Woke up this morning to the sound of the phone ringing. At
least I think it was the phone, I couldn't really tell
through the pounding in my head from the case of beer Danny
and I split last night. Well, okay, he had one and I had
23, but hey, at least I didn't drink all of them....
It was the Mid-Atlantic Air Museum. Their TBM-1 Avenger was
sitting at Emma Field, and needed to be at Pearson Field in
Vancouver WA, just outside of Portland for an airshow
tomorrow. But their regular ferry pilot was sick with the
flu, and they needed a replacement in a hurry. Knowing of
my extensive knowledge of warbird flight operations (hey, I
stayed in a Holiday Inn Express once, all right?), they
needed me to get their bird to the show. Naturally I said
yes, out of the goodness of my heart. And the $5000 fee
didn't hurt any either.....
A quick cold shower and 5 extra strength Excedrin later,
I'm in the car and headed for Emma. 20 minutes, 1 map, and
a GPS later, I'm finally headed in the right direction.
After a quick pitstop at Dunkin Donuts for a well balanced
breakfast I arrive at Emma. (The jelly donut balances out
the chocolate eclair, and the coffee (JAVA JAVA, JAVA!!)
provides a much needed pick-me-up, in case you ever need to
know.)
I park the car, and walk across the grass to the TBM, where
the Mid-AK rep is waiting.
"Hi!" I brightly introduce myself.
"Uh, hello," he answers, wondering how long he's going to
be stuck talking to this unshaven smelly bum with his shirt
on inside out before the pilot he's waiting for arrives.
"I'm the new ferry pilot" I announce, punctuating my words
with a health belch of jellydonutbeercoffee(JAVAJAVAJAVA)
breath.
"Oh Crap" he mutters, thinking I can't hear him. That's
okay, I can't. The ringing in my ears is still pretty loud.
"Are you sure you're okay to fly today?" he warily asks.
"SURE!" I cheerily reply. "Dr Shower checked me out just
this morning, says I'm fit as a fiddle!"
"Well, if you're sure," he answers, making a note to
himself of what doctor not to go to if an emergency happens
in Seattle. "Let's get you on your way. Uh, you are checked
out for the TBM, right?"
"Yup, got about a hundred hours in it." I say, not
bothering to point out that those hundred hours are in FS9,
on my PC, and that it's really closer to about, oh, one
hour....
I climb up into the cockpit and settle into the seat.
Sticking my hand out, I ask for the keys.
He looks at me like I'm crazy. "What?!?! You're kidding,
right?" He looks like he about to start praying....
"Yeah, yeah, no sweat, bro. I'm just joshin' ya. Now let's
see....magnetos, check. Fuel pump, check. Starter....oops,
that's the bomb arming switch.....torpedo release....ah,
there it is! Better step back bro, this baby's gonna wind
up quck!"
Muttering words like "fired"," unemployment line",
"forclosure", and "kill that idiot pilot", he heads off to
the parking lot. I think he's trying to get gone before
takeoff, for some reason.
I engage the starter, and listen to the throaty growl as
she warms up to idle. Then I release the brakes and slide
the throttle forward. Man, she responds quick! Full left
pedal swings me 180' and I taxi to the end of the runway.
"Man that's bumpy! Shoulda offloaded some of that coffee
before this, but oh well, I'll remember next time."
I drop the flaps to 30', slide the canopy forward and shove
the throttle to the firewall. The ol' girl fairly leaps
down the runway and into the air. A quick right bank, and I
am Portland Bound!
45 minutes, a couple cloud banks and one near miss with a
Piper Cherokee later, I touch down at Pearson Field.
I taxi back down the line past the FBO, and to my assigned
parking at the old Army Air Corp Building.
For good measure I fold the wings so their will be plenty
of room for the other airshow planes. That, and trying to
find the dratted "off" switch I got them folded and had no
idea how to get them unfolded again, but we don't need to
go into that.
I saunter back to the FBO....
"Hey fellas, call me a taxi will ya? and where's the bloody
bathroom?!?!?!?!
least I think it was the phone, I couldn't really tell
through the pounding in my head from the case of beer Danny
and I split last night. Well, okay, he had one and I had
23, but hey, at least I didn't drink all of them....
It was the Mid-Atlantic Air Museum. Their TBM-1 Avenger was
sitting at Emma Field, and needed to be at Pearson Field in
Vancouver WA, just outside of Portland for an airshow
tomorrow. But their regular ferry pilot was sick with the
flu, and they needed a replacement in a hurry. Knowing of
my extensive knowledge of warbird flight operations (hey, I
stayed in a Holiday Inn Express once, all right?), they
needed me to get their bird to the show. Naturally I said
yes, out of the goodness of my heart. And the $5000 fee
didn't hurt any either.....
A quick cold shower and 5 extra strength Excedrin later,
I'm in the car and headed for Emma. 20 minutes, 1 map, and
a GPS later, I'm finally headed in the right direction.
After a quick pitstop at Dunkin Donuts for a well balanced
breakfast I arrive at Emma. (The jelly donut balances out
the chocolate eclair, and the coffee (JAVA JAVA, JAVA!!)
provides a much needed pick-me-up, in case you ever need to
know.)
I park the car, and walk across the grass to the TBM, where
the Mid-AK rep is waiting.
"Hi!" I brightly introduce myself.
"Uh, hello," he answers, wondering how long he's going to
be stuck talking to this unshaven smelly bum with his shirt
on inside out before the pilot he's waiting for arrives.
"I'm the new ferry pilot" I announce, punctuating my words
with a health belch of jellydonutbeercoffee(JAVAJAVAJAVA)
breath.
"Oh Crap" he mutters, thinking I can't hear him. That's
okay, I can't. The ringing in my ears is still pretty loud.
"Are you sure you're okay to fly today?" he warily asks.
"SURE!" I cheerily reply. "Dr Shower checked me out just
this morning, says I'm fit as a fiddle!"
"Well, if you're sure," he answers, making a note to
himself of what doctor not to go to if an emergency happens
in Seattle. "Let's get you on your way. Uh, you are checked
out for the TBM, right?"
"Yup, got about a hundred hours in it." I say, not
bothering to point out that those hundred hours are in FS9,
on my PC, and that it's really closer to about, oh, one
hour....
I climb up into the cockpit and settle into the seat.
Sticking my hand out, I ask for the keys.
He looks at me like I'm crazy. "What?!?! You're kidding,
right?" He looks like he about to start praying....
"Yeah, yeah, no sweat, bro. I'm just joshin' ya. Now let's
see....magnetos, check. Fuel pump, check. Starter....oops,
that's the bomb arming switch.....torpedo release....ah,
there it is! Better step back bro, this baby's gonna wind
up quck!"
Muttering words like "fired"," unemployment line",
"forclosure", and "kill that idiot pilot", he heads off to
the parking lot. I think he's trying to get gone before
takeoff, for some reason.
I engage the starter, and listen to the throaty growl as
she warms up to idle. Then I release the brakes and slide
the throttle forward. Man, she responds quick! Full left
pedal swings me 180' and I taxi to the end of the runway.
"Man that's bumpy! Shoulda offloaded some of that coffee
before this, but oh well, I'll remember next time."
I drop the flaps to 30', slide the canopy forward and shove
the throttle to the firewall. The ol' girl fairly leaps
down the runway and into the air. A quick right bank, and I
am Portland Bound!
45 minutes, a couple cloud banks and one near miss with a
Piper Cherokee later, I touch down at Pearson Field.
I taxi back down the line past the FBO, and to my assigned
parking at the old Army Air Corp Building.
For good measure I fold the wings so their will be plenty
of room for the other airshow planes. That, and trying to
find the dratted "off" switch I got them folded and had no
idea how to get them unfolded again, but we don't need to
go into that.
I saunter back to the FBO....
"Hey fellas, call me a taxi will ya? and where's the bloody
bathroom?!?!?!?!
