I had scheduled my private pilot flight exam in early January and as luck would have it, the weather was marginal VFR. I was hoping the overcast would clear off but it was there to stay. I called the flight examiner and rescheduled the flight for January 22nd 2002. During the two-week wait for my rescheduled date I studied up for the oral portion of the test. When the day came for my flight test I still felt as though I wasn't quite ready for the oral but I thought I could at least do well on the flight portion of the test.
I arrived bright and early for the preflight as I had to fly a cross-country flight to get to the airport where my test was to be taken. It was cold but clear with light easterly winds and my instructor signed me off for the cross country adding a few more thoughts for the test ahead. I think some of the best advice he gave me was to talk through my maneuvers telling the examiner what I was doing and why I was doing it. His theory being that, if the examiner didn't like what I was doing, he would know I wasn't just stupid, I just wasn't taught right and maybe he'd feel sorry for me. Seamed like a good idea to me. After getting all in order, I pulled the start handle to Three Four Echo and headed northwest for a rendezvous with a major headache.
Upon arrival at Cedartown I checked winds and decided I would land on runway one zero. I nervously taxied to a parking spot, chocked the airplane and went into the lobby looking for my examiner. Approximately one hour later he arrived and had me call flight service for information on my flight plan while he took the aircraft logbooks into his office to look them over. I was going to be the guinea pig for this flight examiner as Doug lost the previous one he usually sent his students to for some reason or another. While looking at my credentials he noticed that my student certificate was expired. Apparently, as confusing as it may be, if you're under forty when you get your student/medical certificate the student part expires before the medical part of the ticket. Even though the student and medical certificate come on the same piece of paper, the medical part will expire in three years where the student part will expire in two. Imagine that. I thought that he was going to send me walking home but he said he could give me a student license for twenty-five dollars. I had to buy the student license to fly the forty-minute exam but then again, I felt lucky that he was able to provide me with one.
After we resolved the issues with my license he had me pull out my sectional to go over my planned cross-country. While he watched, I figured my adjusted heading for wind drift, magnetic variation, magnetic deviation as well as ground speed, fuel burn and estimated time in route and arrival using the information I received from my flight service briefing. He then proceeded to bombard me with a multitude of questions that had my brain swelling in pain with each additional question. He never gave any indication that I was giving acceptable answers and I couldn't seem read this guys perfect poker face for comforting information either. I was beginning to think that I was blowing this whole deal when we were finally finished with the oral portion of the exam. He then indicated that he was ready to look at the airplane.
It was almost humorous but also a little sad to see the concern build in this guy's eyes as he gazed upon our aerial chariot for the first time. He started through the door with Clint Eastwood style bravado and arrived at the plane looking as timid as Pee Wee Herman. With near tears in his eyes he slowly started looking over the Cessna in what appeared as an attempt to find something that might ground the airplane. I assured him that as bad as the paint looked; it really did run and fly well. He pondered the situation awhile and then looking skyward asked if I would have trouble flying in the wind. The wind had increased quite a bit with modest gusts but it wasn't anything I felt I wasn't capable of handling. I told him that I could handle it and he slowly slid into the right seat resolved to the fact that he wasn't going to be able to sit this one out. I quickly hopped into my seat and proceeded to perform the pre-start checklist. Once the airplane was running and we were set to go, I advanced the throttle and the little Cessna bowed forward but refused to move. I instantly realized that I had forgotten to remove the wheel chocks. I snapped a quick look over at the examiner and noticed that, although fully aware, he was looking out the window paying no attention to my stupidity. I was quickly weighing my options and decided that I just needed to take my lumps on this one so I said. "Well hell…Do you want to stand on the brakes or should I shut it down." Without a word he reached over and pulled the mixture to idle cut off. I sat waiting for him to exit the airplane with a silent gesture of "We're all done here. Go home." but he looked up at me as if to say with only his eyes "Are you going to just sit there or are you going to cure the problem?". I bailed out of the plane and cured the problem before he changed his mind and wanted out. This one event would be the defining act of my whole aviation experience that would label me as "Chocks" for the rest of my life. Doug once told me that you could find a cure for cancer, or design something that could save millions of lives, but it's that one goat you…well…screw…that everyone will always know you for. Guess he was right. My goat turned out to be a little wooden pair of chocks. Or at least until I find a bigger better goat. With our problem solved I started my taxi to one zero for the flying part of the test.
My examiner had me perform a normal take-off and start flying the cross-country flight plan I had created earlier. By the time we finished the oral and started actually flying, the winds had shifted and strengthened which I knew would throw off my earlier calculations for a proper heading. I turned to my heading and decided to fly a pilotage type cross-country by visually verifying landmarks on the ground against the sectional spread out across my lap. Roughly ten minutes into the trip I noticed that I was drifting east of my intended course so I informed him that I was turning to correct and intercept my original course. He said that it was fine and to put on the hood to simulate instrument flight rules, or IFR, conditions. After I donned the hood he had me do some climbing and descending turns and general course correcting flight. Once satisfied with that he took the controls of the plane so that I could prove that I was capable of recovering the airplane from an unusual attitude. To perform this he would start a series of turns while climbing and diving the airplane as I had my head down blind to what he was doing. After a short time, and when I was completely disoriented, he would instruct me to recover the plane from whatever attitude he had put it in. By instruments alone one must level the plane and return to the original course and altitude. When I was given the controls I looked to the instruments and they were all whacked out. The attitude indicator was near solid brown indicating that the plane was in a dive and we were banking to the left. I pulled the throttle to idle as I fed in right aileron, rudder and started pulling back on the yoke. I had the plane level and climbing back to our original heading when he decided that the hood work was done. I removed the hood and started looking around for landmarks. He pulled my throttle to idle and stated that we just had an engine out and I was to simulate a forced landing. I noticed a nice size field we were passing just before he pulled the power on the plane. I quickly scanned the area for a nearby airport just in case he was setting me up. I decided that the field was my best choice and told him that was where I was headed. He let me glide down fairly low and when he saw that I had the field made he told me to abort the landing and climb to 3000 feet.
We performed a few more maneuvers and then headed back to the airport for more landings. I was instructed to perform a soft field landing and one short field where he picked a spot on the runway that I was supposed to hit when landing. I had performed all the instructed landings and maneuvers when he made a silent gesture to take the plane back to the parking area. I really wasn't sure if I did anything wrong or not. I decided to wait until he offered some information on whether or not I made it but after sitting quietly for fifteen seconds I couldn't handle the suspense any longer. I had to ask. I said. "Well, what do think?" With a slight upward crook in his lip that apparently formed the full limit of his smile, he indicated that I was indeed a pilot. All we needed to do now was fill out the paperwork to prove it.
The examiner sent me on my way as a brand new pilot of the skies. The flight back was the most stress free flying I had done to date. There was no training involved and I could sit back and enjoy the flight. Although it was quite hazy outside, I was kicked back lounging and enjoying the scenery below when I started to hear a strange tapping in the cockpit. It was a sound that I had never heard before and was growing in intensity. The noise sounded as though it was imitating from under the instrument panel and as I was focusing low in the cockpit trying to detect the source of the tapping, I noticed a drop of moisture hit me square in the forehead. I looked up to see raindrops lightly striking the windshield creating the curious little tapping sound that I was so interested in. Somewhere along the windshield the little moisture molecules gathered together like soldiers to find one of the many breeches within the plane. From there they initiated their frontal assault upon my forehead. Satisfied that the source of the tapping was of no concern, I aimed Three Four Echo on a direct route home into a light winter rain.
Although I followed all Federal Aviation Regulations, governing student pilots, (Yeah. Take that for all its worth.) I took one rule in particular, deeply serious. I never entertained the thought of giving rides until I was signed off as a licensed pilot, and my first passenger was to be reserved for my wife. Boy was she thrilled. I couldn't wait to show off my fine piloting skills to the one person that looks at me with such admiring eyes. Oh, I just knew she would be so smitten with awe and excitement that she would feel faint with desire and passion. Well, apparently it doesn't work like that. As hard as it is for me to believe, some people are afraid to fly with a new F-150 fighter pilot. But, being the trooper that she is, I was able to get her to the airport and strapped into our little airborne corrosion coach. I slipped into the cockpit beside her and began to explain the functions of all the various instruments in an effort to boost my image as a perfect specimen of pilot. I could tell she was listening intently on my every word as she nervously peered out the crazed and soiled window as though savoring her last memory of life on earth. After I was certain that my aeronautical knowledge had been fully expelled into the flight cabin of the aircraft I pushed the mixture to rich, turned the mags hot, and pulled the starter.
The little Cessna coughed and wheezed as the engine struggled to rotate the prop. As the temperatures were climbing to their operating range, I took a radio headset and slid them gently over her head and asked if she was ready to go. She calmly declared her desire to get the flight over with so I announced my intention to back taxi one-one for departure. After performing the last of my engine pre-flight checks, we were ready to go.
Looking forward through the cockpit window she could see the unique features of this particular airport. There is a substantial drop midway down the runway due to the unleveled land that it is constructed on. Lush, tall green pines line either side at the lower end and as the aircraft climbs out of the lower terrain, you find yourself flying between trees that seem too close for comfort. Taking off on one-one assures you have minimal ground obstructions to clear and so an easy climb is all that is required to gain a safe departure altitude. Due to the modest power of the Cessna 150, I normally elect to take off on one-one regardless of wind direction for this vary reason. When departing two-nine, the airplane has to climb out of a fifty foot hole and still clear fifty foot trees just off the west end of the runway. I once learned, the scary way, that a head wind doesn't necessarily mean it's the right direction to go.
Forcing the throttle knob to the stop, the little 150 gently shook as though anxiously yearning to return to its designed function of flight. As the speed increased down the runway, the soft resonance between wheel and pavement abated indicating our successful departure. Once airborne, speeding between the trees and slowly gaining altitude, I took a quick glance at my wife and noticed her hands as they nervously rubbed back and forth along the legs of her jeans. I asked if she was feeling all right and she indicated with tense uncertainty that she would be fine. I quickly thought about the dreadful task of having to clean the inside of the little Cessna. I felt like I might need to put her mind on something else.
"Hey." I said. "You want to fly this thing a little?"
"No."
"Oh come on, it's easy."
"No."
I reached over and moved her hand that was firmly glued to her jeans over onto the yoke.
I said. "Look, don't worry, you won't screw anything up and I'll stay on the rudder for ya."
She proceeded to produce this long sigh that was clearly audible over the engine noise of the aircraft. It's her well-rehearsed way of stating her frustration with me while at the same time reluctantly willing to concede to my wishes. (Thinking about it, this happens quite often. I wonder if I could be that frustrating. Maybe one day I'll ask her.) Although she was reluctant to fly the plane, once she started to manipulate the controls she found that it really wasn't hard to fly and she was really quite good at maintaining altitude and heading. Before long her nerves started to settle because she was concentrating on flying the airplane rather than the four-course dinner that was looking for an exit strategy. I wouldn't say she started to enjoy it; she just managed to develop an acceptance. With my mission accomplished, it was time to head home.
By splitting my time between building flight hours and building the Eindecker, I had finally managed to connect the major parts together and rig the plane for flight. I had test run the engine, rigged the control surfaces and had done just about everything needed to fly the plane. The only thing lacking was the covering and paint. Seeing the light at the end of a long tunnel was quite an exciting feeling. It had been a long build and I was getting anxious to finish the job. My wife could see my excitement and decided to cut me loose in the basement giving me the time I needed to finish the plane. For three months I would be buried in the basement delving into the unknown adventures of the Poly-Fiber covering process. Although I was a little intimidated at first, it was a process that turned out to be a pleasure to work with. But just as I was starting to cover the plane, a once in a lifetime opportunity had me putting the Eindecker on hold for a little while longer.
San Francisco to Atlanta in a Cessna 150
A friend at work was telling me that he was looking at a plane to buy.
I said. "Great! When are we going to get it?"
He said. "As soon as you can, and by the way...I'm too busy to go."
As it turned out, it was to be a trip from Concord, Ca. (CCR) to Griffin, Ga. (6A2), and to top it off, it was the dreadfully slow Cessna 150. Now a guy with a few functional brain cells would have gracefully backed out on this deal but unfortunately for me, I'm not that smart. It seems that another friend of mine wasn't thinking too clearly either as he volunteered to go with me. That was good news for me as I thought I might get tired of flying that far. Now, all of a sudden, I had my very own fully functional autopilot (AKA. The Jim System). Next we needed a flight plan. After a trip to the local pilot shop I returned with a multitude of World Aeronautical Charts (WAC) and Sectional Charts. Our starting point would be Buchanan Field and it was painfully obvious that the shorter route east wasn't going to cut it. The charts were showing mountains with peaks higher than the service ceiling of the little 150 so a southern route through the valley to lower mountains was in order. Also, before flying over any mountains, the southern route would allow me to evaluate the airplane for 300 miles between Buchanan and Shafter field, looking for any reason that I could to park the thing a take a safe way home. Although it had a fresh annual and was sporting only 75 hours since major overhaul, I wouldn't really trust it until we had burned a few hours worth of fuel in it. After Shafter we would be climbing to 9500 feet crossing the first mountains then turn east to Blythe, CA. From there we would be flying at 7500 feet for most of the trip into Texas where we could then let down to a lower altitude should we want. At this point, our plan was to go on through the Dallas area and then on to Atlanta but as we all know, reality rarely follows your plans. But at least we now had a plan, and so came the wait for the weather we needed. That day would come one Friday in October. While checking the net hoping for a typhoon or some other natural disaster that might keep us safe in Atlanta, I found that the weather would be good for the western part of the trip. It looked as though we would be chasing a front all the way to Texas but it looked like a good shot to us so we took it. We gathered all our charts and equipment, and set out to start our journey. We boarded a major airline flight and settled in for the five-hour flight to Oakland California, wondering how the five-day trip back was going to be.
The next morning was a beautiful calm day in California with, no surprise, a 10-knot wind from the south. I always seem to drive in the slowest lane and when I fly, I have a head wind going and coming. But at this point we were just anxious to get to the airport and look over the airplane. We were concerned that it might not look like anything we would care to fly. Oh yeah. I think I failed to mention that my friend bought this plane sight unseen, except for a photo. It did however look rather nice in the photo, but you know how that goes.
We arrived at CCR about 08:00, picked up the keys, and headed out to look over N11331. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the plane looked a lot like the photo. Actually, the photo didn't do it any justice. It was beautiful. It was beautiful. She was a 1974 model 150 with a shiny new white base color paint trimmed with maroon heavy tapered stripes and accented with small silver stripes below. Unlike the 1959 model I learned to fly, known as a straight tail, this one had a sexy swept vertical tail and a back window offering a better view to the rear. The cowling was also more streamlined and the propeller had a well-blended spinner that gave a much more appealing look to the later year model 150s. Covering the wheels were an eye-catching set of wheel pants painted to match the fuselage. Tan leather seats adorned the two-person cabin with ample room behind for storage. The overall package was quite pleasing to the eye.
After a couple of hours looking it over and tying up a few loose ends, the time had come to begin our trip. And so it went. "Seats and belts adjusted?" "Check." " Fuel selector on?" " Check." " Circuit breakers in?" "Check." "Mixture rich and prime?" "Check." "Master switch on?" "Check." "CLEAR PROP!" And WOW! It started? Even has oil pressure and it's showing a positive charge. Things are looking up. Radios on. We have noise. And then it happened. One of the many glitches I was expecting on this trip. The communication and navigation radios shut off. Perfect! I was just beginning to think I was living someone else's life but now I'm painfully brought back to my own reality of adversity. We quickly found that this first glitch was nothing major as it was just a blown fuse. We just put in another and hoped for the best.
When one operates from an airport with a control tower rules dictate that the pilot must ask for clearance to taxi to the active runway as well as clearance to depart. When the tower gives instructions the pilot must read back the instructions to insure that he indeed understands the commands given. The pilot and air traffic control will announce the aircraft type and last three digits of the alphanumeric registration number so the controller will know who he is communication with. ATIS or Automated Terminal Information System is an automated audible information system that alerts the pilot to certain details regarding wind, weather, temperature, altimeter settings, and runway information. It is mandatory that the pilot tunes in to the ATIS frequency and listens to the information before requesting taxi or landing clearance. ATIS is updated periodically throughout the day and each update is coded with a certain word at the end of the automated loop. The code word, a common first letter designation expressed in aviation terms such as Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and so on, is used so the controller can verify whether or not the pilot has received the latest airport information.
After a quick tune to ATIS and taxi clearance to the active we were ready to roll.
"Mag check"
"Good."
"Carb heat."
"Works."
"Vacuum."
"Check."
"Engine still running."
" Can't ask for more than that…"
"Tower. Cessna Three Three One holding short of 32 right for departure." "Cessna Three Three One clear for takeoff." "331 clear for takeoff." Throttle full forward and we're rolling. Rotate at 60 mph and Three Three One finally breaks ground starting the clock on a long trip to the east.
We settled on an 80 mph climb to our cruise altitude of 3500 feet and the little 150 just purred along like a kitten. We were cut loose from ATC and began to pick up our heading to our first fuel stop. As one would imagine, the California scenery was spectacular. Sky and visibility were clear and we could see for miles. On the right there were the mountains, between us and the coast, and to the left were an endless sea of crops, fields and, the most comforting of sites, miles of straight roads and lots of airports. We figured if something quit we would have plenty of options we don't usually get here in Georgia. You go "dead stick" here and you'll either hit a tree or the ever-popular Waffle House. We flew for three hours, fighting a light head wind, before making MIT. We had been monitoring MIT frequency and heard some local traffic landing on 34 so we set up for the down wind and started praying that we didn't bend this guys new airplane at our first fuel stop. The plane had been flying perfectly to this point and her landing characteristics proved to be just another one of the great qualities in the Cessna 150. With a soft chirp of the mains we were now settled firmly on the ground anxious to get fueled, fed and on our way to the next stop.
MIT has a restaurant named Fat & Sassy and was closing up when we arrived. They could have shut, locked the doors and hid when we came sniffing around for food but instead they opened the door invited us in and insisted we take our time eating. Very nice people and we appreciated their hospitality.
Full 331 of fuel and our guts full of food, we got everything ready for the long climb to the mountains. It looked as though Blythe, Ca. was going to be our next and final stop for the night. I had checked Airnav.com on the net and found that lodging was available nearby and that they would come and pick you up from the airport as well. So after another thorough look over the airplane we fired it up and headed south.
We took off to the north and held a wide climbing left turn to start our ascent to 9500 feet in route to the Lake Hughes VOR. We were pushing a depressing 63 mph ground speed just about the entire climb. As the mountains started to rise to meet us we finally made our altitude and leveled off to try and make up some of the time we lost. What a view it was through the mountains. Isn't it strange how the most beautiful scenes below are often the most treacherous? The thought of having to set down in this kind of environment was not a pleasant one so I decided to start figuring out what kind of time we were looking at to Blythe. The climb to 9500 feet took longer than I wanted and without a little help from the wind, we were going to be pushing our night VFR minimums. We continued on to Lake Hughes and started our turn east hoping for better ground speed but I believe it actually got worse. There were plenty of fuel stops near our route of flight so I wasn't too worried about running low but I did a quick fuel burn calculation to be sure we would make it to Blythe once we reached the point of no return. We had cleared Big Bear and were approaching Twentynine Palms when the moment of decision had arrived. Do we land at Palms and hope we can get fuel to press on to Blythe? By all calculations we had plenty of fuel but I didn't like the way the gauges were reading. I called Twentynine Palms and, as I figured, received no reply. OK. Knowing if we set down there and couldn't get fuel, we would never make it to Blythe, having to climb back to a cruise altitude. The "Jim system" was operating flawlessly, holding altitude and heading with precision and efficiency. It was only roughly 80 miles and my superior calculating skills said we would make it. NO PROBLEM. Drive on! Yeah well, before we landed I was puckered so bad that I was beginning to permanently disfigure the seat cover. All of a sudden the gauges seemed to drop like we were venting fuel. The left gauge was bouncing on the stop but the right showed we still had some fuel. About the time I decided we needed to edge over closer to the really long landing strip, otherwise know as I-10, we could see it up in the distance. There in the darkness was a little flash of light. And then there it was again but this time green. Whew! Blythe!!! We were going to make it! After a few more tense minutes of flying we set up on a long cruise decent and upon arrival we entered a short base and final, being careful not to turn too steep and starve the engine of what little fuel we had left. We were both ready to put this bird firmly on the ground. Turning to final I lined up on a beautiful set of runway lights growing out of the darkness. With the landing light bouncing reflections off the back of the prop, 331 settled in for a soft touch down bringing an end to this days flying adventure. It wouldn't be until the next day, when we fueled up, that we would know exactly how low our fuel was. But we were now ready to tie down and call for a ride to a motel.
What happens next is a typical situation that plagues my life. All motels were booked solid due to a movie being shot at this location and the town was too small to have any type of Taxi Company. So there we were with no fuel, no place to stay, and no transportation. We had searched everywhere for lodging and were not getting lucky. The doors were locked to the terminal shack and the 150 was beginning to look like our home for the night. This was getting really ugly. As a last ditch effort I called once again to the Legacy Inn with a new approach. I figured with some smooth talking, cash and maybe a little mild whimpering I could persuade the lady to bring us in out of the cold. As luck would have it she was already sending someone to get us. We now had a room for the night and the first day was finally down. What would the next day have in store for us?
At daybreak Sunday we got a ride back to the airport and found that someone was actually working there. We pulled the plane to the pumps and patently watched the gallons tick away on the gauge. Finally the guy said. "There you go...Topped off." Looking at the pumps I couldn't believe that it only showed 18.7 gallons sold. To think that the night before I was sweating our fuel situation while mentally filling out my first accident report. Now I find out we had plenty of fuel and were actually legal on VFR minimums. Oh well. Chalk up another learning experience. I guess that fuel-calculating thing really does work. Next stop Coolidge, Az (P08). We took off toward the east in dead calm wind and climbed to 7500 feet looking for a tail wind that flight service said we should have. It wasn't much but it was better than a head wind and we were looking to put in as many hours as we could this day. It was only 195 miles to Coolidge and we would have to stop for fuel there because the next leg would be a little too far and I wasn't going through that again. At 7500 feet the air was smooth. We didn't feel a bump the whole flight and I didn't think that the ground winds would be too bad but I tuned in ATIS at a near by airport to see which runway the winds would be favoring for P08. "Wind 070 at 18 gusting to 22". P08 has a runway 05 so that wasn't any big deal but little did I know, we wouldn't be leaving the Phoenix area that day. We set up for an approach on 05 and carried a little extra speed to fight the gust. The landing was uneventful. We pulled up to the pumps, got out and started over to the airport office. The door was locked and no one was around. There was a house on the field so we started to wander over that way when two dogs appeared and made it apparent they preferred we stick closer to the office. We were contemplating leaving when someone came around the corner and said. "You boys are lucky. I'm not usually here on Sunday. Need fuel?" I said. "Yep. And a phone." A quick call to flight service was made and we were informed that our next stop was covered in clouds with rain, and that the mountains were obscured. We opted not to continue east but it was obvious that we weren't staying in Coolidge either. A quick look at the chart showed we were close to Chandler (CHD). It was close to Phoenix and we knew we would be able to find a place to stay there so we started up to head that direction. Now here in Georgia the trees tend to block any major winds at most of the Airports I fly from so wind on the ground is not really a problem. So out of habit I had the yoke pulled back as I taxied around the hangar that was blocking the wind. With the wind at our back I came to a stop at an intersection and I relaxed the yoke. It wasn't until the yoke stayed full back with the wind pushing the elevator up, even against the prop blast that I suddenly realized I had done something stupid. I completely underestimated how strong the wind had gotten while we were fueling and planning our next stop. From then on I tried to remember that there are not many windbreaks in the desert and I started to taxi with my head removed from my lower extremity. I thought that we would go ahead and takeoff to try a landing at CHD and if we didn't like it we would come back to Coolidge. After take off we headed in toward Chandler. Their runway heading was 04 and I figured we could handle that so I called in with "Information Bravo". "Chandler approach. Cessna 11331 inbound 20 miles from the southeastwith information Bravo." "Uhhh....... Cessna 13113......Uhhh.... What was your number?" "11331." This happened everywhere we went. "Cessna Three Three One continue inbound and report 2 mile right base for 04 right." "Call 2 mile right base 04 right...Three Three One." We maneuvered into a right hand pattern and started our turn for a base leg. By this time the wind was really howling. ATIS had it at 070 and 22 gusting to 30. "Approach. Cessna Three Three One on two mile right base for 04 right." "Cessna Three Three One contact tower on 133.1" "Contact tower on 133.1…Three Three One." Good grief. Look at all the ones and threes. "Tower. Cessna Three Three One." "Cessna Three Three One clear to land 04 right. Wind 070, 22 gusting to32...070, 24...070, 20...070,22...100,24 knots."
Now panic was starting to set in. The 30-degree crosswind was more than I cared tosee but now all of a sudden it's doubled and I'm just about over the numbers. I had a whole lot of runway to try and put this thing down, and the plane was centered up, so I figured I'd put forth the effort. I had the right wing way low to hold centerline and was carrying a bit of extra speed. The right main touched down and the plane lifted a little and to the left. A slight correction and again the right main sat down on the runway and stayed there. As we started to slow I was feeding in right aileron to try and keep the wing down realizing that I didn't have a whole lot left to use. Then came the left main contacting the pavement and with a quick stab at the brakes we were down to stay. And not just down, we dirty side down with all parts still connected to the airplane! What a relief! "Cessna 331. Contact ground on 124.4" "Uhh...Contact Ground." "Oh uh.... Three Three One." I wonder if he knew my shorts were wet? After parking the plane and shaking off the initial shock of making it down safely I noticed this strange swelling in my head. Yep...Yeager couldn't have done any better than that! That's right. Behold the big brave pilot that could set down a 150 in a hurricane! Yeah. Soon there would be people crowding around to view a master in aviation. There would be autographs to sign, congratulations from the tower, as well as, I don't know, maybe a guest appearance at Oshkosh. As my delusions were mounting I noticed a little Cessna 140 on a slow taxi to the active runway. I watched in disbelief as this pilot turned on to 04 left and took off. I thought this maniac must have really needed to be somewhere to fly off in this wind but again I was wrong. He stuck in the pattern to practice take off and full stop landings and all the landings I witnessed were perfect. The resulting deflation of my head must of sounded like the air escaping a balloon. I knew at that point that I was still just an average rookie in a world full of talent. But we were still glad to be down without damage. Our next order of business was to figure out where we would go from there.
Over lunch at the Hangar Cafe we thought about whether or not it was worth staying there to fly the next day. We were not sure how far we would get on Monday and we needed to be in Dallas by at least Tuesday. Wednesday was the day we needed to be back at work and we knew that if we didn't get there, we wouldn't be able to catch a major airline ride back home. We had been talking to a local pilot about the weather and he was kind enough to share advice and a ride with us. He seemed to think that the weather would push on though and we would probably catch it near Dallas or Austin. With the offered ride we decided to go to the Phoenix Airport and head on homebut the airline was booked solid. It looked as though we would be flying the 150 after all. After a check of flights out of Dallas and Austin it became apparent that Austin was our best bet for a ride home. After securing a room for the night and changing the flight plan to Austin, we were ready to tackle another day of adventure in 11331.
An early morning call for a cab put us at CHD just after sunrise. We called flight service and checked weather to Las Cruses NM. The weather was clearing and moving southwest so we forced down a little breakfast at the Hangar Cafe and started preflight on the plane. It wasn't until 09:00 that 331 was rolling for take off. Once airborne and released from ATC we started our way to Lordsburg for fuel. This day's flying was over the most desolate sea of dirt I've ever seen. We could see a few dirt roads and an occasional town, village, or something with a group of huts in it. Some of these towns looked like the lost city of Dodge where I imagined the people were still riding horse back, carrying a six-shooter. We were clipping away at an amazing 114 mph. and in no time it seemed we were turning into the pattern for Lordsburg.
Lordsburg has a little landing strip and hangar just east of town and that's about it. All we needed was fuel so it served its purpose well for us. In the office there was a guy standing behind the counter that looked more like he should have been running the "Hell's Angels" rather than an airport. With a non-chalet look under his eyebrow he asked where we were headed. We told him Austin maybe Houston. Without missing a beat this guy says. "You know...The last guy that come through here on his way to Houston in a 150 never made it." Comforting information. Nothing like a nice pep talk to get you fired up for the next leg of your flight. After settling up for the fuel, us two walking dead men shuffled out to the plane and looked it over for the next leg of our flight. Knowing now that 100% of the 150s that come through Lordsburg in route to Houston never made it, we were going to have to look this one over real good. A brief search revealed that the wings and tail were still on and attached securely to the airplane leaving us reasonably sure that we had a chance at making flight. Another fuel stop down and whole bunch more to go. Next stop, Las Cruces. It was a short straight hop to Las Cruces that kept us in view of I-10 the entire flight. This was a welcome change from the desolation viewed earlier so as Jim directed the plane eastward, I settled back to enjoy the ride. Our cruise altitude for this leg was a little lower than before so we had a better view of the land below. The problem was that it was still just dirt, and lots of it. It didn't matter if you were at 500 or 5000 feet AGL…it all looked the same. That is until Las Cruces started to appear in the distance as if to magically grow from the ground. It almost looked out of place with its crosswind runways and hangars beaming in the bright sunlight amidst the barren landscape. We entered the pattern and started our approach to yet another smooth landing.
As we taxied toward the buildings I noticed someone running out to the taxiway. It looked like a woman that was holding some sort of batons in her hands. All of a sudden her arms went up and she started to perform some sort of wild dance with her arms waving above her head. With a quick look at Jim I said. "We must have landed at the wrong airport." I had seen this before but only at Hartsfield International. "Quick look.... There has got to be a 747 behind us." Surely she wasn't going to concern herself with two jerks in a 150. But wait! She was looking right at us. "No way." But there we were, being directed to a parking spot like airline professionals. After parking and shutting down, a cheerful young lady appeared at Jim's door and quickly laid out a little piece of (Are you ready for this?) red carpet! I was beginning to wonder if we landed at Las Cruces or Fantasy Island. She then climbed into a fuel truck, pulled it over to the plane, and in short order had us topped with fuel. With the plane ready to go, and the morning donuts wearing thin, we decided it was time for lunch. I had chosen this stop because of the grill located at the airport. We wandered in and sat down to an excellent lunch. If you are ever near the Las Cruces Airport do yourself a favor and stop in for a while. My only regret is that we didn't have the time to stay and see all that there was to see. We were trying to make up for lost time, so after we ate lunch it was time to continue on. Next stop. Odessa, TX. Odessa was roughly 300 miles away and, at the finish of this leg, we would have most all the desolation and rough landscape behind us. We climbed to 7500ft and found a nice little tail wind that helped push us across the border into Texas. The following hour or so we traveled over some pretty hostile terrain, kicked back, taking in the incredible view. It was beginning to get late in the day and we were trying to decide whether we needed to go to Midland for fuel or risk wasting time landing at Odessa. I preferred to get fuel at uncontrolled airports as you can usually get in and out sooner than you could at a controlled field. I decided to try a call to Odessa not really expecting a response. "Odessa unicom. Cessna 11331".................. "Cessna 13113 go ahead." What luck. Imagine that. "We're 35 minutes out, inbound for fuel. Is anyone going to be there?" "We'll wait on ya. Come on in" "Thanks! ...Three Three One."
There are events that happen in life that could possibly save your butt, and I believe this could have been one of them. We continued on into Odessa and, as promised, they were there with the fuel truck waiting. While we were getting fueled we went in to check the weather in Austin. It wasn't bad but it was going to be well after dark when we arrived there. There was a good spread in temperature and dewpoint and the rains had just recently cleared the area. We were contemplating going in to Austin when this gentleman overheard our conversation. He asked where we were from and proceeded to offer some advice. "That's hill country over there and it'll be fogged in by the time you get there. You can make San Angelo though. It'll be dry." Not being the types to ignore sound safety advise, we decided to plot our course to San Angelo. It was too late to catch the last flight out of Austin to Atlanta so we were going to have to fly the 150 to Houston the next day anyway. San Angelo also offered a good chance at getting a room for the night. With the decision made we thanked them for waiting and loaded up for the last hop of the day. Darkness fell as we cruised the short 120-mile leg to San Angelo. We kept a close monitor on ATIS checking for fog as we lumbered along our route. After we took off and until total darkness, we didn't see anything but oil wells below us. After that we couldn't see anything but an occasional light in the distance. The lack of ground references had us paying close attention to the instruments until the lights of San Angelo blinked up ahead. A call to approach had us vectored in for the final landing of theday. We taxied in to Ranger FBO and started to unload the airplane. An employee came out to greet us and suggested a place to stay for the night. He even had the lady in the office set up the reservation and call for transportation. They tied us down for the night and had us fueled and ready for an early departure the following morning. We were amazed at their level of service.
While we were waiting for the ride to the hotel we decided to check weather inAustin, just for giggles. Our Odessa adviser was right on the money. Austin had fog moving in. Who knows what would of happened if we didn't take the advise? I'd like to think that before I was committed to Austin I would have made sure I had enough fuel for a safe alternate. But then again you never know. It would surely have been a stressful situation and my short supply of clean shorts wouldn't allow for anymore wild rides. The only thing that mattered is that we made the right choice and were safe in San Angelo. I didn't get his name but...We thank you for the advice. The next morning we arrived at the airport before daybreak. Our little aluminum can was sitting out on the ramp with her wings dripping a solid coat of morning dew. The air was completely saturated with moisture and we decided to hang around until sunrise allowing a little extra time for ground fog to clear. We had set our course for Weiser Air Park, which was just west of Houston and about a 280-mile flight. Our route would take us through the Llano VOR, then on to the Centex VOR, after which we would take a direct shot to Weiser. We sat back and waited watching as the sun crept over the horizon turning a darkened sky into an array of multicolored clouds. The steady brightening sunlight cast a golden glow across the dew-covered wings bringing a sort of surreal feeling to the day. Just another Kodak moment I guess. We took a few pictures and got back to business. After a thorough preflight and check with flight service for weather, we gathered our stuff and loaded for departure. The air was still thick with moisture but there was very little fog. We fired up the monstrous 0-200 and contacted ground for taxi instructions and requested flight following. As we taxied to the active I noticed that the engine was running a little rough. Due to the high moisture we figured it was carburetor ice so a slight pull on the carb heat produced a momentary shutter as the melted ice ingested in the engine. With the ice problem cured and the Continental giving it all it had we were tearing down the runway with the same viciousness that a Volkswagon takes to the drag strip. Houston...here we come. After we departed San Angelo we noticed slight patches of ground fog below as we started our climb to 3500 feet. When we were released from air traffic control we tuned in to the Llano VOR and continued our journey east. We were not long into our flight when we noticed that we were going to be forced to a higher cruise altitude of 5500 feet. The moisture below was starting to form clouds that resembled little billowing puffs of cotton, and although broken, started to creep up to our altitude. A quick adjustment of the "Jim System" and the airplane began it's slow climb to our new cruise altitude. As we were nearing Llano we received a frequency change for our flight following. "Cessna 331. Contact Austin approach on 118.8. Good day." "Contact approach on 118.8, … Three Three One " "Austin approach. Cessna 11331." "Cessna 331, go ahead." "We are 15 miles west of Llano in route to Centex at 5500 feet on flight following." "Continue on course and maintain 5500." "Maintain 5500… Three Three One." "Cessna 331, traffic 12 o'clock two miles, altitude unknown." "Negative contact…Three Three One." We never did see our traffic but it wasn't for a lack of looking. We kept a close eye out at all times especially around the Austin area. We continued on our uneventful ride to Centex and Weiser Field but when we hit the pattern for Weiser things got a little interesting. The brisk wind was kicking us around a little but when we were on downwind I noticed a twin sitting at the run up area on the approach end of the runway. I had called and entered my base and just as I called my final approach I watched as this guy slowly pulled out and throttled up. This wasn't by any means dangerously close and isn't any big deal but I think I would have waited the extra minute, maybe as a courtesy? At this point it was decision time. Do I play the safe card and go around? Or do I get a really good view of what wake turbulence does when you're low and slow over the runway? Jim was apparently thinking the same thing because he noticed that I wasn't adding power but instead trying to slow the plane down. He asked. "What about that guys wake?" I said that I'd just land on the near end of the runway and we wouldn't have to worry about his wake. Well I did get it down and I now have first hand experience with wake turbulence. The next time this happens to me, I believe I'll just go around. With the plane tied down in Houston we hurried to IAH for our ride back home. The weather wasn't looking good in the Atlanta area and we needed to be back at work. We would have to return at a later date to finish out our flight. We were hoping to be back the following weekend but the mid fall storms would keep the Cessna in Houston for the next 14 days.
As the days slowly past we kept watching and waiting for the weather to clear between Houston and Atlanta. We had finally received a flyable forecast for Friday, Nov 1st so after work on Thursday we jumped on the red eye to Houston. We set our departure time at daybreak allowing us time to make Atlanta by nightfall. Friday morning's weather wasn't quite as good as was forecast but it was still VFR and we knew we would outrun the incoming front. Weather radar showed rain pushing in north of Houston with the front line arching up around the upper Texas and Louisiana border. With our plans finalized and our prop beating at the cool morning air, our little 150climbed out on a northeasterly heading, taking us home on our last day's adventure. With a light rain tapping at the windshield we continued our climb up over a low level scattered cloud cover and set our cruise at 3500 feet. It wasn't too long before we cleared the rain and pressed on with our blistering ground speed of 85 mph. We fought this head wind until our first fuel stop in Hart, Louisiana. After refueling we turned east and started our climb to 3500 feet carrying an unbelievable 57 mph ground speed. Knowing we would not make nightfall at these speeds we climbed on past 3500 feet to see what kind of ground speed we could get at 5500. It was just like magic. Our speed bumped up to 115 in cruise pushing us along to the next stop, Clarke Field, Quitman, Mississippi. This is a tiny little airport run by very good people. Don't mistake it for Quitman field though. You'll be getting a tongue lashing for that type of major infraction in the proper terminology of this little airport. It's Clarke field and don't you forget it. You'll need cash for fuel but it is at a good price. The lady that was running the office that day was friendly, funny and full of life. The next leg was to be the final of our trip and we knew we needed to press on. We left Clarke and about mid way into Alabama I decided to tune into what here in Georgia is known as the "Bubba Channel", and usually a good source for entertainment. You know...123.45? I thought there surely had to be a Bubba Channel in Alabama and, sure enough, right off the bat we found a little entertainment from a couple of guys that were obviously flying in formation. "Hey Lester....What MOA is this we're in?" "Hold on an I'll see." "Well there's one them A-10's comin around to yo left.....I think he done seen us. ..... Yep he comin....he seen us." "Whered he at now Buck?" "Yo left wing boy." "Oh Oh......I think we done been intercepted Lester. What we're gonna do." "Hold on......."(A few minutes went by and then...) "I just turned to that emergency channel and he didn't say nutten." "You think he just lookin us over?" "Dunno." "Oh looky dare. He bankin off." "Whew......Now dat was interestin." It's possible that I might of embellished the dialog just a hair and the names have been changed to protect the innocent, but it is based on an actual event that happened this day. In any case we found it entertaining. It's nice to know that the Bubba channel lives on outside of Georgia.
We stopped off at La Grange, Ga. to top the airplane off with fuel. It was only about a 15-minute ride to Griffin and we wanted to have the plane full of fuel and ready for the new owner to fly when we arrived. Fueled and ready to go, we set out to end the trip.
It seemed fitting to have the sun setting off our tail as we banked in to our final for 32 Griffin Field. The quickly fading day and the last bark of the tires gently touching the runway marked the end of our once in a life time trip. We taxied to the hangar, pulled the mixture and sat silent for a moment after the engine shuddered to a stop. We knew that handing over the key to the little airplane that brought us so far would prove to be one of the hardest things we would have to do on this trip. I turned to Jim and asked him if he was glad it was over. He said. "Not really. We need to finish the flight coast to coast. We're too close not to finish this out." So then and there we decided we would plan a future flight to the east coast in 11331.
It was finally over. Although we had to leave the plane in Houston for a while and are waiting to take it on to the east coast next spring, we will at least be able to say we flew coast to coast in a Cessna 150. It just took us a really long time. The final total hobbs reading was 29.6 hours. We covered a total distance of 2692.3 statute miles at an average ground speed of 90.95 mph. This trip brought us in contact with a number of the many outstanding individuals that make up the general aviation community. My renewed respect for the job they do, the advise they give, and time they take to help those in need, makes me proud to say that I too am associated with this group of people.
Of the people who hear of this trip, I'm most often asked. "Would you ever do it again?"
My reply? "Just give me a few minutes to pack!"
