The Joys of Surprise Revisited

Redoubt volcano

A very few days ago I sat down at the desk to write about the joys of surprise.  That post, named Planning-The Enemy of Surprise, closed by telling the story of how a lack of planning led to a strange convergence of moments and a surprise meeting of friends.  Today, it seemed the world wanted to give me proof of the theory.

Yesterday was a beautiful day in Alaska; one of those days you had to take photos.  Visibility was incredible, mountains displayed snow, Redoubt puffed as we flew by, and the captain pointed out landmarks.  The same guy, being from Anchorage and a fellow aviation enthusiast, also offered a tour of Lake Hood when we were done.

Most people assume pilots love flying but it’s actually pretty rare in the commercial world.  Therefore,when I had the chance to get out around Anchorage with someone who knew the difference between a Beaver and a 185 on floats, I took it.  As we expected, things were really happening around the lake.

Driving around to see everything there was to offer, we visited the Alaska Airmen’s lodge so I could renew our membership and find a jacket for Ginger, checked out all the seaplane tender trucks, and went by The Millennium to check out a 195 on floats which was nearby.  Beavers were taking off from the lake, Super Cubs were landing on the gravel, and one last plane was being converted from wheels to floats.  That alone would have made it a great unexpected day but there was more to come.

Arriving at the hotel I got in touch with Justin Ackinson, a fellow crew member and classmate who happened to be in town.  He had yet to have lunch so we hit the town to eat and swap flying stories.  Hearing the Kings were running, we went to Ship Creek to see if they were but found nothing.  Apparently we were one week early.  Oh well, it had already been a great day.

Back at the hotel I sat down to post some of my photos.  One after another I put captions to them and was just about to post another when I saw an interesting post by someone else.  It was from an acquaintance I had talked to for several years but never actually met.  Doug Rozendaal and I have had some great online and phone conversations through the years.  Being a fellow devil’s advocate, you can imagine there have been times things were rather spirited.  Yet, like I said, we’d never actually met.  Yesterday would change that.

By chance, Doug was in town with his friends Mark Holt and Adam Glowaski.  In fact, they were half-way through their own surprise filled trip to Alaska and had been sitting in The Millennium taking and posting photos of themselves with the girls of Flying Wild Alaska.  Later I would find out they were doing so at the very time we were driving by The Millennium to look at a 195 on floats?  Those were the photos I later saw and to find out if they were currently in town I sent them a message.   To my surprise, not only were they in town, they were staying in the same hotel.

F-Street Pub is not where I expected to finally meet Doug.  But hey, it was a day of surprises.  Sitting down with him, and his buddies Mark and Adam, would be the beginning of some great conversation.  It would also lead to more surprises.  First though, Doug wanted to know how Ginger was doing.  I've pretty much grown used to that and with my answer and introductions out of the way the night began.

I’m not much of a person for the notion of celebrity but somewhere through the night the energy at F-Street took a rapid surge upward.  The girls from Flying Wild Alaska had arrived.  When they stopped to say hello to their new friends Adam, Mark, and Doug, I was introduced.  Successful reality shows almost always come down to the subjects being “characters" and after meeting the Twetos, I could see why theirs was still on the air.  Yet, that wasn’t the big surprise of the night.

Doug Rosendaal and Laura Hinz at F-Street

Earlier in the evening, while the atmosphere at F-Street was still dignified, an amazing thing happened.  It was one of those great aviation moments.

Sometimes there’s just something about someone that seems a little out of place.  The girl who had been waiting on our table was such a person.  It was obvious she had a little more going on upstairs than the rest.  She also seemed to be stopping by our table and pausing longer while there as if she had something to say.  Soon we would know why.  Her family had a unique interest in aviation that would show itself when she finally asked Doug about his shirt.  What happened next we couldn’t believe and I’m quite sure the following conversation led to a few watering eyes.   That’s a story for Doug and the guys though.  If you want to read about it, keep and eye on their blog.  I’m sure they’ll eventually post it.

Like I said a few days ago, aviation is full of surprises.

Planning - The Enemy of Surprise

Here's a link to survivors.

When it comes to aviation, surprise is always reported as an evil.  Think about it.  Inside nearly every “I’ll never do that again” the great unknown, the airborne demon just waiting to reach out and grab you, the thing that almost did them in was surprise. 

How many times have you heard someone say something along the line of, “The last thing you want to have out here is a surprise”?  Or how about this one, the classic we’ve all had to listen to at some point, “Plan ahead; you don’t want to be caught by surprise”.  Surely you are familiar?   Implied is the notion surprise is so bad it might even take time to set an elaborate trap just for you.

Fortunately, there is a cure of mythical proportion.  What is it?  Organization of course.  Plan ahead and you won’t get caught.  Surprise will see you coming, assess the situation, realize you are organized, and take its finger off the “execute” button.  Glory hallelujah your OCD has saved the day.  Or has it?

Growing up there is one thing I can remember every kid loved; surprises.  Who didn’t love them?  And yet, today everything is about removing surprise.  What’s up with that?

Personally I still love surprises.  It’s also one of the things I love most about aviation.  Despite the best efforts of the safety Nazis and their ceaseless promotion of flight condoms, it’s full of them.  So full in fact you don’t even have to be flying to experience all the gifts aviation has to offer.  Here’s a great example.

Recently Ginger and I chose to spend a day of doing "nothing" together.  Of course by doing nothing I mean nothing we needed to do and nothing aviation related.  So, off to Louisville we went.  Where we’d eat was undecided.  What we’d do for entertainment was undecided.  And even when we’d come home was, well, undecided. 

As with so many other planes, it is amazing how many survive yet sit on static display in museums.  This  one on the other hand flys 50 plus hours a year.

As it turns out, Monday the 10^th was a perfect day of nothing. We ended up visiting an excellent restaurant during off hours and closed down a favorite antique shop.  After that we hung out in a book store.  Then during our next, “what do we do now”, I realized we had been having so much fun I had forgotten we were low on fuel.  Oops.  That generated the next excitement.

Driving straight to the nearest gas station was what we’d do next.  It would also place us next to  a highway; one which led back to Indiana.  That would start us thinking of home.

Seeing us merge onto the highway, anyone familiar with horses would have described us as  "heading for the barn".  Mentally we were ready for the return trip.  But just as our discussion turned to things to do on the way, out of the corner of my eye I spotted something unmistakable, a Lockheed 12.

“A LOCKHEED”, I exclaimed.   Yes, it’s true, I said it like a kid who had just spotted a mountain made of candy, covered in chocolate, and sprinkled with the most addictive candy ever created, pretzel M&Ms.  But hey, it was a Lockheed.  You understand, right?

So there we were in a city we rarely visit, on a stretch of highway we never take, and going the correct direction at the very moment which would allow us to see the silver angel as is passed through a gap in the trees.  Try planning that.  A professional film crew would be hard pressed to make it happen.  And yet, it did. 

No more than five minutes later we had changed lanes, taken the first exit, made our way to Bowman Field, and found, to our surprise, a familiar Lockheed 12A sitting in front of an FBO.  It was our friend Joe Shepherd.

Ginger and I had arrived so fast, Joe wasn’t even out of the plane and yet the surprise of seeing such a beautiful aircraft on the field was already generating a crowd.

Click here to see Joe's web page for the plane.

Joe was surprised to see us, we were surprised to see him, and the rampers, flight instructors, and students were all pleasantly surprised by the aircraft.  Generally speaking, it was a great surprise finish to a wonderfully relaxed day which had started and ran to completion with no planning.

Can a lack of planning cause you problems?  Of course it can.  Remember, I almost ran out of gas.   Ultimately though, to really live we must embrace the randomness of life, for it is from there where the best moments come without warning.  Few great things exist in the world greater than the unexpected sight of a friend, a chance view of a beautiful sunset, or a surprise hug.   Last Monday, our lack of planning brought us all three.

When They Came for Aviation

Wait, why was this new tower built and how much did it cost?  Click here for cost estimate.

First they came for the Airlines, and I did not speak out--
Because I did not own an airline..

Then they came for the Private Jets, and I did not speak out-- 
Because I did not own a Private Jet.

Then they came for the General Aviation, and I did not speak out-- 
Because I did not consider myself a part of General Aviation..

Then they came for my Vintage Plane--and there was no one left to speak for me.  -  Dick Davis

Bearhawk to Alaska - Part 2

Achieving maximum range in the shortest amount of time was the plan for our second day of flying.  This is something the Bearhawk makes easy.  Ordinarily, were you to throw everything you own and 72 gallons of gas in a plane you could land below 40 mph, you would not expect it to have six hours of range at 150 mph.  In the bearhawk you can count on it.  And let me tell you, when trying to get to Alaska in April, that's damn handy.

Lifting off from Texas, it was great to know and hard to believe we could land in Wyoming.  Our goal was Laramie but the Bearhawk, especially when fitted with long range tanks, is one of those planes that always take you further than expected.  Unfortunately, this also comes with a potential negative.

Aviation is a sport of long distance friends.  That’s the nature of it.  It is also another reason range and speed are such great positives.  But, those traits can have a downside.

When you are able to fly nearly 900 miles at 150 miles an hour you tend to build your day around those numbers.  Meanwhile, the same 900 miles bypasses friends that live somewhere in between.  To me, that’s a serious negative.  On the upside, the solution to any aviation problem almost always creates more fun.

Hey look!  More farmland.

Enroute to Wyoming I dug out my phone.  Pitching wildly, often drifting off course thirty degrees or more, slowing and accelerating, I texted Mark Beam, a friend who was living near Denver.  Well, actually Ginger was flying straight and level when I was texting.  I just love stir up the safety Nazis.  Anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah, the text I sent Mark was to let him know roughly when we’d be passing by the area and to ask if he or his wife Cindy (also a friend and pilot) would be around.  Then we waited, and we waited, until finally our bladders caught up with us before Mark did.

Rolling to a stop on the ramp at Lamar (Colorado) the usual deal was struck.  Ginger would let me pump gas, and in exchange she would get first use of the restroom.  What could I say to that?  She drives a hard bargain.  So, as I stood upon the ladder leaning over the wing on that beautiful day, I received a message.  Mark was home and would be able to meet us but he wondered where.  Knowing he was always up for a little fun, I sent him back the message “How about in the air”.  He agreed.

Trading off pit crew duties when Ginger returned, she checked the oil and all the other important details while I went inside to do pilot stuff.  Having little spare time I kept it to a minimum.  First there was the obligatory, “Hey, did you see that chic out there flying that Bearhawk?”, which I said to the only guy inside.  “That girl that was just in here? Is that what she’s flying?”, he asked.  Then I went to the restroom.  On the return I said, “You’re still here?  If you’re not going to talk to her I am”, and I headed out the door.  Walking up to the plane, I did my best to appear like a stranger introducing myself, knowing full well Ginger would just write it off as me being a dork.  Next I helped her put things away and we climbed in to depart.  I wonder if anyone has ever fallen for it?

Look close to see Denver (middle right) below the pitot..  I didn't say it was a great photo.

Climbing away from Lamar, we plugged in the agreed point of intercept and sent an ETA to Mark.  Then we cruised.  A flight from Lamar to Laramie has much to offer the senses.  It’s a lesson in topography, geology, and sociology all wrapped into one.

Beyond the crop land, elevation varies, colored stratum betray hidden elements, and pockets of population reveal patterns of survival.  A particular seemingly insignificant photo comes to mind.  Approaching Denver at a tangent, farm land was back-dropped by skyscrapers back-dropped by snow covered mountains.  It was a beautiful day and something to see.  It was also the perfect day to catch up with a buddy.

Approaching the designated intercept zone, Ginger queued up the agreed frequency and listened.  It wasn’t long until a familiar voice came through, “You guys up”?  We both smiled.

It would be difficult for me to guess how many times I’ve heard those exact words.  Whatever the number, it’s safe to say it is well over a hundred.  And yet they never get old.  Perceived as a vague question to anyone who doesn’t fly,  they hold a chapter’s worth of meaning to any aviator.

On questionable days, “you guys up” (or singular “You up”?) conveys comfort in the knowledge you aren’t alone. When the sun is rising and the wind is calm, they mean a plan is coming together and a good day lies ahead.  If you hear the words unexpectedly, you have stumbled across a friend in the air and a conversation of catch-up is about to happen.  And on other days they can mean something as simple as “hello”, “where are you going”, or “I see you up there”.  But even then there is a deeper unspoken meaning conveyed in this simle question.  When shared between pilots, conveyed are the notions “I am one of you, I understand your love of flight, I have fought the same battles, and I am your friend.  Mark definitely fits them all and it was great to hear his voice.

Growing nearer our rendezvous, each of us reported landmarks and altitude.  When almost on point, attitude was added in, “I’m circling over the intersection at 6500’, coming through the west heading”.   Several vectors later, he was in sight, or maybe it was us. Somebody spotted somebody. Throttling back the Bearhawk’s 540 was next.  Mark was flying an L-5, an observer model he and his wife Cindy had purchased from my brother, and despite it easily being one of the best flying planes ever built, it in no way matched our speed.  But hey, who’s counting?

Notice the tailwheel.  They all seem to do that in the air.

Seeing Mark ease the old girl up beside us was great.  In addition to the memories of flying the plane from Lee Bottom and all the laughs we had shared with him and Cindy, the fact we were meeting up in the air a thousand miles from home as if no time had passed made it all the more special.  There among the clouds we shared the freedom only aviation can deliver; a conversation between friends without the irritations of life.  We had met, not like mortals in a café or parking lot, but like aviators, among the clouds.  It was officially a great day.

You'll see this building and beacon tower below in an old photo.

As all good flying buddies would do, Mark and his passenger (mustn’t have an empty seat) flew along with us for quite a while.  We took photos of each other, exchanged the best stories we had to tell, lied and said we would catch up again soon, and admired the other aircraft.  Then, when it was time for him to return for fuel and us to burn off the plugs, he peeled away and we pushed it up.

Watching the L-5 disappear toward Denver, that feeling we had felt at Nelson’s came over us.  With aviation, you’re always leaving friends, old or new, with the hopeful assumption of seeing them again.  Ginger took one last look back, then offered up the information for Laramie.

Crossing a high plain covered with snow, we marveled at the rapidly changing terrain.  Within our field of view were three distinct climates we would cross in twenty minutes; beyond that, more.  Aviation's version of a winding road on a summer Sunday was passing us by and it was  going fast.

The hangar at Laramie.  Note the original part in the back.

Taxiing up to the FBO in Laramie once could sense it would be an interesting stop.  Inside the  building, the old black and white photos proved it.  There was a lot of history in those walls and we took time to see all we could.  Walking around to the old hangar, we even found a couple of guys talking airplanes.  One of them had an interest in the Bearhawk.

On the wall at Laramie.

Ten minutes later, while leaning on the wing with the fuel hose over my shoulder, I talked the guy through a tour.  He was a “plans owner” and excited to look around.  Then came the usual performance questions of, "Does it actually do the company numbers"?  My answer was always “Yes”.  It really is a wonderful plane.  Unfortunately though, its speed was going to allow us one more flight than we originally thought possible.  Therefore, like the other times before, we apologized for having to leave and blasted off.  Alaska was on our mind and it kept us moving.

Landing in Cody, behind us was a big day.  We’d left friends in Texas, met one in the air near Denver, and made another in Wyoming.  The terrain had been spectacular, the weather perfect, and we had crossed the USA South to North.  It was amazing progress that would lift the next days' numbers.

On the wall at Cody.  The closest airframe is N1781A.

And Yet Another Old Plane Flew Today (May 31st)

Well, it has been a good day for vintage aircraft.  Not long after posting the story of the Waco 10's first flight in Georgia this morning, our friend Doug Gardner emailed to let us know another great plane had just flown post rebuild.

Flying from Mallards Landing Airpark in Locust Grove, Georgia, Kent Gorton stretched the legs of this Ranger Ryan.  Kent and Terry Gardner, plus a few folks from Mallards Landing, worked on the rebuild and I’m sure all of them were happy to see it fly.  Look at that thing.  Who wouldn’t find it pretty?

If you really like the airplane, Kent and Terry have several PT-22 projects and together they plan to use six different STC’s to build more.  The most noticeable change is, of course, the Ranger powerplant.  But to the discriminating eye there’s more.  So, if you really really want to know more, you have to check out a few websites.

First, there is this website which belongs to the original owner of the plane in these photos.  It has some great history about the conversions.  The next website you should check out is Kent’s and Terry’s.  But hey, I’m warning you.  After a few minutes looking these things over, you may end up counting your pennies.

Another Old Plane Flys - Will Be at Vintage Days

A while back we discussed some interesting vintage aircraft that were close to flying. One of those planes subsequently flew a few weeks back and today another, the OX-5 Waco 10 belonging to the Chandler Field Museum, took to the air once again.  Leaving out early in the day, when temps were cool and winds likely to be light, Clay Hammond flew it from its final point of flight prep, Brookbridge Airpark, to Peach State Aerodrome.  There it will remain for display in the museum, occasional flights, and viewing at events such tomorrow’s fly-in.

There's Clay after the flight.

Tomorrow’s event at Peach State Aerodrome is the annual Vintage Day Fly-In.  If you are in the area, hop on over.  It’s sure to be fun.  Plus, you might get to see the OX-5 Waco 10 fly.

Bearhawk to Alaska – Part 1

Several years back, Ginger and I were tasked with flying the Avipro company demonstrator Bearhawk to the Alaska Airmen's Association Trade Show.  That state is, after all, a perfect market for it.  Cruising at 150+mph with a stall speed somewhere at or below 40mph, and an amazing cargo capacity, the Bearhawk seems made for the 49th state.  All we had to do was get it there.  Yes, as they say, it was a tough job but somebody had to do it.

Knowing the weather between Austin Texas, the aircraft’s home base, and Anchorage would likely have some long stretches of no-go weather, we arrived early and we were keen to get off the ground.  Our goal was to fly somewhere, anywhere, before sunset and that’s what we did.  Launching late in the evening, we flew steadfast until the sun ran out.  Looking at the chart for a place to land, a name jumped off the paper, Breckenridge.  “You know, that sounds very familiar for some reason.  There’s something there but I can’t remember what” were the words I spoke, and Ginger agreed.  Therefore, it was decided the small town in Texas would be our home for the night.

Taxiing into the ramp, that “something” we couldn’t remember filled the windshield.  There in front of us was Ezell Aviation, one of the world’s premier warbird restoration shops.  Aircraft of every type, from all corners of the planet, had graced that ramp.  Yet, once we stepped out of the airplane, had we not been familiar with aviation the extreme quiet and lack of anything what-so-ever going on would have masked its existence.

Every pilot with any hours has experienced our next thirty minutes.  Time was running out and we needed to move.   Fortunately, proper crew resource management made it easy; I tied the plane down while Ginger went to round up transportation.

Ladies, dispute it if you want, but I can tell you with great surety that any female aviator who truly believes “everyone is so nice” is blind to reality.  Nowhere on the planet are such a high percentage of people nice.  Deny it and you’ll miss opportunities.  Accept it and you’ll find transportation much easier to locate.  Combine that understanding with a true knowledge of  aviation and the world of flight is your oyster.  So, like I said, Ginger went to find us transportation.  A short while later she returned.

Having made her way to a phone, she had found a number, dialed it, and who but Mr. Ezell himself had answered.  Nelson (Mr. Ezell), a genuinely friendly guy, had made it easy and told her where to find keys to the car, where to stay, and which waitress to say hello to when we ate at the recommended restaurant.  Furthermore, she was told that we should come find him in the morning for a tour.  Ah, Texas hospitality; it’s hard to beat.

The next day, we left the recommended hotel in Nelson’s courtesy car, went for breakfast at the restaurant he suggested, and said “yes” when everyone asked us “is that the airport car”.  There are few other sports, if any, with such a large fleet of mechanical ambassadors, and the number of folks who treated us as family due to that car proves their effectiveness.

Back at the plane with our bags on the ground and the keys returned to their spot, we decided it was time to visit.  Then, like rookies, without thinking we headed right to the hangar and walked straight through the door.  I say “without thinking” because I firmly believe places like this should have “ATTENTION: Please gather your thoughts and take a deep breath before entering” posted above all entrances.  If you love flying machines, the view inside such locations can be overwhelming and it’s rare to find anywhere to sit down and collect your wits.

Even knowing what to expect, Ginger and I were stopped in our tracks by what we saw inside.  Bearcats, Fifi QEC’s, and even an amphib Husky belonging to Red Bull sat mingled among the countless rare aircraft under restoration.  To list them all would be difficult so we'll just go with "WOW".

We had a great time with Nelson that morning.  After viewing the shop, he asked to see the Bearhawk and to my surprise knew a great deal about it, we discussed mutual friends, and after taking a break to talk to Howard Pardue, we walked over for a tour of his hangar.

There are so many obvious things one could say about Howard’s airport get-a-way and the aviation history inside, but the large, and I mean massively large, containers of wine corks spoke of his ability to have fun and entertain others.  I can’t imagine what a hole his loss has left in the community and I’m sure he’s missed every day.  Here’s to you Howard.

Back at the Ezell hangar, Ginger and I took one last look around as the crew prepared to move a Mustang onto the ramp.  We were thanking Nelson for his time and were just about to leave when out nowhere his dog appeared and jumped into the bed of a four wheeler sitting next to us.  “She knows it’s going to move”, he said with a smile.  “That’s what Texans call a truck slut; she’ll ride in anything that moves”.  Apparently, the low rumble of the hangar doors sliding open had triggered her actions and the look on his face spoke of a man whose existence was made better by the presence of a puppy; a photo was necessary and I stepped back to take one.  That's it below.  If you look at it and experience anything but a heartwarming smile, you’re in the wrong sport.

Walking toward the Bearhawk, a feeling well known to pilots slowed our feet.  It’s always tough to leave friends behind.  And yet, despite nearly every great aviation experience demanding it, it never gets old.  Maybe, in a way, we’re all masochists?  I took one last look back and kept walking.

Our harnesses latched and the doors secured, we moved forward.  Ahead was the next memory and the friends it surely held.