The Weekend that Almost Wasn't--Part I

This is going to be a two part post, because I just got back and don't really feel like writing about the whole thing right now. I will explain the title, however.

I took 9'er-7 Charlie to Flightstar to have the little engine malady that sprung up on my trip down to Atlanta checked out. Turns out it was just a bum spark plug. The mechanic I talked to said they ran it up and everything worked fine after they put the new plug in. This was great news. I was going to get off with a very small repair bill and the plane would be good to go Friday night. I was starting to get excited about the weekend's prospects. Laurie and I decided to celebrate 97 Charlie's return to flight status with a trip down to Kentucky.

Everything seemed to be in our favor. The weather was shaping up to be fantastic and Laurie said she would hit town by 5, meaning we could conceivably be in Kentucky by 7:30 Friday night. After work Friday, I filed the flight plan, ran home and packed, Laurie showed up at 5 and we we're off to the airport. I was looking forward to a gorgeous twilight flight full of golden hues and smooth air.

I'd been out to the airport the night before to square up with Flightstar on the repair bill and fuel the plane up so all we'd have to do is load 'er up and fly. A little story detour here to give props to Matt the line guy at Flightstar. When I got into the hangar Thursday night I noticed the main latch chain was broke. This latch is located near the top of the hangar door and you need the chain to release it. With the chain broke and me unable to reach what little of it was left without a ladder (which I don't have), I had no way of opening the hangar. Matt, seeing my predicament, took it on himself to run back to the line shack, get a ladder and tie some new rope on for me. I tried to tip him, but he'd have nothing of it. Just happy to help I guess. Anyway, you'll never meet him, but next time you're out, raise a glass to Matt the line guy.

Back to our story--so, it's Friday, Laurie and I get to the hangar a little before 6. We load up the bags and beer, and I preflighted the plane. The beer, incidentally, was for the Big Guy who was stranded in a dry county down in Kentucky and called me Thursday night desperate for Rolling Rock Green Light. You could say we were on a humanitarian mission of sorts. After all, frosty mugs in the freezer and no beer in the fridge is one of life's crueler ironies.

To this point, we were running like a well oiled machine. Laurie has become very good at assisting me in loading the plane and helping me preflight, so we were belted in and ready to fly in about 15 minutes. My tail was waggin'. I got situated, arranged the charts, put on the headphones, primed the engine and reached for the master power switch, which to my horror was already on. The party bus came to a screeching halt. No, it went careening off the cliff. I could not believe it. The guys from Flightstar had forgot to turn off the master switch when they were done testing the plane Thursday. For you non-pilots out there, this is about as rookie a maneuver as they come. My battery was as dead as a door nail.

After a profanity-laced exclamation, Laurie and I got out of the plane and I called Flightstar. Saint Matt answered the call. We tried jumping it, and were able to get the engine started, but I had no electrical whatsoever. The alternator, which requires some battery power to start generating current, was doing nothing. I shut down the engine again, swore some more, then called Matt again. I explained the situation and he said he'd contact the on-call mechanic and see what they could do.

At this point I decided to scratch the flight. It was getting dark and the forecast down by mom and dad called for significantly reduced visibilities after dark. Even if it'd been forecast to be perfect, by now I was in no condition emotionally or psychologically to be operating an airplane. I don't think livid quite covers it. While I fumed and phoned mom and dad to break the bad news, Laurie, all too aware of how pissed I was, did what she could to ease my troubles by quietly unpacking the plane and putting everything back in the car. Man, I love her.

We drove back to the Flightstar offices where Matt was waiting for us. He had called the on-call mechanic who wanted to talk to me about the situation. I told him the situation was they had left my master switch on and that my battery was dead. I further "explained" that the alternator was dead and that I had no electrical even with the engine running. The mechanic said it was likely the battery had been completely depleted and that it didn't even have enough of a residual charge to power the alternator field. To his credit he offered to come in and check it out so we could still make it down to Kentucky that night. I told him I'd already decided to scratch the flight and that it'd by fine if he could look at it Saturday morning.

Laurie and I decided to head into town, get some dinner and then turn in. If they could sort out the battery problem Saturday morning before noon, we'd try to make it down to Kentucky again. About 9 or so Saturday morning I got a call from the mechanic saying he had "good news and bad news". "Give me the bad news," I sighed. He went on to say that my original battery was completely kaput. It wouldn't even take a charge. The good news was they had a spare that they could replace it with. What was conspicuously missing from the "good news" was that they would be picking up the tab for this little fiasco. There wasn't any admission of fault.

After waiting a few moments and realizing no mea culpa was forthcoming, I decided to get direct. "So, I'm not getting charged for this right?". Brief, but pregnant, silence then, "We'll make it right." Not really wishing to waste any more time to try and divine what "We'll make it right." meant I decided to get flying instead. Once again we loaded up and this time we really did fly.

I have a sick feeling that the mechanics are going to deny they left the master on. In which case they're going to not only get me for the spark plug repair, but a battery installation, too. I've been going round and round about how I'm going to fight this if they do. Or, if I'll even fight it. It won't be the first time a pilot was financially raped by an FBO. Maybe I'll just grab my ankles and join the ranks of silent victims.

Still, if they deny negligence on their part, I might just tell them, "Well, since I didn't leave the master on and you didn't leave the master on, I suggest you find out who did and send them the bill." Like Castanza rehearsing his comebacks, I've played this conversation out in my head more than once this weekend. We'll see.

The next post will be more sweetness and light--and maybe a picture or two. We did have a good time, once we got through the airplane travails. Later . . .