Lloyd Grows up a Bit

When I was a high school kid I was in the Civil Air Patrol. That's a whole blog post and more. This post isn't about CAP really. CAP was like the Boy Scouts but more military. Our Commander told us one night at a meeting that the Air Force was giving our squadron an airplane. But we weren't to get too excited because the airplane was in pieces. Very small pieces. We rejoiced anyway because our squadron had never had an airplane. It was a USAF L-16A. I had never heard of this because I was 17 years old and had only flown a Piper Colt, a Cherokee, and a few rides in other things like Alon A-2's. But all us Cadets in the squadron were soon to learn all about it. Our Commander's plan was to rebuild the airplane in his basement. With the help of whoever he could get whether they were in CAP or not. First we had to get the airplane. It was at the state headquarters known as Wing Headquarters. This is where the Air Force had dumped it. The pieces, engine, wings, control surfaces, wing struts, wheel struts, wheels, seats, instrument panel, prop, windscreen, etc. were all in boxes, crates, pallets etc. Much of the pieces were wired together as to not be lost or separated. Some of the parts were brand new. It seemed the Air Force had supplied us with a complete aircraft. There was a mountain of government paperwork in a box too. With aircraft logbooks. It was simply "one hell of a project". It was free. The squadron had an Air Force surplus pickup truck. We borrowed a trailer. Went to Wing and in one big trip on one big Saturday we moved the "basket case" into our Commanders house. It wouldn't fit very well into the basement. Parts were in the dining room, the garage, the tool shed etc. At the next weekly meeting, each and every "Cadet" and "Senior Member" went home with a rusty piece of that airplane and a few sheets of the right grit sandpaper. And that was the beginning of a one year project. We had no one to fly this airplane. We had to fly it lots of hours or "Wing" would take it away from us and give it to another more deserving squadron. This was the government: use it or lose it. I had a Private license as did a few "Senior Members" but none of us were checked out in a "Champ" which was the civilian name of this plane. Our Commander found a retired Air Force pilot and convinced him to "volunteer" to train us. "R. Rice" became our mentor. He found out after he had volunteered that he was our "test pilot" also because after the airplane came out of the garage and had the wings put on at Freeway airport someone had to take it up on it's first flight. He also found out that 3 of his five "check-out" students were not grown up, over 21, "Senior Members", but 17 year old kids like me. One day it was my turn for my first lesson with R. Rice. He asked me some questions. "Do you have a manual for the L-16?" My answer: "No Sir". "Have you read and studied the manual for the L-16"? "No Sir". "Do you realize that you were 4 minutes late for this lesson"? "Yes Sir". " You're not in uniform so we can't fly today". "Sir, I have a flight suit in the car". "Go put it on, I'll stand right here and wait for you. We're using up your lesson time". "Yes Sir". I ran to the car and put on the flight suit and ran back. "Those sneakers are not regulation, you can't fly like that". "Yes Sir, er No Sir". He had me follow him to his car where he handed me a pair of Air Force ankle boots which were 3 sizes too big for me. As I laced them up as tight as I could, he read me the riot act and told me the only reason he was going to fly with me at all today or ever was because it was nice weather and he himself wanted to fly. He had heard I was undisciplined and spoiled. He had heard I had done little on the aircraft's rebuild project. He had heard I had achieved a rank of Cadet Captain and had passed the field grade exam, yet had not been promoted further due to my poor attendance and lack of enthusiasm. He said I shouldn't show up for flying or to another meeting without a proper haircut. He warned me I had better show him I was "eager" to fly this airplane or I was out of the program. I wanted to slug off those boots and run to my car and never see R. Rice again. But I got this funny feeling that R. Rice actually liked me. And wanted to make a good Cadet out of me. So I walked down to the plane with him and we pre-flighted it, and climbed in and flew our lesson. I wanted to do my best. I wouldn't grow up for my father. But I would for R. Rice. At the next Wednesday meeting my uniform was cleaned and pressed. I was a half hour early and helped set up some chairs and tables. My shoes were spit-shined. Belt buckle, hat brim, epaulets. I had L-16 fever and I was not to be denyed. At the end of that meeting there was an awards ceremony. At the end of the awards ceremony, I was asked to come forward and I was promoted to Cadet Major. R. Rice pinned the insignia on my collar.

I'll be home for Christmas

As the holidays approach I'm reminded of twenty years ago. I was working in Detroit. It was time to head home to the DC suburbs for Christmas. My girlfriend was in Dayton. Having worked half the night, I caught the early flight. A quick hop in a Convair 580 from Detroit Metro to Cox Dayton. I slept like a log the whole 40 minutes. The 580 had big comfortable seats. At Dayton I found my car covered with snow in the long term parking lot. It was a huge 4 door 1972 Impala which I bought from my girlfriend's neighbor for $225. So I got it running and headed south toward Morraine where my little faded PA-28 was tied down. Girl friend was at work and watching the clock until she could get off for the super long weekend. We were both watching the weather as it snowed all day. On the way to South Dayton I stopped at a mall and a liquor store and bought gifts. I got some gloves and a really nice brush for cleaning snow off the wings. My last stop before Morraine was at the gas station. I filled my five 5 gallon plastic gas cans with regular. They only took up about 20% of the space in that Chevy's trunk. But with the holes and the rust, the fumes were pretty bad and that's why I got gas last, and near the airport. The exhaust leaks and shakey body made for a scary drive to the airport. The car was literally a bomb. At Morraine it was eerie. It was misty and cloudy and snowing lightly and damp. I unloaded the gas cans. I poured the 25 gallons in the tanks. We were still not quite full. That's OK. I'll make another fuel run later. I looked the airplane over. It was all in one piece. I brushed the snow all off in the hopes that the airframe might dry itself off a bit. Also I just wanted to get that big chore over with. I looked everything over as I went. I was the lone soul on the drome. I took a break and went to the FBO. They were actually open. There was one guy there. I bought two quarts of oil. I had coffee and a candy bar. The FBO guy was kind of giving me a look like he was curious if I was actually going to go flying. He had seen me pour auto gas in the plane, and clean off snow. And my plane wasn't the sassiest on the field. It needed a paint job. It needed an engine overhaul. It needed a new interior. It needed avionics. I went to their little flight planning alcove. I called flight service. I had been watching the weather and flying in it for the last 3 days and I just wanted to verify that nothing much had changed. And get some winds and freezing levels. The whole east coast was severe clear under a high that was slowly moving out to sea. If I flew 80 miles east, I'd be out of all of it with nothing but winter visibility of fifty miles and tailwinds. But the sooner I left, the better. It would be getting dark and the weather would be headed toward the coast. I headed out in the Chevy back to the gas station. This time just ten gallons. The "White Castle" had some sort of coffee deal where you could buy a thermos and they would fill it for you, so I got that and a bag of hamburgers. When I got back to the plane, Girl Friend was there. We put a car cover on her little Z sports car. I poured in the ten gallons. Put in a quart of oil. I had a roll of that metel foil 200 MPH tape that you peel the paper off of. I taped up the cooling fins where a winterization plate would go. I did a little extra as I knew I'd be high and cold. We had about an hour and a half of daylight left. Pity I could not file IFR, I just didn't have the radios. I pulled the prop through about a hundred times. We loaded up our stuff and our dinner and our coffee and our Christmas presents and Girlfriend's little pets. I did a little cold start ritual - primer- fuel pump- and prayer and she fired right up. We taxied out in the gray mist and snow and you couldn't see the taxiway. It was slow warming up. I couldn't get the windshield to defrost. I got the loran on and wanted to get it up as soon as possible. Got safely to the runway which was not plowed. Somebody had run a truck down the runway earlier and we could see those tracks. And the FBO guy had turned the edge lights on. I could see almost nothing out of the windscreen. I warmed her up some more and sampled both tanks. Mag check was great. Alternator was putting out. I knew the windshield was not going to clear off on the ground. I also had some snow and frost on the airframe. But it was cold and we were well below gross and once we got going it would all sublimate. I made an announcement on unicom and sat in position and hold. I did another mag check and ran up to full throttle and away we went. What do you do with flaps. You want to get off that runway with the snow dragging your wheels. But you don't want your flaps getting wet snow blown in the prop wash on them which will then freeze and mess you up. I tried to stay in the truck path and kept the flaps clean until I had sixty MPH. I pulled on two notches and leveled off just above the runway in ground effect. I bled down to one notch as soon as I could, still just above the runway. Then climbed her out in that one mile visibility. I left the one notch out and throttled back slightly to save the engine and let the oil warm up. I was immediately on my heading of 110 degrees which was a wag of a no wind heading. My VOR was weak to non-existent and of course the LORAN was not up yet. At 1000 feet I bled up the flaps and flattened down to a 200 fpm climb. Slowly up and fastly downrange we climbed. I guess we were in the clouds. But snow really restricts visibility too. I guess we were illegally VFR. I was praying to the Lycoming gods for that little 0-320 4 banger to just keep on hummin' and if it must quit let it not be in this IMC crap which we will not be in for long. As we climbed we could see breaks in the clouds and let ups in the snow. The windshield finally cleared off. I had the cabin heat and air vents adjusted. Girl Friend was comfortable. This was getting better. The airframe still had snow debris on it, but we weren't picking up any ice. I just kept her slowly cruise climbing. It was pretty smooth except for some in and out of clouds bumps. The LORAN was picking up the chain and I asked Girlfriend to please fly while I got the LORAN talking to us. I wanted the groundspeed almost as bad as I wanted our position. Columbus sailed under our left wing and I confirmed it with the weak VOR signal. The weather was thinning and I could see glows of lights below. No ice now and we were between layers at 5500 ft. and I could kind of relax. Girlfriend kept flying and doing a nice job. I got out the coffee and the burgers and we ate up some of the 400 nautical miles we had to go. The LORAN was working well and had us at 125 knots and coming up on the Ohio river. I thought we would be out of the weather by now, but we weren't. I didn't care as long as we were between layers and no ice. I really wanted to climb into the tailwind, but I was afraid of ice if we got back into clouds. Snow was on and off and when there was no forward visibility I had to fly because it was a lot of work for Girlfriend to fly solid gauges. She could do it though. She was a pretty good pilot for having had only a few lessons. So I took the controls and I knew we had to be in the clear soon. So I started climbing. I wanted 9500 feet. We went through some clouds. We picked up some ice. All at once we flew out of a wall of clouds and snow. We were surrounded by stars. We had a horizon. I could see towns below. I could see the Ohio meandering down from a glow of Pittsburgh to a town below our right wing which must be Parkersburg and on down to Huntington and Charleston. I looked at the altimeter. 9500 feet. I looked at the Loran. 155 knots! I told Girlfriend we would be there in an hour and twenty and it was all downhill. I had just worked my butt off for two hours and now it was just a joy ride over my old stompin' ground. I wanted to show Girlfriend something so I turned all the lights off. Out at 12 oclock high was a gigantic Orion lying on his side. The star Betelgeuse was shimmering red and bright. I told Girlfriend to look at Orion's sword. The middle star is a nebula. While she star gazed I glanced over the left wing and followed Ursa Major to the Pole Star. It was behind the wing a bit and I figured our nose must be roughly 105 degrees east of north. I put my pen light on the whiskey compass. It read about 107 degrees. I set the DG accordingly and snapped off the penlight. Then I showed Girlfriend the glow of a distant Huntington, her Alma Mater. I turned the panel lights back on. Girlfriend shut her eyes for a while and I had the rest of the coffee. The viz was so good I couldn't tell what town was what. Is that Martinsburg or Front Royal. Frederick or Hagerstown. The Terminal Control Area was being renamed "Class B". Shelves of airspace over Washington, Baltimore, Dulles, Andrews. I wanted a perfect energy managed decent into Laurel. Laurel was a little 2000 ft. strip in the middle of the big Baltimore Corridor. I could see dozens of airport beacons all underneath this airspace shelf. And as we got lower, Christmas lights too. And searchlights. I just let down into Laurel with my transponder off and didn't worry about the airspace. I could see the few airliners and they were far from me. I called Laural on the unicom expecting no one around. I got Laurel all right. They were having a Christmas Party and we were right on time. Champagne was waiting for us. My brother was waiting to take us to my condo. I got an altimeter from them as the baro was high and light winds allowed us a straight in. Flew a straight in 30 mile final over a sea of lights. I cheated. I got down early so I could keep the power up and not super-cool the engine. Party goers were out on the ramp to watch us land. We stayed about an hour but Girlfriend and I wanted to get to my place for a private celebration. My brother was really kind about just dropping us off. Girlfriend and I had lots of secret plans. There's a Christmas song about "we'll face unafraid, the plans that we made, walking in a winter wonderland". We were comfortably unpacked at the condo and Girlfriend was just about asleep. I had the weather on and the guy was talking about a big front coming our way that had left the lakes and was at the Ohio valley. In an hour it would be Christmas Eve day. Girlfriend said "Lloyd do you think we're going to have a white Christmas? " "Well, I happen to know a little about this particular system. And I guarantee a White Christmas."

I'm Baaaack

Dear Readers I apologize for not posting for so long. I wanted to end the fly-in season with a big note at GED, but I got sick. I hope this winter to do some gen av flying. I will also relate some old tales of the Airmail. So stay tuned and send me remarks.

wrestling with politics

Well here it is the end of October and I haven't posted in seven weeks. No excuse. Actually I wanted to say a lot. But it wasn't about aviation. With the elections coming up, politics has been on my mind. But politics is like religion. It's what you feel and what you wish and what you want. So of course people can't agree. It's too subjective. I wanted to find a candidate who was for gun bearing rights who was not a whacko Christian. This is impossible of course, because you can not run for president in this country without being a Christian. But I found a politician I can get behind. He's not running for anything right now, but I'm going to buy his recent book. His name is Jesse Ventura.

GPS Talk

Today is October 29th. A Thursday. It's blustery outside. Both of my airplanes sit safely tucked in the hanger. They both got their annuals done. They have no squawks on them. Anyone who owns an airplane knows there is no such thing as "no squawks". Every time I get everything fixed, something else breaks. This time it was the GPS unit in the Cher OH kee. It just stopped being able to compute. It was acquiring the space vehicles, but couldn't go from there. This is an old, but nice, panel mounted, Apollo 800 with data card. It doesn't have a moving map. Everyone says you simply must have a moving map. I really like the old Apollo, and I don't give a damn that it doesn't have a map. I have a portable Garman 196 which has a moving map, and I never use the map feature. The 196 by the way is a great unit. Most people have the 296 or the 396 or something better. But the 196 is cheap. I paid $700 new. It's monochrome. But it's great because it's portable and I can use it in the Cadet as my primary nav and in the Cher OH kee as a second GPS which makes navigation great. Unfortunately, the old Apollo isn't worth repairing. How could it be when I can buy a brand new 196 portable for $700?. If I were to take the Apollo to an avionics shop, they could charge me 2 or 3 hundred just to tell me it aint worth fixing. So, mechanic Dan advised me to get a used unit and slide it in. So I told my wife, who is the E-Bay expert. She started bidding on them, and we kept getting outbid. But the other day we got the bid on one. It arrived today. Will it slide in and work? I hope so. First nice day we'll find out. I've got to dig through my allen wrench collection and find that really tiny tool that is the key to swapping units. Now, as long as nothin' else breaks...

Read BD's Comment

My friend BD has made a very nice comment on "The Grass is always Greener". It pisses me off that he's a better writer than I am. After all, it's my blog. And he's exactly right about airplanes. They are not compromises. They are what they are. I think when we go to buy an airplane, we may have to make compromises. And BD is correct that there is a best all around fun airplane, and that is the cub. He doesn't mention what kind of cub though. BD has a big biplane. He's been smiling a lot the last few times I've seen him. Is it the Stearman? Is it the great girlfriend who came along about the same time as the airplane? Or is it that his son just got married and began Med School? I'm happy for you BD. I would praise your flying of Jumbo Jets across oceans, but I have an unwritten rule that my blog doesn't talk about airline flying. Except in reference to Gen. Aviation. If we want to read airline flying stories, all we need to read is AOPA Pilot, or "Flying" and they have it covered. All their writers are big- shot airline pilots. Speaking of big-shot airline pilots, there are a lot of asshole pricks in the airlines. There are also a lot of great guys who love flying and BD is one of them.

Hanna banana

Hanna is supposed to come thru our area tomorrow It made landfall in Carolina today. I went up to my buddy's place by Dover to help move planes around and get ready for the storm. My Pa28 is up there and Dan will see that it has a place in a hangar It's waiting on parts and it can't be flown, so it needs to be secured. I don't know how we did it, but we got two planes crammed into one single- plane hangar. Then we had lunch and went to another airport. Smyrna, De. Then we took the wings and tail off one of his sailplanes and stashed them. Then we repositioned his 126 Sailplane to another field about twenty miles away. There were two of us helping Dan. The other guy was this airline pilot "Jeff". He has an incredible sailplane called a "DG" or something. It is a self launcher and looks like the gliders they race in. Super performance and big six figure dollars. Single seat-- 50 or 60 to 1 glide ratio. So I just assumed that Jeff would fly the 126 down to it's new location. Towed by Dan. But then I heard Dan telling Jeff about how he could start on taking apart the two seater while we were gone, and it dawned on me that maybe I was going to fly the 126. Which would be very cool! So I had a conversation with Dan. "So Lloyd, you ready to fly the 126 to Sandtown"? "Yes, but I've never flown a glider in this much wind before." "Yea, it's windy". "Uh, also, I've never flown low tow except in training years ago." "Yea well, it's only 20 miles, you can fly high tow if you want". As we were about to launch Jeff reminded me that I had a ball cap on and it might get rough enough for me to hit my head on the canopy. Ball caps have these buttons on the top which really hurt if you hit your head. I took the cap off. We took off and I was pretty rusty and it was pretty damned exciting for the first seven hundred feet. I got my head slammed twice against the canopy. But my GA friends--- I was smiling and yelling and having a great time. We leveled off at 2500 feet and it was a fine ride. I released over Sandtown and caught a little thermal but couldn't ride it long because it would drift me back too fast, So I settled for what I could get and flew upwind in some "zero sink". And I did't want to keep Dan waiting too long. We still had work to do. I tried to plan my landing roll up to the spot where the hangar was. My landing was fine, but the wind was so strong I came up about 500 ft. short of where he and his buddy were standing. We put the little 126B in their beautiful hangar. And we flew back to Smyrna. Tied down some more stuff. I thanked Jeff for saving me on that ball cap thing because I did hit the canopy. Then we flew back to Dan's. Then I jumped in the M-10 and flew back to home. It was getting dark. And solid overcast, and foggy and rainshowers were popping up. I was hot and I opened the canopy and flew in the light rain and dusk on the outskirts of a tropical storm. It felt great. Wife watched me land and she helped me put the professor's plane and then the M-10 in the hangar. Now I am going to watch Hanna on the computer and TV and see what she will do to us tomorrow. I suspect very little. But what about Ike? GA Informal.

Always Greener Part II

One of my readers, William has made a comment on my last post. He and his twin brother and their older brother are the absolute coolest people in the world. They are former Army Rangers and Navy Seals. One is a Navy Carrier pilot. I want to thank these honest brave warriors for their service to our country. I am so proud that they generously call me their "uncle". I must write some posts about these guys. Their father is featured in a post called " the day I soloed James". Their father is with us in spirit only. Their father is my best friend. Thanks you guys. Congrats again Jimmy. (he got his MBA). George, see you when the cruise is over. (fighter pilot). William, our commenter, be careful and thanks for guarding us. (classified). Now as to William's comment. First of all, it's my blog, and I'm always right. But the man does make a valid point. Yes. I stand corrected. There is an exception to my "no place is perfect" rule. San Diego is the perfect place to live on planet earth. GA Informal

The Grass is Always Greener

Happy Labor Day readers. There will be a lot of charcoal briquettes burned today. I intend to burn some. It's so nice out today, I don't want to even try to describe it. Each late- summer day seems better than the last. It can't be nice everywhere though. Because of Gustaf and Hanna and the next that starts with "I". "I" of the storm. But here, my God it's good. Sometimes around Groundhog Day I get really sick of the clouds and short days and the cold. I start to imagine where I could move to a simpler life, a little more south maybe. Or the mountains. Wife and I like mountains. Or the seashore. A brownstone flat in Manhattan. Or on the water by a lake or river. Or on a private runway somebody else owns and mows. Or into the hills of West Virginia and build a cabin off the grid. Why do we always look at what we think we want or could have if only we had enough money, or time, or we weren't obligated to do such and so. Oh, the best climate in the world is at so and so. Wouldn't it be neat to live at the beach? We can understand why rich folk have so many houses. This proves the theory that there is no perfect place to live. They've got enough money to buy any place they want, but it doesn't suit them all the time, so they get about five or eight places. That travel from house to house would not suit me, and it's no fantasy of mine. I'm a homebody and I'm done with traveling. Every house is going to be a compromise. Just like any airplane is a compromise. The better a house or airplane is at pleasing you for what it is, the worse it is for doing everything else. Am I making sense? Help me out BD-- our Stearman owner. I walk around my house and grounds and my little tillable acres and everywhere I look there is work to be done and repairs to be made and overdue upgrades which I have no money for. Now ironically I have time for such work, but I don't really feel like doing it. In light of the beautiful weather lately, I've been taking stock of what I have as opposed to what I want, or need, or think I need. Right here, right now, I have all I want and need and more. There is a spiritual aspect to all this. And I'm not very spiritual. And I hate the stupid idea of turning all of one's problems over to God, or Jesus, or whoever your imaginary diety is--and then telling me that I have to do that too in order to fit into your sick guilty world. I try not to turn my troubles over. I try to solve them. And I'm not saying I have squat figured out. I hate it when people say they know whats gonna happen when they die! They simply don't. This is the world. The planet. The creatures. The universe which we havn't as yet been able to understand. Why claim to have a handle on it? You don't. Your letting your imagination and your fears guide you. And you want very much for me to think that way! Sorry, sometimes I rant about believers. Back to my point, the spiritual aspect of getting what you want. The Taoist or the Zen say it better than me, and I can't remember how they say it, but it's something like, "Happiness, balance, and peace come not from seeking and finding and getting what you want. Happiness comes from the elimination of desire of things in the future and the appreciation of things in the present. It sounds too simple. I'm not putting it right. When I make that same walk around my house today, instead of seeing things that need doing in the future, all I see is things to enjoy right now. I'd like to make my whole life more like that. If I could talk to a diety, such as the God of Abraham, who is the God of the Muslims, Christians and Jews, I would say: hey God, I know you're busy busy destroying lives in the Gulf of Mexico, and lots of innocent gentle children are starving and dying of cancer and other diseases, and you're doing nothing to help them, but how 'bout putting some of that rain from Fay, and Gustaf onto my farm and airstrip.. My soybeans are dying your Lordship. Too negative? Of all the places in the U.S. I could live, balancing all factors one against the other, I don't think I can beat the Delmarva Peninsula. Talk to me on Groundhog Day. Now I must wander out and put my tractor away and watch the prettiest sunset ever. The days keep getting shorter and let's enjoy ourselves, after all, we're all busy dying. Gen. Av. Informal.

The Thiel

There are two "Rogers" in my life. Not counting the "Roger" I use as a radio phrase. Old timers use "Roger and Wilco and Over". Oh, I used to be able to talk CB pretty good. "Breaker 19 this here's the wing man, You got your ears and a copy on me good buddy, comeback"? Before the big CB craze, when I was in high school, I actually had my own base unit CB with a licensed call sign. I was KOI 2342. We didn't use handles and lingo. We went by the book with our "ten signals". Before there were personal computers we had our own "net" of radios for emergency services in case the phones went down. I was a disc jockey at the college station, and a Restricted Radio Telephone Op Permit wasn't enough. I had to go to downtown D.C. to the FCC building and take a test to get my Third Class Radio Operators Permit. A so called "Third Phone". I could send and receive Morse code, and owned two surplus telegraph keys. So if you ever hear me bullshit non- standard crap on the radio, it isn't because I don't know better. Roger that. My wife's father is a Roger. He's a great guy. The other Roger is Roger Thiel. Known as "Thiel" or "The Thiel". He is more than an aviation enthusiast. More than a buff. Airplane "Fan" is a good word because.. You know what "fan" means? It's short for "fanatic". Yea Thiel is an airplane fanatic. He's a pretty knowledgeable historian as well. He's an actor, a singer, a pilot, a sailor. A printer. An announcer. He lives on a house boat in D.C. He owns two planes. That's what I want to talk about. First plane is a J-5. A J-5 is perhaps the best cub of all. It has all the appeal of a J-3, but it's better. Can carry a third person! It's the first of the "Cruiser" series of cubs and the purest. So if you like pure long wing Pipers, the J-5 can't be beat. The other airplane he owns is a Ryan. Yea Ryan. The company that made Lindburg's plane. Roger's plane is a Ryan S model. Called a CW. He could tell us all about it and he will if we give him the slightest chance. There are about 4 or 5 of these planes around today. Thiel gives a nice talk every year at Oshkosh and Lakeland about civilian sub patrol during WWII and how the home guard in little airplanes protected our shores. The Ryan SCW was one of the planes they used. If you're ever at an airshow, wings and wheels, or fly-in and over the PA a rich barritone voice singing the Star Spangled Banner greats you and then the voice describes aircraft and cars in a way that ties in society and public mentality of the period with those contraptions, you've been listening to my friend "The Thiel". GA Informal.

Helicopters

I know nothing about helicopters. I had a few rides. One guy let me try to hover. I couldn't keep the thing in a 40 acre field. When I was a line boy at College Park, I had to be there at 6AM on weekdays to open up. This was so I could be ready for Captain Dan. Captain Dan was the traffic reporter for the Washington D.C. area. He was on WTOP, the most important and popular station. He would hustle in and land at the pumps with his Hughes 300, and I had to be there waiting for him. Every second counted. He needed more than a quick turn around. He needed down and up now. He said our pumps were so slow he was gonna go someplace else. But he never did. I had to hold on to that nozzle on the back of that helicopter with the rotor spinning just above my head. You had to be really careful when you pulled the nozzle out, that you didn't catch the rotor. I never got used to it, and I was always scared and Captain Dan complained I was too slow. But good ole "Cabbage Park" was damn close to D.C. People used to tell me that Captain Dan had flown choppers in the Army back when Nam was just somebody else's war. Somebody said that Dan had more time in a Hughes 300 than any person in the world. Dan was a legend. But Captain Dan was not the best helicopter pilot at College Park. Because the best helicopter pilot in the world happened to be at College Park. His name was Jan and he was my boss. He was Brinkerhoff's 50% partner and friend. Jan Bingen and Jeff Brinkerhoff were and are the two best pilots I ever knew. I was hired as a line boy by Jan. I was checked out in the Piper J-3 Cub by Jeff. Jan was an airshow pilot in the Army. They painted a face on an Army chopper. Jan was the U.S.Army Bozo the clown. Jan was the examiner for helicopter ratings in the area. Guys would show up from all over the place in all kinds of choppers and he would give them thier license. One cloudy day a guy came in in a Hughes for a checkride. Without much preliminaries, Jan climbed in and off they went. The next twenty minutes was an airshow exhibition. The helicopter was turned to a 90 degree bank which it can't do. It was pointed straight up, which it can't do. It did a dance bobbing it's nose and wiggling it's tail rotor. We were on the ramp, about seven of us, because the mechanics had come out to see. We were yelling and cheering and we couldn't believe our eyes. Even the guys who had seen it before. I had never seen it before. After the show, Jan was writing up the guy's brand new temporary airman certificate for rotocraft. Jeff said to the applicant, "did he let you fly it at all?" The guy says "No actually. I started it up. Taxied across to 13 and did a take-off run and when we hit transitional he took it and you saw the rest." The guy was smiling and so was Jan and so were all of us. Another time I saw the WTOP Hughes way down in the weeds by the woods. It was hovering and pitching. The airport bums were kind of walking down that way. I asked Buz who was the hardest working instructor in the industry, "What's goin' on down there"? He said, "Captain Dan is letting Jan show him a few tricks". I ran to catch up to the others. What the hell kind of tricks could they do in a swamp at the end of the runway? What they were doing was playing with some old empty 55 gallon drums that were now scattered on the ground. I've never seen anything like it before or since. You had to be there. You see, if you blow a drum with the rotor wash, you blow them all. But you can blow just one if you do it right. You can stand it up, roll it around, bang it into another drum, line them up, put one skid on a standing barrel, roll a barrel with a skid. You can wreck a helicopter real fast doing this. You can kill yourself showing off doing this. I was entertained, but I was nervous. And Dan! Mr. Cool radio personality. Involved in brazen flat hatting! One rainy day nothing was going on. But the big construction company had their Alouette Turbine rolled out and "Gary" who flew it was hanging around. My boss Jeff was trying to schmooze himself into a free rotocraft rating. He was making a deal with Gary to trade favors by letting him use the 172 for some commuting he needed to do if he could get the use of the the Alouette for an hour or so. At the same time he was telling Jan that the Alouette was all set up for a checkride and his paperwork was all in order and it was rainy and they weren't busy. I had no students and I was supposed to be cleaning the 150's, but I was sweeping and cleaning in the building because I wanted to see what what my bosses were going to do next. How could Jeff Brinkerhoff get a rotor rating? I had never even heard him talk about helicopters, let alone fly one. Did he have a written? Would he know how to fly a big turbine Aerospatiale Alouette? Not exactly a trainer. Would a big construction company just lend Brinkerhoff thier aircraft? The next thing I knew that big turbine was whining so loud you had to cover your ears inside the building. They took off in the rain and disappeared. No airshow in that monster. They come back shortly. More noise. Gary is smiling. His aircraft is safe and sound. The turbine winds down. Jeff and Jan are smiling. A temporary gets written up. This blows my mind more than the 55 gallon drums. So I've gotta say it before somebody else does. To Jeff I say, "So, did he let you fly it? "Yea I flew a lot" "But he flew it too right?" "Oh Yea".

They Still Make Vespas. I want One

God it's a beautiful day today. The weather is not cold, not hot. The clouds are fabulous. About a 3000 ft. broken ceiling. The blue sky in the breaks is burning bright. Perfect flying weather. I had to run an errand in town. What town? We live in a five mile triangle of 3 very little towns. It's about 20 miles to a good size town that has movies, restaurants, etc. And an hour's drive will get us to a city like Salisbury, or Dover. An hour and 15 and it's Annapolis. 1:45 and we can be in D.C. or BMore. My errand was in Hurlock. Five miles away. It's so damn pretty outside. So I'll see if my old bike will start. Remember the motorbike craze of the mid sixties? I was in high school. The bike I wanted was a Honda 160. It was a little twin cylinder, kick start, came in red or black. I can't think of anything I ever wanted more than that, as far as a material object. I never got that bike. When I got to college I had a Honda 90. It went about 40 mph tops. I loved that bike. My friend Jerry had a Sears Gilera 125 which was a very nice motorbike. We would ride together on those bikes all day long. That's about all I did in the summer of '67. We had no money, no girlfriends, no cars, no real jobs, lived with parents. All the back winding roads we explored and raced on in eastern PG County, Md. are now completely gone and replaced by subdivisions and highways and malls and parking structures. My youth disappeared along with those old winding roads. Oh, am I not talking about aviation? I used to take that Honda 90 out on the runway at Freeway Airport and run full throttle laying down on the bike with my feet on the back passenger pegs and my helmit in the handlebars. I could get about 58 mph on a good day. My friend Chet had a brand new Triumph 650 which I coveted. He would let me ride it. When I took it down the runway slowly because I was afraid of hurting his bike, it was way over 60 in second gear. This was way before people learned to ride on Harleys. Everybody had Jap bikes. The guy that had Freeway Airport(and he still does), he had a bike called a Suzuki X-6 Hustler. It would go zero to 60 mph in 6 seconds. This was in 1967. Decades before the "doner cycles". Another buddy would let me ride his dad's Harley. This was before Harleys were all pretty and popular. It had a foot clutch and a hand shifter. You had to take your hand off the handlebars to shift! It was called a Duo Glide. You had to kick start it. But it had this big long flat pedal starter that was geared or something because it was real easy to push and real smooth. But it took a lot of tries to get it fired up. That was cool and I was thrilled . But for some reason I just never got Harley fever. And when I'm at a wings and wheels and I see a hundred Vee Twin HD's all lined up, they just all look the same to me. But then I'll see a Honda 50 step thru in perfect original condition and I'll freak out. Anyway, back to today. I want to see if my bike will start on this Labor Day Friday. My bike is a classic Suzuki 425. 6 speed. It's rusting and pretty dirty. I can't remember which way the choke lever has to move for choke. I suspect it's out of gas. It is notorious for using oil. I dropped it last year on the airstrip going only about 5 mph and still bent it up and I got hurt too. I didn't check anything, like the tires, or the oil, or the lights. I just climbed on and hit the starter. The starter ran but no hits. Try again, starter slowing down a bit and it starts backfiring. Wish I knew which position to put the choke lever in---guess I could stop and put on my glasses and actually look at the choke, but she starts running a while and stalls. I get my helmet out of the man cave. It has what's left of a bird's nest in it and the foam padding is dried out and falling out in chunks and dust. In todays world, a new hemet is $300 to $800. I only paid $400 for the motorcycle 15 years ago. Our rule of thumb for a used bike was $1 per cc. So Harleys were $1200. I guess you could get out of the "Harley Store" today for $1200 if you only got a few items of clothing. So, I gotta live with my old helmet. I cleaned the plastic face shield and from that same roll of paper towels, I stuck a couple towels in the helmet to keep that disintegrating foam out of my hair. I always ride with boots, jeans, heavy shirt, leather jacket, leather gloves. For some reason today I just want to go with what I've got on. A white T shirt, (by the way, I always wear a white t- shirt-- if you see me at a fly-in I'll be in a white V-neck t-shirt), no socks, slip on tennis shoes(my wife says slip-on tennis shoes are for old men--well?), no gloves. I get the thing running again and blast off. I ride to "town". The choke must be in the correct position. The fuel petcock is in the reserve position though. Not a good sign. I run my errands. While in stores and things I leave the key in the ignition and the helmet on the seat. What would a young thief want with my old toy? Errands done, I go to NAPA. The glass sight gage is kind of blank looking on the crankcase. It doesn't have a dipstick. I fear that I am the dipstick because the bike has no oil in it! I buy a quart of oil and put it in the bike. No register on the sight guage. I go back into NAPA and get another quart. Now I chat with the two really nice women who run the store. I put the second quart in. A slight register at the bottom of the guage. Back into NAPA for one more. That does the trick. Then to the Citgo. High test. she takes 3 gallons. I dont know if we were empty or not. I select "on" instead of reserve on my tank and away we go. It was amazing how much better the bike ran with gas and oil. On the way home I saw some trees that were starting to turn a little early. I could smell dry leaves on the ground. It smelled great. I ran through the spray of an irrigation rig which was along the side of the road. It felt great and just barely got me wet. Smelled something musty. Then smelled something burning far away. Smelled a cut field they were harvesting. Then I smelled something that was the reason why I got the bike out. I smelled Autumn.

A Nordo at Heart

I've become a really cranky old bastard. Sometimes I just can't let stuff go. I have to bitch and whine. I promise not to whine right now about Centigrade on the ATIS while keeping the F temp. a secret. I want to whine about radio use at the basic unicom level. Non-tower, CTAF, etc. This has gotten so bad that the AOPA and the FAA are doing some extra education items about it. Even though Gen. Av. is dying a slow and not so slow death which makes for less busy patterns, the radio chatter of useless talk is getting worse. On a busy Unicom frequency any extra chatter can cause someone to miss important information. Now don't get me wrong-- I love to talk and I love to bullshit on the radio. But I do it when it's safe, not busy, and I do it on a bullshit frequency. I've found lately, that on a busy CTAF frequency, you can't hear all the traffic because some planes are just talking too much. I'm preaching to the choir. But if I could talk to these big shot pilots who just have to hear themselves talk all the time I would say this: Stop talking. Just listen. It's safer. You don't have to report every leg of the pattern, even if your instructor told you to. He was doing that to get you used to the radio. Not so you would do it in every pattern for the rest of your life. You're not a student anymore. So shut up. Don't report "clear of the runway" after landing. This is a stupid rookie waste of air time. One exception is that if the runway has a slope, or there is fog, or you are unsure of your position, of course, obviously, speak up. In these cases, you need to be saying "I'm still on the runway" Remember the two 747's in the Canary Islands. Worst air disaster. Now having said that, at a normal airport the planes in the pattern can see you. So there is no reason to take up busy frequency time making a really stupid call. Almost as bad is the stupid call of "this is N- so and so taxiing out for takeoff. I hear this a lot. Don't do it. Unless the end of the runway or taxiway is not visible. See above. I really think that these kinds of superfluous calls are just because pilots want to play "controlled field". But we need that frequency free to alert airplanes of real conflicts. Now the worst of all. The call from the pilot who is making his initial Unicom call. He says his position and intentions. That's fine. Then he says something like " is anyone in the pattern?" Or even worse "anyone at so and so airport please advise" These calls are from pilots who don't know what they are doing and want everyone else to report to them and tell them what to do. When you hear that call, now you are forced to tie up the frequency to find out where that asshole is because he may get you killed. The trend on CTAF seems to be an attitude of "I'm gonna use my radio to talk my way in here and that will keep me safe". My advice to pilots in a busy pattern on a busy frequency is shut up and fly your airplane. I have an example of of the talk too much attitude. It happened about a month ago. I was coming home from down south in my little airplane. I needed fuel and it was about 7 PM and a lot of places close at five. I wanted a bathroom and some food too. I wanted a big airport, but not a tower. So Richmond's Hanover Ashland was perfect and I was only an hour from home . Fuel would cost a little more but I'd get a happy quick turnaround. I got the AWOS and figured they'd be landing south. I monitored the frequency. The frequency was quiet. It was so quiet that I felt comfortable talking to the FBO on Unicom. The nice young lady on Unicom told me yes on fuel and that they use a truck and she would send a signalman out to park me. It was a lovely summer night. I flew a crosswind over the field, and I announced it. Not a plane around. Landed south and taxied in. Got a great turnaround and was back in the plane refreshed with a coffee to go in 20 minutes. In no hurry, I sipped my coffee and listened to the AWOS on the ramp. Winds only 4 knots still favoring the south runway. So I taxi out. Finally comes my example. I hear a plane on the frequency announce a base leg to the north runway. I don't really care that we're setting up to different runways because I got a long way to taxi and I just figure I'll let him land. We can both use the runway we want. OK fine, but the guy starts calling me on the radio. "Ah, airplane going to runway 18 at Hanover what are your intentions"? So now I'm not having fun anymore, because I got to think about this guy who has to talk to me before he can just land. I don't have him in sight. Then he announces he is departing on runway 36. I still don't care what he does, but now I'm confused. I would have sworn he called on base leg a couple minutes ago and I don't see how he could have landed and taxied back that quick. Maybe he did. But I got the feeling he was on the ground the whole time and just accidentally said base leg. Now this guy is taking off north and says he is staying in the pattern. Fine. I check the pattern carefully, as both runways seem to be active. I announce my takeoff and go on 18. He calls me again asking if I am staying in the pattern. I answer him while I am rotating. This breaks my own rule of "Fly the Airplane". This guy had drawn me into his sick world of all the airplanes must talk and coordinate. If he would have just left me alone and made simple announcements, it could have been safe and nice. I shook all that off as I climbed, turned down the radio, opened the canopy, flew northeast, watched the sun set behind my left shoulder and saw the Rappahannock, a silver snake at my twelve.

You want it when?

When I stumbled into my M-10 Cadet I also stumbled into a fantastic mechanic. And a friend. Which is harder to find? A good friend, or a good mechanic? I just spent a couple of days working with this guy. I learned so much. But I'm old now and I really don't want to learn anything, because it's too much work. I only want to do what I want to do. Usually a mechanic charges me double if I watch and triple if I help. But Dan had me almost convinced that I was helping. He was being too kind. I went with him to look at an airplane he was phase checking. It was a beautiful Airknocker Chief a guy was recovering. In half a day, I went from buggering up screws on inspection plates to "assistant" inspector on a house call! But Dan is amazing in the way he works. Whether he's inspecting or painting or beading or torquing he seems to have a calm rhythm about him. He seems to see where the task is going and how it's going way in advance. It's like he can see into the future. And he gets stuff done really fast and it never looks like he's hustling. I guess it's like that with any real pro. They make it look easy.

Give me the small zero- commercial Fly-in

I couldn't even remember how to sign into my own blog. It's been so long since I've posted. It's not writer's block, because I never shut up unless I get really tired. Faithful readers, my friends, I have missed you. As you know I have an airstrip in my back yard. My son thought, until he was about eight years old, that everyone had a plane in their back yard. We have had some great parties in that back yard. Planes doing fly-bys that just knew we were there. A guy dropping in in a Twin Bonanza, many times. My buddy coming in for a visit in his Fairchild Cornell. Our specialty, the bonfire and the campfire. Swimming pool parties. Live music, open mike. BD and the Stearman. You know all this. But! a couple of Sundays ago, I went to the best General Aviation venue in the eastern United States. This guy has a fly in every Sunday! Everyone is invited. He is the nicest guy in the world . Vicki and I flew there in the M-10 of course. BD met us there in the Stearman, and my good buds Clark and Ken came over from Lee in a Buck-Seventy-Two. You chip in $5 per person. Have soup, Chili, Burgers, Hot Dogs, Sodas, dessert. The Sunday we went, there were about 30 or more planes. There was a bright yellow Staggerwing. There were these two guys in classic J-3's that flew in and out in perfect formation. I swear they ate their hot dogs in unison. My wife is a hard sell on Fly-ins. She likes horses and things. But there were some dogs there that she liked. She wants to go back again! The place is down below my place on the peninsula by about 75 mile naut. It's just below Accomack. The place dates back to the 30's. Check it out. It's called 9VG. Nine Very Good. The nice guy down there who will feed you is Gordon. I will C U there!

Just Puttering

It's been great fun exhibiting my little Mooney M-10 Cadet at some places during the Fly-in season. My friend Clark made me a beautiful poster board to put up in front of the airplane when it's parked. One of those signs that tells about the plane. Clark also made a nice little model of the plane. He made it from scratch. People ask me if I'm going to this Fly-in or that. In light of all this, I'd like to spruce up 42V a bit. It sat for six years in the weeds. It needs cosmetics. The right wing has these huge "potholes" in the paint down to the primer. I have no money for a paint job. I have no knowledge of paint. I went to an auto body and paint shop. I had a panel from the plane. They stuck it under a computer camera thing and matched my wing paint. They asked me what kind of paint I had on the airplane. I did not know. They asked me what kind of paint I wanted. I did not know. They asked me who was going to do the painting and I said "Me, I guess". They asked if I'd ever painted anything before and I said "yes, with a spray can". They said that they could put my color in a spray can if I wanted. But I didn't want to be limited to spray cans. So they sold me a quart of a Urethane product. It comes with something called "reducer". And something called "actuator". I literally asked the parts lady to tell me how to mix and paint. She told me, and it sounded like "reducer" is paint thinner and "actuator" is hardener. One quart of paint and it's additives came to $175. Pretty expensive touch up paint. So now I had my paint. But only a quart. And I didn't know if it would match. I have a nice spray rig that I bought before I retired. It's a good enough gun. It's new still in the box and I don't know jack about how to use it. So I thought about this for a few more days. Then I went to the hobby shop and tried to buy an airbrush to practice with. The airbrushes he had were set up for ready made cans with ready made colors. Also they would be hard to adapt to my compressor. And they cost about $100. I thought about it some more. I went back to the lady at the auto body place. "You wouldn't have an airbrush would you"? "We carry one type" "Will it work with a compressor"? I say. "Only way it will work. Do you have a regulator that you can set to 25 PSI"? "Yes". "Do you have a water separator on that regulator"? "Yes". So 42 dollars later I have an airbrush. I think about this some more. One day I fool around with the compressor fittings and I get that airbrush all hooked up and get my compressor regulator dialed down. Then I think some more. A couple days later I finally open that quart can of paint. I take some of that reducer and I run it through the airbrush. I mix up a minute amount of paint. I take some more reducer and clean the surface of the wing I'm going to touch up. Then I start spraying with this gypsy rig and it's really kind of fun. I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. The paint match is really damn on. The wing looks better already. I've got a feeling it's gonna be a pretty steep learning curve when I start spraying with a real gun. I'm going to think about this some more.

The Day I Soloed James

Back in the College Park days around 1972 I was a hot shot neophyte flight instructor. I actually knew everything. My best friend James was my best friend ever. He was bright, and very good natured. He was one of those guys who could operate machinery very well. He had gone on a few flights while hanging around at College Park. Mostly with me. Nothing formal. Somewhere along the line he got a logbook and I had put a few entries in it. He could fly pretty good though. One day I told him he ought to get a Student License so he could solo. And that if he paid for the plane rental I would teach him enough to solo. He thought about this. A long time went by and I was surprised one day when he showed up with the license. As soon as I had time I flew with him in the 150. He did great as usual. I made sure he could do a good go around and I turned him loose. My friend Butterfield was there, also soloing a student. I said, "Hey John, watch my guy he's great." James took off in the 150 and looked great. He turned crosswind and he turned away from the airport, and he flew away. Out of sight. I said, "Shoot I'm goin' to the office and try an' get him on the radio". As I head to the office I can hear Butterfield saying something like "yea Lou that guy is great, just great". No joy on the radio. As a matter of fact we never much used the radio. So now what? We wait. First solo! Damn where is he. It seemed like hours but he was back in 30 minutes. Into the pattern, nice landing , taxi in shut down. He was smiling. I shook his hand. " James, where the hell did you go"? "Just flew around, went over to Freeway" (Freeway was an airport nearby, and not a long runway). "Freeway? You went to Freeway? Did you land?" "Yea" "My God James! What did you do at Freeway?" "Nothin', just took back off again." "James, you scared the crap outa me. Why didn't you just fly a pattern and land like you were supposed too"? "You and I always went to Freeway". I was pretty sure I'd told James to fly the circuit and do everything just the way we'd been doing it to a full stop and all the standard first solo stuff. He kind of had me thinking that since I hadn't specifically told him not to fly away that he had done nothing wrong. So what could I say? My best friend had just soloed and done an amazing job. I had to admit I was impressed. He had about 4 hours in his logbook.

just down the road

Ever land on the road? I guess in other countries they do. In emergencies too, of course. Or bush flying where the road serves as a runway. Where I am on Delmarva there's lots of private strips. To many of the farmers it's really no big deal. They just land in one of their fields. If you have a 180 Cessna, you can land anywhere. My airstrip was a big deal. I had to get permits and set-backs and culvert pipes and hearings and lots of things. But I'm not a real farmer. They call me a "hobby farmer", or a "gentleman farmer". A real farmer just lands his plane in his driveway. I grew up in the suburbs. You had driveways. You park on a driveway and you drive on a parkway. In the country, your driveway is like a road to your house. It's called a "lane". "Lloyd, why are you building an airstrip? Isn't your lane long enough for your plane?" One day I landed the Cher OH kee on this road near my house. It's a nice straight, paved, quiet road. I did it just for the hell of it. I used to instruct near Las Vegas about 35 years ago. We used to fly over to this nearby place called "Jean" for fun and with our students and to get gas and to eat. But the runway was closed. You just landed on the highway and parked at the Gas station. Back in '78 we used to park at the Marine Terminal at LaGuardia at this back lot. You would have to open a big gate and then taxi a DC-3 across a road. You had a traffic light too. And lots of cars. Back when I was in college my buddy Tyler was delivering an airplane to a shop and I rode along with him. When we got to this place near Trenton we landed and followed the directions. We found ourselves taxiing off the airport and down the road. Cars, stop signs, lights etc. We dropped off the plane and they had promised us a ride back home. They simply put us in one of their customers airplanes with a pilot as young as we were and we taxied back down the road and went home.

Mentors may Come and Mentors may go, But Malcolm taught me Soul Cruisin'

I know I know I havn't been posting. I got so damn busy. How can an old retired guy get busy? It's because I only do one thing a day. If I go to the store, that's the day. Mow some grass? That's it. I had this court appearance for a really nasty speeding ticket. It was way down the peninsula in Exmore, Va. Had to appear, couldn't just send in the fine. It's over now and all OK. Also had to gather a lot of paperwork and see bunch of Docs for a Special Issuance for my FAA medical. My 3rd Class is only good for one year. Took the M-10 on about five great day trips to Fly-ins, parties, local hops, dinner with wife at GED. And one three day trip to the Outer Banks. Been too busy to write to you my friends, and I have missed you. I have this friend Malcolm. I need more than one post to describe him, or any of his stories. He tells the stories way better than I. He's been to all the continents and all the seas. He's flown land and sea planes in more places than you or I could ever visit in a lifetime. He's the kind of guy that everybody loves. He could sell anybody anything. When I was 14 I guess he was about 17. Thats when I first met him. I was just a kid. But Malcolm was... well he was older and knew what was going on. He had a Corvette! Which he still has to this day! He had a job, a cool job. He could fly planes! His dad had a plane. The second time I ever went up in a plane was in Malcolm's dad's plane. Oh yes, and Malcolm knew about girls. I knew girls were very exciting, but I didn't exactly know what you precisely did with them or to them. Malcolm knew all this and a lot more. I was a Cadet in the CAP. I was the newest, lowest Cadet in the Squadron, and Malcolm was the highest ranking, and best Cadet in the Squadron. But Malcolm never bossed me around like the other high-ranking cadets did. He was always cool. Sharp and cool. After the high school days I didn't really hang out with Mal for about 40 years. I kept track of course. Mal and his brother Steve are kind of famous in General Aviation. One Thanksgiving I was between airplanes, and didn't have anything to fly. I had sold my old Cher OH kee to help raise a downpayment for the farm I have now. Malcolm's brother Steve worked at the same airline that I did and he said I could use their family 172 over Thanksgiving. I wanted to take my wife and son to South Carolina. So I was up at Frederick and it was time to gas up the plane and give me the keys. "Hey Lloyd when's last time you flew a little airplane?" says Steve. "I have no idea. Whenever I got rid of 33J". "We better get Malcolm to ride around with you." "Yea OK" So Malcolm and I take off and fly around the pattern. All planes fly the same-from a cub to a 747. I hate it when people say that. Corporate pilots always say that. So I seem to be flying the Skyhawk OK and we line up to land. I'm pointing it pretty good anyway. But I seem to have trouble getting the airplane slowed down. I get the flaps all the way down without exceeding the flap speed. Then I settle into a nice stabilized approach at about 100 mph. This brings me into a nice smooth flare at about 100 ft. I have no idea where the ground is. Malcolm doesn't say much. He was mostly curious I think. As we settle to touchdown, he does get concerned though. Being used to a larger airplane I had kind of picked up a little habit. Sometimes when the flare was paying off and you were just floating an inch or two above the runway, you could just ease in a little aileron and put one wheel on the ground, maybe get it rolling without compressing the shock strut. The drag from this action would be enough to land the other wheel and you would "roll it on". A check out in a 172 was not the time to be using this technique. Especially when you're 30 mph too fast and fifty feet off the ground. Malcolm simply said, "Stop doing that" Finally we settled to the ground, and I was pretty good at taxiing. So Mal said we should take the plane back to the ramp. And I said oh no "your giving up on me?" "No , you're all checked out and I'm out of time". "After that, you don't want to see one more?" "No Louie, you're fine. Just promise me one thing". "Yessir" "Don't do that thing (he wiggled his hand like a plane banking) anymore, ever, ever again". Gen Av Informal

July 7

We really had a great weekend. I moved the Cher OH kee to a spot right in the back yard by the pool. So the 140 was really invited to the party. Today is the 7th and 4 July is over. Today is also my son Matt's birthday. So the plane can still sit there because the party still goes on. Everything got rained out Fri. night. We did fireworks at midnight. My son stayed up all night. Then on Saturday we did it all again. Sunday I piddled around in the hangar. So now every night I just light a Tiki torch and the plane sits there and the party continues. Today I notice that everything needs mowed again. The airstrip takes about three hours. And everything else takes another three. Not counting bush- hogging or pastures. Looks like a possible M10 trip to Carolina may be coming up. Seems like there's plenty to do. How did I get it all done and still work full time? "Hey Lloyd, when you retire, what will you do"? I'll do whatever I want. Yea. In a year of retirement I have a little more insight into pacing myself. There's one thing I know. You can't just do "whatever you want". Everything in life is temporary. Personal. Situational. Cumulative. Relative. The hardest thing about getting what you want is finding out what you want. I don't want to live every day like I'm gonna die tomorrow. Sounds like too much work. But when the good times happen, I'd like to be there in the moment and live right then. Doesn't have to be spectacular stuff all the time. Last night I had a lot of fun just working on a bench I'm building. It was exactly what I wanted to do right then.

Yard work on the 4th

My last few posts have been a bit sentimental. Do you think? Too flowery. Today it's pretty mundane. It's 4th of July and wife and I don't really have any plans. Couple of friends are coming over tonight and we're going to cook out and maybe hang around the pool. My big projects for today are getting the flag up and putting in a new window unit air conditioner. It took me 40 minutes to get all the tools and ladder and find the flags and fix the flags and clear off the porch. And 5 minutes to put up the flag. The porch was overgrown with poke weed, poison ivy, and Virginia creeper. I stopped everything and started clearing out that god awful mess. I hope I'm not itchin tonight. While I was doing that, this guy Pat flew over in his Scout and started circling. I knew who it was right away. It looks and sounds like a Citabria on steroids. He didn't land though. Probably has 4th plans and needs to get back to Annapolis. That Scout is on the short list of best planes ever. My neighbor is the guy who tills my place and my farm is one of the many little farms and businesses that he manages. Over the years we've always used a rule of thumb about when the winter wheat gets harvested. "July 4th". Of course it's just a target. Could be rainy (which is in the forecast), or another farm to do, etc. But here's the 4th and he's out there cutting. I've got this silly idea. He's basically mowing the wheat which is essentially the front yard. I'm thinking of taking my bush hog and mowing the wheat stubble in a prominent spot and moving the Cherokee 140 into that spot as a "gate guard" just for the fun of it. And I'll mow the front lawn and I've put up the flags. My friends will probably show up after dark and not even notice my lawn ornament. But it is one of the longest days of the year.

I met her at a little airport, or, Matthew read this post. It tells how Mom and Dad met.

"Little airport" is a relative term. To me, Montgomery County Airport in Gaithersburg, Md. is a very big little airport. It's now trapped in the Washington ADIZ. If you're married, people sooner or later ask you how you met your spouse. I've been married twenty years, and of course my story must relate to General Aviation. It almost always does. BD with the biplane is Brian number 1. His good buddy, the A&P and machinist is my pal Brian A. who is Brian number 2. Number two had this cool friend Howard S. who was a rocket scientist and I flew with Howard a few times at College Park way back when. ( CGS comes up in every story I guess). Years later around 1987 when Howard wanted his nephew to learn to fly, he called me. I wasn't instructing anymore, and no longer knew everything as I once did. Howard insisted I fly with his nephew. I'm very glad he did. I still had a current CFI. My original CFI was from March of 1972 and I have never let it expire, not once in 36 years. One time about five years ago when I was getting my CFI paperwork renewed at BWI, the FAA inspector asked me if I was doing any instructing or planning to do any. I told him no I hadn't and probably wouldn't. He then was curious as to why I would renew. I think I'll answer his question in a nice long Blog post someday. There's a list of very good reasons. If the Fed guy at FSDO had to ask that question, he'll never understand the answer anyway. On a clear cool January day in 1987 while flying with "Rene", Howard's nephew, I for some reason wanted to drop in at Montgomery County Gaithersburg. The two guys who were running the field at the time were good friends of mine. I just felt like going somewhere instead of "teaching in circles". ( I get instructors into my field here in present day who feel the same way) So we drop into GAI. We get parked and I look around for Lowell and Rick who are my buddies. Then I see her. I'm so interested in her I get confused. I forget why I'm there. She's in front of the airport building. We sort of walk past her but I don't remember that part. I tried not to stare at her. I went downstairs and went to the boys room. Came back up and saw Lowell in the hall. "Hey Luther whatchooupto?" "Lowell, I just saw a girl that I think I love and want to marry." I realized I had just successfully said the word "marry" I was one of those bachelors who couldn't get that word out. I would say, "Yea someday I'll get mmmaaa- mmmmaaarrr- maaayybe. " Lowell, I just said the word marry" "Where did you see this girl. Who is she"? "Right here. Just now. I gotta go find her." I couldn't find her. Where did she go? I checked the parking lot before she could get away. I checked the flight line. Then I saw her. Right back at the front door again. She was waiting for somebody, maybe a plane. How could I talk to her? Meet her. Can't just go up to her. Rene was asking me something but I wasn't paying attention. Would Rick or Lowell know her? I could sense she was getting ready to leave so I just went up to her. I was so nervous by now I just wanted to get it over with. I had to meet her. "Hi. Are you going up in a plane today? Would you like a plane ride?" "No. I actually just went up" "Oh". I said lamely. "In one of the school planes?" "No. In that." She pointed to the gorgeous Shrike out front which was the nicest plane visible on the entire field. "Oh". I said lamely. Silence. Can't let there be silence. I heard myself say, "I'm here with a plane and a student from Laurel, I just instruct as a hobby. Would you like to go flying sometime, or perhaps have dinner or anything, I know I'm being forward, but I'm a good guy and Rick and Lowell know me well, and my student Rene is that guy over there...." She smiled just a little. "I live in Dayton Ohio" she says. "so it would be hard for us to get together." To me, that was not a no! "Believe it or not", I say, "I work at Detroit Metro Airport and that's my second home. Maybe I could still contact you. I do a lot of traveling and have been to Dayton many times". We banter back and forth and talk about Ohio. She decides to give me her local DC number, where she won't be but I can leave a message. I put out my hand and say "I'm Lloyd". She takes my hand and says, "Vicki". Rene and I flew back to Suburban. He asked about the girl I was talking to. I said, "Rene, that is the girl. I just met her and she's gonna have my children." Less than a year later Vicki and I were married by the local mayor at Fairborn Meadow where the Wrights flew their Flyer from 1904 after Kitty Hawk till the Military days at College Park in 1909. They made a famous Air Base and museum there called "Wright Patterson". Vicki and I have been married twenty years. I am very lucky because I have something I care about more than anything else in the world. Of course if Vicki finds out it's the M-10, she'll be pissed. GA Informal.

How do you thank an airplane

Back in the early eighties I had a different PA-28 140 than the one I have now. It was a bit run out. All original everything. I talk about it in a Blog post called "Hangar Flyin". One night I get back to my condo in Old Greenbelt, MD. after a long tough 4-day trip. I'm beat. It's late spring. I fire up the air conditioner. Hit the head. Gather up a week's mail that has clustered in a mess on the carpet under my door slot. I hit the play button on my answering machine. It starts rewinding and then playing messages. I'm listening and making a drink and taking off my work clothes. The usual messages come in. My best buddy and his schemes. Some family stuff. Then I stop and freeze and listen and rewind and listen again. A message from "Jodie". This is a very, very attractive girl I have been working on for months, with little success. Now her message requests that I call her because she has a proposition for me. I dial her up. Hello and Hi and sorry it's so late and glad you called, I say. "Lloyd, do you still have that plane?" "Of course I do". "Are you free tomorrow?" "Yes, I think so" "Is your plane ready to fly?" "Of course". I lie. A big lie. She starts telling me about being in Atlantic City with her friends who are this couple and they had invited her to the beach, and she's tired of them and their slot machines, and doesn't like the guy they set her up with and doesn't want to ride home tomorrow in their Volvo in Sunday night beach traffic, and could I pick her up and she would like another ride in my plane...... I'm only half listening to all this. My mind is racing. I'm thinking of how absolutely hot this girl is and she's calling me. And the Cher OH kee ain't ready at all!. We talk over some details and I agree to pick her up at little AC airport the next afternoon. She says she will owe me. We hang up. What have I done? I was exhausted, but now I'll never get to sleep. The 140 is in the ratty hangar at Laurel Suburban. It's been down all winter. I can't even remember when it last flew. It was grounded for a few reasons which I don't exactly remember. I toss my drink and make some tea. I gotta think. I can't sleep, so why not get started?. I put on my grubby clothes. I head out to the hangar which is 12 miles away. It's midnight. I get some lights going in the hangar. The airplane, 33J is sitting there covered with a carpet of red clay hangar dust. There are tools on cloths all over each wing. A cooler on one wing from a party we had. The tires are low. I check the struts. These are a problem on lots of Cherokees. They are a tad low, but serviceable. The back seats are out and sitting on the plywood floor of my little 10x10 "club house" in the corner. The rest of the hangar floor is dirt. With lots of old carpet to keep the dust down. I will have no water for washing the plane until they open tomorrow. I pull out the battery which sits under the rear seat bench. I put it on charge. It is dead, and may not take a charge. I fire up my little compressor and air up the tires. I check the gas in the wings. Of course it is low. I get my five gas containers. They are five gallons each. I head up to the all night gas station. This was before all gas stations had card readers and were automatically "all night". I fill up the cans and fill up my car. Head back to the plane. I put in the twenty five gallons. I take the empty cans and go home. I can fill them again tomorrow on the way in. At the condo I turn in. It is 3:00 AM. I'm up at eight. Big pot of coffee. Put on the same grubbies. Take a thermos. Head for the gas station and the airport. Get a breakfast snack. At 9 AM on a Sunday the airport is alive. The weather is nice. It's post Memorial Day but not quite summer. There's already a guy at the wash stand with his vanilla 172. I'm screwed because I need that washstand. The guy is struggling because there is not enough hose and the nozzle is broken. I head to the hangar. Get the full gas cans out of the car. Jump back in the car and head to the "Two Guys" auto store. This is before there was Trac Auto, Advance Auto, Auto Zone. But before I leave the airport property I stop at the office, which is this typical little shed type house that all old airports have. A "flight shack". This one is classic. Those glass jars with the crackers and cookies, a coffee pot with the can for your money. An old glass case with plotters and sunglasses and charts. A single bathroom that doesn't work very well. My friend Debbie is the daughter. "HI Lou, where you been?" "Hey Deb. Been workin". Would you have a plane I could rent at about 3 or 4 o'clock today and keep the rest of the night"? "We're all booked up. Could you take it after dark?" "Maybe" "Coulda let you have the Arrow, but he started on it today" "Overhaul"? "Yep" "See ya Deb" "Hey Lou, is it a fly-in or a girl"? "A girl". I go to Two Guys and I get a bunch of cheap hose on sale. I get some wash soap, some towels and a nice not- fancy nozzle. I get an electric connector kit, and some fuses. I get some easy to use liquid wax. I'm on a very low budget. It's 10:30 AM. Back at the airport, I start making friends with the guy with the Cessna at the wash stand. He works at NASA at Greenbelt. I hook up all this brand new hose and the new nozzle and I help him finish up. Looks like I'm next in line. This other guy was going to wash his Citabria the guy says. I figure I'll get my plane over here and park it as the Cessna moves out. Usually I'm not pushy. I like wasting time at the airport. But not today. Problem is, no battery in my plane. It's not far away so I yank it down by hand and stick it behind the Cessna. I run down to the maintenance shop which is closed, but Denny's car is there. "Hey Denny, can I buy a battery from you? "I'm closed, it's Sunday." "I'd install the battery and charge it and I could give Debbie the money, all you'd have to do is hand it to me." "Yea?" "And when I come back here to fly about 3 o'clock I'd hand you a cold six-pack of Michelob. "Come to think of it I got a Concord that'd fit your plane already charged. Supposed ta go into a Pitts, but the guy never came back." "Denny, my engine oil is black dirty. Would it make any sense to drain it and just put in new oil without bothering with the filter just for now"? "Wouldn't hurt nothin" "Can I get a case of Aeroshell"? "How many six packs you bringin"? Back to the washstand. When a car or airplane is really dirty, you have to be really careful not to spread dirt all over the project. You can do more harm than good. I flushed the whole airplane with water and just my hand before I used a towel or soap. Moved it back up in front of the hangar. Put a coat of liquid wax on the whole thing too and polished the plexi inside and out. Didn't do the bottoms of course. It was 1PM, and I was running out of time. I drained the sumps a bunch before I took a sample. I decided not to top her the rest of the way off with the auto gas I had. I would put in Av gas. I checked over the engine compartment looking for bird nests. I install my brand new battery. I put the back interior in shape and installed only one of the back seats. She fired up nice and we went out to the runway for a nice run up. Mags good after some leaning and warming up. Back to the hangar. I drained the oil. While I let that drain I vacuumed out the interior and cleaned up a bit and armouralled the panel and vinyl. I realize I'm out of time. Pablo walks up. "Got your message Luther what's the big crisis"? "Paul you gotta help me, I need to run back to the condo and shower and change, then get back here and fly to AC New Jersey and be there at five." "So you can fly your little chickie" "How'd you know"? "Because you said so in your message". Pablo agreed to put the oil plug in, add the oil, dink around with my temporary Loran installation with some proper connectors, tell Denny I would soon be there with the beer and could he safety wire my oil plug. And move the plane to the pumps and top it off. I do a quick change at the Condo and pick up a case of beer. Denny and Pablo wait for the beer and put a new landing light bulb in. They do the safety wire and put in the oil filter which did the job right. They tie wrap and connect my loose wires. They top her off with 100LL and reposition her on the hard surface. I show up in white Levi's smelling of after shave. I produce the cold beer. "Thanks, I owe you guys". "Yea, you do". A few hours later, Jodie and I are at 4500 ft. flying west into a beautiful sunset. Down below the beach traffic is snarled on Rt. 404, Rt. 301, and Rt. 50. They are all trying to get across the two spans that cross the Chesapeake. One span is closed for repairs. Jodie loves the spectacle. A snake of red taillights that runs for thirty miles. The air is smooth as glass. I am very slowly letting down as we cross Annapolis. The sky is red and blue and orange. Jodie is smiling. I pop the cork on a little split of Champagne I had on ice from where I bought the beer. She starts laughing. She says, "Lloyd, I am sufficiently impressed. We can do anything you like tonight and I mean anything. I just hope you didn't go to too much trouble". "Oh, no trouble at all." The engine was purring. There was daylight for the landing. Thank you 33Juliet.

count real friends on one hand

My friend Geoff has commented on that last post about going home again. He describes a day when tragedy struck at College Park. When his friend was killed in a fiery crash that night, the airplane came to rest one block from the house I grew up in. I could write a thousand posts about Geoff. He went to the Citadel. He and I got kicked out of high school together. He's a Hawk. I'm a Dove. He was in Nam. I was on campus protesting Nam. He's into guns. I'm not. Except I do a little target plinking, and in spite of his US Army sharpshooter status, I'm a better shot than he is. He was in a communist prison in Africa for two years because he was in the way wrong place at the way wrong time. The State Department and the Red Cross and some alphabet outfits that I'm not supposed to know about got him out of there, alive. He's been married five times. All of his ex's still love him. He's my sailplane mentor, and I wouldn't have that lovely sport without his inspiration. He flew General Aviation airplanes across the oceans. Most of the time using dead reckoning. There were at least four times when I was told that he was dead. Not always from ferry flying. He's flown exotic airplanes. Been with exotic women. He's as high up in Corporate Aviation as you can go, and still be a flyer. He just got through fighting the battle of his life with Cancer. After chemo, radiation, scalpel, side effects that would kill, physical therapy that required 2000% pure will and a focus on the end of the tunnel that wasn't even there sometimes. Now he sits with a first class airman medical as a lead Captain in one of the nicest Jets in the industry. Well my Blog is about me. Lloyd Lou Luther. Geoff Tyler can write his own goddamn Blog. He said some nice things in his comment. Thank you Geoff and right back atcha. I can't tell my readers or anyone what a friend you have been to me. Some things can't be described or explained. I could say sorry I got pissed at you the other night, but it's just not necessary. Thanks Geoff. Thanks for forty five years.

The Airmail Five Man

One of my best "Eras" in General Aviation, maybe the best was my Navajo days. A period of about a year in 1974 when I flew the US Mail in the PA-31-310 Piper Navajo. I was my own boss. The mailbags never complained. I was "Cumberland One". I would leave Cumberland in the evening and go to Martinsburg, WV. then Baltimore, then on to Charleston, WV, then Pulaski, Va. Spend the night in Pulaski(what was left of the night, it would be 3AM). Sleep part of the day. Then I was "Cumberland Two and would retrace my steps: PSK-CRW-BWI-MRB-CBE. So I would spend every other night and every other weekend in Pulaski. Pulaski is also called: PSK, Dublin,VA., New River Valley, Nest West, Hoop Town, No Reefer Valley, The No Reef. The first few weekends in New River were pretty boring so I started hanging out with the skydivers who were there also on the weekends. These people are crazy and they just want to be on the edge all the time. I started flying the jump plane for them a little bit because the jump pilot, well, he wanted to jump, not fly. I became friends with these jumpers and even started to have a social life because the college girls would come out for one, and only one, jump. This is before there were tandem jumps. The student had to take the jump training, then go out on a static line. Took all day for the first jump. I flew the jump plane quite a bit and it was fun and there was a huge party at the end of the jump day. I finally started to like New River. One day "John", the guy who ran the drop zone, said, "Hey Luther, you've earned a bunch of jumps and you better take them cause winter's coming and our season is slowing down". Pilots don't usually get into jumping-- all that about a "perfectly good airplane". I was no exception. I was a terrible jumper and terribly scared every time I did it. I made a total of eight leaps and number eight was "The Airmail Five Man". Finally winter and the holidays came and went and I was getting into a sweet job back in Baltimore flying bank work and living in my home town. But for some reason I was filling in on a run and was back at the No Reef. The other mail pilots were there and my best friend Pablo. The weather was to be nice and everyone is telling me I'm going to be in on a reunion jump of the old Airmail pros. An Airmail Five Man. There will be four jumpers and one jump plane pilot--all five guys from the airmail. The jump pilot will be Gary because he can't jump because his arm is messed up from a jumping injury. Ironic. Gary is "Tall Gary" of today's Budapest Blues.com. Pablo and Mark have their own rigs and are real jumpers as well as airmail pilots. Brian and myself are student jumpers. Mark will be our jump master. So it's all decided. But it's not our jump plane. It's not our drop zone. We run our little plan by John, the drop zone guy. "Well, I guess we can get you on the schedule, but Luther can't go. He hasn't jumped since like September and I got too many trainees today." Mark says, "Luther has to go. It's the Airmail Five Man! "You pilots are lucky I'm letting Gary fly it with that busted arm. Luther can't go without training." Mark says, "I'll put Luther out on a static line then OK?" John is thinking. He can just see these five pilots screwing this up somehow. "OK. He goes on a static line. He wears a full student rig. Radio. Sentinel, and I personally brief him and he shows me three PLF's", and I don't have time for this shit." ( a PLF is when you land, you roll and fall down so you don't get hurt, practice is off a platform) "Done. Thanks John. We owe you" "No you don't" Now it's time to go and everybody in the whole drop zone is watching the five of us and checking my equipment and I am very scared. John comes over. We're the next load. I say, "Uh John look Uh heres the deal. If I break my leg I'd rather do it with my buddies on this load than do it jumping off that goddamn six foot platform. If I bust my ass there, then I can't go! "All right but you do everything Mark tells you and you guys are buying beer for the party. Get going." And away we went. The drop zone watched five out of towners in their plane with their equipment. Pilots yet. Pilots usually can't jump. We did great. Mark really did know what he was doing and he kept us straight. At the party that night there were five guys who just couldn't stop smiling.

You can't go home again

When one talks about College Park Airport, it depends on the Era. Pioneer, Airmail, barnstormer, WWII, post war, ERCO, Brinkerhoff the Elder, quiet years, Brinkerhoff the younger, Park and Planning take-over, Save the Airport, Rebuild the Airport, Restaurant modern stable, 9-11, post 9-11. I experienced a bit of the quiet years. A bit of "Marlin Helicopters". My family would stop on the way home from church. We would just look at a few parked planes. Sometimes we'd stop in Riverdale, not far away, near the ERCO factory, at a place called Dumm's Corner. There was a great old bookstore and sometimes we'd get a soda or ice cream at the Market. Dumm's is still there. The other Era I experienced was obviously the Young Brinkerhoff years. The other Eras I've just heard about or read about. I don't know much about the airport today. Recently I've become interested anew. Since I bought the Ercoupe derivative a year ago, I now feel even more a part of the College Park - Riverdale aviation history. This last winter I visited the parking lot at the old ERCO building. I had photo copies of the building from WWII era. The surroundings were all built up and very different, but the main building is still there. The same day I went to the CP Museum and bought a poster-print of the Ercoupe factory and had it autographed by Betsy Weick, the 80 yr. old daughter of the famous designer/engineer of ERCO and Piper. It hangs in my hangar. Thanks Betsy. Now just a couple of days ago I found myself walking around College Park Airport shown around a bit by my friend Mimo. To fly in you need a special clearance and you have to be "vetted". "Vetted" seems to be a new buzz word in DC. When the Candidates in the Primary were having their backrounds checked and the mud was slinging, they had to be "Vetted". I had never heard of "Vetted". I just sold my beautiful 1986 C-4 Corvette. I am no longer "Vetted". We have horses and dogs and when they get sick I get a bill. Boy, do I get "Vetted"! All the airplanes at College Park have a cable lock around the prop. This is because an airplane thief wouldn't seek out a remote airport with lots of nice twins and late model singles and no watchmen. He would head right for College Park where there aren't many valuable airplanes, there is a huge well maintained fence around the entire perimeter, and it is owned by the government, and it is guarded by the Park Police, and almost any activity is noticed. You gotta lock your plane. College Park is so inviting to a thief. You're a sitting duck. And that cable lock, well it will stop any thief in their tracks. They see that, they just run away and turn themselves in to National Capital Park and Planning. No thief has ever heard of a bolt cutter. It could take as long as 20 seconds to get rid of that cable lock. They might be a terrorist who has decided to bring in a dufflebag full of Dynamite to attack the Capital. He could have a plan, be part of a terrorist cell, sneak into the airport, know how to break into a plane and start the plane and fly the plane, but ain't no way he's gonna get past that cable lock. The airport sat in a swamp really, in the former years. Now millions have been spent and it really is unbelievably nice. All drained. Beautiful turf. Incredible asphalt surfacing everywhere. A paved full length parallel taxiway. The runway actually re-oriented to take advantage of the available acreage and of course lengthened. Regulation lighting. The up- scale restaurant with it's airplane theme. Where one can eat one's steak in air conditioned comfort and hear WWI music and look out the tinted pane glass, and see far and safely away and not smell the one or two actual operations per day. A beautiful museum celebrating the rich heritage. With plans for the museum to be 4 times bigger. It's all fantastic and I'm glad our tax money went to it. In my mind, couldn't be better spent. After all it's the Wright Brothers! Can't you just feel me getting ready to say BUT? There are no kids sitting on the fence with their model plane wishing to go up. There's no hangar full of know-it-alls criticizing everybody's technique. Nobody working on a plane, nobody flying a plane. Nobody allowed to fly a plane. College Park now belongs to the tax payers. Thats you and me. I'm glad it survived and it's heritage is forever known. It's Holy Ground to me, and I'm an owner as a citizen. It's a great park and great memories. Just please, please don't say anybody saved the airport. The "airport" died in the seventies. It died because: The neighbors wanted it shut down because of their valuable real estate. General Aviation itself had mostly died and that's a long story for another Blog. Park and Planning took over. They meant well, but they ran the airport like a zoo or one of their monuments. Another good Blog story there. The airport died in the seventies. It was buried Sept. 11, 2001. G.A.I.

first solo at 5500 hours

I am thinking of what to write next. I want to do a nice post about the time I soloed a DC-3! I want to do a post about the time I soloed a twin beech also. There was a turbine twin beech and of course the piston twin beech. It seems I can't tell a story without at least referring to College Park. In 1970 I was flying at College Park renting Cubs for $10 per hour wet. This was when I first learned about the Twin Beech. Brinkerhoff had a very nice G Model Beech which he used for charter and personal transportation. It would barely fit into College Park. Every takeoff and every landing was a spectacle. Everyone would stop what they were doing and watch. Especially the takeoffs. The airport was much tighter in those days. More trees, worse surface, dirt taxiways, patchy runway, shorter runway. He would never carry a load out of College Park. He would only take off west, over the wires and tracks. Trees too tall on the other end. I've seen those trees eat airplanes. That's a story for another post. He would go down to the end of 31 (which was the runway in those days). He would be in the rough overrun of weeds, gravel, dirt, sand, ruts, woodchips. This would add him another 50ft. to the 2150 he had. But there were obstacles and a possible tailwind. You'd see him rev up and roll. You'd see clouds of smoke and dust. You'd hear the wonderful roar and then the blare. Then the tail would come up and it would be so high that you thought he was overraked and would get the props. You'd think he was never going to unstick, and finally he'd pull it off, but just into ground effect. Now you think he's never going to clear those wires. At the last second he hauls it up over the wires and as the wheels pass the wires they are starting to retract as if to tuck themselves away from the wires. The flat pitch high rpm blades blare again at you as he climbs away. You shake your head in mystery and you smile. I was a cub renter. I thought, "I'll never check out in a plane like that!" But in the winter of 1976-1977 I found myself in Pittsburgh flying a BE-18T which is a taildragger turbine Twin Beech on a U.S. Mail run which went to Philly and back. Sometimes, a run to Ohare with Emery Airfreight, which I hated. One day there was a broken plane and some switching around had to be done. The Company was "Great Western Airlines", out of Tulsa, Ok. My plane was being switched for the night's run to Philly. Of course I didn't care. But my roomate BD, was a veteran with the company and he noticed the N number of my new plane. It was a piston Beech. "Hey Luther, they got you set up in a piston Beech tonight. "What?. They can't" "They did, you better call." So a bunch of phone calls later and it turns out all company pilots must be qualified in all three types of planes they had. They're mad at me for not being checked out in the piston. "You will come to Tulsa as soon as possible and fly the piston and the Baron, and you should have notified us earlier that you were not qualified for tonight's run". "Sorry" The weekend comes and it's pretty weather. Akron, Oh. is a maintenance base for us and I meet the check airman and the piston Beech there. We fly around and pull back a few engines and do some airwork. After we come back, the check airman "Walters" (very good man) says, "Well you're done, would you like to fly it around yourself?" The smile I gave him that said yes, was the smile you have as a young man when your date says "why don't we just go up to your place tonight?" In those days, the Beech was standard. Lots of pilots were checked out. I really felt like I had joined the club. He didn't have to solo me. It was a check out called a Part 135 equip. check. He was just being kind. I never did get the Baron check out.