TomPenDragon

Kind of easy when I've got the live album sitting next to me on the desk (one of my favorite flying/driving disks). The only problem is, now the whole 27:24 (okay, that I had to look up) of "Tarkus" is going to be playing in a loop in my head for the rest of the day.

Oh, so you're actually ProgPhlyer - I've been spelling it wrong. I prefer the version on, "Welcome Back My Friends to the Show That Never Ends".

Feel better, man! And once again, thanks for keeping the score!

A nun who could lift a Ducati... I think she was my first grade teacher.

Would you lend me nine bucks?

...can be arranged.

Welcome!! The challenge runs through the end of the month, so if you feel like trying your hand at it, there's plenty of time. Bring your plane; bring your pen!

What you're missing from me: 0E0 – KGUP . 2:00 plan v. 1:58 act. V02. KGUP – KFLG. 1:16 plan v. 1:16 act. V00. Thanks!

PhrogPhlyer, here's what you're missing from me: 08 November. Moriarity – Gallup. 2:00 plan v. 1:58 act. V02. 10 November. Gallup – Flagstaff. 1:16 plan v. 1:16 act. Thanks for doing what's probably the most daunting and least fun part of the Challenge!

10 November. Gallup – Flagstaff. 1:16 plan v. 1:16 act. Flagstaff – Needles. 1;15 plan v. 1:14 act. V01. Needles – Santa Monica. 1:53 plan v. 1:52 act. V01. Will post the write-up in a couple of days. See y'all in LA!

I actually lived something like this IRL in the plane I'm flying in the race, following an IFR plan, KDCA-KDXR, one winter night with my instrument-rated flying buddy in the left seat and his two nephews in the back. The problem was a combination of gethomeitis (the kids had to be in school the next day) and a lack of accurate icing information along the route. I worked harder that night in the right seat than I ever did in the left. By the time the cloud cover broke just south of New York City, 54J was barely staying in the air at 2000' and full throttle. Coming into KDXR, it took two hands and all my strength to get the flaps lever to move (even though I had been working it all flight). My buddy, to his credit, greased the landing - at full throttle! I had to put my shoulder into the door to get it to open and the kids had to pass the bags forward because the luggage compartment was completely iced over. There was so much ice on the wings, the fuel filler caps were just a couple of rounded bumps. Definitely one for AOPA Pilot's "Never Again" column. I read your description and, when I went to scroll down, my palms were sweating (after 40 years)!

Plane flies a lot better without those sandbags in the boot, doesn't it? (Just kidding, with a note of envy - congratulations, Kit!) https://e6bx.com/e6b/ Doesn't look like an E6B, but very easy to use. https://www.gleimaviation.com/resources/e6b-flight-computer-instructions/ An actual circular slide rule emulator. Fun and good to practice with if you don't have a physical one (mine's outside in the shed, on top of my 8-track player, I think).

You're on! We've spent the day checking out the town and we're lookiing for something to do tonight. Around 7ish?

08 November. Moriarity – Gallup. 2:00 plan v. 1:58 act. V02. The guys decided to spend Tuesday in Albuquerque, and more than that, to dedicate the day to their practice of the Here-and-Now. For one wonderful moment, there were no clients to worry about, no team to steward, no decisions to make, no I Group, no Ortíz Harrison, nothing but getting to know a charming city. Rey truly relaxed for the first time all trip – Tom saw the tension lines in his face dissolve as it he had applied Botox. More importantly, he saw that Rey was noticing the change himself. They even found a Mexican restaurant that served Mexican food – very good Mexican food, better even than a lot of restaurants in Mexico City. This morning, both were awake at their usual times, but each felt more rested than they had in a while. They took a cab to Moriarity and had an unhurried breakfast at a diner near the airport. Over coffee, Rey went over the flight plan to Gallup with Tom. “It’s the same plan that you sent me,” he said, “but I’ve reduced the cruising altitude to 10,500’. It is going to be another slog against headwinds this morning. It might get a little lumpy through the mountains, too. We are looking at a flight time of two hours on the nose.” “When I worked up the plan,” Tom said as he grabbed another biscuit from the bread bowl, “I let the true airspeed default to the Cherokee’s standard 110. Pop up the E6Bx, would you? Plug in 10,500 density altitude… What’re the temps up there?” “Zero centigrade, more or less, so let’s see… 92 indicated.” “I may have a few hours on the airframe, but I only have as much experience with the stock engine that you do. What do you think?” “That is pretty much full throttle. Should the winds prove even more adverse than predicted, we will not set a good time. So far, though, the headwinds have been less strong then forecast.” “Fuel?” “I’d like 60 percent. According to the plan, this leaves us with a 10% reserve.” “Lighter. Better climb performance, especially seeing as how quickly it falls off above 6,000’.” “Your Cherokee model in SkyVector contemplates a 90-knot climb speed. I didn’t change it, but I think that 85 might be better.” “If we ever want to get up to altitude.” “Should the winds prove more adverse, I would like to divert to a different airport, fly back to 0E0 after fueling, and try the route later on.” “I think that’s prudent, Rey. We’ve got the whole month to complete the Challenge, and we’re only at… What’s today’s date? The 8th?” “It is.” “I’m in no hurry. Are you?” “Not at all. Like you told me when we first started flying together, when one is in a hurry, one should not be piloting.” The guys walked across the street to the airport, where they spied a beautiful DeHavilland Dove being pre-flighted by fellow race participant Sirrus. They considered stopping over and saying hello, but Sirrus was flying by himself and they did not want to cause him to lose his place in his checklist. They did wave, which Sirrus returned briefly with a smile before returning to his work. Rey got the most recent weather report and filed the flight plan. While he pre-flighted Sierra Hotel, Tom stowed the bags as securely as he could – decades of flying the Sierra Madre up and down the length of Mexico had made him well aware of how violently mountain turbulence could throw around a small airplane. They had just boarded when a shout of, “Prop clear,” brought up both of their heads. The Skylane next to them fired up its engine, which seemed to have trouble catching. “Club plane,” Tom said under his breath. Rey finished his interior pre-flight, opened the vent window and yelled, “Clear,” and Sierra Hotel started and settled into a low purr with barely a flick of the ignition switch. Rey taxied to the fuel pad; Tom got out and made sure that the still somewhat sleepy attendant filled each tank to fifteen gallons exactly. When they reached the taxiway to the active, the Cessna was rolling slowly just in front of them. “Student,” Rey said under his breath. They followed it to the hold line and waited until the other aircraft had completely cleared the field before taking off themselves. After a leisurely, well-controlled climb to altitude, they passed ABQ. “32 minutes elapsed versus 34 planned – we’re two minutes fast,” Tom said. “Doing good. We might have a pretty good run.” With such an ability to jinx something into doing bad when it’s doing good just by talking about how good it’s doing, Tom should have been a sports announcer. Halfway between Albuquerque and Grants, the Cherokee dropped like a rock. “She’s stalling,” Rey called as he shoved the nose down. “What the frap was that?” Tom asked. Just as the airspeed was starting to come up, another gust slammed the aircraft and it fell further. This time, though, the nose was still pointed downward. Rey took care to avoid a spin, but the ground was beginning to close awfully quickly before he could level off. He took Sierra Hotel back up to altitude slowly and carefully. They got slammed a couple of times more, but at least their speed stayed safely in the green. “Rey,” Tom said with a note of alarm as he looked for his EFB, “have you looked at the DME?” He had been focusing on getting the plane back on course, but glanced across the panel. “145 over ground?” Now Rey sounded alarmed. Tom had his EFB out and checked hurriedly. “Wind shift and turbulence aren’t here anywhere – neither in SkyVector nor in Windy. I’m calling in a PIREP. What’re you planning on doing?” “The winds seem to have stabilized, so I’ll back her off to 80 IAS. I don’t want to go lower than that. But the flight plan calls for a groundspeed of 72. Let’s see what happens by the time we reach Grants, but I’m afraid that the run might be blown.” Rounding KGNT, they were at 1:07 flight time against a plan of 1:20. “At least fuel is not an issue,” Rey said philosophically. “If you do not mind, I would like to overfly Gallup to get a feeling for how I would like to set up the approach. Another day in Albuquerque is rather appealing, actually.” “That might not be necessary,” Tom said as he worked his EFB. “Did you notice the TFR east of Gallup?” “Of course,” Rey answered. “It was the first thing I checked. Your flight plan runs right over it.” “Because my plan called for 12,500’. You brought it down to 10,500’” Rey thought for a moment. “Oh, crap! The TFR is from the ground to 11,000’. We will have to go around it.” His eyes widened and a smile came to the corners of his mouth. Tom read the text of the TFR and concluded with, “That sounds rather serious, doesn’t it?” “Indeed it does,” Rey agreed, his smile broadening. “We shall have to give it a wide berth.” “Indeed, a very wide berth. One cannot be too careful with TFR’s. What’s the frequency for Zuni?” “113.4. One or two?” “Give me Zuni on top and Gallup below, if you would be so kind.” Tom tuned the nav radios as Rey banked into a gentle left turn. Rey entered downwind for KGUP at 1500’ AGL. He held a descent to pattern altitude just as Sierra Hotel’s wing was parallel to the end of the runway. He flew base and final by the book, and set down on the numbers at 1:58 flight time. “Two minutes ahead of plan,” Tom said. “Pretty good, considering.” Rey taxied to a spot next to a blue Warrior. He gawked at a bus passing on the road outside the airport gate. “Some Retroports are just the airfield itself,” Tom explained, “like LaGuardia, for instance. Some have some vintage billboards outside. But in some places, like Gallup here, the people really get into the whole retro scene. Gallup’s that kind of place anyway – timeless, ageless… But if you ever wanted to see what the ‘60’s looked like, why don’t we take a walk through the town. That bus is vintage; so is the Microbus parked at that hotel by the gate.” “I do love vintage cars,” Rey said. “So, we’re a bit ahead of most of the participants and if we get to KSMO before everyone else, we’re going to have to wait in LA until the trophy ceremony anyway. Why don’t we spend the day here and head off tomorrow morning?” “Groovy.” “That’s the spirit!” The pair put Sierra Hotel to bed until the next day and walked to the gate. They had originally talked about staying in the El Rancho in town, but the sign for the 21 Motel outside the airport fence contained the guys’ two favorite words in the English language: “Free Coffee.”

But were you filed IFR (I Follow Roads)?

I'm fine with Kit declaring yesterday's run a practice, scrubbing his time, and re-running the leg.

Welcome, Kit, and best of luck!

What happens in the cockpit stays in the cockpit (or occasionally in the doctor's office for a shot of penicillin).

Just doing what you told me, representin' for Piper and showing the Beeches how it's done. I'm not worried about the Spit - we're vampires - but the nuns in the 18, that's another story (as long as JMSR hasn't fu deflo disavowed them already).

I just hope it's "good" busy and that everything goes your way. We're going to miss you around here!

06 November. Claremore – F36. 2:25 plan v. 2:25 act. F36 – Tradewinds. 1:45 plan v. 1:44 act. V01. Tradewinds – Moriarity 2:33 plan v. 2:33 act. Tom was up early – before 5:00. He showered and dressed and was thinking about taking a walk around Tulsa, either to think or to avoid thinking altogether, he wasn’t sure which. That ended when he opened the door to his hotel room, only to hear the latch of the adjoining room’s door click open. He stepped out into the hallway at the same time as did Rey. “Morning,” he said and waved to the young man. “Couldn’t sleep?” “I slept like a baby,” Rey smiled. “What, you mean nodded off for five minutes and then cried for four hours?” Tom smirked. “No, not at all,” Rey said. “I think it was the best sleep I’ve had in years. What about you?” “Quite well,” Tom said, flexing his hands. “How are your fingers this morning?” “Kind of stiff. Nothing to complain about.” “Yet you just did. With the quantity of capsaicin in those wings yesterday, I’m surprised. What has you up so early?” “Woke up, felt refreshed and ready to go, didn’t feel like laying in bed pressing the TV remote for a couple of hours. You?” “I simply could not sleep anymore. What are you planning to do?” “I was thinking of checking out the city until you woke up and then heading to Cordell. Maybe even do more than one leg today. You?” “My stomach is hurtin’ for certain. I need to get some breakfast to settle it.” “Mind some company?” One of the hotel’s restaurants opened at 5:00 for early birds. Rey and Tom were their first customers of the day. Their server was astonishingly chipper for this time of the morning. She gave them both tall glasses of orange juice, on the house to apologize for their having to wait for the coffee to finish brewing. She also placed a platter of breakfast breads in the center of the table – just-out-of-the-oven hot and steaming. The two men devoured them, to the delight of their server who, although she slotted in age-wise between the two, looked as pleased as a mom watching her two finicky children discovering something that they like. As soon as the coffee was ready, she brought two full cups for the guys, scurried back to the double commercial drip coffee maker by the door to the kitchen and filled a serving carafe to the brim, and placed it in the center of the table. The two looked at each other to ask, “Does she know us?” She drawled on about their Mexican Breakfast Special – “And as you’re Mexican, sir,” she said, looking at Rey, “I can ask the kitchen to make it extra spicy for you.” Both men chuckled at the irony, as they always did when the subject came up. Rey, who looked classically Afro-Latino, was actually born in the U.S., in a border station. Tom, who if he looked anything looked Irish, was born in Oaxaca, supposedly to a missionary couple but, as he often mused, more likely started with, “A priest and a nun walk into a motel room…” He was the only one of the pair who had a Mexican birth certificate. Both men ordered the pancakes. While they were waiting, Rey said, “I saw you working on your EFB yesterday during the early afternoon game.” “It was either that or watch the Patriots lose again,” Tom growled. “I did preliminary routings for the rest of the race. What we’re doing seems to be working.” “Why do you think is that?” Rey asked as he snatched up the last of the biscuits. “We’ve been taking pages from the endurance racing playbook,” Tom answered, washing the words down with a swig of some surprisingly good coffee for north of the border. “We’ve been taking each leg as its own race in and of itself, only focusing on the next stop and not on getting to Santa Monica – building the race one stint at a time. We’re flying VOR-to-VOR rather than Direct-To, which allows us to break the track up into sectors. We’re not flying all-out; we’re keeping a slower pace than the aircraft is capable of and trying to nail our sector times. Or stay a couple of minutes ahead of what our total leg time should be, so that we can back off a little when coming into the airport. “But I think a lot of it has to do with Sierra Hotel. She’s just such a stable and predictable aircraft… And with 500 hours in her – you know, as soon as I’d done a couple of shakedown flights in her, her first cross-country was a circumnavigation – I know her like the back of my hand. And how much time do you have in Cherokees?” “At least a hundred hours, Thomas. You insisted that I learn in Cherokees and Archers, rather than Cessnas or Cirrus.” “Yeah, to me, Cessnas have always been simply too easy to fly. And I wanted you to be thoroughly grounded in analog instruments as you grew into your SR22. Sure, glass panels are a lot more reliable than steam gauges, but if your electrical system decides to pack it in in the soup at 12,500’, you’ve got to be able to still fly the plane.” Tom switched to the seat next to Rey, and the two reviewed the flight plans. They agreed that today was going to be a serious flying day. They finished breakfast quickly, asked the server for a favor and the check, and by the time they had collected their bags and checked out, a car was waiting for them out front. Tom revised the flight plan to F36 to consider the current weather and auto-filed it. The morning, at least, was going to be a slog against headwinds. Since the winds weren’t substantially stronger at 8500’ than they were at 4500’, the planner showed that they would shave a good ten minutes off of the run higher up. It was Rey’s turn to get the thermos filled, while Tom helicoptered over the hangar staff as they rolled Sierra Hotel out onto the ramp. Rey joined him for the preflight. The two had decided that Tom would be flying at least the first stint; Rey would be handling the radios and navigation. Sierra Hotel’s engine roared to life at 7:40, firing instantly and smoothly the moment the starter engaged. Winds were from 160o at 10 knots – perfect for a flapless takeoff from 17. Tom did his run-up, cranked in some trim, and they were off. The Tulsa beacon was only 16 miles away from the airport and they were still climbing, but they passed it with 14 minutes showing on the flight time – exactly as planned. Even with full throttle, the stock engine struggled to maintain a 500’ per minute climb at 90 knots above 6500’, so Tom leveled off a little later than planned, but sustaining a groundspeed that put them over IRW 3 minutes ahead of schedule. Just before reaching IRW, they passed the KOKC Retroport, under the right wing. A little less than an hour later, F36 was off the other wing. They were still ahead of plan, so Tom throttled back and began an early, leisurely descent. He doubled back at BFV and entered the pattern from the southwest. Tom set Sierra Hotel down at 2:25 flight time. Rey congratulated him for nailing the plan. They decided to make a game of it: the PIC would keep flying until he posted a variance; then, they would switch. They stopped into the FBO to see about fuel, and Tom noticed an advertisement for a small digital trim indicator that boasted a two-hour installation time. He and Rey set up the plane differently, and both agreed that it was a good idea. The job took closer to five, but they were taxiing to the active at 14:30. They were looking at an hour-and-three-quarters to KTDW, most of which was a very long run to PNH. Tom arrived at the flight plan’s top-of-descent, 2.7 nautical miles from Panhandle, seven minutes early. He had eaten one of those minutes by the time they passed PNH. Tom pointed out that Amarillo was also a Retroport, and as Rey stretched and craned over the back of his seat, he could even make out dark blotches on the ramp that marked the parking spots for big, old, radial-engined propliners. “A radial never drips oil,” he said, repeating the old saw, “it is merely marking its territory.” Tom was still a couple of minutes early when he entered a broad pattern for 35. He went long on the downwind, flew a crisp but slow base, and by the time he was set up on final, he was only two minutes off their target. As Sierra Hotel settled toward the numbers, Rey saw his throttle hand inch forward for a moment before pulling the engine back to idle. “You could have held her in the air for a few more seconds, landed midfield, and we would have been right on the mark,” Rey said as both looked at 1:44 on the flight timer. Tom taxied Sierra Hotel to a parking spot next a red Warrior. “I thought about it,” Tom admitted. “I saw you. Why didn’t you?” Rey asked rhetorically. “’Spirit of the Race,’” both said in unison. It was a term that Tom had first heard from the broadcasters of Radio LeMans and had adapted to his business practices. It meant going all out to win, or at least finish even when you had no chance of winning. For Tom, even more than this, it meant winning fairly – coloring right up to the limits of the rules, but not outside the lines. It meant having a respect for your competitors, behaving honorably even when your competitors didn’t. Mostly, it meant being able to look at yourself in the mirror each night and knowing that each victory was earned, not stolen. “I’m glad you didn’t,” Rey said softly. “We’re in not that bad a position to win this thing,” Tom said. “What’d that be worth if we cheated?” “Just a non-functional, gold-plated vacuum cleaner on the mantlepiece?” Rey mused. “Which’d remind us of people whose trust we’ve betrayed, every time we looked at it,” Tom finished. “Should we call it a day?” Tom asked as they walked to the FBO. “I don’t know,” Rey said. “I’m still pretty fresh. I could fly another stint. Besides, you set a V01, so it’s my turn to fly, right?” “Fair is fair,” Tom mock-shrugged. Tom updated the plan with the afternoon’s weather and filed it while Rey fueled and pre-flighted Sierra Hotel. “It’s pretty much what we’ve been doing: Tucumcari to Anton Chico to Otto to land at Moriarity,” Tom explained to Rey when he boarded the aircraft. “The only thing is, Otto doesn’t have a DME, so we’ll be flying direct-to using Nav 2 but keeping Anton tuned on Nav 1 for distance and time. We’re looking at a 2:33 target.” “Fine,” Rey said, studying the chart. You have us filed at 8500’. Is that going to clear that hill to the east of the airport?” “Perfectly,” Tom said. “The flight path passes right over a peak marked at 7410’. Not even busting minimums. Oh, and don’t even think of a long descent if we arrive ahead of schedule – Moriarity’s at 6204’. The flight plan only contemplates two minutes to pattern altitude…” “Which I cannot start in any case until I clear the hill,” Rey finished. “Got it.” “Well, then, let’s go, Pancho!” “Villa?” “Barnes. And no flying through barns like she used to do on the stunt circuit.” “Aye aye, Captain,” Rey snapped off a salute and fired up the 0-360. They took the active as the clock turned 17:00. By 18:01, when they rounded TCC, it was almost completely dark. “We seem to do a lot of night flying,” Rey commented. “People are going to think that we’re vampires.” The flight timer read 1:51 when they rounded ACH. “Four minutes fast,” Tom said, and tuned the radios as he had planned. Rey’s lead over the plan had grown to five minutes by the time they passed the hill. Tom was going to mention this, but Rey was looking at the M803, so he was aware. They were doing okay so far, so if Rey landed with a variance, it wasn’t that big a deal. Besides, who wanted a gold duster vac above his fireplace, anyway? He was looking forward to flying the plane tomorrow. “Watch this,” Rey said as he leveled off at 7200’. Instead of the most obvious approach, a straight-in to 26, he turned to runway heading and settled into an upwind. “The rules say, ‘Any legal approach,’ do they not? Would a student be allowed a straight-in? No, we’re flying a pattern.” Off the end of the runway, he snapped a crisp turn to crosswind, then a minute later, another to downwind. 90 degrees on the nose, thought Tom. Never even looked at the DG or the compass. In the dark, at an airport he doesn’t even know. The boy’s a pilot! A pilot who’s flying exceptionally slow. Rey let the airspeed decay to 85 and pulled on a notch of flaps. Down to 75… “Hey vampire,” Tom said, “we just got our doors blown off by the Flying Nun. And she’s got a wooden stake and a crucifix and looks rather peeved.” “A student in a 152 would be doing about this speed on downwind,” Rey pointed out, “and there is no one else in the pattern.” Another crisp split-180 put Rey on final. He brought on full flaps early, and Sierra Hotel’s airspeed dropped to a hair below 70. The flight timer turned 2:33 just as one wheel touched the top of the 2 and the other made its mark on the 6. Rey turned to Tom and arched his eyebrows twice. Tom nodded in acknowledgment. There was nothing to say. Rey taxied over to a spot beside a P-47 and shut Sierra Hotel down. “Want to get a motel close to here, get an early start tomorrow, or should we head into Albuquerque?” Tom asked. “Do you know, I’ve never been to Albuquerque,” Rey said.

05 November. Lebanon to Claremore. 1:57 Planned, 1:56 Actual. V01. The cellphone on the bathroom counter rang. Thinking that it was Jessica, Tom leapt out of the shower, his feet slipping on the tile of the bathroom floor, he nearly falling. He grabbed a towel from the rack and quickly got enough shampoo out of his hair to not short out his phone. Soap stung his eyes, so he couldn’t make out the caller ID. “Good morning, Honey!” he said enthusiastically. “Uh, good morning, Dear?” said Rey. “Are you ready to get going?” “Oh, um, I’m just in the shower, be out in a minute,” Tom said far less enthusiastically. and hung up. It took Tom closer to 20. “What took you so long?” Rey, who was standing outside the door to Tom’s hotel room and, the older man surmised, probably had been since he had called, asked. “Were you on the phone with the missus?” There was a note of agitation in his voice. “Nah,” Tom said. “We missed our afternoon call yesterday, so I thought she might try first thing this morning. But no, at this age it just takes me a little while to make myself presentable. You work with what you’ve got, no?” Not so much as a smile, not even a quiver of a corner of the mouth. Something was going on with Rey. They walked down to the lobby, checked out, and set off toward KLBO. “Want to get some breakfast before heading up?” Tom asked. “The diner makes a really good hash-and-eggs – make their own hash from scratch.” “Sure,” Rey said, sounding none too convinced. Rey was driving their 4-Series BMW. Yesterday, Tom had wanted to go for just a rent-a-POS, but the younger man had insisted on going upscale – and paying for it, which ended any argument that the old man might have had. Tom had noticed that he had been wearing his gift, too, not the older Patek that he had bought with his first big bonus from Remi Ortíz and Associates. That watch was rather understated and only cost as much as a decent avionics suite. Remi’s gift, if a price could even be put on it, cost as much as a good glass cockpit, wrapped in a very nice airplane. Reymundo had been trying very hard to impress, Tom concluded – to that deduction, he added something about Great Britain’s most famous detective having a problem with constipation. Today, he had on his Tag, which was his favorite watch for flying. He also had on the clothes that he had flown in the day before. His hair and beard were unkempt; he hadn’t showered. Rey slowed down as they approached the diner. He had just put his turn signal on when he spied a man whose bright red hair lit up the pre-dawn and a woman with striking eyes. “You know what?” Rey said with a note of disgust, “Let’s just go. We’ll get something to eat in Claremont.” “Claremore,” Tom corrected, noticing the couple as well. “Whatever,” Rey said, and stomped on the accelerator as if it was a scorpion. The way Rey pulled into the rental agency’s parking space, Tom half-expected to see a crew of people in Nomex jumping over the wall with tires and an air gun. He was glad that there weren’t any cops on the road between the diner and the airport. As they hiked over to Sierra Hotel, Rey said, “I’d like to fly this morning, if you don’t mind.” “You okay to pilot?” Tom asked. “I kind of need to,” Rey said. “Besides, you’re going to be in the right seat, aren’t you?” Tom knew better to say anything else. After loading the bags, Rey set his EFB down on the wing. “I have us routed Lebanon – Springfield – Neosho – Tulsa, which is 16 miles beyond Claremore, then fly back 061o to the airport.” “Sounds like you’ve built in a buffer,” Tom said. “Let’s see how we do with it. And let’s only use the GPS today to confirm the airport frequencies.” “That’s a good idea,” Rey said. “I don’t know at what time I switched the nav source for the CDI, but I don’t like the fact that I didn’t notice that it was tracking the GPS instead of the VOR until we got to St. Louis.” “Me, either,” Tom said. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve become way too dependent on the GPS.” “It’s essential back home,” Rey said. “Chart navigation and situational awareness are fine, but if I’m picking my way through mountains in low visibility, give me a color terrain map anytime.” It was absolutely perfect flying weather, 7oc, almost no wind either on the ground or aloft. Rey took off from 18, turned to 240o, and climbed crisply to 4500’. The pair flew in silence. If Rey was lost in his thoughts, he channeled them into some pretty effective flying. He rounded SGF with 23 minutes on the flight timer, which was exactly what the flight plan called for, and EOS at 58 minutes against 60 for the plan. They crossed Claremore at 1:34 flight time. Tom took out the Garmin 295, checked the frequencies for KGCM, and set the comms. The ASOS was reporting winds from 110o at 2 knots, which would make 17 the active. Rey flew on toward TUS and began a descent. At a mile out from Tulsa, Rey dialed in a back course of 061o and followed it straight to KGCM. They were still a little early, so Rey flew a wide arc around a couple of hills and entered the pattern for 17 from the east. His turns were perfectly squared, although a little aggressive, and he set Sierra Hotel down on the runway at 1:56 flight time, versus 1:57 for the plan. They added another minute to their cumulative score, which still had them in second place among those who had already started the race. Rey wanted to fly on, but Tom insisted on having breakfast. There was a chain sports bar/restaurant just off of the airport and Rey led them there, figuring that they could go for the buffet, eat quickly, and get back in the air. As they entered, the establishment’s thousand-and-one big screens came alive; Miami was playing Kansas City in Frankfurt, Germany. Oh, yeah, it was Sunday. Football day. The pair wasn’t going anywhere else that day.

04 November, 06:00. Palmyra (Zelmer). Tom and Rey sorted things out pretty quickly. Rey was quite contrite that night. Tom realized that Rey was suffering from exhaustion and stress that couldn’t be ameliorated by a couple of weeks of doing nothing, and that he himself was more stressed than he had realized. Both knew that as a practical matter, anger, resentment, and silence would have made for a majorly miserable month in the close confines of a Cherokee. They agreed to set out early the next day and try to catch the Airedale before it left Lebanon. This worked out well, since both were early risers. Rey was going to be PIC that day and worked up a flight plan. The winds were far more favorable than yesterday evening’s. SkyVector estimated the total time for the leg at 1:39, at 4500’ cruising altitude. He checked it with Tom, which was unnecessary but prudent after last night’s meltdown, Rey figured, and filed it. Rey preflighted Sierra Hotel while Tom went to fill the thermos. The diner close to the airport opened at 06:00, and when Tom arrived at 06:05, the staff still hadn’t put the coffee on. He waited impatiently, knowing the effect that any delay would have on Rey. The staff didn’t seem in any hurry, either. After a seeming eternity, the coffee was ready and the thermos was poured (sloppily) Tom ran back to Sierra Hotel to find Rey already in the left seat. Rey fired up the engine, and they began rolling at 06:20. Winds were calm, so Rey had a short taxi to 36. Run-up, trim, a notch of flaps… In the cool, crisp autumn air, Sierra Hotel was up and out of the tiny field with no drama whatsoever. They ascended into a brilliant sunrise, and Tom caught Rey playing with the aircraft the way he used to do when they flew together a few years back and the young man’s joy of flying first overcame his nervousness of piloting: He let the Cherokee rise until the disk of the sun peered over the horizon, then descended until it was no longer visible. After a couple of these oscillations, Tom sang, “Sunrise, sunset.” Rey laughed and timed a couple more oscillations to the rhythm of the tune. “Perhaps all he was needing was a good blow-up,” Tom thought; his protege seemed relaxed today in a way that he hadn’t been all trip. Rey dawdled during the climb and let the airspeed climb to 110 once at altitude to compensate. St. Louis came up very quickly. Rey rounded the mark at 24 minutes elapsed, one minute faster than the plan. The next leg was the lion’s share of the route and was calling for a groundspeed of 102. Rey backed the IAS off to 100 and checked the groundspeed against the GPS. They flew on toward Forney where, Rey posited, no one would be able to name their daughter Catherine because it would be considered child abuse to condemn a girl to spend her high school years known as, “Forney Kate.” “But the name of the town is Fort Leonard Wood,” Tom pointed out. “Only the beacon is Forney.” “But then the joke wouldn’t work,” Rey shot back. They passed over TBN at 1:24 elapsed, versus 1:25 planned, still one minute ahead and spot-on for the critical leg. Tom congratulated Rey, who was focused on reaching Lebanon. The winds were from the west and there was no chatter on the unicom for KLBO, so Rey elected a straight-in approach. He had overcompensated slightly for the variance in plan versus actual, so he came into the shorter of the two runways, hot and without flaps. Tom held himself from saying anything; Rey wasn’t a student anymore and knew what he was doing. Rey landed long and, with both feet mashing the toe brakes and both hands pulling the parking brake, discovered just how fast original equipment brakes can fade. Sierra Hotel came to a stop just as her nosewheel edged over the lip of the runway and came to rest on the dirt turnaround patch. Only when the aircraft was turned around did they look at the flight time. 1:39, same as the plan. Variance: 0. “Congratulations, Rey,” Tom said. “Don’t ever do that again.” “Don’t worry,” Rey said as he wiped the sweat from his palms on his pant legs. “I won’t.” Rey taxied Sierra Hotel over to a parking spot. Tom had seen a V-tailed Bonanza on the ramp on the way in that he thought might be JGF, but as they approached the FBO, he saw that it wasn’t. Rey brought the engine to idle, paused for a minute to make sure Sierra Hotel would not roll, and shut the engine down. A couple in the brown-and-white Archer next to them started its engine and taxied for some touch-and-go’s as they put the Cherokee to bed. Rey did not set the parking brakes, but sat at the ready with his hand on the brake as Tom got out, fished the chocks out from under the bags, and secured the nosewheel. Tom invited Rey for breakfast, but the young man was far too interested in a brown-and-white Airedale that they had seen parked on the other side of the fuel pump to hear. “Methinks the boy has Forney Kate on his mind,” Tom said to himself with a grin.

Good idea - a clarification from the race stewards, please. It's my understanding that the GPS can be used occasionally to verify course, speed, terrain, and airport information (which oftentimes varies from SkyVector), but not to direct the autopilot - more a restriction on the AP than the GPS. I did hand-fly the GPS beam on CDI1 last night and this morning, and occasionally kick on the AP to take screenshots, but since my courses are VOR-to-VOR, I have no problem switching to the beacon driving the CDI (was planning on doing this anyway; I left it in GPS mode by mistake, flew Forney this morning off CDI2) and using the DME for groundspeed/time to waypoint. But, if anyone feels this was unfair, I'll be happy to go back and re-run the route so far (as long as we don't have to spend another night in Zelmer).