Now that I had flown from Chicago to New Haven, I had to get back. Fortunately, the weather was looking much better than on the way out, and there was a chance I would be able to make it to Chicago in one day.

    I left New Haven at 8:30 after breakfast at Clark’s Diner with my father, stepmother, and half-brother, Chris, who had gone with me for Stearman rides earlier in the week. The weather was perfect VFR. I called my mom before taking off. I knew she’d be playing golf at the Yale Golf Course, but wanted to find out what hole she would be playing. After climbing out over New Haven, I headed west over the harbor, past the city itself. West of the city, just past my high school and the neighborhood where I grew up, I could see the golf course. I circled twice, but didn’t see her [she and my step father saw me ], so I leveled the wings and headed for the Carmel VOR. At the VOR, I reset the OBS for a bearing, which would take me to Sussex, NJ. Pretty soon I was crossing the Hudson for the fourth time in a week. The leg really wasn’t very long, and I could have made in to Mt. Pocono PA, but I just wanted to check New Jersey off of the list of States I have flown through. The approach to Sussex has a hill underneath the final approach, which made for a very bizarre sight picture. An old timer working in the office asked where I was headed. I told him Chicago, trying to suppress a smirk. He leaned forward a bit, so he could look out the window to see what I was flying - a Cessna 152. He lit up! "You’re doing a great job!" he complemented. With two full tanks, I was ready to press on over the Pocono Mountains.

    Departing Sussex, I couldn’t help but notice that that corner of New Jersey was very scenic. The farms and terrain reminded me more of Vermont than the industrial images one normally associates with that state. Not long out of Sussex, I crossed the Delaware River. It was hardly as dramatic a crossing as Washington made on Christmas, 1776, but it was a hell of a lot warmer and drier. As the flight progressed into Pennsylvania, the terrain started looking a lot less friendly: Nothing but miles and miles of trees, hills, high ridges, and swamps, not even any towns, and few roads. I started wishing I had filed a VFR flight plan. I was still not receiving the next VOR, so I used dead reckoning to estimate how far along my course I might be. I worked it out to be a few miles SE of Mount Pocono, PA. Soon, I could see ski areas cut into the hills, some large hotels, and the town, so my calculation was pretty close. A few miles later, I passed south of the Pocono Raceway, a conspicuous, idiot-proof landmark.

        Eventually I could see the airport in Hazelton, PA. I landed on Runway 27, and taxied to the gas pumps. After paying for gas, I inhaled a diet coke from the machine and called for another weather briefing. The weather was still VFR, so I departed for Philipsburg, where I had stopped on the way east.

    Heading west from Hazelton, the terrain improved. There were still lots of hills, but there were cleared out areas suitable for emergency landings as well. After flying over all those miles of forest, the fields below were reassuring beyond words. In my state of relief, I promised God I would hug the first farmer I saw. Off in the distance, I could see the terrain get spooky again. The ridges were about 3000 feet, so I climbed up to around 4000, and tracked the Philipsburg VOR. It turned out there was no need to get stressed. The ridges were all absolutely parallel, and the valleys between them were farmed. Since my flight path took me parallel to the ridges, I just stayed over one of the long valleys, and tracked to the Philipsburg VOR. Near the VOR I left the Appalachians behind, and was back over thick forests, but it was only a few more minutes to the airport. I landed on 24 and taxied to the gas pumps. As I started stiffly extricating myself out of the plane, the lineman, remembering me from six days ago, greeted me with an enthusiastic, "You made it!" Fortunately, he wasn’t a farmer.

Over an ox-bow in central PA

    This time I knew where the phone was, so I put my change in the coffee can, took Diet Coke from the fridge, and called weather services. Next stop: Beaver County, PA, on the Ohio state line. After saying goodbye to the lineman, I departed runway 14 and headed west, tracking the Philipsburg VOR outbound. I crossed the Allegheny River over a small town, which had a small grass airport on an island, a natural aircraft carrier. As I flew closer to Ohio, the weather was getting pretty marginal. I decided to land at a closer airport, Butler County, PA, then refuel and depart IFR. Finding the airport took a bit of educated guessing and luck, but I managed to get there and land.

A grass airstrip in the middle of the Allegheny River

    On the ground, I called for another weather briefing and filed an IFR flight plan. I received my clearance from Pittsburg approach and departed. Climbing out over the airport, the ‘Low Voltage’ warning light illuminated. Damn! I reset the alternator switch, but no luck. Pressing on into IFR conditions with only 20 or 30 minutes of battery power left was not an option. I still had Butler in sight, so I canceled my clearance, and landed. The Cessna 310, which was performing a run up behind me prior to take off, was still holding short of the runway as I landed. It had been a very short flight.

    I taxied to the maintenance hangar to see if anyone could help me. After verifying my alternator was dead, they delivered the bad news. They didn’t have any alternators in stock. They could, however, FEDEX one from the factory to Butler, and install it Sunday, when a mechanic happened to be coming in. Since I was expected at work on Monday, I reluctantly told them to go ahead with that plan. The FBO recommended a hotel just down the road on route 8 named Conley’s, and handed me the keys to a crew car for the weekend.

    Conley’s was a mom and pop golf "resort". I don’t want to say it wasn’t classy, because it did have a pirate ship with a water slide through the middle. After dinner at the restaurant, I read some sections from "War in the Air", and packed it in early. Saturday I had the whole day to kill, but fortunately a car to get around in. I caught the matinee showing of "40 Year Old Virgin", staring an actor who looked disturbingly like my freshman year roommate, and bought a copy of Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut. I bought a bathing suit, too, so I could ride the waterslides through the pirate ship. Who could pass up something like that?

    Sunday, I drove out to the airport to check on the progress. There was none. My alternator hadn’t shown up, allegedly because hurricane Katrina was disrupting air travel. The only gaping hole in this story was that the hurricane was in Florida, and the factory was in Memphis! The real reason probably had more to do with someone in the long supply chain not feeling ambitious at 4:30 on a Friday. This left me more time to ride the water slides than I ever wanted. By evening, I had finished Slaughterhouse 5, and was very, very bored.

(The infamous pirate-ship water slide)

    Monday morning I was back at Butler airport. The alternator had been installed, but problems persisted. Apparently, the voltage regulator had failed, taking the alternator with it, a situation akin to a $300 TV burning out to protect a 10-cent fuse: Murphy’s Law in action. At least they had a voltage regulator in stock. By early afternoon, the plane was back together and ready to go. After 4 days in Butler I could plan the next leg. Unfortunately, it was now raining.

(Mechanic installing a new Alternator in Butler, PA)

    The radar summary was not pretty. A stationary front, driven north by Hurricane Katrina, had settled over the area and wasn’t going anywhere soon. The rain extended as far west as the Ohio border, but beyond that, weather stations were reporting clear, and no convective activity was reported. I sat for an hour waiting for the echoes from some moderate showers to move off. When I had my window/sucker hole, I filed an IFR flight plan to the Briggs VOR then direct to Mansfield, OH. Soon after take off I was in clouds and light rain, but no turbulence. Only occasionally, could I see the ground. Past the Ohio border, the clouds broke up and I was in clear conditions for a while. As I got closer to Mansfield, the clouds started to thicken up again and soon I was on top of them at 4000 ft. Approach had me descend to 3000, which put me back in the clouds just when I was supposed to be looking for the airport. The Mansfield ATIS stated that visual approaches for 24 were in use, which didn’t help me because I couldn’t see much through the scud I was now flying in. Tower was kind enough to vector me in, and even cranked up the runway lights to improve my chances of seeing the airport. I finally saw the airport 2 or 3 miles out. When I report the field in sight, the tower cleared me to land. I was not in Chicago yet, but at least I wasn’t in Butler anymore.

    Having been to Mansfield airport several times before, I knew the way to Richland Aviation, where the GA planes gas up. While the line-man refilled the tanks, I checked the weather on the terminal in the flight planning room. Next stop: Smith Field in Fort Wayne. West of Mansfield the radar was clear, except for one area of yellow echoes. Where? Fort Wayne. With karma like this, I started to think I must have been an axe murderer in a previous life.

    To circumvent the storms over Fort Wayne I decide to detour south-west, to Sandy County Airport, OH, a short 1-hour flight. Just to be on the safe side, I filed IFR again, but the conditions were VFR as predicted. I landed five minutes after the pumps closed. Yes, I was definitely an axe murderer.

    Fortunately, a heavily tattooed local in his early twenties was on the scene. He called the attendant on his cell phone. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in his red, 345 horsepower, Corvette. His car had almost three times as much power as my plane, and probably cost three times as much. He pumped the gasoline, and I paid him in cash.

    A flight instructor was still out giving a lesson, so the airport office was still open. This allowed me to ingest more caffeine, and sugar for the next leg. The storms were still over Fort Wayne, so that was out. The gas pumps at Valparaiso (and all other small airports) were closed, so that was out, too. I decided on Muncie. It was a class D airport, with 24-hour fuel. It was closer to Chicago, and I could figure out the rest of the route when I got there. Before leaving, I called the FBO at Muncie to confirm they would be open.

    I departed VFR, but it was almost dark out, and it was pretty clear I’d be going to have trouble remaining VFR if I climbed to any reasonable altitude. This was my first trip into the clouds at night, and the cumulus clouds formed unnerving grey fingers twisting up into an almost black sky. I looked at the approach plate I had out for Sandy County, and dialed the frequency for the approach control listed on it. I told them I was VFR on Victor 210 for Muncie, and requested an IFR clearance. They obliged, had me squawk 4554, and told me to descend to 4000 feet. Descending into the cloud tops, I had to shut off the strobes, since they were giving me vertigo. Near Muncie, the clouds dissipated, and the visibility was six miles with haze. I spotted the beacon, and looked at the airport map to see where on the airport it was in relationship to the runways. I was cleared for a visual on runway 20. I made a smooth landing and received taxi instructions to the ramp. By now I was tired, so I relaxed a bit and had another diet coke, while I planned the last leg out. I consumed so many diet Cokes on this trip, the Coca-Cola Corporation missed out on a great sponsorship opportunity.

    The most direct way back was across an MOA (military operations area). While it is legal to fly through one, there are definitely times when it would be unwise. I called flight services and they confirmed that there was no activity. The last leg was an hour and forty minutes. The route was back to Clow via the Kokomo and Peotone VORs and I passed close to Grissolm air force base.

    After a long taxi back to runway 20, I departed and headed for the Kokomo VOR. Grissolm air force base was near the VOR, and I could see the green-white-white pattern that identifies the beacon on military airfields. I found the frequency for the tower and asked permission to transit through at 3500 feet. The controller had me press the IDENT button on my transponder, and shortly afterwards, responded with "Roger niner two bravo, transition is approved, show you 8 miles south east, report leaving the area".

    When I felt I was safely out of Grissolm’s airspace, I reported my position and requested a frequency change. The visibility was probably about 10 miles, and there were only high cirrus clouds to worry about. The big dipper was visible through the front windshield toward the right, a reassuring reminder that I was on course. Its two end stars point to the North Star. Since, the width of an outstretched hand is almost 30 degrees, and I could see that my hand almost covered half the distance between the nose and the North Star, putting me about 60 degrees left of North. I suppose if my alternator died (but what are the odds that would ever happen?), and my flashlight went dead, I might have used that knowledge to get home. In reality, it was just a way to keep my brain busy on a long night flight over miles and miles of nothing.

    At the Peotone VOR, I had planned to change my heading from 300 to 325, but instead, I cut the corner and intercepted the 325 outbound radial. I flew over Lewis Lockport, crossed I-55, and spotted the runway lights at Clow. The winds were calm, so I flew a left hand pattern for runway 18. Despite being tired, my landing was a good one. As the plane rolled out on the runway, I saw Brenda and the three dogs silhouetted by the parking lot lights. It was 11:15pm and I was right on time.

    After shutting down the engine, I stumbled out of the cockpit and crumpled into a heap out on the asphalt. After a full day of flying, I was completely spent. Several seconds later, I was broadsided by three extremely happy dogs. Even though my car was at Clow, I had called Brenda and asked her to pick me up. I knew I would be too tired to drive. Barely remembering the trip home, I was still running on adrenaline, and I figured I would have problems getting to sleep even though I was exhausted. I opened a beer, sat down on the bed, and fell asleep before I could even take one sip.

I was reminded of several things on this trip that should have been obvious had I taken the time to think things through:

1. The United States is a big country. If your trip is long enough, you will have to wait out weather somewhere, possibly for several days. Budget lots of time.

2. Small, general aviation airports do not have 24 hour fuel. Class D airports will probably have fuel, but there is no guarantee.

3. Things break. If something needs to be fixed, and it’s a weekend, you will be staying in a hotel, maybe even one with a pirate-ship water slide, until a mechanic is available. Budget even more time.

4. Buy all the charts you need in advance. It seemed like every FBO was out of whatever chart I happened to need.

5. Don’t skimp on maintenance. I used every piece of equipment I had. I was reluctant to get my marker beacons fixed before I left, but I ended up using them four times. I was reluctant to fix an intermittent glide slope problem, but ended up using the repaired frequency on my next approach. I was reluctant to have a mechanic check something I thought might just be lead fouling, but he found a dead spark plug. Be safe.

6. Maintenance costs money, sometimes lots of it. Don’t go cross-country in an airplane if your credit card is maxed out or your bank account is empty.

7. Check batteries before you go. My primary flashlight was dead. Fortunately, my back up was charged.

8. Be aware of fatigue. Flying is hard work and mentally taxing. Make sure you budget in time to rest.

9. Enjoy the Midwest! We have tons of airports and places to land if there is a problem. Things like terrain, runway illusions, and magnetic variation aren’t so pronounced out here. We also have no landing fees. Those cheap bastards in New York State kept shaking me down, even after I bought fuel. We have a great thing going out here, and we should be thankful.