, “I already like it. I want to learn to fly! When can we start lessons?”
She finally realized how serious I was and gave me my first lesson on January 3, 2003 in a Cessna 150. After the first lesson I said, “Let’s move up to the Cessna 172. The 150’s too small and uncomfortable for (big old fat) me. I soloed on Valentine’s Day 2003. I passed my checkride for my Private License in July 2003.
In September 2003 I joined a small group of 10 called Beach Barons, Inc. who bought a Cherokee 140 to put it online (for rent) with the Santa Cruz Flying Club. I switched to flying the Cherokee and loved it. It was my first experience with a low wing aircraft and I like the way it handled. As a new pilot, I liked that the Cherokee is a very forgiving plane. I flew as much as I could, roughly 10 hours a month. I received my Instrument rating in the Cherokee in August 2005.
During 2005 the Beach Barons group decided to purchase another plane, a Cessna 150, to put online at the club as a rental. We found a plane that we wanted, but it was in Pocatello, Idaho. In October 2005 I flew on my first long cross country flight to Pocatello in the Cherokee with another Beach Barons owner, Dan Dawson. It took us two days to fly there and two days to fly back, with a day in between to check out the plane before we bought it. Dan flew the Cessna 150 back and I flew the Cherokee. Before the trip I wanted to spread my wings and do more than just a one or two hour flight. Would a long flight be harder? Would it be more or less fun? All I knew was I had to find out. When this opportunity came up, I jumped at it! I don’t know what I would have done if more than two of us wanted to go. Anyway, it was a great experience that I thoroughly enjoyed. It turned out not being any harder or easier. But it sure was a lot of fun! A long cross country is just a bunch of short flights strung together. You end up stopping every two hours or so for fuel and a potty break, and maybe a meal. I’ve been yearning for another long flight ever since.
I want to give a special thanks to Eric and Rich for getting me hooked. They have both been very supportive mentors during this new period in my life. It has been great to be able to tell them about my latest flying adventure, or seek their counsel on occasion. I also want to thank Leslie for allowing me to chase this passion. She doesn’t enjoy flying as much as I do (at all), but she knows what it means to me and allows me to fully enjoy my passion.
And somewhere along the line I picked up the nickname Sky King, after the 1960’s TV character.
Sky King