[ Club Chachapoya ] Meigs Or Bust

[ScottishMike]

It hits you. Just like that. No warning. No clue it's coming. Words jumbled between brain and mouth.

I am professional though; I forced the word out, the only one I could manage: “Hello.”.

 

Late March in Scotland, sometimes the odd day can be gentle, sun and scudding clouds driven on a moderate breeze, today more typical, skeletal trees waving in the wind silhouetted against a tumble of grey cloud producing intermittent horizontal rain. Despite the weather I enjoyed the drive down from Aberdeen. Wind tugging at the car as I crossed the two miles of Tay Road Bridge into The Kingdom Of Fife. The “new” rail bridge off to my right, black stumps of it's ill fated predecessor sticking up out of the grey tossing water; ghosts of the news on the car radio.

Only twenty or so miles to the Squitts Porridge Oats factory.

 

I had printed out the e-mail, yes I know “Save trees...etc.” but sometimes a printed copy is best. Folded in my jacket pocket.

The USA advertising campaign Squitts had run around my teams' Bendix Race participation had apparently been very successful. They wanted to run a follow on campaign. Would I be interested in participating as the aircraft consultant? They were shooting some scenes at the Fife factory, the rest would be located in and around Chicago. If I agreed terms I could travel with the advertising team back to Chicago when the shooting in Scotland was done.

 

It was cold, dawn just braking. Our luggage and passports checked by the staff at the business aviation terminal. No one was in a talkative mood. Alessandra the cinematographer keeping an eagle eye on the baggage handler loading her equipment. Rory the stills photographer insisting his three cases travelled with him and Russel the sound man feigned disdain as he had been told sound would be dubbed in later.

Monique and Dimitry, the stars of the advert, wrapped in fashionable coats walked ahead of me with stylish gate to the HS 125-800. I followed. The aviation “expert” or fool, take your pick.

As they say: “No fool like an old fool”. But credit where credit is due, I had managed a conversation with Monique, it had lasted almost five minutes.

 

The plain was fitted out with seven armchairs, Monique plonked down in the window seat of the group of four, her bag on the seat next to her, magazines on the table. I sat in the window seat facing her. She did her best to ignore me.

The plane was warming up despite the frosty atmosphere. Too many big egos in a small space.

We pushed back.

I knew Edinburgh Turnhouse well. We taxied out on what was once the main runway, now rarely used as such, the cargo boys on the right:

And the newer passenger terminal extension on the left:

We were heading for rwy 060, taking us past the original terminal

 

“Do you like flying?” I asked Monique. She glanced in my direction, not difficult as I was sitting opposite, she raised an eyebrow and went back to examining Vogue magazine. Not a word spoken in reply.

I glanced out the window, we were holding for rwy 060. Not sure why, I couldn't- see any approaching traffic.

Nobody seemed to be in a talkative mood. I hoped it was just the early start, otherwise this was going to be a long morose journey. Still, once belts came off I would go forward and talk to the pilots. We inched forward and stopped again. There could be any number of reasons we were still holding.

 

Eventually we rumbled forward and turned onto the runway. I felt the familiar punch into the seat as we accelerated and a few seconds later the rumble stopped and we took flight.

 

“Well, on our way then!” I said to no one in particular. No one in particular replied. Not even a raised eyebrow above Vogue. I hoped the de-icing equipment outside was working better than in here. I tried braking the ice: “I wonder where we'll land to re-fuel?”. That got a response.

“What do you mean stop to re-fuel?” growled Russel the sound man.

“This plane hasn't the range to reach Chicago, we'll have to re-fuel somewhere.”

A groan came from behind Vogue. “Porca la miseria” muttered Alessandra.

Dimitry the model, would be actor, stood addressing the cabin, but directed at me: “Well darling, you're supposed to be the plane man, is this the best you could come up with?” he continued filing his nails as he spoke. I tried to explain that my job was choosing and sourcing the aircraft that would be used in the adverts. This HS125 was chartered by Happy Times the ad agency hired by Squitts Porridge Oats to produce the advertising campaign.

Daylight outside as we climbed steeply through the cloud cover:

 

The flight attendant appeared from the vestibule: “Drinks ?”

I unbuckled and went forward to talk to the pilots.

So, if the winds went against us it was to be Narsarsuaq in Greenland. If favourable we could continue to Goose Bay in Labrador.

I returned to my seat to contemplate the madness of being smitten by Monique. A grown man, attacked by Cupid in such a devastating manner. Security should not have allowed a cherub armed with a bow and arrow on board, it clearly was a dangerous weapon.

We were at cruising altitude and leaving the last of Scotland, the Western Isles, behind.

 

Monique had claimed the only spare seat with her bag., Alessandra sat next to me craning across to look out the window.

“We're south of Iceland. Not much to see apart from the Atlantic and cloud.” I chirped out helpfully.

 

Monique put Vogue aside and did her model walk down the aisle to the toilet. So silly, but I was mesmerised.

Alessandra turned to me: “You like Mona no?”

Embarrassed I nodded. “Why do you call her Mona?”

“She does nothing but moan, moan, moan.”

“She is very attractive.” I replied

“Men! You think with your, what do you call them in English?, “palle””

I tried to change the subject: “Where in Italy do you come from?”

“Roma. I work mostly in Cinecitta. I tell you; going out with Mona a big mistaka! She walk all over you and spit out!”

Mona, no not Mona, Monique did her catwalk bit back to her seat. The dream was crumbling, Alessandra had punched Cupid in the face and he was tumbling from his cloud.

I made my way to the cockpit. “Only 20% fuel left. We're going for Narsarsuaq.” the copilot informed me. Charts open on his knee. The seat belt signs came on and I returned to my seat.

“What's happening?”Monique sounded alarmed.

“Landing here in Greenland to refuel. A few twists and turns to get lined up for the runway that's all.”

 

The cloud was quite heavy and low, mixed with steep sided fjords made the approach difficult. The only nav aid a DME

 

Down to 2000' following the fjord and the airport is still not in sight.

 

Finally the rwy lights appear in the distance:

 

Final approach not bad:

 

And safely down:

 

Taxiing to the small terminal for fuel:

 

The place has a rugged beauty all of it's own. Bright coloured wooden houses dot the landscape.

The fuel tanks we passed re-assure there is plenty of fuel available. It is probably a common fuelling stop for all those that can't manage the Atlantic in one hop.

 

 

Fuelled, all back on board and fastened up we taxi out to runway 250. Once again the desolate landscape strikes me as beguilingly attractive:

 

Full power and we are off, bye Greenland:

 

I stare at not much more than cloud as we climb to altitude heading south west for Canada:

 

I can't look at Monique, the dream has shattered, so soon after such an intense almost adolescent crush. As they say: “No fool like an old fool.”

I knock on the pilot's door. I hear it unlock. Sad modern regulations just serve to deepen my low mood.. I really just want to talk to people I feel I have something in common with.

We discuss the flight plan; cruising at 36000' following a direct GPS course for Meigs. The only fly in the ointment a head on jetstream of 80 to 100kts slowing us down to a GS of 340 kts with consequent high fuel burn. We might just make it to Chicago if the winds abate, but it is possible we might have to stop again for another refuel. The wind keeps strong,  Sudbury Ontario is the best candidate, almost directly below our flight path.

I break the news to the passengers, almost with glee, as if they are all implicated in my broken heart and demotion from teenager with a whole life ahead of him back to silly old man with fewer years left.

The engine note is changing and it rings my pilot alarm bells. They unlock the door “what's happening?” I ask casually.

“Pitot froze, the air speed indicator fell to zero so the auto throttle increased engine power. We disconnected auto throttle and made sure pitot heat was on. The airspeed indicator is working properly again so we switched auto throttle back on. Nothing to worry about.”

I sat back in my seat and tried to relax, but wondered how the pitot heat had not been switched on when we left Greenland. What other procedures have been skipped?

I got the feeling I was no longer welcome in the cockpit.

The fasten seat belt sign came on and the trolley dolly checked we were complying.

We were circling and descending, presumably for Sudbury:

 

Much lower now, we straighten out for final, we should pick up the ILS somwhere over the lake:

We do and are on a good final:

 

Touch down and heavy breaking. I wonder if it was a late touch down necessitating the heavy braking. Still safely down.

 

We troop out to the terminal in the snow as the HS125 is once again refuelled.

 

The Sudbury crew are as fast as a formula 1 team. Bearley time for a Canadian muffin and we are back aboard and ready to go.

No sooner had we started to taxi than we come to a standstill:

After a few minutes a tow tractor arrives and pulls the old Cessna out of the way. On our way again to rwy 220

 

Full power and once again airborn:

 

Not long after leaving Sudbury the crew announce we are about to enter US airspace, crossing lake Huron. Not that much is visible from the air:

 

We start a gentle descent over Muskegon and lake Michigan, and receive clearance for Meigs runway 180:

 

The Chicago skyline is impressive, but it does make for a dangerous slightly curved approach:

 

Heading onto final below the height of the surrounding buildings. Visibility is good but there is a 10 kt cross wind:

 

Finally down safely:

 

We taxi to our parking spot and a well deserved rest. All told the flight has lasted 10 hours and 10 minutes. I shall go and try to mend emotionally in a Chicago bar before meetings tomorrow with “creatives” from Happy Times to decide upon aircraft for the adverts and a jolly few weeks working with my fellow passengers. Deep joy!

[PhrogPhlyer]

After spending the day at NAS Lakehurst (JBMDL) moving the Silver Snipe out of Hangar 5 to the temporary mooring mast; topping off fuel, food, and helium, we repositioned to PhrogPhlyer’s home field, Trenton-Robbinsville Airport (N87).

 

We plan on being in Chicago to see the sun rise over Lake Michigan. Cruising at a blistering 50kt, this trip should take just shy of 12 hours, so we should depart Robbinsville around 1800 local time.

We weigh off, make final speed/range/fuel calculations and at 1805 we are airborne again.

 

Evening flights are such a pleasure with little to no traffic in sight.

After a few hours we pass over Punxsutawney Pennsylvania. I must say that Punxsutawney Phil, the famous groundhog prognosticator for the arrival of spring called it right this year, with an early blossoming of all the trees and flowers across our route. The white pear trees are visible in the light of a nearly full moon.

 

I give the controls to my copilot Larry, not a bad aviator, even for an Air Force pilot, and stroll to the galley for some fresh brewed coffee. Sitting down gazing at the slowly passing landscape, the constant and familiar droning of the two P&W Wasp engines provides a comforting hum to the night. As I return to the cockpit, I realize that we have reached Toledo Ohio.

 

After all the hustle, vibration, and stress of the Australian Air Race, taking it easy and sailing along in the Silver Snipe is a welcomed change of pace. One feels at peace, as if you are one with the air surrounding you. The flight is strangely reminiscent of time spent aboard ship, no frills, efficient, and with a calm sense of purpose.

Before we know it, we approach South Bend Indiana.

 

Ahead an open gray expanse appears. Lake Michigan. Time to go feet wet and scan the horizon for the lights of Chicago.

 

Other than the moon above, not a single light is seen around us, and then Land Ho.

 

With the sun starting to fill the eastern sky we leisurely cruise past Navy Pier with Meigs off our nose. It’s been many years since I strolled the pier followed by dinner and some local beer.

 

On the deck, 11 hours and 55 minutes since we departed Robbinsville. Traveling 598nm and burning 278gal of avgas. If we had cruised between 25-30kt the fuel burn would have been closer to 80 gallons. Takes a lot of HP and fuel to push her up to 50kt.

 

As the sun rises further and we find a place to erect a mobile mooring mast, we are greeted by the early morning crew of Chicago Airlines. We of course do the courtesy of offering them some coffee and giving them a tour of the Silver Snipe, in my humble opinion, the finest K-ship to ever grace the sky.

 

Now for a few hours of sleep in the helium hotel. I certainly couldn’t sleep in the JetRanger during the Australian Air Race.

 

I just got an email from home, apparently a local airport kid in NJ saw us depart and made a sketch of the Silver Snipe. When we get home, that kid’s going to get a personal tour of the ship and even a flight over his house.

 

[PhrogPhlyer]

1 hour ago, ScottishMike said:

Deep joy!

Reading your PIREP was just that, well done.

[Airbasil_1]

Let's go in and out of there on the 73...  Btw. these are some very old pics... of a Flight i once made from Washington Dulles to Chicago Meigs back in 2015. 
I really wish that MFSG would've overhauled this scenery... as well as added a huge City advancement over these default buildings, which i am really not a fan of. 

[PhrogPhlyer]

15 hours ago, ScottishMike said:

One of the best corporate paint schemes I've seen in quite a while!

[Bossspecops]

17 hours ago, PhrogPhlyer said:

 

 

 

I had to check in my FS hangar to see if this was the same K-ship that I've had for AGES, and it is! 

 

A fabulous piece of FS modelling at all levels, and I can remember I loved flying it way back when. Needless to say I'll have to re-inflate mine and fly her again, there's nothing quite so relaxing as flying an airship. 

 

Heading out of Twin Cities later on and expect to be at Meigs in 2-3 hrs. 

[jgf]

Was going to use the SM1019 for this flight, but a shakedown flight reminded me what a miserable experience it is

 

 

So went with my first thought of an ultralight, the Microleve ML400.  A low level, average 3000ft, flight following waypoints from Columbus to Chicago.

Departing Darby Dan airport, Columbus in the distance.

 

 

The office, as I settle in for a long flight - 300 miles at a blistering 60kt average.

 

 

Wonderful midwest scenery, fly anywhere for hundreds of miles and this is all you see

 

 

Not sure what this is, but something to occupy my attention over Indiana.

 

 

 

Clearance for KFWA, Fort Wayne;  though I'm sure 3k ft wasn't their preference.  Snow ahead, and me in an open cockpit.

 

 

Getting colder than a sorceress' bosom in an alloy support garment.

 

 

Porter County Municipal, KVPZ (that SM1019 at least had a heater)

 

 

But I'm over half way

 

 

Hobart Sky airport, my last waypoint

 

 

And head north to Meigs

 

 

There it is (default scenery, forgot to activate a newer one)

 

 

On final, not an easy plane to land; between the ground effect of that big wing and a stall that merely manifests as an increased rate of descent you've got to nurse the throttle

 

 

Smooth landing, half frozen and thinking I probably could have driven here as quickly

 

 

Nice of that Piper to give me a parking spot

 

Thought I would need a fuel stop along the way, but with a fuel burn of 2-3 gal/hr she only used 11 gallons for the 275 mile trip, about four hours.

 

 

[Nels_Anderson]

So I guess this thread is where we're putting our Meigs Field stories, so here is mine. First, it should be noted this is a re-visit, as I've flown into Meigs in real life many years ago, and wrote up the story on FlightSim.Com for you to read here:

 

 

I knew you guys were planning a Meigs trip but I didn't realize it had started already and in fact the final date was almost over, so I had to kind of rush things. I had wanted to do the whole original trip from KOWD to KCGX by Archer, but there wasn't time for all that. So I decided to do just the last two legs, in my current sim ride which is the MilTech Simulations CH47D Chinook.

 

Originally I went KOWD to KITH, KITH to KERI, KERI to D96 (which is now KOEB), D96 to KCGX. So for my abbreviated version I'll go KERI to KOEB then KOEB to KCGX.

 

Here is the first leg:

 

KERI TO KOEB

 

Much like the original trip, my sim trip was in dodgy weather.

 

On the ramp at KERI, taking along a Humvee for ground transportation on arrival.

 

 

Ready to depart:

 

 

Departing KERI:

 

 

Heading west across Lake Erie:

 

 

Dodgy weather but nice rainbow!

 

 

Weather going bad...

 

 

Approaching Cleveland:

 

 

Burke Lakefront Airport; looks an awful lot like Meigs the way its oriented on the shore...

 

 

Onward into the gloom:

 

 

Westbound along the lake shore:

 

 

Approaching KOEB:

 

 

Parked at KOEB:

 

 

 

 

 

[jgf]

2 minutes ago, Nels_Anderson said:

Burke Lakefront Airport; looks an awful lot like Meigs

 

Hopefully Burke doesn't follow Meigs into history.  It's future is hotly debated;  most citizens, and all hospitals, want it to remain, but deep pockets land developers look at the property and see acres of condos.

[Nels_Anderson]

KOEB TO KCGX

 

Now for the final leg into Chicago's Meigs Field:

 

KOEB departure:

 

 

Dodgy weather right from the start:

 

 

Gary Indiana factories...getting close:

 

 

More factories:

 

 

First glimpse of Chicago:

 

 

Downwind at Meigs:

 

 

Extended a little to get a look at the city:

 

 

Meigs ahead:

 

 

Short final:

 

 

Made it! On the runway:

 

 

Shutting down in front of the terminal:

 

 

Nice view of Chicago from where we are parked:

 

 

A pretty dark, gloomy day to be flying but I made it! I'm at Meigs Field.

[ScottishMike]

Nice to see participation from MSFS 2020.

Thanks Nels.

[taoftedal]

4 hours ago, Nels_Anderson said:

A pretty dark, gloomy day to be flying but I made it!

 

Impressive Nels ... welcome to Meigs.  

[ViperPilot2]

"Black Eagle, DEVIL 505... Feet Dry."

 

[PhrogPhlyer]

2 hours ago, Nels_Anderson said:

Looking good Nels!

[PhrogPhlyer]

3 hours ago, jgf said:

This definitely looks like fun to fly

[PhrogPhlyer]

1 hour ago, ViperPilot2 said:

Gotta love the Grumman Iron Works, as the saying goes, "It may be ugly, but at least it's slow."

Does look great sitting next to the Cessna.

[MAD1]

G'day all. Was hoping to take my little Cessna 182 for a circuit, but alas computer gone haywire. So am logging here the flight I did in Dec 2023 and which I used to inaugurate my own thread 'FS2002 Mazda'. I notice that in a few shots by the guys, there's a Cessna parked. I'll purloin that as mine. So I'm there, at Meigs.

[MAD1]

Nels, yes, I was one of those simmers who learnt to fly the sim at Meigs, it being the default in the various FS versions. (Hence why I used it to start my thread, as nostalgia and to tip my hat to it, it being an integral part of the FS intro.).

 

Feel very special parked up beside these guys.

[PhrogPhlyer]

9 hours ago, MAD1 said:

...learnt to fly the sim at Meigs...an integral part of the FS.

And to think that the only reason it's not in all versions is due to it's criminal destruction.

I will admit to an eerie and familiar sense of nostalgia when I flew towards landing.

Meigs now being the home field for Club Chachapoya, it will once again be a vibrant center of sim activity.

[ViperPilot2]

4 hours ago, PhrogPhlyer said:

And to think that the only reason it's not in all versions is due to it's criminal destruction.

I will admit to an eerie and familiar sense of nostalgia when I flew towards landing.

Meigs now being the home field for Club Chachapoya, it will once again be a vibrant center of sim activity.

 

We shall decide on that and many other things at the Meeting this Week. 

 

Everyone... this is your chance to have your Voice heard, and pose your Recommendations for whatever you would like to see. Don't be shy, yet keep it Civil.

 

We're all friends here, right?

[TomPenDragon]

“So you’re heading out?” Tom asked Jessica as they waited for their Seneca 7’s turbos to spin down. The pumps, the radios, and all lights except the ground strobes were off. They were on the ground at Aéroport Le Mans Arnage. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, which was a welcome change from their departure airport.

 

They had spent the weekend at the Mugello Circuit, watching the first of the 24H Series of sports car racing’s European challenges for 2024. Today’s 5 ½ hours of the split 12H race ended under a Code 60 because torrential rains made even the wet weather tires unsafe any faster, and the thundercells had followed them the 30 kilometers from the track to Aeroporto di Firenze.

 

Tom had flown the Seneca from Arnage to Florence, so it would have been Jess’ turn to fly back anyway, but even if it hadn’t, she was the better wet weather pilot and he as a co-pilot let her focus on nothing else but flying the plane. The fact that the weather over Tuscany had been sucking in everything around it had given them the kind of headwinds that converted 172 knots on the ASI at 22,000 feet into 138 over the ground. Oh well, Jessica had been wanting to put some more time into her logbook, and she had gotten an extra hour over what they normally would have done from north-central Italy to the Loire Valley in France. And she still wanted to fly? All Tom wanted to do was to enjoy the Spring sunshine – but that wasn’t happening, either.

 

“Come with me,” she said as she shut down number 2 first, trying to keep the engine hours between the two of them to within a tenth of an hour of each other.

 

“I can’t,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice. They had lived apart for a couple of years, as her professional commitments had anchored her to Tulum and his search for a direction for the next part of his life had taken him practically everywhere but. He had finally made the decisions that he had been needing to make while he and his protege, Reymundo Paul Harrison, had participated in Club Chachapoya’s Route 66 Challenge. After having led her people through a period of tremendous growth, she had come to the realization that she was now holding them back, and was now transitioning into a background role for a while. “I promised the airport management that I’d go over their plans for the third weekend in June in person this afternoon. Do you have to go to The University?”

 

“They need some attention. I’ve spent the past few years living at The Monastery in Tulum and we’ve spent the year-end holidays with the Academy in New York. The University feels left out. They’re the most independent of the three. Pass me the other chocks, please? There – all put to bed. I’m going to pop upstairs for a quick shower.”

 

“That sounds like a good idea. All the rain did was to turn the track dust into a plaster.”

 

He followed her upstairs and into the shower. Both The University and the airport brass could wait an hour or so.

 

Tom finished their second shower first, and by the time that Jessica had finished making herself pretty, he had already made the bed and laid her flight suit and helmet on it. “You didn’t say whether you wanted to take the Piper or the Northrop,” he said as she came out of the dressing room.

 

“You were right, the F-5. I want to make an entrance.” She slipped into the coverall.

 

Even zipped up, she still looks good, Tom thought. He helped her through her preflight and then got her settled into the cockpit and strapped her in. They were switching planes for the next flights, so she had to adjust the seat and the pedals to fit her smaller frame. A stray murmur of complaint had Tom thinking, You should try going the other way, with your knees past your chin and the stick getting way too friendly with your nethers, until you get the seat pushed back.

 

He watched her taxi to 20 and blast off into a near-vertical initial climb. Go ahead, Hon, Tom grinned, Get your ya-ya’s out. I wouldn’t want to be in the tower with a fresh cup of coffee when you show up.

 

The house was achingly quiet when he went back inside. He grabbed his laptop and walked across the field to the airport offices. The meeting went long, as they got into the five- and ten-year plans for LFRM. Though it was not in his nature, he accepted the staff’s dinner invitation. It went long and got loud, which suited him perfectly.

 

He was carrying a major buzz as he walked back to the house, and was ready to hit the sack. He had hibernated his computer at the end of the meeting, with the idea of doing some writing before bedtime, and took it out to shut it down properly as he got changed for bed. As soon as it was fully up, he closed the documents, and was just about to shut the PIM when he noticed a new mail from Club Chachapoya. He knew that he should wait until the morning to open it, but he clicked on it anyway.

 

The Club’s having a fly-in. Okay, let’s see how it fits the endurance racing calendar, maybe Jessica and I can join the rest of the members for this one. Next week? Fine; the next race is the start of the Nürburgring Endurance Series on 06 April. Where? Oh. KCGX, Merrill C. Meigs. It’s to inaugurate the new Clubhouse, as we bought Meigs from Chicago to be the home of Club Chachapoya. And a mandatory Club meeting to plan the rest of 2024, 02-04 April, so we have the 5th to fly to Germany.

 

Wide awake now, he called Jessica. His original idea had been to catch up with Jessica at The University and spend a few days there with her. As diplomatically as she could, Jess suggested that his presence there right now could be disruptive. She’d catch up with him in Chicago in time for the meeting. Both fell asleep waiting for the other to hang up.

 

Tom woke up the next morning alone in the bed, with a dead cellphone. He sighed. He had gotten used to sleeping by himself while Jessica was in Tulum and he was elsewhere. The few months they had spent together only reinforced what he knew already: Sleeping with her was infinitely preferable to sleeping solo.

 

He plugged his phone in to let it charge while he showered and got ready, went downstairs and put on a pot of coffee. He took his time to let the phone pick up at least enough juice for their morning phone call, and dressed in his flight suit. The airport team had invited him for breakfast, but he wasn’t in the mood. His heart ached. While not a cure, the best palliative he knew for an aching heart was the push of loud, powerful jet engines or the pull of a Merlin or two, in an airplane capable of pushing his brain down into his socks at a moment’s notice.

 

Jessica called him while he was working out his flight plan to Chicago. She could meet him there Thursday or Friday, probably, and definitely by the start of the Club meeting. He told her that he wanted to get to Meigs as soon as he could to make sure that everything was set for the fly-in. When they were kids, neither could hang up on the other. A half-century later, they still couldn’t. After several attempts, both finally respected the count-of-three. Tom smiled as he put down the phone. Whatever happened to the world, she was the best part of his.

 

He finished his flight plan and auto-filed it. He had been debating whether to land in Shannon, fill up, and fly direct to Gander; Jess had convinced him that his first instinct, to cross the Atlantic via Benbecula to Reykjavik to Narsarsuaq to Goose Bay, was best considering the headwinds at FL340. While they were in Italy, the Arnage ground crew had serviced and topped off their Freedom Fighters, so he would have been putting down in Ireland with a fairly full aircraft. The F-5A liked to be light when she landed. If he was lucky, he might make it to Greenland from LFRM; otherwise he could refuel in Iceland.

 

 

He walked out into the chill of the morning. Even in the glow of pre-dawn, the F-5’s silvery skin gleamed. While the Tomcat was his favorite jet fighter, he had to admit that Jack Northrop’s company had come up with a beautiful aircraft. In a word, she looked like what a jet fighter should look like – like she was doing 400 knots standing still. Perhaps the F-104 fits that bill even more, he mused, but he wouldn’t want to try landing one on an unfamiliar, 3,900’ runway.

 

At the start of his pre-flight, he put a ladder against the fuselage, climbed up, and opened the cockpit. Thankfully, Jessica had moved the seat and the pedals already. He completed his walk-around diligently. Tom trusted the Arnage ground crew. He had acquired the airport in the early ‘90’s, and it had taken a couple of years until they had found the right mix of people and had gotten them to form a team. After 30 years of working together, with very few crew departures and replacements, when you pull up to the pumps now, they handle fueling and servicing like a Le Mans pit stop. It had become their trademark. Still, like the old adage goes, “trust but verify.”

 

 

Back home, he had a robotic stair truck that would have scuttled off to its parking spot after he boarded. He walked over to Arnage’s FBO and asked for help. One of the newer team members who was waiting for the day shift to arrive left his coffee on the staff lounge table and obliged. Lucas Grijalva, a Catalan, was one of those people who could put a smile on your face at your own funeral. How anyone could work a whole night shift and still be as pleasant as Luc was was a mystery to him.

 

 

He settled into the cockpit and got the seat and pedals adjusted to his liking. You don’t get into an F-5A; you put it on – it feels much like a Spitfire in that sense, much more so than any other jet fighter or trainer. Flick on the battery; turn on the lights; set the brakes; push the fuel cutoff in; start an engine; lather/rinse/repeat; engage the generators; power up the instruments. Tom loved the Freedom Fighter’s simplicity. Having just about the best roll rate of anything in the skies only added to its charms.

 

Just a nudge of the thrust levers got the wheels rolling across fragrant, dew-coated, well-trimmed grass. A hint of right rudder – so subtle that he needed to counterbalance the pressure of his left foot with his right – pointed the F-5’s rather prominent nose straight toward the taxiway on the other side of the runway. With the engines spinning a little faster than ground idle, he closed the cockpit and brought the packs online.

 

 

20 was the active, so he turned north at the intersection. The lights of the grandstands and pits were fully lit. He watched a Grand Caravan on final and glanced down at the clock. The commuter schedule didn’t start until after 07:00. Whoever was coming in on that charter flight was almost certainly going to the track. He could picture the pilot, busy getting his passengers to the ramp safely, simultaneously trying to figure out what type of aircraft, with its nav lights so close together and its tail strobe so far back, was taxiing to the active. A glint of gloaming reflects off of its sheet metal. Careful, Captain! That shade of green you’re turning clashes with your uniform.

 

 

He worked through his final checks at a relaxed pace as the tower told the Caravan to take the closest taxiway. He was looking down, fiddling with the temperature controls to get his feet warm, when the tower told the Cessna to taxi to the gate. Some planes could be flown in hiking boots. The F-5’s rudder pedals were light and sensitive, so he was wearing a pair of racing shoes that he had paid way too much for at the Bugatti Circuit’s track store. They weren’t waterproof, and had soaked through during preflight.

 

He looked up and over at a clear runway as his toes began to feel the blast of warm air that was directed at them. Showtime! He nudged the thrust levers forward ever so slightly – on pavement, the Freedom Fighter hardly needed any power to get going. One last look at the elevator trim – it was so important to the Northrop that they put the gauge at the top left of the panel. A big kick of the pedals now to swing the dart-nose down the centerline of 20, then a smooth but quick push of the thrust levers to the firewall – smooth but slow and, once the turbojets spin up and the ‘burners kick in, your hand and arm are too heavy to get the rest of the way to full power.

 

Instinctively, he straightened his neck and back until his head cradled into the headrest. Slow, keep her straight, steer with your toes, perfectly lined up… And then comes a boot in the butt that just will not stop. Nose getting light around 110… Passing 120, ease off on the forward pressure with your right arm that you’ve needed to keep the elevator neutral and she pops off the ground almost violently. Gear up immediately; nose up, way, way up to keep the airspeed below 250 as you blast upward and bring the thrust back down to a non-insane level. Let the nose fall; keep the airspeed steady, and in another minute or so, she was just a calm, well-mannered airplane, flying straight and level at 235 knots.

 

Tom brought her around and flew back toward the airport. The F-5A was behaving like a bizjet now.

 

 

 

He realized that he was over the track, so he pulled a hard right at the end of the Ford Chicanes to fly the start-finish straight, and a quick breath later turned opposite the Dunlop Curve. He reminded himself that he had a long way to go that day, and fought hard to ignore his first instinct to make a pass under the half-tire-shaped bridge.

 

 

 

 

 

Tom set up a relaxed cruise climb, and felt tension leave his body. Let’s see how far we can stretch the fuel, he thought. It was a lovely morning for flying, with smooth air and the Moon just setting.

 

 

 

The sun came up as he reached the French coast. Low clouds skittered eastward as he crossed the Channel into the UK. She settled into a 34,000’, Mach 0.85 cruise. Tom felt invigorated.

 

 

Three quarters of an hour later, he caught a glimpse of Scotland as the cloud deck briefly broke. Decision time: fuel’s good; plane’s perfect. Time to cross the north Atlantic.

 

 

Decision time again, over Iceland. The plane’s still perfect, and the headwinds aren’t quite as strong as he had planned for. Still plenty of go-juice in the tanks. On, then, to Greenland.

 

 

 

 

The clouds were hugging the mountaintops, as they had practically every time he had stopped in Narsarsuaq. Fuel was such that, when he was younger and dumber, he might have tried to make Goose Bay. He laughed at himself as he realized that he had reached the, “Why Chance It,” age.

 

He dropped down into a familiar fjord and got his speed down. Just as he hung a right coming out of it, the air got lumpy. That got Tom’s attention. The short span, thick chord, minimal camber wings of the Freedom Fighter become a handful in turbulence, especially at the slow speeds needed to get the gear and the flaps down. Even set up for landing and coming in a little hot, he was rocking and rolling and the word, “Go-Around” was creeping back into his vocabulary.

 

 

 

Thankfully, God stopped punching his plane with around a hundred feet to go, He flattened the wings, kicked out the crab, and greased it on just a little past the numbers. His fingers slipped on sweat inside of his gloves, and he suddenly realized that the cockpit temperature was way too high.

 

 

 

Tom originally had planned to just fill the tanks and get back in the air as soon as he could. The Northrop vibrated a little more than usual while it was being filled, and he realized that it was his stomach grumbling. All he had had was coffee all morning.

 

The fuel pump attendant waved him clear, and he taxied over to park. Time to visit an old friend...

[PhrogPhlyer]

10 minutes ago, TomPenDragon said:

Sweet!

[Melo965]

On 3/29/2024 at 3:21 PM, ScottishMike said:

 

We taxi to our parking spot and a well deserved rest

 

Great pictures and an excellent write up! 

 

[Melo965]

On 3/29/2024 at 5:02 PM, PhrogPhlyer said:

 

On the deck, 11 hours and 55 minutes since we departed Robbinsville.

 

Very impressive!  Great choice of flying machine!

 

[PhrogPhlyer]

48 minutes ago, Melo965 said:

Great choice of flying machine!

Thank you. Sometimes life just needs to slow down and let us enjoy the world around us.