What Could POSSIBLY Go Wrong?

Chapter Nine - It's a Done Deal

We sat in silence for just a moment after the propellor ticked over the last compression stroke. Then as Jeremy reached for the door handle he broke the silence with “Well. What do you think of her Cloudy?” I replied with “I think I need to look at the logbooks and decide if we got ourselves a deal here.” And he came back with “Let’s go get some more lemonade and some cookies then.”

Over the kitchen table we sat perusing the biography of an old airplane's life. Faded ink written decades earlier right up to the last annual done three months ago. The last three logbooks unlike those previous that documented the plane’s early life, were absolutely spotless. Not a smudge, fingerprint, nor one faint minuscule oilstain marred any page in the logbooks that Jeremy Rogers had kept. It was then that I learned that he was an A & P as well. Almost all the work except the annual sign offs were accompanied by his signature and license number.

All in all I had never seen a more impressive (albeit simple) combo of airplane and logbook.

-- delete --

Was this a “bargaining tactic”? I don’t think so. The price was settled. My gut told me this was real. He seemed almost sad that he had to tell me that. Seems another phone call north was in order and I returned to Jeremy’s den and again closed the door.

Hiya J Pyle -

Lurkers and readers of ALL types WELCOME!

CloudDancer

Chapter Nine - cont'd

I dreaded making this call. I had observed my friend and employer Brantley conduct many business deals for his various companies over the years. He’s a tough, extremely tough negotiator and never likes it when “glitches” crop up unexpectedly. But I also know he really WANTS this airplane. I answer all his terse questions directly. “No. I don’t think it’s a tactic. I believe him.” I say in response to the obvious question. And we go over every minute since my arrival at the Roger’s house in detail again.

Then Brantley asked me the most critical question he ever could. “What does your GUT tell you Cloudman” (He almost always called me Cloudman. That or “cat”.)

I then told him about the QUALITY of all I’d seen. The order and neatness in everything I’d seen. An overall positive perception. I closed with “Brantley. I think you’d like the guy. He looks you in the eye, has a good handshake, and a hearty laugh. I think the man is honorable and there is a good deal to be had here.” Then I reminded him that tomorrow was Labor Day and that I’d likely NOT be able to get ANY inspection for at LEAST 48 hours. We could LOSE the deal.

With his full reliance based on MY “gut” feelings he made his decision. “O.K. Make the deal. Call me and let me know when you’re gonna’ get out of there.” Click. I returned to the kitchen with a grin on my face and said “O.K. Jer. Let’s cut some paperwork here. It’s a done deal! But I want another control stick too!” and Jeremy’s face broke into a grin. He said “Wait a minute. I gotta’ make a call first.” He reached into the front pocket of his Pendleton shirt and extracted a small notebook. Flipping it open he reached for the phone hanging on the wall and dialed as he read the number silently to himself. I listened as he told the man in California that there wiould be no use in coming. The plane had been sold. I walked out to the car to get the briefcase with the dough out of the trunk.

As we filled out the necessary paperwork Jeremy and I discussed my plans for heading north. Upon learning that I would have Selena and god knows HOW much STUFFS with me we concluded that departing off his strip might not be the smartest option. I hadn’t flown a Cub since I was 14 (13 years ago). I hadn’t flown a taildragger in three or four years. And I hadn’t flown ANYthing in over five months. I really need a “check-out” in this airplane with someone who knows it well.

We come up with a plan. Jeremy will find the other control stick and re-install it in the Cub. Either late today or early tomorrow he will move it over to the public field a little further east down I-84. A longer and wide asphalt runway with clear approaches will be a far most suitable venue. As he has long-laid plans with family for Labor Day we decide to meet Tuesday morning at the airport where he will first check me out around the patch. Then after I shoot a few landings I can gas up, load up Selena (and god knows HOW much STUFFS) and depart for the Great Land. Well. You know what they say. The best laid plans......

Biting my nails ; Cloudy--LETS FLY !!!Reminding me of a similar adventure a few years ago to Darby MT. :lol:

Chapter Ten - RIDE That Bronc Cowboy !!

Tuesday morning dawned grey and rainy and windy in Portland. NOT a good sign. Selena and I were up early as I had insisted we BOTH refrain from any the previous 24 hours. For me, a precaution to ensure that my “flying senses” 8) would not be compromised. And I had insisted she abstain until after at least her first ride in the Cub.
Given that on a few occasions when she had accompanied me in a various assortment of airplanes over the years, the only time she got sick was after being out with me the night before. This resulted in no SMALL argument. She got no You KNOW what I didn’t get!

But we did have fun playing (sober) tourists on Monday, spending more of Brantley’s “expense” money on good dining and souvenirs for our friends and a drive westward see the Pacific Ocean.

Upon arriving at The Dalles airport much of my apprehension had vanished along with half the cloud cover and almost all of the rain. Conditions gradually improved the further we put Portland behind us during the cab ride eastward. Unfortunately, so did the wind speed. :-? By the time the cab driver had finished unloading us in front of the FBO where I was to meet Jeremy the wind had become the primary remaining concern.

It was gusty out of the northeast. The kid behind the counter in the FBO said he’d seen the anemometer hit 28 knots at one point although the gusts seemed to regularly peak at 25 now and the steady breeze was down to 17 or 18 knots. Interesting enough had it been straight DOWN the runway, this wind was some 25 to 30 degrees off the runway centerline from the left. Not exactly the best conditions for an initial Cub checkout.

Jeremy showed up on the dot, and after making some small talk with Selena for a moment he looked at me and said decisively that he felt we should hang out for an hour or so in hopes that the wind would continue to decrease in velocity as it had over the last couple of hours. Selena dug out some People, or US, or some such magazine (they’re ALL “Twinkies for the Brain” in my opinion :roll: ) and proceeded to get lost in it as Jeremy and I had our first cup of airport coffee.

An hour later the only change had been in my bladder pressure. The Cub rocked gently (it SEEMED) it her tie downs. I had pre-flighted the hell out of it. The wind speeds and directions had held steady. On the plus side though even more clouds had disappeared and there was no rain to be seen anywhere. After the fifth cup of coffee and the tenth personal visual inspection of the wind indicator by me I was getting antsy. The impatience of youth. Selena was no help either. For the last half hour she had been whining that she either wanted to “get this show on the road” or... go SHOPPING somewhere closeby until I figure it out. It was at this point I began to despair of ever getting laid again.

A lot of the small details of the following thirty or so minutes escape me. But those of you with light plane flying experience in and around the Columbia Gorge can see what’s coming by now.

Chapter Ten - cont'd

I honestly can’t remember :-? if I did the run-up in the tie-down spot while still tied down. I think I might have. I honestly can’t remember clearly the taxi route I took once the plane was unchained from the ground. I remember it was very, VERY slow. I could have WALKED to the runway threshold in under half the time I am sure. My focus was as intense as it ever had been :x as I manipulated the stick to keep all the controls surfaces where they needed to be. Downwind. Crosswind. Quartering from the front, the rear. I must be I tell myself.

Jeremy’s quite intelligent refusal to fly and Selena’s goading along with my impatience to be underway allowed my alligator EGO 8) to override my pea BRAIN. Now a tiger is trying to get MY tail it seems as I creep to the runways edge. I sit there repeating the same stupid four word phrase in my mind that got me (myself) into this mess to begin with. “It’s JUST an AIRplane!!” And using those four words I had convinced myself that I could check mySELF out if Jeremy didn’t want to go.

I didn’t know it yet, but by the time I had managed to reach the end of the runway half the airport had assembled in front of the FBO. Faster that the crack of a lightning bolt, word had spread around this intimately small aviation facility of an impending disaster to be witnessed! As the hotshot Alaskan “Bush Pilot” sat, legs braced against the brake pedals and shaking like a set of maracas in a Mexican cantina on a Friday night; I’m sure money was being wagered left and right among the onlookers. I can only iMAgine what “the odds” were being bandied about. And now I sat pointed directly into the wind at about a thirty degree angle to the runway centerline. I need to know. Can I still fly. Do I still have the kahunas when I need to? Only one way to find out I finally convince myself.

I release the right brake and suck the stick all the way into my gut and full hard right ‘til it stops.

-- delete --

Pain fades but glory lasts forever!

Go get em Cloudy!


...I Love this stuff!

Chapter Ten - Cont'd

As the wheels begin to turn I release the back pressure on the stick to neutral just momentarily before pushing slightly forward. The tail LEAPS into the air. My eyes are riveted forward and fixed on the far side of the runway now slowly coming nearer. Before I can consciously even THINK the thought (uh....WHAT’s my airspeed?) The plane practically STOPS forward motion (it seems) and JUMPS vertically upward with no further control input from me! In an INSTANT the runway has dropped twenty feet below the plane as if somehow the earth had mysteriously collapsed from beneath me.

Holy CRAP! I quickly ease the stick aftward and get the nose off level and pointed up! I don’t think we rolled three plane lengths. I had BARELY reached the centerline! WHAM!! Upward we jolt another two hundred feet or so : I raise the nose in an attempt to climb to pattern altitude and every time I do, I am literally in a HOVER! I have enough thrust to EITHER climb or fly forward in this wind. But it is simply that. A choice for now. Both are not possible simultaneously it seems. I settle for a “climb in position” mode until reaching what the altimeter tells me is 1000 feet AGL. I believe I am LOSING ground now.


-- delete --

I lower the nose to level and ease the power back slightly. At a groundspeed that even a self respecting snail would be ashamed of, I now churn forward through the air hoping the east end of the runway is within my fuel range. The BAM! turbulence is atrocious and I wince slightly as some of the worsts gusts strain Mr. Pipers trusty creation. I hope the bolts holding these wings on are BIG mothers!! And TIGHT!

-- delete --

I don’t remember the landing(s) either. :-? Other than to say I MADE it, much to the disappointment and financial detriment of many, I’m sure. And I somehow returned the aircraft to it’s tie-down spot without flipping it over taxying in either. Thank You Lord Jesus.

Chapter Eleven - Over or Under

By the time Jeremy had re-anchored the Cub to Mother Earth and I crawled out the majority of the crowd had dispersed. A few however remained, either to see what shade of white I had turned, or to check out if I had custom fit blue jeans with extra room in the crotch. :roll: However, one Levi overall wearing elder pelican, complete with a piece of straw protruding from the corner of his mouth apparently spoke for them all. As I approached the group standing with arms folded and leaning against the white walled building I glanced his way. The straw stopped wiggling up ‘n down in his mouth as he raised his voice to be heard above the still blowing winds. “ I heard summa’ you fellers up north were half a bubble off alright. But I never knowed ya’ll were plumb CRAZY!” To a man, the other three remaining men in the group nodded silently in agreement. I couldn’t have said it better myself and no response other than a slight shake of my head in concurrence was possible.

Selena rose as I came inside and came over and said. “How WAS it? Are you done? Can we GO now?” She hadn’t even gone outside to watch!

Go? Or no-go. What the hell. With more weight in her she’ll be easier to taxi I try to convince myself. The real reason I want to go though is I’ve spent just about enough time in America. I’m used to Alaska now. WAY too many people here all hustling about like it’s important. It’s time to go HOME already.

Again Jeremy tries to present what is obviously the common sense viewpoint and again I ignore him. -- delete --


She finally acquiesces and begins to hand me things as I start packing the baggage area. We fill it top to bottom and from the back end to jammed against the back of the aft seat. It all fits. Just BARELY.

Jeremy now emerges again from the FBO and tells me he’s paid for my fuel fill-up as a “parting gift”. Selena and I return to the building for a last minute “pit stop” as Jeremy stays with the plane. Selena and I clamber in on our return and Jeremy stands beside the open door as I secure myself in the front seat. Finally situated I turn and stick out my right hand. He again grasps it firmly. He says “Happy flying, and you come back by and visit me again if you’re ever down this way. Tell Brantley the invitation is good for him too!” I told him he’d been a wonderful host. What a great guy. With that he again reached forward and prepared to prop the little bird one last time. Standing by until I gave him a thumbs up from inside the cabin, he first untied my right wing and then scampered around the front of the airplane giving the idling prop a wide arc of clearance. Untying the left wing he looked up at me with a last smile. I slid open the small window to my left and hollered “Take care Jeremy” over the engine’s clattering. With a “thumbs up” back at me he ducked down and disappeared behind the left wing.

Again I goosed the throttle with my left arm now resting comfortably against the window. Time to focus intently again on my taxying procedures. About 1500 miles away lies our destination. And the LONGest journey begins with...just the first rotation of the little tires.

Hiya' EverBODY -

Well...SHOOT! :-? I THOUGHT maybe I'd GET to what could POSSIBLY go wrong today. I mean you KNOW Ol' Murph is gonna' show up sooner or later, right?

Trouble is...onced ah-GIN I have to go to my REAL job tamale. :evil: But the upside is...I IS headed for The Great Land (via Las Vegas). AND -

I have to invent/create an officious looking INVOICE for my company so I can bill the newest distributor to sign up for teh "CloudDancer's Alaskan Chronicles"(TM) sales bandwagon....

Ta-a-DAH!! TITLE WAVE bookstores in Anchorage, Alaska are "on board" with your ol' pal .

WOW! Am I EXCITED!! A real certified card-carryin' oh-FI-cial BIG BOOKSTORE is gonna' have the Chronicles on the shelf. Tell your friends!!

So, anyway. I gotta' go do this other stuff. But I MAY get some more written tonight. If not it will be Monday before you see the 'climax' of this saga. But, rest assured. I NEED to get this finished so Volume II can start the publishing process and make a May 1st deadline.

Enjoy everybody. And, as always.

THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for sharing part of your day with us here at Chronicles Central!!

Cloud(Isurewishtherewuztwoofme)Dancer

Cloudy, Cloudy, how could you do this to me. I was so excited and happy and ... now left hanging.

Oh Pokette -

I see you just joined our little fun corner of the internet less than ten months ago. I don't know when you first became acquianted with the Chronicles. Much of it was written before you arrived on the scene it would seem.

Most, if not ALL long-term observers of the CloudDancer's Alaskan Chronicles forum will be among the first to tell you...gettin' left hanging' in midair with the flaps or gear in mid-motion is not all that unusual.

Besides the burden of having to continue my regular four or five day a week flying job; now, thanks to ME foolishly allowing people like YOU to talk me into writing a BOOK! I now have to spend my off time trying to wear the hats of writer, salesman, bill collector, delivery boy, publicist and a few others I can't remember right now.

Long-time reader's will also tell you that my various vices (despite my BEST EFFORTS to curtail them*) consume alot of my time too. (Counting "recovery time" , where coherent effort of ANY sort is a waste of time).

Then...I have the occasional need to "recharge my batteries" Aloha-style. Yeah. I got more ways to leave you hangin' just a wee bit short of the climax than you can imagine........

CloudDancer

(*)HONest guys! REALLY! I mean.... I TRIED. HARD! :x PRETTY hard anyway ......I mean I was going to try hard. Anyways....at least I THOUGHT about trying hard....

Cloudy,
Another man full of excuses....
I payed up my dues and got the book with my renewal. Enjoyed every bit of it. When I flew my cub back from Yakima I told my son I had to pee really bad once and he said "did you use a boot?" See what you did.

got more ways to leave you hangin' just a wee bit short of the climax than you can imagine........

I have a very vivid and creative imagination... intriguing ....

Yeah. I can see the note from the schoolmarm now.

"Dear Ms. Pokette

Your son (uh, his name's not Little Johnny by the way, is it?)
has demonstrated remarkable reading comprehension skills.
But about this...um....BOOK he brought to school....."


CloudDancer

P.S. Hmmmmm. I'll SEE your "very vivid and creative imagination" and RAISE you one "outrageous and banned in 47 states...."

The :roll: a mere teacher might have about a book is nothing 'til the school board votes to ban the book from the schools. Then you have sumthin' to brag 'bout. I did a book report on Mark Twain's "Letters from the Earth" in fourth grade, much to the of the teacher. The principal advised the teacher to get over it or go work elsewhere.

Three months without flying and I'm going stir-crazy, I can imagine what six months must be like, who cares about turbulence, w&b, or other such things.

More! More!!!!

Girls......GIRLS!! Now just STOP it.

All this PLEAding! :roll: After all, I have my repuTAtion to protect, you know??


Oh...you meant more WRITING. Huumph! Looks like I'm not doin' any better here than I am with Selena!!

Cloud(coldshowersmyspecialty)Dancer

CloudDancer said:

I NEED to get this finished so Volume II can start the publishing process and make a May 1st deadline.Cloud(Isurewishtherewuztwoofme)Dancer

Click to expand...

Does this mean that we can buy it at the Trade Show?

Hiya kr5t -

That is most assurredly my intention, barring any interference from MURPHY (or sCREW scheduling).

Courtesy of the WorldWide Grand Poohbah of SuperCubers Everywhere, I shall be assisting in all the hard work that transpires at the SC.org booth and display. :roll:

I shall have copies of both volumes, the Original and the New and (slightly editorially) Improved "CloudDancer's Alaskan Chronicles", Volume II.

I shall be looking forward to meeting so many of you finally.

CloudDancer

Chapter Eleven -

The wind hasn’t let up even a little bit. Again it takes long and careful minutes to reach the end of the runway. Again I stop short of the runway by mashing on the left brake to swing my nose and try to “clear” as much of the airspace on final as I can. Yep. I’m STILL the only yo-yo in the area it appears. Once again the tail slides to the left as the plane lines up into the wind freely.

It seems now that I might have gained a five degree or so advantage in wind direction over my last takeoff. I sit rooted to the same piece of asphalt but my plane is at a lesser angle to the runway. The nose now points a good 100 feet or so further down the far (north) edge of the runway. And for this I am grateful. I consider all I am asking of these wings and the little Continental engine now ticking over slowly and (relatively) quietly for the moment.

Back in those days I was about 180 lbs and Selena barely broke 100. But directly ahead of my eyes the coat-hangar - like metal wire fuel “gauge” jutted upward full range; the cork on the bottom of the indicator floating on top of a full twelve gallons of red-dyed 80/87 octane avgas. I knew our survival gear weighed in at 30 pounds. Add in all the “STUFFS” Selena had packed and purchased (mostly clothes, thank goodness) and I well knew we were at or over gross weight for takeoff. And although operating over gross was standard operating procedure back home, I knew I had never done it in anything smaller than a Skyhawk. And THAT was hairy eNUFF sometimes!

Very intently I focused on the areas within a twenty or thirty degree wide swath of airspace directly ahead of the longitudinal axis of the airplane. Where in that area was the LOWEST possible path of clearance if I needed it? Trees? Power lines? Over or under? (UNder. Definately Under!) I was quite UNsure just how much altitude I was going to be able to acquire for every horizontal mile traveled. Although my initial flight indicated I wouldn’t be progressing forward any to quickly and I felt comfortable that I would be able to attain a reasonable four or five hundred feet after a few minutes.

There appeared to be no significant obstacles in my projected path for the

--delete--


The controls response is swift and sure and the wings snap immediately level. This airplane is pure response to the stick. No slop. It’s a GOOD feeling. I give thanks silently for the meticulous care Jeremy has lavished on her as Selena resumes her verbal assault on my character and heritage.

We now crawl generally eastward along the Columbia and I peer ahead intently watching for other traffic in the air. A dot in the distance above us at 11 o’clock grows swiftly into a Cessna 172 or 182 and just as quickly passes on the other side of the river. Heading downriver and downwind he passes at what seems to be just short of supersonic speed. I return his (or her) wing-waggled “Hello” with my big fat left hand in the windshield hoping they will see it and not think I am stuck up. Selena has been silent for almost a full minute now and I do not wish to set her off again with a wing-waggle greeting in return. Up ahead I begin to see The Dalles, Oregon coming into view and decide to resume my efforts to climb as the turbulence continues a slight but noticeable reduction in intensity. I am headed for higher ground and will need more altitude eventually. May as well try and get some now.

Wanted to get something up for you nice folks today. Would like to write more but.....um....I have some really important.....uh....STUFF I need to go do.

So I'll see you guys tamale.

Your friend 'n part-time writer

CloudDancer

Chapter Twelve - What Could POSSIBLY Go Wrong ??


The heavily loaded machine struggles valiantly upward averaging a solid two hundred feet per minute. I’m actually getting about 260 feet per minute on the vertical speed indicator, but the downdrafts exceed the updrafts or so it seems. As the altitude increases it appears that the cars eastbound on I-84 seem to be passing me at a somewhat slower rate than before. I’m not sure if this indicates a real reduction in the headwind or is simply one of those visual distortions caused by an increase in the distance between me and them.

Passing over The Dalles I keep a sharp eye out for air traffic in the pattern, which of course means I’m still looking ABOVE me :roll: to see “pattern altitude”! I HAVE managed to nurse the Cub all the way up to about thirteen hundred feet as the airport passes off to my right. With the oil temp approaching the yellow I again lower the nose for increased airflow. A rough Timex - eyeball - mental math calculation gives me an average FORWARD progress of something just under 3/4's of a mile per minute or about 45 M.P.H. groundspeed. Although the “coat hangar” fuel guage still indicates close to “full” I begin to wonder that, if this keeps up, can I even make my 1st planned destination. Still about ninety miles away, I’ve planned a stop at Sunnyside, southeast of Yakima, Washington.

Selena has finally settled down somewhat and only the now increasingly rare strong jolts rate a surprised gasp or comment. Airborne all of about 25 minutes now she already asks “How long ‘til we LAND this thing.?” Lord, this is gonna’ be a LONG trip (or so I THINK).

Speaking of the Diety, I also about this time began to wonder about other things. I had not flown in many months prior to today because I had lost my nerve after a frightening episode that had occurred the previous March. (You’ll have to wait to read Volume III, the Tragedies, to find out about THAT one.) And although it would be two years yet before Dennis Quaid and Ed Harris would make the Mecury Seven astronauts and the term “The Right Stuff” 8) household names, I was aware (like all serious pilots) of it’s EXISTENCE.

I had it. Had it? HELL! I wuz FULL of it! (Even my friends knew, for THEY often told me I was “full of it”.) But then....after that fateful day in March of 1981....I LOST it. I didn’t come apart at the seams. But it LEAKED out. And it leaked out quickly. The “Right Stuff’ was nowhere to be found within me. There was none left when I went looking for it a mere week later. Gone. So I made the hardest decision I ever made in my life and grounded mySELF. :-? But now, thanks to Brantley, here I was back in the air. An innocent person’s life was once again in my hands alone.

But I was feeling pretty good all in all. My pilot senses were sharpening again. My pilot brain seemed to be functioning on all cylinders smoothly. And certainly my pilot ego had returned intact. Still a LITTLE bruised, but intact none the less.

Today’s flying efforts thus far had definitely been demanding. No doubt about that. But in no way had I felt it was high pressure or potentially FATAL if I screwed up! So what would happen when and if the “chips were down” and I was “all in”. How do I KNOW if I am really okay to fly again? How WILL I know until and if that “something” happens again. Obviously I would never find out for sure unless some small at least, but demanding situation arose?
As Selena I and meandered slowly up the gorge I uttered a silent prayer in my mind to the Lord. “Please God. Give me some sign to answer and quell my doubts.” People. Be DARN careful that you WANT what you PRAY for. HE listens!!

Chapter Twelve - cont'd

Sidebar - Now, the many passengers who have been with me during my other...um MISadventures , along with the Captains and First Officers 8) who have flown with me in the dozens and dozens of simulator sessions in my airline career already know this. It seems that when things go wrong or my airplane misbehaves I have a SLIGHT tendency to cuss at it. Well. SOMEtimes it’s a slight tendency. When only MInor stuff is failing or going awry. Apparently the intensity of my cursing, and the vulgarity of the (feminine gender) names with which I may address my airplane varies in direct proportion to the degree of calamity and confusion involved.

I do this comPLETEly UNconciously with absoLUTEly no forethought and definitely with no malice intended, other than at the offending system(s). I have ALways done this as long as I can remember. It is my standard, conventional, and routine response to what airline pilots refer to as “Non-Normals”.
It's reflex. The Master Caution yellow flashing light illuminates along with a single chime in my Airbus cockpit. I am trained to say “ECAM Condition” 8) (meaning “what’s the PROblem”) and most times in the SIMULATOR I do! In an airborne real airplane though...I can practically guaranTEE you the FIRST words out of my mouth will be “Well kiss my ASS!” :-? followed by the required response. And of course, should it be MORE serious, resulting in a Master WARNING RED flashing light with a repetitive chime dinging.....well. Who DOESN’T start with “Holy S**T!” ?? Add in some airplane undirected aerodyNAMic misbehavior (like heading for the weeds in the middle of a high speed takeoff roll or airborne uncommanded flight gyrations ) and apparently I’ll start to outcuss a barful of drunken sailors!

The one or two times this happened in the simulator when my flying partner was female damn near got me sentenced to three days of sensiTIvity training by Human Resources! ( But I MADE the LANDing!! ) I only told you all this so in a couple of pages I can save myself a lot of @&#$@ !(s), %*&$#@ %^#*&#@ !(s), and &*^^#$%@ !(s). Now back to our story.


Up ahead to the south I catch sight of Biggs, Oregon and glimpse sections of Highway 97 approaching from the south. Sure enough there is a bridge right where my Texaco map says it should be. I begin a gradual ten to fifteen degree bank to the left AFTER warning Selena what I was about to do and aim for the far north and east side of the bridge across the great Columbia. Midway across the river I holler over my right shoulder “Say goodbye to Oregon and hello to Washington babe. We’re on our way home now!”

As the dry land of Washington slides beneath our wings I again increase power and ease back on the stick. I am heartened to see the vertical speed needle creep slowly upward to rest on the 300 foot per minute “up” marking. I KNOW I need at least another 1500 feet of altitude and would prefer to gain another two thousand. My goal is 3500 feet. It will be enough to see me through the hills to the northeast comfortably as I follow the highway. I could do it at 3000 feet, but that would not leave a lot to spare for “contingencies”, you know.

The clouds rise higher and disperse more and the wind is shifting directions. Under what is now “guesstimated” by me as 5000 foot scattered to broken clouds it appears the wind has shifted to a more northerly direction. (Naturally. :x THAT’s the way I need to GO!) On the plus side, about 1800 feet below us, it now appears that we are staying about even with almost ALL the cars. So I can make the assumption that the velocity has dies down somewhat. And conditions seem to improve the further north we go.

There is only continuous light turbulence now and Selena is even starting to enjoy the ride a little and relax back into her seat. Big bumps are now almost non-existent. And finally halfway between the river crossing and the hills I have attained three thousand feet. I will level here and allow the engine to cool a little more before trying for five hundred more feet of altitude. Our climb rate was down to 125 to 150 feet per minute and the oil temp pushing the yellow again. I am pleased and contented in my little aerial world again. It feels GOOD I’m thinking.

Below us the ground gradually rises up to steal our altitude very slowly away. A sharp poke in the right shoulder and I here Selena’s excited voice. “Cloudy! Lookit all the COWS! Wow!” She leans with her forehead pressed against the plexiglass of the right window just behind my right shoulder. The is the slightest smile on her face as I turn to catch her taking in the view. I am very pleased that my sweetie is now relaxing and starting to enjoy this flight as she had so many in the past in larger airframes with me. I reply to her with a question. “So Whaddaya’ think? Pretty cool, AFter all, eh ?” As she opens her mouth to reply, before she can get a word out....someone else has to get HIS two cents in. You know. MURPHY!

Chapter Twelve - cont'd

Sidebar (again) - Go down to Ace Hardware or Home Depot and get one of the BIG aluminum garbage cans like we all used to have outside our house when we were kids. Obtain a large metal serving spoon like the cafeteria lady used to use in the kitchen to serve the green beans. Set the garbage can on a bare (preferably) cement floor and station a small child on each side of it by the fold down handles. Now. Take the serving spoon and hold it inside the can placing against the inside wall of the can. As quickly and FURIOUSLY as humanly possible, now “stir” the spoon clockwise (or counter-clockwise, it doesn’t matter) around the inside of the can and, for good measure every few circles change to a back and forth sideways motion (again as fast as you can). Have the two children take the handles repeatedly to their fully extended limit before smartly smacking them down back flush with the outsides of the can. This should be done as fast as the kids can do it too.

You are now hearing a VERY close approximation of what I am about to hear. Read on. Sidebar ended.


I am twisted half around in my seat to the right. As Selena gazes out the window I am admiring the cuteness of her upturned nose and the beauty of her lips and just beginning to think of tonight’s possi......WHA-A-AN-N-NGG!! And NOISE!! And in just a MIcrosecond I sense the feeling of my seat falling away from me! In another Microsecond I have whipped around to facing fully forward in my seat JUST in time to see the nose slide downward through the horizon.

-- delete --

Hiya EverBody -

CD Here! Oh. I guess you knew that, didn'tcha? :-?

Dang! :roll: Folks...a good friend of mine is already two hours deep (and probably eight beers and four shots of Spearmint Schnapps) into his SEVENTYTH Birthday Party.

And I, your hard-working and slightly over-scheduled Cronicles creator, am in charge of the Birthday CAKE! So. I gotta' take a break, do the "Three S Routine", and go assume my position as Master of Ceremonies at my watering hole.

You know I purely do HATE to leave you hangin .....but.....

Come back tamale and see how it works out for Murphy , your beleagured flying fool , Miss Selena , and our refugee from a C.W. McCall song.

Cloud(allworkandnoplayya'knowwhattheysay)Dancer

Ummm Cloudy, that wouldn't be CW McCalls Wolf Crick Pass, would it?

"We wuz haulin' chickens
On a flatbed out o' Wiggens...."

I actually lived a variant of that one a coupla times. And "watered" at a place called "The Feed Store" in Pagosa once't upon a time. I don't make this stuff up. HECK ya CAN'T make this up.....

Thanks, eh? cubscout

Right you are there cubscout. There was a Kenworth haulin' logs in there too! What a great song that was, eh?

Okay. I'm showered 'n shaved 'n...oops....my cabs' here...

CD

Ohhh heck, Cloudy, Wolf Crick Pass made one o' cubscouts's very limited distribution SC Road Tapes once't upon a time in a land far ago and long long away.

I can recite about the first half, and a coupla punchlines....

And CW McCall (NOT his real name) usta be the mayor of Ouray, eh?

Thanks, eh? cubscout

cubscout said:

Ummm Cloudy, that wouldn't be CW McCalls Wolf Crick Pass, would it?

Click to expand...

Nope. No Kenworth in Wolf Creek pass, Me and Earl were in a 1948 Peterbuilt.

The Kenworth pulling logs was in "convoy"

Hiya' aalexander -

OOPS! I done been CAUGHT wif' mah' former disc jockey headphones a'hangin' CROOKid!

Danged if you ain't dead on good buddy. A Kenworth haulin' logs WUZ from the song "Covoy". DadNABBIT! Oh well. At least I got the ARTIST right!!

Uh-h-h...breaker BREAKer one nine. This here's.....

CloudDancer

CloudDancer said:

Hiya' aalexander -

OOPS! I done been CAUGHT wif' mah' former disc jockey headphones a'hangin' CROOKid!

Danged if you ain't dead on good buddy. A Kenworth haulin' logs WUZ from the song "Covoy". DadNABBIT! Oh well. At least I got the ARTIST right!!

Uh-h-h...breaker BREAKer one nine. This here's.....

CloudDancer

Click to expand...

I should probably be embarrassed that I even knew that. Your story is more reminiscent of "black bear road" especially with the way things seem to be going in the last installment.