Chapter 25

Hairy

Although it’s exciting at first ... scary even ... if attention is paid to space, flying can get pretty boring.

Twenty hours of dual instruction is required before solo ... but what happens if the instructor is just along for the ride?

After just five hours of “following along” on take off and landings at Alliance, Amy said, “Your airplane.”

“What?”

“Your airplane.”

She let go the yoke and took her feet off the pedals.

YIKES!

“My boyfriend kept me up all night. I’m gonna take a nap.”

YIKES! YIKES!

“No bumping.”

So ... I’m just ... flying. I began to notice the engine was laboring. The altitude went from 2 thousand feet to twenty five hundred. The attitude indicator said I was climbing.I thought I was level ... but I wasn’t. I made a minuscule adjustment to the yoke and the plane stopped climbing, the engine sounded happy.

I thought I saw a smile on Amy’s lips.

My turns got better ... the throttle has a lot to do with good turns. I was changing the direction of mass and mass tends to continue in one direction unless acted on by an outside force. Gravity is always trying to pull. The airflow is counteracting, a little extra throttle and the turns got better.

So, I thought ... how about a tighter turn? An aileron turn instead of a rudder turn. I tried it. Whoa ... that was pretty quick.

“Smooth is better than sudden,” Amy said.

“You’re asleep.”

“Using the chart ... plot me a course to Fort Collins.”

“Got it.”

“Show me.”

“Remember ... stay out of restricted airspace. Call home.”

“Alliance, Cessna NCXXX.”

“Cessna NCXXX, Alliance.”

It was Ted.

“Ask about NOTAMS on the way to Fort Collins?”

“Alliance, CXX, Ted, are there any NOTAMS on a Fort Collins heading?”

“Cessna NCXXX, Stapleton Tower. Do not descend below five thousand feet, nor climb to seven thousand while crossing east west landing pattern.”

“Cessna NCXXX,”

And about a dozen more Forts, Airbases and Proving Grounds radioed to say they were closed for one reason or another ... live fire, testing, in use, firefighting, explosives removal... ? What was a simple 336 N flight was going to be a good five hundred mile runaround.

“Never mind, Hairy. Plot a flight south. There’s a couple of former Auxiliary Fields that are still useable down there.”

So ... I called Stapleton and canceled, called Ted and informed him of changes and Amy went back to sleep.

I did touch and goes on every possible grass, asphalt and concrete airstrip. I didn’t care in it was controlled, uncontrolled or private ... I landed and took off. It didn’t take me but a second to develop swivel neck syndrome.

Archaeologists have down syndrome. They look down. Truckers look out, sail-boaters have a modified air-truck syndrome ... they look everywhere but they have time. Small plane pilots do the impossible ... they adjust to 100 mile an hour and look everywhere ... constantly.

Not everything in the air carries radios ... geese don’t, ducks don’t, some ultralights don’t, powered parachute? Probably not. Skydivers? Nope. What was clear and vacant a second ago is shared airspace the next.

I am not a fan of shared airspace.

After the journey south ... looking like a short grasshopper in tall grass, I detoured east a bit and and fueled in Elkhart ... Kansas.

I know, I know, I know ... not supposed to leave the state. Tough! I was under the radar and never turned on the IFF. Kit Carson and Burlington was next. I runway bumped Limon and landed Alliance after nearly 9 hours. I was very gentle ... Amy slept through the whole thing.

I walked into the apartment to a duet, “Where da fuck have you been!”

“Flying.” I said, “No screeching” I noticed rising chests and paper blowing around the room. I held up a STOP hand, “ ... I’ze a tired boy.”

The hazards of having two women. If it’s their idea there is no jealousy.

That doesn’t stop the shit storm.