Session 1
Friday, August 16, 2013
57 Chevy Nomad restoration tear down sessions 1, 2, 3
Beginning on August 8 I began to disassemble my 57 Chevy Nomad as part of my total frame off restoration. Original color of this Nomad was Canyon Coral and India Ivory. Nice color combination but definitely NOT the color this bad boy will be when I'm done.
Here are several pictures showing my progress over the last week of taking things apart.
Session 1
Session2
Session 3
Emily Noel my trusty assistant :)
Session 1
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Jail Birds, Little Boy, The Fat Man, and the Enola Gay
What was supposed to be an uneventful evening flight into the historic Wendover Airfield in the deserts of Western Utah turned out to be a lesson in history, Hollywood and Airport Security.
The "Enola Gay" is famous for being the B-29 bomber that carried "Little Boy" and "Fat Man" over Japan and dropping them on the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima killing millions of Japanese civilians and soldiers and crushing the Imperialists desires for world domination. In the West deserts of Utah sits a mighty airfield which still has many of hangers still standing from the WWII era including the actual hanger which housed the Enola Gay and where the atom bombs were fitted into her belly. In the 1940's, Wendover was constantly buzzing with bombing group training. The vast deserts and salt flats surrounding Wendover made this the perfect training grounds for bombing units because of its remote nature and high security requirements. In 2010, the runways that remain are much more silent with the occasional general aviation aircraft touching down and the once a day charter bringing gamblers in from Montana, Idaho, Arizona, and other nearby states for a three day stay at one of the six local casinos. Most are senior citizens looking to get away, have a Vegas style weekend, and eat until their stomachs hurt at the all-you-can-eat buffets. Most if not all these visitors have no idea their airplane just landed on the very same runway that the Enola Gay lifted off from to deliver it's deadly payload more than 65 years ago and destroy the lives of millions of people.
It was late in the day on Saturday when Blaine and I made the drive up to Ogden-Hinkley to take January out for an evening flight. There were thunderstorms lurking to the North and our first intention was to fly up to Afton and eat at the famous "Red Baron Drive In" where the car hops still walk to your car, take your order on paper pads, and give you change from those totally cool silver change hoppers strapped to their waist. By far the best shakes you'll ever have in your life and if you sit outside, the waitresses will tell you all the latest gossip on Rulon Gardner, the gold medal winner in Greko Roman wrestling who just happens to be the unluckiest man alive. From getting stranded on his snow mobile and losing his toes to frostbite to being a passenger in a Cirrus that just happened to be flying so low over the water at Lake Powell in winter time that they clipped their wing and ended up in the lake nearly losing their lives to the cold waters. More about Afton and the Red Baron and Rulon in another story.
Being that there were thunderstorms lurking, and the fact that I had never been to Wendover Airfield, Blaine convinced me we should fly the corridor through three highly active MOAs (Military Operations Areas) and visit Wendover. After January lifted off, and we made our westerly turnout, we were cleared out of class D airspace and given Salt Lake Center for flight following. After changing frequencies, we got our new squawk code and began our ascent to 8,500 for the duration of the flight. It was late in the day and looking down the vast salt flats on one side of the airplane including many bombing pits, and the highly active fighter MOA on the other side, it was inspiring to see what so many people have never seen nor will they ever see. Little has changed in the desert since the 1940s training runs by the Enola Gay and other bombers of her day. We were looking out at history and she was staring right back up at us. We flew the corridor without incident and switched to CTAF calling our position and intentions to land on 26. When I saw the runway, I was immediately taken by her size. Very wide and very long. It reminded me of my training at Camarillo, Ca which was an Air force Base many years ago and it also a 26 with a very wide runway. After calling our intention to land, we were contacted by an operator who asked us if we needed a lift into the Casinos. We told her yes, our intentions were to eat and then fly back later that night. She told us to let her know when we were ready and they would send a courtesy shuttle to pick us up.
Approaching the Enola Gay runway coming out of 8,500 feet you don't really realize how long and wide the runway is until you land and then realize you have to taxi about four hours to reach the taxi way leading to the old tower where we would tie down for a few hours. My advice on landing at Wendover, shoot for the big #5 marker on the runway which let's you have a relatively shorter taxi. She's long, very long, so unless your a bomber, keep her in the air until you see the #5 marker.
As soon as we parked beneath the original tower and opened the canopy, I knew we were stepping back in time and about to experience something special and unique.
As we made our way down the old set of hangers, I was taken by how little had been done to restore them as most of the glass was broken and the doors looked inoperable.The part I liked the most was the fact that I was looking at the same glass, although broken, that the hundreds of flyboys did who had flown in and out of Wendover during World War II and decades of military operations up until the current day. I imagined looking out through one of the panes of glass as the Enola Gay was lifting off on the runway parallel to the hangers, or better yet, the Enola Gay flying directly at the hanger and then lifting off and flying overhead. History--emotions, visuals, stories. If only those panes of glass could talk.
When we arrived at the Enola Gay hanger, I was immediately struck by it's size. Ominous, impressive, and it sent chills up my spine. A section of the wall above the sliding doors had to be cut out to accommodate her towering vertical stabilizer. She was rusty and old, but filled with the spirits of airplanes now destroyed, restored, or hanging in the Smithsonian.
There was a porta-john company with a trailer full of toilets making its way along the hangers, dropping off a few toilets here and there in preparation for some event which we later found out would be an airborne division out of South Carolina of 80 jumpers descending out of the sky with their parachutes high above carrying them safely to the airfield where they would scramble to their assigned rally points and prepare for engagement exercises. It was while the porta-john company was setting up toilets near the edges of the Enola Gay hanger that Blaine and I approached the main doors which had been opened wide enough to allow us to narrowly step inside. As we did so, I felt the immediate rush of history flow through me. The hanger was ominous, and there were no lights on inside but the skylights above allowed for enough light for us to see that we were right smack dab in the middle of a staging area for military operations which we did not have permission to see. The hanger was filled with cargo containers marked with special packaging slips detailing the contents of each container. As we looked these packing slips over we realized there were computers, works stations, electronics, and probably highly classified contents in these containers that two civilian pilots should not be seeing. Now I'm certain there were no laws broken, we didn't actually see the contents of the locked containers, but the shear number of containers and the packing slips let us know that this was not the usual weekend warrior National Guard operations for a bunch of rookies.
At the far end of the hanger there were command tents set up for the operations. Both Blaine and I love our military brothers and sisters so anything that has to do with being close to these operations was appreciated and respected. We did check out the tents and as we were checking out one of the armored plated Humvees parked inside we heard the voice of a Sergeant in the Marines calling to us from the back of the hanger. We were asked immediately what our business was and how we got inside the hanger. We politely informed him we were two pilots, appreciating the history of the airfield and meant to harm by entering the "open" hanger doors. The young man was very polite, though stern, and he asked that we not touch anything as he was staging for the arrival of his buddies later the next day. We also learned after we spoke to him for more than 30 minutes that he had been in the service for nearly 8 years, served in Afghanistan, and most recently returned from Japan, but now they were preparing to return to Afghanistan in the next few months and so the deserts of Utah were the best training ground as it felt and looked the most like the Afghan deserts. We soon thanked him for his service and then began walking back toward the old tower.
Now, everyone since 9/11 realizes how tight security is these days around any airport security check. Sad are the days when you can't even carry enough shampoo in your checked baggage for two days worth of showers. Everyone that has been "blown" or "puffed" by one of those security screening Houdini boxes give me an 'Amen!' Needless to say, TSA employees long for the day when they can find that little old woman with a sleep apnea machine or the young mother who has to beg to bring baby formula in a bottle through security and some how find the link a terrorist cell in Honeyville, Utah and find themselves being interviewed on the five o'clock news. They all take their jobs so seriously and long for their fifteen minutes of fame. The sad thing about the entire TSA implementation and Homeland Security presence is that most of the employees wouldn't be able to hold down a full time job at McDonalds let alone be able to detect a fake drivers license or boarding pass. I believe most TSA workers are paid only pennies above minimum wage. Please, don't get me wrong--I'm not bashing the good people of the TSA, I'm only saying what millions of us observe on a daily basis and how utterly ridiculous some of things we have to do in order to travel. Thanks Bin Laden--mission accomplished.
The reason I even talk about the TSA is because we all know how crazy things are now in comparison to ten short years ago. So, as Blaine and I are walking back toward the terminal to get a shuttle to one of the all-you-can-eat buffets in town, a charter jet has landed and unloaded all of the senior citizen for their weekend end getaways. And suddenly, as we two pilots, with our plane on the ground behind us, are suddenly approached, quite aggressively I'll have to say, by two employees of the Charter Service or airport, I'm not exactly sure at this point what their shirts had stitched across their chest. The way they walked I felt like I was at a home coming game in high school and two big rednecks were coming at us because they didn't like our mascot and were ready to kill us because of it. Now, let me say this, Utah has the most recognized concealed weapons permit programs in the country and is recognized by 33 other states. Now Beavis and Butthead, our two aggressive "non-TSA" employees I should add, are coming at us like we're about to get our butts kicked. I, being a permit holder, was not carrying although I normally carry some form of determent in aircraft. Whether or not Blaine, also a permit holder, was carrying I didn't know. But we soon found ourselves standing toe to toe with Beavis and Butthead and them demanding to know what we were doing. I am so grateful that God gave man the ability to not react to his first thought or instinct. Because at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to pull a serious dance move on them that would have left them painfully writhing on the ground for hours to come. But, being that I don't know any serious dance moves, although growing up with Disco and 80's bands, I'm sure I could have surprised them long enough with some strange Saturday Night Fever "finger to the ground, one to the sky" move that would have confused them long enough to do a Karate Kid 'sweep the leg' move for us to get the upper hand. But, like I said, God blessed us with common sense, most of the time and this time, it did prevail.
"We're pilots." we calmly responded as we pointed to January parked not 100 yards away. "We just need to know how to get to the all-we-can-eat buffet." We replied. Which was the perfect thing to say whenever you talk to one of the natives. Speak their language and you'll be welcome in any country my grandmother used to say. And with these two fine employees, 'Buffet' was the language they could understand. They quickly called over the the local fire chief of the airport who had been watching us for quite some time and asked him to arrange a ride into the Rainbow Room for the 'best damned buffet' in Wendover. We were then told that we should never approach their charter plane ever again and that this entire area was under tight security. Blaine and I looked around at the vast desert that surrounded the airfield and how easy it would have been to access the field. The only fence was on the terminal side of the runway. Beavis and Butthead had obviously been drinking the koolaid for far too long. We smiled and walked away. Although it would have been fun to turn on some Donna Summer and get down with our homeland boys.
We walked back toward the tower and waited for our shuttle beside an airplane called the "Jail Bird" secured to the field with cables and ties. She was used in the movie "Con Air" and had been left there as a memorial. If you haven't seen the movie, it's worth seeing. And you'll get a small glimpse of Wendover airfield.
We flew back later that night, over the bombed out desert below, although we didn't see any of it as it was pitch black outside. When we touched down at Ogden-Hinkley we both felt full. Full of good food, full of history, and full of appreciation that we were born in an age, where, although security might be a hassle at the airports, we are allowed to climb into our own small airship, sail through the same airspace where some of the most historical aircraft in the history of mankind has sailed, and have the freedoms we enjoy in this great country. Thank you to the thousands of men and women who help protect our freedom to fly and be free. And thank you God for blessing this great land. May we always be worthy to possess it.
The "Enola Gay" is famous for being the B-29 bomber that carried "Little Boy" and "Fat Man" over Japan and dropping them on the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima killing millions of Japanese civilians and soldiers and crushing the Imperialists desires for world domination. In the West deserts of Utah sits a mighty airfield which still has many of hangers still standing from the WWII era including the actual hanger which housed the Enola Gay and where the atom bombs were fitted into her belly. In the 1940's, Wendover was constantly buzzing with bombing group training. The vast deserts and salt flats surrounding Wendover made this the perfect training grounds for bombing units because of its remote nature and high security requirements. In 2010, the runways that remain are much more silent with the occasional general aviation aircraft touching down and the once a day charter bringing gamblers in from Montana, Idaho, Arizona, and other nearby states for a three day stay at one of the six local casinos. Most are senior citizens looking to get away, have a Vegas style weekend, and eat until their stomachs hurt at the all-you-can-eat buffets. Most if not all these visitors have no idea their airplane just landed on the very same runway that the Enola Gay lifted off from to deliver it's deadly payload more than 65 years ago and destroy the lives of millions of people.
It was late in the day on Saturday when Blaine and I made the drive up to Ogden-Hinkley to take January out for an evening flight. There were thunderstorms lurking to the North and our first intention was to fly up to Afton and eat at the famous "Red Baron Drive In" where the car hops still walk to your car, take your order on paper pads, and give you change from those totally cool silver change hoppers strapped to their waist. By far the best shakes you'll ever have in your life and if you sit outside, the waitresses will tell you all the latest gossip on Rulon Gardner, the gold medal winner in Greko Roman wrestling who just happens to be the unluckiest man alive. From getting stranded on his snow mobile and losing his toes to frostbite to being a passenger in a Cirrus that just happened to be flying so low over the water at Lake Powell in winter time that they clipped their wing and ended up in the lake nearly losing their lives to the cold waters. More about Afton and the Red Baron and Rulon in another story.
Being that there were thunderstorms lurking, and the fact that I had never been to Wendover Airfield, Blaine convinced me we should fly the corridor through three highly active MOAs (Military Operations Areas) and visit Wendover. After January lifted off, and we made our westerly turnout, we were cleared out of class D airspace and given Salt Lake Center for flight following. After changing frequencies, we got our new squawk code and began our ascent to 8,500 for the duration of the flight. It was late in the day and looking down the vast salt flats on one side of the airplane including many bombing pits, and the highly active fighter MOA on the other side, it was inspiring to see what so many people have never seen nor will they ever see. Little has changed in the desert since the 1940s training runs by the Enola Gay and other bombers of her day. We were looking out at history and she was staring right back up at us. We flew the corridor without incident and switched to CTAF calling our position and intentions to land on 26. When I saw the runway, I was immediately taken by her size. Very wide and very long. It reminded me of my training at Camarillo, Ca which was an Air force Base many years ago and it also a 26 with a very wide runway. After calling our intention to land, we were contacted by an operator who asked us if we needed a lift into the Casinos. We told her yes, our intentions were to eat and then fly back later that night. She told us to let her know when we were ready and they would send a courtesy shuttle to pick us up.
Approaching the Enola Gay runway coming out of 8,500 feet you don't really realize how long and wide the runway is until you land and then realize you have to taxi about four hours to reach the taxi way leading to the old tower where we would tie down for a few hours. My advice on landing at Wendover, shoot for the big #5 marker on the runway which let's you have a relatively shorter taxi. She's long, very long, so unless your a bomber, keep her in the air until you see the #5 marker.
As soon as we parked beneath the original tower and opened the canopy, I knew we were stepping back in time and about to experience something special and unique.
As we made our way down the old set of hangers, I was taken by how little had been done to restore them as most of the glass was broken and the doors looked inoperable.The part I liked the most was the fact that I was looking at the same glass, although broken, that the hundreds of flyboys did who had flown in and out of Wendover during World War II and decades of military operations up until the current day. I imagined looking out through one of the panes of glass as the Enola Gay was lifting off on the runway parallel to the hangers, or better yet, the Enola Gay flying directly at the hanger and then lifting off and flying overhead. History--emotions, visuals, stories. If only those panes of glass could talk.
When we arrived at the Enola Gay hanger, I was immediately struck by it's size. Ominous, impressive, and it sent chills up my spine. A section of the wall above the sliding doors had to be cut out to accommodate her towering vertical stabilizer. She was rusty and old, but filled with the spirits of airplanes now destroyed, restored, or hanging in the Smithsonian.
There was a porta-john company with a trailer full of toilets making its way along the hangers, dropping off a few toilets here and there in preparation for some event which we later found out would be an airborne division out of South Carolina of 80 jumpers descending out of the sky with their parachutes high above carrying them safely to the airfield where they would scramble to their assigned rally points and prepare for engagement exercises. It was while the porta-john company was setting up toilets near the edges of the Enola Gay hanger that Blaine and I approached the main doors which had been opened wide enough to allow us to narrowly step inside. As we did so, I felt the immediate rush of history flow through me. The hanger was ominous, and there were no lights on inside but the skylights above allowed for enough light for us to see that we were right smack dab in the middle of a staging area for military operations which we did not have permission to see. The hanger was filled with cargo containers marked with special packaging slips detailing the contents of each container. As we looked these packing slips over we realized there were computers, works stations, electronics, and probably highly classified contents in these containers that two civilian pilots should not be seeing. Now I'm certain there were no laws broken, we didn't actually see the contents of the locked containers, but the shear number of containers and the packing slips let us know that this was not the usual weekend warrior National Guard operations for a bunch of rookies.
At the far end of the hanger there were command tents set up for the operations. Both Blaine and I love our military brothers and sisters so anything that has to do with being close to these operations was appreciated and respected. We did check out the tents and as we were checking out one of the armored plated Humvees parked inside we heard the voice of a Sergeant in the Marines calling to us from the back of the hanger. We were asked immediately what our business was and how we got inside the hanger. We politely informed him we were two pilots, appreciating the history of the airfield and meant to harm by entering the "open" hanger doors. The young man was very polite, though stern, and he asked that we not touch anything as he was staging for the arrival of his buddies later the next day. We also learned after we spoke to him for more than 30 minutes that he had been in the service for nearly 8 years, served in Afghanistan, and most recently returned from Japan, but now they were preparing to return to Afghanistan in the next few months and so the deserts of Utah were the best training ground as it felt and looked the most like the Afghan deserts. We soon thanked him for his service and then began walking back toward the old tower.
Now, everyone since 9/11 realizes how tight security is these days around any airport security check. Sad are the days when you can't even carry enough shampoo in your checked baggage for two days worth of showers. Everyone that has been "blown" or "puffed" by one of those security screening Houdini boxes give me an 'Amen!' Needless to say, TSA employees long for the day when they can find that little old woman with a sleep apnea machine or the young mother who has to beg to bring baby formula in a bottle through security and some how find the link a terrorist cell in Honeyville, Utah and find themselves being interviewed on the five o'clock news. They all take their jobs so seriously and long for their fifteen minutes of fame. The sad thing about the entire TSA implementation and Homeland Security presence is that most of the employees wouldn't be able to hold down a full time job at McDonalds let alone be able to detect a fake drivers license or boarding pass. I believe most TSA workers are paid only pennies above minimum wage. Please, don't get me wrong--I'm not bashing the good people of the TSA, I'm only saying what millions of us observe on a daily basis and how utterly ridiculous some of things we have to do in order to travel. Thanks Bin Laden--mission accomplished.
The reason I even talk about the TSA is because we all know how crazy things are now in comparison to ten short years ago. So, as Blaine and I are walking back toward the terminal to get a shuttle to one of the all-you-can-eat buffets in town, a charter jet has landed and unloaded all of the senior citizen for their weekend end getaways. And suddenly, as we two pilots, with our plane on the ground behind us, are suddenly approached, quite aggressively I'll have to say, by two employees of the Charter Service or airport, I'm not exactly sure at this point what their shirts had stitched across their chest. The way they walked I felt like I was at a home coming game in high school and two big rednecks were coming at us because they didn't like our mascot and were ready to kill us because of it. Now, let me say this, Utah has the most recognized concealed weapons permit programs in the country and is recognized by 33 other states. Now Beavis and Butthead, our two aggressive "non-TSA" employees I should add, are coming at us like we're about to get our butts kicked. I, being a permit holder, was not carrying although I normally carry some form of determent in aircraft. Whether or not Blaine, also a permit holder, was carrying I didn't know. But we soon found ourselves standing toe to toe with Beavis and Butthead and them demanding to know what we were doing. I am so grateful that God gave man the ability to not react to his first thought or instinct. Because at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to pull a serious dance move on them that would have left them painfully writhing on the ground for hours to come. But, being that I don't know any serious dance moves, although growing up with Disco and 80's bands, I'm sure I could have surprised them long enough with some strange Saturday Night Fever "finger to the ground, one to the sky" move that would have confused them long enough to do a Karate Kid 'sweep the leg' move for us to get the upper hand. But, like I said, God blessed us with common sense, most of the time and this time, it did prevail.
"We're pilots." we calmly responded as we pointed to January parked not 100 yards away. "We just need to know how to get to the all-we-can-eat buffet." We replied. Which was the perfect thing to say whenever you talk to one of the natives. Speak their language and you'll be welcome in any country my grandmother used to say. And with these two fine employees, 'Buffet' was the language they could understand. They quickly called over the the local fire chief of the airport who had been watching us for quite some time and asked him to arrange a ride into the Rainbow Room for the 'best damned buffet' in Wendover. We were then told that we should never approach their charter plane ever again and that this entire area was under tight security. Blaine and I looked around at the vast desert that surrounded the airfield and how easy it would have been to access the field. The only fence was on the terminal side of the runway. Beavis and Butthead had obviously been drinking the koolaid for far too long. We smiled and walked away. Although it would have been fun to turn on some Donna Summer and get down with our homeland boys.
We walked back toward the tower and waited for our shuttle beside an airplane called the "Jail Bird" secured to the field with cables and ties. She was used in the movie "Con Air" and had been left there as a memorial. If you haven't seen the movie, it's worth seeing. And you'll get a small glimpse of Wendover airfield.
We flew back later that night, over the bombed out desert below, although we didn't see any of it as it was pitch black outside. When we touched down at Ogden-Hinkley we both felt full. Full of good food, full of history, and full of appreciation that we were born in an age, where, although security might be a hassle at the airports, we are allowed to climb into our own small airship, sail through the same airspace where some of the most historical aircraft in the history of mankind has sailed, and have the freedoms we enjoy in this great country. Thank you to the thousands of men and women who help protect our freedom to fly and be free. And thank you God for blessing this great land. May we always be worthy to possess it.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Two Refrigerators and Bombs Away Over Barstow
After purchasing the refrigerators, I made a trip to Home Depot and bought a nice sturdy set of tie down straps, the kind with the ratcheting handle so there was no way those refrigerators were going to work their way loose in the air. The last thing I needed was one or both of them falling off. So when I got the airport I carried them out to the airplane and began the task of mounting them to the underside of each wing. "January" has a tie down o-hook under each wing just past the outer line where the flaps were and were solidly mounted. Knowing these o-hooks were used to tie down the plane in order to keep it secured in case wind decided to lift the plane off the ground I was certain they were strong enough to hold a couple of small refrigerators weighing less than thirty pounds each. Also, for those pilots out there worried about weight, I had done a weight and balance calculation and as long as I kept the center-line right where the pilot and passenger sat, there shouldn't be a problem because a typical man weighs around 190 pounds. I was confident and knew things would work out.
After run-up was complete I switched to tower and made the call. "El Monte tower, November 4811 echo run-up complete, holding short of 16 for right turnout and North departure. I was told to hold short as a Cessna was on final and so I waited, checked my instruments, and listened for my clearance. There was another bird turning base so I thought I'd be there for a minute or two more but the tower called and cleared me for immediate takeoff. So I released my feet off the brakes, and rolled into position. I slowly firewalled the throttle and we were on the roll. While I was picking up speed I realized by airspeed indicator was not working. The EFIS and GPS was showing my speed so I continued on. I was full of fuel, and with the added weight of the refrigerators I knew she'd feel heavy on takeoff--but being that I was at sea level I knew I'd have no problem climbing out. After reaching 80 knots I eased the stick back and "January" lifted off slowly. I was airborn and the controls felt good. My climb rate was terrible and my speed never reached more than 95 knots. The added drag from pushing all that air with the refrigerators was probably what was keeping my airspeed so slow. But, I was able to climb about 400 feet per minute so I turned right, then right again and headed North.
The first mountain I needed to pass over was less than five miles away and with my climb rate suffering I was barely going to clear the mountain at best angle of attack. Slow and steady she continued to climb, I kept her going, hoping that reaching our cruising altitude at 11,500 would help us pick up speed and keep us on track for arriving in Utah within our allotted time. While continuing to climb I requested flight following and before I knew it I was passing over the first mountain ridge with about a thousand feet to spare. My next concern was now less than five miles ahead in the form of yet another range of mountains that was at least seven thousand feet in altitude. The ridge-line was locked into position on my canopy and I knew there was no way I was going to clear it at the rate I was climbing. Instead of things getting better as we gained altitude, it became clear that things were getting worse. I was praying for two hundred feet of climb per minute and airspeed was at a lousy 80 IAS.
In order to make the ridge with enough altitude for safety, I started making wide S-turns to give me more climb time before crossing over. I began to regret strapping those refrigerators under each wing as I looked at my estimated time of arrival into Ogden-Hinkley airport in Utah. I was now sitting on almost five full hours. That worried me because I had full confidence I could fly four and half hours with the fuel on board. But with this slow speed, the drag, and poor rate of climb, I realized I'd be making a landing somewhere along the way to refuel the airplane. As I continued to watch my gauges I noticed my oil temperature was higher than normal, she was not in the red, but it was still high. I twisted mixture to give her some cooling fuel but that didn't seem to help much. Finally I crested over the ridge and could see Barstow in the distance. I had made it to about nine thousand feet at this time and figured I'd just continue my slow climb. It was painful, and I quickly realized that I did not want to fly under these conditions all the way back home.
Fortunately, I had made a plan in the event the refrigerators caused a problem in flight. I am sure there are plenty of stories of Alaskan pilots strapping on some gigantic beast to the underside and then after lifting off realizing the plane was uncontrollable and ended up crashing and killing themselves. I was not going to be another story or statistic and so I devised a backup plan. I was over Barstow when I decided I had had enough and those awesome refrigerators would have to go. In my genius of the day I had rigged small nylon lines that extended from the quick release tie down strap handle which held the refrigerators in place, up and over the leading edge of the wing, toward the cockpit, under the canopy lip and then secured inside the cockpit where I could, with a quick pull, release the tie down strap and therefore completely release the refrigerators. And so, having made the decision to drop my cargo, I reached out and grabbed hold of both release cords and gave them a firm, aggressive YANK! The release mechanism worked perfectly as the tie down strap handle released and everything, including the straps and the cords fell from under the airplane. I almost lost a finger as the cords zipped out of my hands, out the lip of the canopy and downward with the falling refrigerator.
Immediately, "January" burst to life, her climb rate jumped to a thousand feet per minute and her airspeed was rushing toward 140 at a brisk pace. I let out a cheer in the cockpit knowing "January" was back to her old self. I looked downward to see two stainless steel mini refrigerators falling gracefully toward earth, a yellow tail streaming upward. I was sad to see them falling to their eminent death and i pictured migrant workers and their families working the fields below with one of the children seeing the falling refrigerators and pointing up at the sky so that all were looking skyward when they finally hit ground. I knew the refrigerators would be completely destroyed but I had to smile as I prayed that perhaps the four cases of Diet Mountain Dew inside those refrigerators would somehow survive and there would be a celebration on the ground complete with Mariachi music.
What I learned on this flight: Just because there's a killer sale on refrigerators and Diet Mountain Dew, don't feel like you have to bring them home. "Viva La Mountain Dew" Oh, and one more thing, "January" has an amazing 40 degrees of flaps, make sure she doesn't have them extended before takeoff.
TTSF: 162.3
Monday, June 28, 2010
Gail and Mike and their New Carbon Cub!
Gail and Mike stooped in for the night at Ogden-Hinkley after picking up their brand new LSA carbon cub in Oregon that day with a glass panel and big bad tundra tires! On their way home to St Louis on Monday -- hey mike don't forget about the go around option ;)
Flight Following, F16s, MOAs, and surviving special VFR into Santa Monica Airport
It was a picture perfect morning when I arrived at the hanger to take "January" for a flight from Ogden-Hinkley airport to Santa Monica California. The AOPA flight planner estimated my time en route to be about 3 hours and 40 minutes. The sky was blue, the wind asleep in the valleys, and the only activity at the airport was Mike and Gail who had come back from a night at the Marriott to continue flying their new LSA Carbon Cub over the Rockies toward Cheyenne and then eventually on to St. Louis which was their home base. I quickly rode my bike over to say hello again after seeing them the night before and taking their picture. I had forgotten to get their names so I quickly got a picture taken in front of their plane and bid them Godspeed and safety.
"January" was topped off to the lip and ready to fly so I packed in my luggage, double checked my charts, and opened my flight plan. At 0900 hours we lifted off from runway 16 and began our journey to Southern California.
I learned to fly in Southern California, Camarillo KCMA being my home base, where the weather almost always smooth, although we had some pretty mean cross winds on days, and your flying days are jam-packed with talking to ground, the tower, flight following, and always keeping your head on a swivel. If flying in SoCal were a genre of movie it would definitely be an action movie--never a dull moment. Returning back to Class Delta, Class Charley and Class Bravo airspace was not intimidating to me at all because of the many hours I spent in training with my drill-sergeant-blonde-firecracker-instructor named Brooke that never let me relax and taught me how to truly multi-task. I was really looking forward to flying back "Home" and reconnecting with my "childhood" airspace.
If you remember anything about this posting, remember this one thing: having the good men and women who manage flight following keep track of your little airplane as you navigate in 3d space and can save your life--but only if you let them. They are there to help you--no question is too stupid to ask and no, you are not expected to know everything about every MOA and airspace issue along your route. Sure the FAA says you must be aware and educate yourself fully, it's simply impossible to know everything. Flight following personnel are like professional coaches, poised and ready to tweak your game and make you perform at a much higher level then you'd ever perform on your own.
Flight Following Rescue #1:
Not 30 minutes into the flight, I was told I needed to avoid an MOA around the Tooele area where some serious maneuvers were being worked on by our good brothers and sisters in the Air Force. I was politely asked my intended route and then told there were some serious operations going on along my path. I hesitated, thought about being proud and not asking for advice, then shook off the thought and asked if I'd be safer taking a more due south heading. I was told that a nice 180 heading would keep me much safer. I complied and survived.
Flight Following Rescue #2:
45 Minutes into the journey flight following advised me of a VFR aircraft at my 10 o'clock less than 200 feet below my altitude. I looked, turned, looked more, no joy. I called no contact and was given another position report. Still, no aircraft was in sight. Obviously my fellow aviator who was headed directly at me was not in contact with flight following. Flight following instructed me to immediately climb at best angle and I responded with a quick pull of the stick into my stomach. Five seconds into the climb and I caught site of a twin Cessna at my 9 o'clock climbing right into my under belly. I called joy, continued my climb and watched the twin pass under me no more than hundred feet below. I complied and survived.
Flight Following Rescue #3:
Flying in Western Utah without a GPS with full MOA charting is a recipe for suddenly finding the "Ninja Strikeforce" flight of 4 suddenly at your 12, 3, 6 and 9 positions ready to dispose of you and give you a reason to need a restroom break. Fortunately, while listening to flight following giving position reports to "Ninja Strikeforce" I was able to stay clear of the very active MOA. Secretly, as I'm sure any pilot would confess, I wanted desperately to see those fighter jets tearing up the skies and the ground from my vantage point of 10,500 feet. For a moment, a brief moment, I thought my dreams were about to come true as flight following called 4811E and informed me that "Ninja Strikeforce" was headed my way off my 3 o'clock and closing fast climbing through my altitude. I quickly flipped on the video camera mounted to the canopy and turned it toward my right wing. I returned the call, reported I was looking for the traffic. For several seconds I prayed those bad boys would come screaming by on their way to the heavens. But a moment later, flight following called me and reported that "Ninja Strikeforce" had me in sight and that I was "no factor." Which being interpreted is, they saw me and were now far beyond my range. Oh, well--at least I know they saw me and that I was "no factor." I'll have to think about what that means to my psychological self esteem. I should be happy that I was not "a factor."
Flight Following Rescue #4:
After three hours of flight I was thirty to forty minutes from Santa Monica and I had learned a lot about a lot of things. Is it bad to use the words "a lot" a lot of times in a blog or is there a limit to the "a lot" usage? A lot of you are saying "I really don't care!" So now that I had reached my childhood piloting playground I was confident that the remainder of the flight would go off without a hitch. Any time a pilot uses the word "confident" be very very afraid. I decided to call into the Santa Monica ATIS to check the weather and to my chagrin the marine layer was moving inland and they were reporting a special VFR condition with a 600 foot ceiling which was plenty of head room for landing at Santa Monica but most likely deteriorating rather than getting any better. I was worried. Because the marine layer will sometimes move in so quickly you suddenly find yourself trapped in the soup. I hadn't decided up to this point where I would divert if Santa Monica was not available for a landing. I knew Van Nuys would be safe from the marine layer so mentally I prepared for that option. As I reached the LA basin I could see the dispersed cloud layer below and knew things were going to be sketchy going in. Flight following had me descend and asked to make sure I was in VFR conditions. The closer I got to Santa Monica the worse the visibility got. I switched over to the tower and two miles out they reported that ceiling had dropped below 300 feet and things did not look good. The asked if I was instrument rated and I replied in the negative. I asked if they recommended I do a left 180 and return the way I came in. After a few seconds, now less than a mile and half from the runway, which I could not see, they answered in the affirmative. I did an immediate 180 and was now at less than 500 feet AGL. I climbed to just beneath the ceiling which was not much higher and was told to contact Los Angeles Approach immediately. I returned to LAC and called in, telling the kind woman my situation. For the next ten minutes, she became by best friend. She asked me about conditions, my fuel on board, was I comfortable flying vectors, my intended airport once I made it out of the soup which lurked above me. She asked if I could see any blue sky above and if I could get on top of the layer. Just over the Hollywood sign I saw a nice little patch of blue and let her know I was going to be shooting through. As I pulled January's nose upward, we soon found ourselves in very mixed conditions. One moment there was blue sky, the next there was soup. On again, off again--thank goodness the new EFIS we had installed in January a month ago was bright and true. When we finally broke through and was completely clear of clouds my new best friend asked how things were going and I reported we were clear and on top. Unknown to me, while I was flying January, she was finding a suitable airport for me to land at that point she told me she was going provide vectors to El Monte airport and asked if I was familiar with El Monte. I told her negative, although later I realized I had flown into El Monte to meet someone I was considering doing a partnership on. My best friend then gave me vectors toward the airport. I complied, entered El Monte as direct on my GPS and continued flying eastbound and down. There was cloud cover almost the entire way and even a quarter mile out I could not see the airport below. "I'm staying with you all the way in" my female friend told me. I kept looking, knowing I was close. "Look over your left wing, you should be able to see the airport" she told me. And sure enough, as soon as I looked, there she was--runway 19 painted all nice and pretty on the threshold. And that was it, she told me to contact the tower and that they were expecting me and already cleared for landing. I thanked her, but not as much as I'd like to have, I still had a plane to land and so I said "good day and thank you" and then she was gone. I switched to the tower frequency, made a long downwind for setup on the approach and to knock off airspeed and then greased the landing. 4.1 hours of flight that day. I complied and survived.
Thank you to all the good women and men who watch over the airspace of this great land we call America and thank you for keeping us safe. God Bless America!
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