Another chapter of flying the long
cross country in a light aircraft
Sitting
sipping my yerba matte tea I see the light rain washing the road dust
off my vehicle in the parking lot outside this roadside hostel. The
leaves of the maple outside my window rustle gently, but by looking
up I can see that the trees on the hill above the road are swaying to
much more than a gentle breeze. By my estimate it is blowing 20 knots
or better at hilltop height, and probably much harder than that if
you climb to the mountain top that frames this verdant valley. Oh,
and it's cool, near 50°F
here at 1500 MSL. I don't need the weather channel talking-head to
tell me it's close to freezing level at the top of some of those
4,000 MSL mountains this morning.
These are the days
I am more than happy to sit out flying. Why? Simple. My airplane, a
light, single-engine, piston-powered four-place machine, is not
outfitted for this weather. Sure, I can fly it in the clouds if I
want to—both the airplane and the pilots are qualified and equipped
for flying on instruments (IFR). Ice, however, we don't do. The
airplane is simply not equipped to deal with an inflight icing
encounter. We've got pitot heat, and that's about it.
Days like today,
when a slow-moving occluded front is dumping more rain than anyone
has seen in decades on the northeast, and a bubble of chilly artic
air is pushing in over the top and behind this mess, well, aircraft
equipped as ours is are best left tied down tight or tucked in
hangars.
The good news is
that we planned for this. Anytime we take a long cross country
excursion in our airplane we make sure to pad each stop along the way
with potential bad weather days. We pick airports that won't box us
in too much (that is, won't force us to wait for a perfectly sunny
CAVU day for a safe exit); and we pick fuel stops and destinations
where there are both fair weather and foul weather activities to keep
us busy. That way we take all gotta-go and get-there-itis pressure
off we pilots.
The result of this
wise planning is that I've discovered wifi in the tininest libraries,
in the tiniest towns in the USA. Cosy coffee shops are my
friends...as are art galleries, museums, and even this efficiency by
the side of the road meets muster for rainy day activity (well
stocked with DVDs, give-a-book / take-a-book library, elliptical
treadmill and satellite TV).
I've learned that
just about every FBO can get you a rental vehicle or loan you a crew
car to get into town. And where there are no spare vehicles I've been
chauffered by line crew and even an FBO manager or two. Airport folk
(and hotel folk, too) are great about recommending a good spot for
chow and negotiating preferred hotel rates for the night. There have
even been a stop or two where people have taken us into their homes,
feeding us and providing us respite from the storm. That's inspired
me to return the favor more than once. It is all part of a sort of
pay-it-forward attitude in aviation that never ceases to amaze and
inspire me.
By creating our
trips with routing over many possible stop off points, and by
building time-padding into each long leg; and by knowing ahead of
time that we'll find good folk to help us along the way, we can rest
easy as the storms pass over us. To me there is nothing so soothing
as watching weather I'd rather not fly in from the ground. It is
infinitely better than experiencing that heart-wrenching moment where
your realize you'd rather be on the ground than in the air; trust me.
And when the storm
clears? Expect glorious skies and some sweet performance out of your
light bird from this spot to the next. I've managed to hopscotch from
the Atlantic to the Pacific oceans and back again without missing a
date or a deadline using this kind of long distance flight planning.
The best benefit of all from our flight plans? If the winds and
weather always blow in your favor you are left with extra vacation
days at some of your favorite spots. And who is ever not in favor of
a little more fun?