Sunday, December 23, 2007

What's Next: HP? Complex? DC-3 Dreams?

This is a regular blog post. No audio for this one.

Getting my ass kicked at work again as usual for corporate lawyers in December. Not complaining. I need to get my year finished with enough billable hours to satisfy my partners that I deserve the bonus that will clean up the credit card balance spawned by the instrument rating and lots of other activities. No real prospect of getting an episode out any time soon.

But it provides an enforced time of reflection about flight. I have the instrument rating and I'm now PP ASEL; Instrument Airplane. What's next? Lots of possibilities out there.

I intend to pick up the ground instructor and ground instrument instructor certificates as soon as the pressure of year-end relents. I had also planned to go after a few other interesting things. Like high-performance, complex, and tailwheel endorsements. Each of those will likely mean training somewhere other than Tradeweinds, which is a bit of a bummer. I like Tradewinds for the quality and maintenance of its aircraft and the genuinely professional instructors. I also really like that it has a corporate flight department (King Air B200s and Hawker jets) to which many of the instructors aspire so I know that the guy or gal in the right seat isn't just building time (or at least that it would behoove him or her not to blow the option of flying corporate at Tradewinds by doing anything stupid with me, a relatively sophisticated consumer of flight training, on the left seat).

I can pick up the high performance with CAP. I need to go get Form Fived at some point anyway. There's a guy in my squadron who's doing his instrument rating Part 61 and he could use a safety pilot. It's be nice to be able to sit right seat for him.

And I know that there's a Citabria at KARB and at least one other taildragger at KPTK in which I could train, albeit with different folks.

So I'm catching up with my podcast listening yesterday and listening to one of ANN's special features in between the Daily Aero-Briefings (as I occasionally do when the special feature is either Bob Miller of Over the Airwaves or something else that doesn't sound like mere promotion) and heard something really cool.

What about a type rating? What about a type rating in a DC-3? 95-foot wingspan twin taildragger. Oooooh. Aaaaaah.

Check out the interview with Dan Gryder and the training part of Dan's website. It says, in relevant part:

DC-3 PILOT IN COMMAND INITIAL / TYPE RATING / ATP UPGRADE
With an existing multi-engine private, commercial or ATP certificate, our DC-3 initial program takes you from start to finish and completes the program with the issuance of a new FAA temporary airman certificate stamped "DC-3" on it! We train by and follow the FAA Type rating PTS for the DC-3 This initial course can take anywhere from 8 to 15 flight hours to complete, mostly depending on your ability and past experience. Having this rating on your airman certificate is becoming a real rarity with the disappearance of this aircraft world wide. If you have the ATP written test complete and would like your pilot certificate upgraded from commercial to ATP in conjunction with this type rating, we can accomplish that at the same time as well.

DC-3 SECOND IN COMMAND INITIAL
With an existing multi-engine private, commercial or ATP certificate, our DC-3 initial program takes you from start to finish and completes the program with the issuance of a new FAA temporary airman certificate stamped "DC-3" on it! We train by and follow the FAA Type rating PTS for the DC-3 This initial course can take anywhere from 8 to 15 flight hours to complete, mostly depending on your ability and past experience. Having this rating on your airman certificate is becoming a real rarity with the disappearance of this aircraft world wide. If you have the ATP written test complete and would like your pilot certificate upgraded from commercial to ATP in conjunction with this type rating, we can accomplish that at the same time as well.

Could this be big bucks? Sure. More than flying a C-172 around, certainly. Not sure how much I'd be looking at. But it'd be pretty big by my usual flying standards of "Don't spend any more than it would require for an apartment in town for that mistress I don't have and will never obtain."

Would the rating be useful? Don't be silly. Or, more properly, would the rating be useful in any sort of remunerative way or expand my daily capabilities? Again, don't be silly.

There are only 500 DC-3s still registered and only 100 or so of them are in the US. Unless I wanted to be of assistance to some volunteer organization that keeps a DC-3 flying, I can't see making any use of such a rating in any remotely practical way.

But picture this. You're hangar flying with some cranky old bastards at the local fly-in (these guys are rare in our wonderful community of pilots, but they're definitely out there) and the conversation naturally goes where it does when cranky old-timers want to put the new guy in his place.

Cranky bastard: "So, son, you fly auto-land [tricycle gear] aircraft, or have you had some taildragger time?"

Me: "Yeah, I've flown taildraggers. I heard that they'll make a real pilot out of a guy and I believe it."

Cranky bastard: "I got my private in an Aeronca Champ in 1960. Great airplane. What'd you do? fly a Citabria for a few hours?"

Me: "Nah. I got mine in a DC-3. It was part of the type rating."

Would the rating be useful? On that count, hell, yeah!

Like I said, cranky bastards are truly few and far between in our community of pilots, but wouldn't it be nice to have automatic and solid cred to dryly present if you ran into one? Just put that man card back in your pocket there, buddy. Genuine cred here. Don't make me drop it on you. I hate getting it out because it's so hard to get it back in the wallet.

(And it'd be really cool for less adversarial hangar-flying opportunities, too!)

So what do I need to do? Get Dan on the show, for one thing. I have an e-mail in to him. Dan! Call me, man! Can you tell that I'm intrigued? Can you tell that any red-blooded pilot would drool all over his keyboard to seriously consider that type rating? I'll record audio of the whole thing and put it out on the show. The average episode gets around 2,000 listeners and there are something like 10,000 downloads per month. Serious promotion. And I'll put out an MP3 CD for you and/or serve the audio to your site for promotion! Check out Test Pilot: You or Shooting a GPS Approach at Flint for what I do with cockpit audio. Better yet, check out the IFR checkride audio when I get it published.

And Dan put all of the manuals out on his site, too. That's what Im taking to Starbucks to study over in the corner with my venti drip coffee (black, thank you). Can the sissy boys with their MacBooks doing blog posts about topiary and knitting possibly compete? No way!

For another thing, I need to get my multi-engine rating. Hmmm.

Traverse Air at KTVC has an accelerated 2-3 day multi course for $1,300. My folks live under the KTVC Class D. We vacation up there from time to time. When the weather is nice, Mary and the kids could head out to the beach and I could buzz around over them, depending on the active runway. And I could piss away $1,300 in three training flights at Tradewinds easily, so it's within my budget radar range.

Okay, so I'm in the throes of a corporate lawyer at year-end and even remore fantasies tend to seem more achievable because, whatever they are, they're not sitting at this bloody desk hating all the music on my iPod even though it has something like 3,500 songs on it (key indicator that life sucks). But I'm going to dig a little deeper into this. If it's at all possible, that (along with a jet team ride) might end up being my focus for 2008.

Anyway, ain't aviation great? There are more challenges out there than you can shake a stick at! When the only problem is picking among them and making the time to rise to them, I think you have a pretty good indication that your avocation is pretty darned worthy.

Happy and safe holidays, folks! If you're flying somewhere, don't succumb to get-there-itis! Some of the best aviation (and other) stories and experiences happen when you have to spend the night in a little motel in East Overshoe with the FBO's K-car sitting outside your door and dinner is microwave burritos.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Separate Audio Version of Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined

Realizing that the material in the December 8 episode that preceded and succeeded the reading of Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined will be stale shortly and that many folks might want audio of just the reading of the piece, here's a link to that very thing. The Airspeed theme music preceeds and succeeds the reading.

http://media.libsyn.com/media/airspeed/AirspeedFingersInTheAirportFenceEntwined.mp3

Please remember that the piece and this audio is (c) 2007 The Wilshire Resource Group, LLC and all rights are reserved, but you can download it and listen to it for your own personal enjoyment. Additionally, we are generally pretty easy about giving permission for use in other ways (especially if you happen to be AOPA, EAA, NASA, Scaled Composites, another aviation podcast, or other exceedingly cool organization, etc.). E-mail steve@airspeedonline.com or call 248-470-7944 for more information.

Enjoy!

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined - And the Book Is Out!



Subscribe to Airspeed through iTunes or your favorite other podcatcher, listen to audio at http://airspeed.libsyn.com/, or download directly at http://media.libsyn.com/media/airspeed/AirspeedFingers.mp3.


In the grand tradition of Mike Agranoff's Ballad of the Sandman, here's Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined (The Ballad of Jimmy Short). Every part of the aviation community has some person who is ubiquitous, who is always there marshaling aircraft or hauling Porta-Johns around at fly-ins, and/or generally making things work and never expecting a word of thanks. They do it for the love of the community and of aviation.

This is the story of just such a guy. And the story of the send-off that we all wish people like that would receive when they finally hang up their headsets.

The full text of the piece follows this brief announcement . . .




You've heard me talking about the upcoming Airspeed book for months now and, in fact, it's been a week or two away from publication for at least two months. But it's done! It's out! And just in time for holiday giving!

It's called Airspeed - The First Two Years Aloft. 200 pages, more or less, of essays, rants, ruminations, and the Big Dream from the first two years of the show. It's in paperback with a nice-looking black cover with Tim Reed's highly-Photoshopped picture of Gene Soucy performing at Battle Creek in 2006 and a a shot out the front window of a Cessna 172 taken while cruiting just above a beautiful overcast layer.

There are black and white pictures throughout the book, some new just for the book.

The book includes most of the highlights of the last two years, including some interviews transcribed for the first time. And it also includes the full text of several of the most popular episodes, such as First Solo and Why I Fly. There's also additional explanatory material in several of the chapters.

Chapters include:

Intro Flights
Ballistic Recovery Parachutes
BFR Complete - On to the Instrument Rating!
Steely-Eyed Missile Man John Aaron
Take Your Kids to the Airport
So You Want to Be an Astronaut - Part 1: Qualification
So You Want to Be an Astronaut - Part 2: Selection
So You Want to Be an Astronaut - Part 3: Ruminations
GA IS No Threat
Steely-Eyed Missile Man Captain REFSMMAT
A Ride with the US Army Golden Knights
The Canadian Forces Snowbirds
Test Pilot: You
Balloon Ride with Dave Emmert
So Long, One-Eight!
The Technicolor Yawn and You
First Solo
Hey, Don!
Upside Down with My Hair on Fire
Why I Fly
Fingers in the Airport
Fence Entwined


The book is perfect for any fan of the podcast (and I realize that I flatter myself here) and it's also a great gift for any aviator or would-be aviator or anyone who loves flight.

Pick up your copy at http://www.lulu.com/stupper or http://www.lulu.com/content/1389586. You can also just click the link on the right-hand side of the website home page or just search for "Airspeed" at http://www.lulu.com/. Only $15.95 plus shipping!

Lulu says that the following deadlines apply for orders for delivery by December 25. Bear in mind that these are Lulu's deadlines and I have little to do with them. I've ordered two copies in succession to proofread and they've each shipped by the next day after I ordered them, but Lulu gets really busy around the holidays, so order early and often!

USPS Priority - 12/12/2007
UPS Ground - 12/14/2007
2nd Day Air - 12/18/2007
Next Day Air - 12/18/2007
SuperFast - 12/19/2007
SuperMegaFast - 12/20/2007

I'm happy to sign copies if I may be so presumptuous as to think that someone might want a signed copy. Being that I'm publishing using Print-on-Demand (which means that no copy gets printed until you order it and then it gets shipped directly from the print facility), but, if you want to forward your copy to me for signing with a SASE, I'll turn it around as quickly as I can. My snail mail address is in my profile on the website at http://www.airspeedonline.com/. Make sure that you include your e-mail address or telephone number with the book you want signed in case I have any questions.

If I may further flatter myself by thinking that anyone might want a signed copy for Christmas giving, please drop me an e-mail and I'll see what I can do about ordering a copy directly and then forwarding it on to you. Bear in mind that that would be a great way to turn this into a $50 book by the time you pay for all of the shipping but if you're game, I'm game as long as I'm not carrying anything more than a house payment (or Jack Hodgson's heating bill) in float. (Again, I flatter myself.)

On to Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined (The Ballad of Jimmy Short)!

__________________________________

Harper’s Field is smallish strip a mile from the edge of town,
Parallel to the section lines with farm fields all around.
An FBO, two dozen Tees ‘mid green alfalfa hay,
And a battered sign on the county road: “Airplane rides this way.”

Sometimes, when I was back from school, I’d drive down to the field,
And park the car in the gravel lot to see what the sky might yield.
I’d stand there by the airport fence with a Coke or a Huber beer,
And while away the afternoon at the sky and ground’s frontier.

It doesn’t happen often, though there’re some who say it should,
That we get a glimpse of a fleeting thing that we thought was gone for good.
When zephyrs of the atmosphere meet dreamers on the ground,
And magic, love, and science merge in a roar of deaf’ning sound.

I’d watch them make their takeoff runs; their Continentals whined,
Standing with my fingers in the airport fence entwined.

* * * * *

Jimmy Short arrived in town in 1952.
He’d served in South Korea, but his fighting days were through.
He got a job and the stamping plant and married a local girl,
And made a home and family and his corner of the world.

Sometime in the spring of ‘56 a friend from his platoon,
Called to say he was passing through and might Jim have a room?
Jim met him down at Harper’s Field when he pulled up to the ramp,
And got his very first airplane ride in his friend’s Aeronca Champ.

Jim kept his friend up half the night and talked ‘bout how to fly,
Got another ride in the morning before they said goodbye,
And when his buddy dropped him off and taxied off to go,
Jim turned around and followed the fence line down to the FBO.

So Jim began his training with a crusty world war vet.
They’d stay aloft on weekday nights ‘til the sun began to set.
And Saturdays and Sundays he’d be at the field at dawn.
His preflight done and the oil topped off; by seven, they were gone.

When the shift let out and the bars filled up, he was at the field instead,
And mowers moved across the hay as he soloed overhead.
And by the time the leaves had turned from green to fiery gold,
His private chit was in his in his hands and twenty hours old.

Jim bought the Cub that winter, though it wasn’t much to see.
The tires were flat and the fabric slack and it sat there in the Tee.
The engine was in baskets, too, but Jimmy wasn’t fazed.
The A&P who signed it off could only stand amazed,

As the gorgeous Cub that Jim pulled out in the second week of May.
That winter in the hangar, Jimmy working night and day,
Had made a bond ‘tween man and plane, both glowed there in the sun,
As Jimmy swing her ‘round and poised to make his takeoff run.

Harper’s field was younger then and, just like Jim, it changed.
Its spirit kept the beat of time but scenery rearranged.
They paved it back in seventy-six and stretched three thousand feet,
And added in an NDB just past the white concrete.

In ‘85, the airspace changed and, though Harper’s Field was “G,”
They added on a speed ring and an overhead of “C.”
You had to stay three thousand or get on the radio,
But Harper’s pilots didn’t mind. They liked to keep it low.

* * * * *

The first time I met Jimmy Short was twenty years ago,
By the fence at Harper’s Field when he stopped to say hello.
He was in his fifties and I was twenty-three,
But that didn’t seem to matter when he stopped to talk to me.

“I’ve seen you here all summer, son, just standing where you are,
Sipping on your Coke and standing, watching from afar.
There’s more to this than what you see when you stand the parking lot.
There’s a view, you know, there that gives you more perspective than this spot.”

“And what might that be?” I asked, and stood somewhat beguiled.
He hooked his thumb toward the ramp and turned, and then he smiled.
He said, “My name is Jimmy Short and I fly the yellow Cub.
It’s time to stop just standing here. It’s time to get you up.”

I followed him down the fenceline and he waved me through the gate.
I helped him pull the Cub out and he asked about my weight.
Some scrib’ling on an envelope, a finger in the wind,
Then he waved me to the front seat and he helped to strap me in.

And so, that day, I saw where I had stood there by the fence.
But I saw it from a thousand feet and I had a different sense,
Of where I stood in other ways and what I really wanted,
I knew that it would challenge me, but I set my teeth undaunted.

And when the Cub came back to earth (and later, so did I),
I turned around, asked Jimmy Short “Where do I learn to fly?”
He chuckled and took off his hat, ran his hand through his thinning hair.
“The next step’s at the FBO and, son, it’s over there.”

It seems I didn’t sleep much through the summer and the fall.
There were groceries to bag and lawns to mow and clippings left to haul.
And every cent I took to the FBO to rent the plane;
A beat-up C-150 but a perfect ship to train.

And, as I flew and talked to folks, before too long, I found,
That the name of the pilot Jimmy Short was known for miles around.
No job to small, he volunteered at every county show,
And went to every fly-in where the Cub would let him go.

You could put him on the flight line or in the parking lot,
And Jim would see that every camper pulled into its slot.
You’d see him folding tables and hauling Porta-Johns,
And many a warbird was marshaled with a wave of Jim’s batons.

You’d see him flipping pancakes and you’d see him cleaning up,
Or smiling as he showed the folks his yellow Piper Cub.
His dues were current in the EAA and when they called the roll,
Jimmy was a captain In the Civil Air Patrol.

And I found that my ride on that summer day wasn’t Jimmy’s first.
Many a pilot had Jim to thank for giving them the thirst.
For the smell of hundred low-lead and the sound of the takeoff run,
Or the landing on two-seven in a setting summer sun.

It doesn’t happen often, though there’re some who say it should,
That we get a glimpse of a fleeting thing that we thought was gone for good.
When zephyrs of the atmosphere meet dreamers on the ground,
And magic, love, and science merge in a love that’s newly found.

I’d sometimes watch as he gave a kid his very first airplane ride.
Standing with my fingers in the airport fence entwined.

* * * * *

Like I said, it’s been 20 years and I’ve flown for all that time.
I’m based right there at Harper’s Field and Six-Five-Six is mine.
I still saw Jim most weekends and we’d talk and hangar-fly,
And jaw about the weather as we watched the summer sky.

Until the day I saw him at his hangar, moving slow.
I gave him a wave, but he turned away and shuffled off to go.
The bounce was gone from Jimmy’s step and I stopped to look at him.
Then walked two down to his hangar door; called, “Hey, what ails you, Jim?”

“My medical’s been touch-and-go for years and now, you see,
I’m creaky and my eyesight just ain’t what it used to be.
The family doc says I could go again and try my luck,
But I’ll never make it by this time. It’s time to hang ‘em up.

“So I put the Cub in Trade-a-Plane and I got a call last week.
And the buyer’s A&P came by and said he’d take a peek.
And now we’ve done the haggling and it’s time to sell the Cub,
They’re coming in tomorrow and they’re going to pick her up.”

He saw the look that stole across my face and said, “It’s fine.
I’ve flown her nearly forty years and, man, I’ve had my time.
I’d give an arm and a leg or two for another summer’s flight
But it’s time for me to pass her on. I think it’s only right.”

I departed on the downwind and I dialed one-two-two-eight,
And listened to the traffic at Big Bear and Applegate.
I cruised around the countryside with nowhere planned to go,
Just listening to the engine and the traffic down below.

Now and then, I’d hear a voice I knew and key the mic,
And make a little small talk and ask about their flight,
But my heart just wasn’t in it, and soon enough I’d say:
“Jimmy Short has hung ‘em up. He’s going to sell the plane.”

Their thoughts were all the same as mine and somber grew the talk,
As word began to reach the general aviation flock.
I heard it on each CTAF and each rural UNICOM,
The sad refrain from plane to plane that “Jimmy’s moving on.”

And in the air that carried Jim in summers long gone by,
There grew a song of the mournful news that rose and filled the sky,
From two-two-eight to two-zero-five and up and down the dial,
Across the fields and lakes and on for mile on airy mile.

* * * * *

The morning dawned on Harper’s Field and the sky was clear and bright.
I was there to see the sunrise; only restless sleep that night.
For I couldn’t help but think of Jimmy Short as there I lay,
And figured I’d be near in case he needed me that day.

By nine o’clock, I’d finished cleaning my Tee for the second time,
And a Cessna 182 pulled to parking on the line.
Three men got out of the Cessna and walked to Jimmy’s Tee,
And the door rolled back and Jim stood there and waved to greet the three.

The all shook hands, then pulled the doors of the hangar open wide,
And then, a moment later, rolled Jimmy’s Cub outside.
One circled the Cub with a practiced eye ‘til his preflight was complete,
And, smiling, gave a nod to Jim; laid the papers on the seat.

Each of them in turn leaned in and signed, then passed the pen,
And stood aside to let the next in line lean in and sign again,
‘Til all was done. Jim shook their hands and handed one the key,
And turned away and walked across the ramp to stand by me.

Jim said hello to me, not with his voice, but with a nod,
His countenance inscrutable. His face was a fa├žade.
I searched words to say to him to lend a friend’s support,
But words had all abandoned, so I just stood by Jimmy Short.

We stared out at the windsock as it dangled on the pole.
Neither spoke for a longish time; each searched within his soul.
Gone the resolve that buoyed Jim when I talked to him yesterday,
And Harper’s field stood solemnly in a veil of deep dismay.

Then slowly in the silence there came a distant song.
It wound along the hangar row and then continued on.
It played there in the parking lot, then scattered in the hay,
And rose to cover all the field as it doubled back our way.

Our eyes were turned of one accord, both us and the buyers there.
A J3 Cub on a low approach was floating through the air.
And by us flew the Cub midfield, he rolling left and right,
Then, straightening out and climbing high, he slowly passed from sight.

And ‘ere the song of the Six-five Continental bid adieu,
Came the drone of the N2Cs of a pair of C-152s.
They passed abeam the midfield line in a tight right echelon,
Then powered up and, turning right, they climbed and soon were gone.

I looked at Jim, he looked at me, and all I could do was shrug.
The lineman stared and so did the men with Jimmy’s former Cub.
Now skimming low was an old T-6 with a Pratt & Whitney wail,
And close behind with a glint of blue was an F4U in trail.

I grabbed my handheld from my plane and quickly flipped it on,
Then punched in the frequency for the CTAF and UNICOM.
I could tell right away that something was up. The chatter was fast and thick.
Voices I didn’t recognize and mic click after click.

“Eight-Niner-One is clear to the north. Just don’t tear up the cement!”
I saw the Corsair banking right and wondered what he meant.
Until thirty seconds later, when came roaring o’er the trees,
A monster silver four-prop C-130 Hercules.

I wandered toward the taxiway to get a better view,
And a conga line of growing dots was on approach in que.
I keyed approach on the radio to listen overhead,
And voice on voice fell on my ears and this is what they said.

“Turn left to one-six zero. That’s the best I can provide.
Lots of traffic over there, so keep your eyes outside.
Hey, what’s with all this traffic? You guys got some soiree?
I guess there’s something going on at Harper’s Field today?

“Approach, this here is Viper Six, we’re inbound over ROCHE.
We’d like to head for Harper’s field and make a low approach.”
“You’re cleared to the field, please say your type and report when you’re abeam.”
“Viper Six is a two-ship flight and, sir, we’re F-16s.”

I strained my eyes to the eastern sky and there they seemed to crawl
And, sure enough, on the UNICOM, there came the Viper’s call,
“Harper’s Field, this is Viper Six, approaching from the east.
Two-ship flight for a high-alpha pass; and we’re going to drag our feet.”

And in they came, with their noses high with the gear and the flaps all down,
And the thunder of the engines kept them fifty off the ground,
‘Til at the midfield turnoff point, the gear came up and then,
Their afterburners thundered as they rose to fly again.

When the ground had ceased its shaking, and the jets had disappeared,
I keyed the radio, said “Hey, what’s all the traffic here?”
“Four-Mike Fox on final,” came the crackling report.
“I though that everyone had heard. We’re here for Jimmy Short.

“I heard it at the restaurant last night at Stony Creek,
From a guy who was in from UPS and another one from fleet.
And today a guy from Kansas who was on the frequency.
The news sure seems to travel fast and I’m in good company.

“The word is out that Jimmy’s hung ‘em up and sold the plane.
Approach is all abuzz with talk and center’s just the same.
There’s folks who owe Jim big time and it bothered them, you see,
And the word went out that we shouldn’t let this go so easily.

“It started in the pilot talk on a website board or two
Then cell phone text and traffic calls and, hour by hour, it grew,
‘Till someone had a brainstorm that solidified from whim,
A low pass over at Harper’s Field and wag your wings for Jim.

“The message passed from field to field and it picked up steam all night.
And it made the Center chatter thanks to a red-eye Northwest flight.
And an F-16 maintainer passed the word to his command.
They remembered Jim from the air shows there when he came to lend a hand.”

“So I fired her up this morning and I took off VFR.
I fly a Baron Fifty-Five, so Harper’s field ain’t far.
But I used to be a groundhog, see, when I was just a pup,
‘Til I got my first Young Eagles ride and Jimmy took me up.

“So I’m here to dip a wing for Jim and let him know I’m here
He’s the reason that I started and he’s why I persevere.”
And, sure enough, the Baron came in low and came in hot,
He wagged his wings amidfield; tracking down the line he shot.

Jim was standing next to me and he overheard the call.
A faraway look stole across his face as he listened to it all,
As each new plane passed the midfield line in flashing, proud review,
And the radio told of a first flight ride or a guy in Jim’s old crew.

Then down by the fence they began to arrive; drawn in from the town,
Drawn to the stately dance o’erhead in droves from all around.
They filled the little parking lot, then the access road further away,
And out to the sign on the county road that said: “Airplane rides this way.”

Faces upturned and spellbound, they knew not how or why,
Or whence this grand ballet had come to fill the summer sky.
But came they did and they gathered near and watched each passing plane,
And each was touched by a fleeting dream that none could quite explain.

Jimmy saw the cars pull in and he watched them for a while.
The stricken look of earlier was gone and now a smile,
Crossed Jimmy’s face as the last plane passed and, in the wake of the fading sound,
He grabbed my elbow, cleared his throat, and, grinning, turned me ‘round.

You see them there? They don’t know why, but still they’re drawn to see,
The miracles we daily work, just guys like you and me.
It’s time to pass the torch to you; the telling’s your job now.
The magic is within their reach, you just have to tell them how.

He smiled again, then shook my hand and turned and walked away.
And joined a knot of Harper’s guys who’d gathered down the way.
The buyer and the other guys all turned around to leave.
My eyes were slightly hazy, but I wiped them on my sleeve,

And turned and walked across the ramp toward the fence by the FBO,
Where the crowd still stood in silence, some with faces still aglow.
As they stood and contemplated what had just now filled the air,
And wondered at its meaning all along the fenceline there.

It doesn’t happen often, though there’re some who say it should,
That we get a glimpse of a fleeting thing that we thought was gone for good.
When zephyrs of the atmosphere meet dreamers on the ground,
And magic, love, and science merge in silence most profound.

I reached the fence and smiled at them gathered up and down the line,
Standing with their fingers in the airport fence entwined.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

A Mooney, Some Camping Gear, a Pillow, and a Shopping Bag Full of Charts - Going Places with Ron Klutts

Subscribe to Airspeed through iTunes or your favorite other podcatcher, listen to audio at http://airspeed.libsyn.com/, or download directly at http://media.libsyn.com/media/airspeed/AirspeedKlutts.mp3.

Ron Klutts and I have carried on a correspondence for more than a year and we finally met in person at AirVenture Oshkosh this summer. Ron and a friend had flown all the way from Palo Alto and had made a two-week ossyssey out of the OSH trip.

So when I thought about doing a show on going places (far-away places) Ron naturally came to mind. In this episode, we talk about long-distance GA flying. How to plan, what to take, how to pack, and other lessons learned from two nearly trans-continental trips.

Also check out Ron's appearance on The Pilot's Flight PodLog - Episode 9.
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