Bye Bye Charlie, Bye Bye.

It was with mixed emotions that I handed the keys to N6897C over to its new owner. On the one hand I was happy to have her out of the hangar so we could make room for the new plane. On the other, she was my first plane. I guess like any "first" anything, Niner Seven Charlie will lay permanent claim to a little real estate in my chest.

That said, the farewell flight to the buyer was a good one. I filed for 5000 which put me right at the same altitude as the puffy cumulus that had set sail over central Illinois and Indiana. Zipping along at a not-too-shabby ground speed of 140 kts, I had a ball punching in and out of the clouds. The sensation of speed was exhilihrating. I tried to capture some footage with my little digital camera, but it didn't turn out quite as well as I'd hoped. If you want to see these .mov files anyway, just drop me a line and I'll e-mail them to you.

One Born Every Minute

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in. I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."

"Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"

"I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."

Such is the Judgement Day conversation that Jesus describes in the gospel of Matthew that will take place between God and those that were obedient to him. It is these words that I often have to struggle with when I'm face to face with someone looking for a handout that makes my "sucker meter" start to twitch. I hate being taken for a sucker as much as the next guy, but the unfortunate fact is lots of genuinely needy people end up going without because nobody likes being taken for a sucker.

Tonight I was once again presented with this dilemna in the form of skinny kid with gang tats and a big grin schlepping magazine subscriptions so he could win a trip. As most of these guys are, he was a fast talker. Before I knew it he'd shoved a plastic covered list of magazine subscriptions in my hands and was in full sales barrage. My initial reaction was to give a terse "No thanks.", toss the subscription list to him and close the door. But before I could, this very difficult passage of scripture popped into my head.

I know I don't talk about my faith a whole lot on here. For one I know I am often a terrible representative of it. But tonight I'm going to ask your indulgence because, as reprobate as I can be sometimes, Christ really is the pattern of who I desire to be. And when that desire collides with my more natural tendencies I have to try and sort it out. And from now on, you may see me sorting it out here. So without any further uncomfortable background, I continue the story.

As I'm standing there listening to Jay I start thinking about all the doors he's had slammed in his face. I think about all the other ways Jay could be making an easy buck tonight, but instead he's taking a stab at something remotely legit. I think about how hard it's got to be to have few other career options open to you at the age of 21 but this. I finally agree to a year's worth of Flying Magazine. This is where it gets even tougher.

Up till now this has all transpired with me standing in my doorway, hand on door with Jay standing in the hall. To get my checkbook I'll have to go back inside to get it. I'm faced with closing the door and making Jay sit on the steps in the hall or inviting him to wait inside. I think about my wife in the next room. About all the horror stories of guys charming their way into people's homes and then stabbing them for what they can steal from a costume jewelry box. Only problem is "I was a stranger and you invited me in" is reverberating in my cranium like a pipe organ in a cathedral. Do I be the "sucker" or do I do the "smart" thing and make him chill on the steps while I look for the check? Then I'm reminded that, technically, Christ was the biggest sucker of them all. He fed people, healed people and turned water into wine and mankind expressed its gratitude by nailing him to a cross.

That's what it comes down to I guess. If you're going to claim to be a follower of Christ, sometimes you have to be willing to play the patsy. Not that Christ ever intended us to be blindly trusting ("Be as shrewd as snakes and innocent as doves." Matt 10:16), just to give sacrificially. Especially if it means sacrificing your ego. I invited Jay in and he somewhat nervously asked if he could sit on our footstool. "Sure." I went and got the checkbook, paid him and sent him on his way. He thanked me profusely and took his show to the neighbors across the hall.

A few minutes later I decided to see what I could find online about the company indicated on the receipt--the Sunshine Subscription Agency. If you just Googled it, you know what I now know. There are all kinds of complaints against it. It's a legit company in the sense that they have an actual physical location and aren't selling drugs. It's just that, as Johnny Caspar in Miller's Crossing puts it, they're "a horse of a different color, ethics wise." Most of the bad things I read about involved how they take advantage of disadvantaged youth like Jay.

Did I get taken? In all likelihood, but it won't have been from Jay if what I read was correct. Then again enough people must get their subscriptions if SSA is still in business. We'll see. Now I have to decide if I should cancel the check or hope that, of the many tainted transactions SSA makes, this one actually goes through and Jay gets his commission.

Best Fortune Cookie Fortune Ever

"Ignore previous cookie."

--received 6-26-06 from Super Wok

The Berries

I mark the passage of time now by how long it's been between posts. Not much has really happened since the last one which is why it's taken this long. I only post now to break the dry spell. Speaking of dry, I went to pick strawberries Saturday and the earth was parched. Time's been flying by so fast, it really hasn't occured to me that it's been a while since we've had a really good rain. Despite the heat and dust however berry picking proved to be much more fun than I would've thought.

We went to Pontious Berry and Herb Farm in White Heath. As the name implies berries aren't the only thing going at Pontious. In addition to a great herb garden they offer tomatoes, onions and sweet corn in season. The vegetables, berries and herbs are grown without the aid of pesticides but, as their website says, they are not a certified organic farm. They just try to adhere to organic growning methods. It's all u-pick and payment is on the honor system. You weigh your harvest yourself, write down how much picked and the price, and then drop the money in a wooden lock box. If you have to make change, there's a box for that too. It's all very granola.

The strawberries we picked were pretty puny due to the lack of water. Apparently their irrigation system went down right about the time the drought started. None the less, these were some of the sweetest tasting strawberries I've ever had. They tasted exactly like you imagine the flavor when someone says the word "strawberry". The lady running the place said pickins were slim as this was the end of the season but between Laurie and I we managed to pick about 3 lbs. Enough for one incredible strawberry pie with some berries left over for eating with ice cream.

We also harvested some of their basil and cilantro. We made pesto out of the basil last night. I've never eaten it fresh like that. It's nothing but fresh for this paisan from now on. After we got back from produce picking I changed the oil and filter on the motorcycle. The bike really did need the oil change. I wasn't just trying to assert manhood after berry picking. Besides when a man berry picks or harvest herbs it's called "foraging".

After dinner last night, we watched Born Into Brothels. This is a very difficult film to watch. For one its an unflinching look at one of the worst possible existences this planet has to offer. It also makes you feel like a total ass for complaining about perceived injustices like someone taking your parking spot or cold Big Macs. That said, it also showed that even in the darkest corners of the world, no matter how bitter their circumstances, kids still dream. That the value of a child's life trancends its "quality".

Finally, if any of you know someone who is looking for a nice, used airplane with a slightly hightime engine, but that's excpetionally clean, send them here. So far I've only received a couple of nibbles. It will be going up on Ebay this week as well. Kool Mo P wanted some info on the new plane, which I will offer when I take delivery of it on July 12. That should be quite an adventure. I will be flying up to Duluth to pick it up and receive three days transition training. Expect a detailed account along with pics here.

Hoosier Air

I am truly a blessed man. Not only do I have an airplane, but I have a wife that actually likes flying in it so much, that she is sometimes more eager to go for a flight than I am. Such was the case yesterday. As a few of you know we're selling the plane to make hangar space for a new one--a whole other story. She suggested we use the stellar weather to take 6897 Charlie on a tour of Indiana and post sales flyers at various airports. Believe it or not, I was actually a little reluctant because we'd just spent a couple of hours last weekend washing it should a couple of prospective buyers drop by for a closer look. But she REALLY wanted to go flying and a voice in my head finally piped up and yelled, "Hey moron! Do you know how many pilots would kill for a wife that begs them to fly?" So to honor my wife's wishes and out of respect for my fellow aviators in less ideal marital circumstances, I planned the flight.

Leg 1: KCMI (Champaign, IL) to KLAF (Lafeyette, IN)

KLAF's proper name is Purdue University Airport. It's right on the edge of campus. And I mean right on the edge. When you depart runway 5 you're just a few hundred feet above the quad. We departed Champaign about noon. Cleared on course, I elected to fly this leg at 3,500 feet. There was a little bit of an overcast plus I just like flying a little lower once in a while. You can see more details on the ground. As we bounced along in the light chop we scoped out cool little farm spreads, small town "rush hours", cow "ants" and all manner of springtime flora and fauna. Dialing in the ATIS (Air Terminal Information Service) for KLAF I caught a strange comment at the end of the weather recording "(something) activity around the airport, all quadrants." On the second time around the loop I made it out--"caution BIRD activity around the airport, all quadrants."

What kind of bird activity could possibly merit a mention in the weather recording? As we got closer I kept my eyes peeled, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It wasn't until I was on about 3 mile final for rwy 5 that I saw what they must have been talking about. Flying in the same direction, about 50 feet below and to the right of my flight path, was one of the biggest hawks I've ever seen. It reminded me of a time in California when I was flying along in an even smaller Cessna 150 and got an uncomfortably close look at a couple of vultures that happened to be circling at my altitude. I think it would've been a toss up in that case as to who would've still been flying if we'd hit. Considering the size of the tiny Cessna and the enormity of the birds, odds on the vultures wouldn't have been long. Thankfully, this encounter was nowhere near that close.

Things weren't very busy at KLAF either. When we landed only one plane was taxiing out to do a little pattern work. None the less, the fine folks at Lafeyette Aviation rolled out the red carpet for us. Two line guys came bounding out of the office to direct me to a parking spot right by the front door, chocked the wheels and asked us if we needed anything. Since we weren't buying any fuel, I had to pay a ramp fee of $8. Believe it or not, this really didn't bother me. Places like Lafeyette have limited ramp space and they have to pay the bills with fuel sales. It seems more than fair to me to pony up a little something if I'm going to be taking up space and not buying anything. Even if it's just for the 5 minutes it took us to use the john and hang up our flyer. What annoys me is when I hear some fat cat flying a half-a-million dollar twin that guzzles hundreds of gallons a flight bitching about ramp fees. As one of my old instructors used to say, "If the cost of flying bugs you, you probably shouldn't be flying."

After a quick potty break and posting our flyer on the lobby bulletin board we boarded the plane for our next sales call--KEYE: Eagle Creek Airport just north of Indianapolis International.

Leg 2: KLAF (Lafeyette, IN) to KEYE (Indianapolis, IN)

Indianapolis International is surrounded by about 4 or 5 sattelite airports that are all within about 20 nm of it. One of these, Eagle Creek, is right next to a dammed up lake on the NW side. The reason I decided to make it a part of the itenerary, despite the fact the local FBO also sold aircraft and probably wouldn't let me post my flyer, was because of a nearby restaraunt that received favorable pilot reviews on airnav.com. A little place called Rick's Boatyard. All the reviews talked about an outdoor patio with a fantastic view of the adjacent lake. I figured even if we didn't get anything to eat it would be worth checking out for future hundred-dollar hamburger trips.

As we approached KEYE from the northwest I caught sight of the lake about 15 miles out. The traffic pattern entry for the active runway took us right down the middle of the lake. Below us we saw all kinds of sailboats and pontoons plying the waters, and right there on the southeast corner of the lake Rick's Boathouse restaraunt that looked like it would be right at home in Miami. As we were to find out later, so did the owners. All the apparel they sold in their gift shop used the same font and colors as the Miami Vice logo. Cheesy? Supremely, but in a sort of tongue-in-cheek way. Then again, maybe Indy is like Baratslava--"Miami Vice. #1 new show!" Rick's was right across the road from the airport. Not even a 100 yard walk. It was just as reviewed. We found a spot on the lake side of the enormous patio overlooking the boat slips. In the middle of the patio was a good sized cabana bar that had all kinds of tasty looking libations on tap, but as pilot in command, I wouldn't be able to avail myself this visit. Needless to say I'll be back. Maybe on motorcycle. There were a lot of bike's in the parking lot (get those carbs cleaned Chicken).

After a brief respite of iced tea and live jazz we got up to head back to the airport. The waitress said the tea was on the house. Why, I have no idea. We dropped a generous tip and walked back across the road. Next stop was Bloomington, IN.

Leg 3: KEYE (Indianapolis, IN) to KBMG (Bloomington, IN)

Bloomington, Indiana--home of lily white basketball teams (under Knight anyway) and John Cougar. I don't care if he calls himself John Mellencamp now. He'll always be John Cougar to this American kid doin' the best that he can. Bloomington made the itenerary because it had a couple of FBOs that would be great places for posting flyers and one of the FBOs had Caddilac courtesy cars. I'll let you figure out which of those two factors weighed more heavily in my flight planning.

For this leg I filed an IFR flight plan which would provide us with positive radar coverage from takeoff to touchdown. Our course was going to take us right along the western edge of Indianapolis International. With all the traffic coming in and out of Indy, as well as the satellite airports, I simply don't have enough eyes in my head. I was going to need traffic reports. Plus, in today's day and age you really don't want to be operating around major urban areas without a constant link to ATC. That way if a Blackhawk appears off your wing you don't have to use hand gestures and can ask, "What seems to be the problem officer?" before the door gunner opens fire.

I filed for 6000 ft hoping it would put us up in the midst of the cool looking cumulus canyons that were sailing over us. Turns out they were up at about 7,000, but it was almost as cool to skim the bottoms. This leg, like the rest of them, took all of about 30 minutes. We were on the ground in Bloomington in no time. Which, by the way, has some fairly striking scenery for this part of the midwest. Lots of rolling, tree-covered hills. The airport is on a rise that kind of overlooks some of the smaller hills to the west. As the sun descended toward the horizon and the shadows got longer, it all looked very serene. Just like one of those daydreams of summer that I usually start experiencing about the 4th week in February.

We parked in front of Cook Aviation because they were the ones with the Caddie courtesy cars. Courtesy cars are free transportation that most FBOs lend transient pilots for an hour or two so they can run into town and get a bite to eat or something. That's right. Free. But as with most things that cost nothing, you usually get what you pay for. Courtesy cars are almost always an adventure. Some of the most memorable that I've driven have included a rusted out mid-60's pickup with a speedometer that didn't work, a giant white '70's station wagon that looked like it might have been a coroner's car in another life and I don't know how many retired police cars (probably the most common courtesy car at small municipal airports). You don't even have to leave your driver's license or cc number. I guess they figure no one would be dumb enough to steal a POS car and leave their airplane. But on very rare ocassions you'll be fortunate enough to land somewhere that offers some really nice wheels. Cook Aviation was just such a place.

While the line guy fueled the plane, Laurie and went into the office and asked if we could have the use of a courtesy car to grab a bite to eat. I'm not even sure if I was all that hungry, but I needed to have a plausible reason to ask for the car. As anticipated, the kindly office girl handed over the keys to a 2002 merlot De Ville. We're talking one of those big mamas you see dominating the parking lot at Hometown Buffet when there's an early-bird special. But because it was a DTS with alloy wheels and lower profile tires it looked more Tony Soprano than Lawerence Welk. Down the road a piece from the airport we found a great little Chinese take-out/dine-in place called Dragon. One of those places where your order's cooked fresh. I got the house special mein fun and Laurie opted for the Mu Shoo. Both entrees were fantastic and we had tons left over for lunch today.

I took my time cruising back to the airport. Partly because I was fighting a food coma and partly because I was really enjoying the Caddie. Back at the airport we hung our flyers and settled up with the office girl for the fuel. About the fuel, it was only $3/gal. I about fell over. Avgas is almost always a buck higher than auto gas, but I'd just managed to fill up for a mere .20 more than my fellow groundbound travelers. When you throw in the free use of the DTS I was probably coming out ahead. Man, was I having a great day. The only thing that could have made things more blissful was some guy handing me a suitcase full of cash for my plane. But ain't that America, you and me. Ain't that America, somethin' to see baby . . .

Leg 4: KBMG (Bloomington, IN) to KHUF (Terre Haute, IN)

We decided to stop at Hullman International Airport in Terre Haute because I thought it was a fairly busy general aviation airport and it wasn't entirely out of the way on our way back to Champaign. The airport is apparently named after the Hullman family that brought us all Clabber Girl Baking Powder. It boasts a sprawling terminal that, in it's postwar heyday, was probably every bit as busy as Champaign. At least that's what the photos on the wall seemed to indicate. On this particualar day, however, Hullman was dead. There were few signs of life. Even the Air Guard ramp looked deserted with a row of cold F-16s tied down and intakes covered, silently waiting for their next mission. I thought with all the gorgeous weather, the place would at least be hopping with student pilots in the pattern or something. The only activity was a couple line guys washing an airport police vehicle.

Inside the terminal it was similarly deserted, save for a couple of young ladies working the FBO counter. We located the "selling board", tacked up a flyer and, after another loo break, took off for home.

Leg 5: KHUF (Terra Haute, IN) to KCMI (Champaign, IL)

By now it was approaching 5:30 or 6 and we were headed NW right into the sun. With all possible eye protection deployed--sunglasses, check--tinted visors, check--I was still squintsville with a forward ground visibility of about 5 miles in haze. Time to call for a little radar coverage again. Terra Haute approach was kind enough to arrange for flight following all the way to Champaign. Oddly enough, despite the fabulous flying conditions, Laurie and I seemed to be part of only a handful of souls wandering the skies over east central Illinois. There was almost total silence on Terre Haute's frequency. It wasn't until we were handed off to Champaign approach that the radio calls seemed to pick up. Still, none of them seemed to be headed to Willard.

Winds were light so approach gave me my choice of runways. Our course was almost perfectly in line with runway 32, so picking was easy. As I exited the runway after landing I noticed Champaign's ramp was about as dead as Terre Haute's. Even the university planes were put away. I can only chalk it up to summer break. After shutting down, we wiped all the fresh bug kill off the leading edges of the cowl, wings and wheelpants. Just in case a prospective buyer, grasping one of our sales flyers, should come by for a look-see. After I put 9'er 7 Charlie away, I stood there in the still, sultry sunset air taking it all in. Laurie said, "This was the perfect day." No argument here, babe.

Everything In Moderation . . . Well, Not Everything

Sorry guys. I was fooling around with the blog the other day and turned on the comment moderation. It is off now. Please forgive the momentary lapse into censorship.

In other news I'm thinking about changing the template, so things may look a little different on your next visit. Or not.

I'm Coining a New Word

stereondipity (ster-ion-dip-it-ee): n. The chance synchronization of a person's driving actions with the music on the stereo. Most commonly occuring when a song ends at the precise moment the person comes to a stop in a parking space and just before they turn off the ignition. Also common when driving in the rain while listening to jazz or quickly accelerating away from an intersection precisely as a metal guitar solo begins. Usually accompanied by the sensation of being in a music video or movie montage. Most often occurs if the music on the stereo is particularly rockin' (i.e. Boston, Clutch, Bon Jovi).