I moved my hand away from the top of my mug and nodded to the waitress. “This coffee is wonderful,” I smiled.
“I’m glad y'all enjoy it,” she smiled back at me and filled my mug.
About an hour later, In the air over Fayetteville, North Carolina
There is a twenty knot headwind.
Another hour later, near the southern tip of the DelMarVa peninsula
There is a thirty knot headwind, and we are beginning to think about a fuel stop.
A half hour later, over the Atlantic Ocean
Roy and I were two thousand miles from home, in chairs in the sky, in a plane he built. This absolutely overwhelms me with delight. And the best part of the day is still to come.
For an added bonus, I could see many of the places that were navigation references used during my training for my Coast Guard Captain's License. The huge airports of Norfolk International and Oceana Naval Air Station were off to the west. I recognized the curve of the bay, and the bridges that become tunnels half way across the bay. And there was the ocean, endless water and whitecaps moving across the bay.
Roy pushed the throttle in and started to climb over a thin layer of puffy, white clouds.
I reached for his hand… “I seriously have to pee…” I said. The coffee from breakfast - the wonderful dark brew that I couldn’t resist have three cups of -had hit bottom.
“Now?”
“Yes, now.” I squirmed in my seat and reached for the iPad, opened Foreflight and started looking for places to land.
“There’s an airfield,” I pointed ahead and to the left. Sun shone on broad, flat farms below us. White barns and a few houses dotted green farms, green crops, blue ponds, and blue estuaries winding in from the sea.
“That airport is off our beam now.” I wasn’t sure he’d heard me.
“I wished you’d told me before I started to climb.” He sounded annoyed. He poked at the AFS screen in front of him. “Can you wait?”
“No,” I shook my head. “You said we could stop.” I could hear the petulance in my voice.
He pulled the throttle back and pointed the nose down.
“What was wrong with…?” I pointed back over my shoulder. No point now. We were making for a different airport.
“I want to get fuel closer to Dover.” He held up his finger for ‘sterile cockpit’.
Our little plane bumped and rocked side to side in the turbulent cross-wind as we made our final approach. I held my legs tight. Please don’t pee in the plane, please don’t pee in the plane… The words ran in my brain like a rosary. Large, black crows scattered from the runway as we approached the numbers. I didn’t care about the birds. I did care about sitting in a wet spot.
I held my breath, then exhaled as we touched down.
Roy taxied to the fuel pump, shut the engine down, and cracked the canopy. I popped out without our usual landing-kiss. There wasn’t a soul around. The FBO was locked. I ran around to the other side. No door there. I ran back to the other door and banged on it. Nothing. No One. I ran around to the back of the building. Really, there was no back. Just the taxiway, and the runway, and beyond that farm land.
Isn’t airplane travel glamorous, I thought.
I hiked up my jeans and walked back to the plane. Roy was walking to the FBO.
“It’s locked,” I nodded my head toward the building. “Did you get fuel?”
He shook his head. “Fuel pump’s locked too.”
“How long to Dover?” I think in terms of time to destination, which has to do with the best part of the day being just ahead. For this, I’m willing to deal with the occasional abandoned FBO.
“About 470 nautical miles.” Roy thinks in terms of range, which has to do with if we’ll have the required minimum fuel when we get to Dover.
Late October, In the late afternoon of the day we began in Savanna, Georgia
This time I gave my darling husband a landing-kiss before popping out of the plane. The Best Part of the Day had arrived.
I ran through the terminal to the parking lot. My daughter was there, with her head in the backseat. She looked up and smiled. A little brown-haired girl next to her turned to see what her Mom was looking at.
“Grandma!” Ava, otherwise known as Gramma’s Princess, ran and jumped into my arms. I held her and planted kisses all over her face. My daughter, Gaela, held baby Logan in her arms. I put Ava down and hugged my daughter. “Hi Mom,” she said, and baby Logan smiled from her arms. And that, simply overwhelms me with delight.
Late October, Before Dawn, In the Kitchen of Roy’s cousin Nancy
Nancy place a togo cup in the Keurig Machine. “Listen,” she said. “The machine isn’t done until it says Sorry.” The coffee machine gurgled, poured a stream of black brew, then exhaled Sooorrrrreeee. “Here you go,” she put a lid on the cup and handed it to me. Her husband Craig stood in the doorway dressed for work. “Ready?” He asked. I gave Nancy a hug. “I can hardly wait to see you again.” She hugged me back.
Sunrise, The Savanna Airport
“Would you like a ride to your plane?” The line guy loaded our duffles, black computer bag, small day-pack and my yoga matt into the golf cart before I could answer.
We zoomed over the concrete, past luxury jets of various sizes. The line guy watched as I opened the canopy and climbed on the wing. “I love this time of day,” he said. He had a close shaved head and clear brown eyes.
I stuffed the computer bag in the baggage compartment, then sat up and followed the direction of his gaze. The sun was sliding brilliant orange over the horizon. Deciduous trees around the airport reflected the light in reds and golds. The wind sock across the runway stood at attention.
“The other fellas think I’m crazy,” he said, “but I always ask for this `shift.”
I nodded. “I can see why.”
An hour later, 3J0, Hampton, South Carolina
“Ya’ll want toast or biscuits?” the waitress asked. She was plump, and wore a faded pick T-shirt. The Hampton House had booths with vinyl seats along the window wall and a long counter on the inside. Pots clanged in the kitchen behind the wall in back of the counter. The flooring in front of the counter showed layers of red and dark green worn linoleum, where years of shoes had walked by to pick up their order or pay the bill.
“Toast, please,” I replied.
“Sure thing, Honey.” The waitress filled my mug with black brew, flipped her order pad closed, and disappeared into the kitchen. Two heavy-set fellas in the booth next to ours spoke in thick southern accents.
“Do you understand them?” Roy whispered across the table.
I shook my head. “Not a single word.” My darling hubby is from Tennessee, and if he can’t understand the conversation, you know the accent is thick. My people hail from Arkansas. I can usually decipher, if he is unable. Not so in this case.
Roy nodded. “Different country.”
“We are awfully far from home,” I replied.
The waitress returned with our food. My plate was piled with two eggs, fried in butter, crispy around the edges, and buttery, hot grits. This tickled me with delight, as if my Gramma was taking a vacation from heaven and made me breakfast. Any five-star hoidy-toidy Sunday buffet with custom omelettes doesn’t hold a candle to my Gramma’s fried eggs and grits.
“This breakfast is totally worth getting up at the crack of dawn and getting in the airplane for,” I grinned over a mouthful of grits.
Roy broke open a flaky biscuit and smiled. He knows I’m not a morning person.
“Want a top-off?” The waitress asked. I nodded. The coffee was wonderful too.
I dispatched breakfast, and the second cup of coffee. The waitress came by with the pot again. I held my hand over my mug. “The coffee is so good, but I shouldn’t.”
“It’s okay,” Roy said, “we can stop.”
“How long is it to Dover?” I think in terms of time to destination, which has to do with how soon until I need to get empty.
“About 470 nautical miles.” Roy thinks in terms of distance and range, which has to do with how soon the plane needs to be filled. “It’s okay. We can stop,” he repeated.
Honest to god’s truth, that is how I remember it.
I moved my hand away from the top of my mug and nodded to the waitress. “This coffee is wonderful,” I smiled. It’ll be worth a little discomfort, I thought, and anyway, the best part of this day is yet to come.
“I’m glad y'all enjoy it,” she smiled back at me and filled my mug.
One hour later, Near Fayetteville, North Carolina
There is a twenty knot headwind. We have plenty of fuel, and the best part of the day is yet to come.
Two hours later, near the Cape Charles VOR, Southern tip of the DelMarVa peninsula
There is a thirty knot headwind. We have plenty of fuel, and the best part of the day is yet to come.
I clenched my eyes against a wave of vertigo. It was solid gray outside the plane. No ground and no sky, only the wing of our plane, silver against the gray. I opened my eyes and studied the instruments in front of me. The altimeter read five thousand feet.
“How are you doing?” Roy rubbed his shoulder against mine. His red hoodie rolled against my fleece jacket.
“Fine,” I nodded. Of course I’m fine, I thought. We’re in an aluminum thing built in our hangar, in the clouds, over the mountains. Why wouldn’t I be fine?
I closed my eyes again, placed my palms on my knees and whispered a mantra from the science fiction story, Dune.
I will not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear. I will let it pass over me and through me, and when it is passed, all that is left is me.
I took a deep breath, exhaled and opened my eyes. The propeller spun in thin black lines that paused, turned backward, then forward again. The altimeter still read five thousand feet. The engine still thrummed. The little airplane symbol was still on the purple line on the Advanced Flight System (AFS) screen..
My fear goes everywhere with me. Most of the time it keeps me from doing obviously stupid things like taking my boat out in gale force winds.
I wrapped my hands around the soft, warm sheepskin shoulder straps. All that is left is me, and my fuzzies to hold on to.
The small, blue screen of the Avidyne below the radio stack flashed.
“Time to turn,” Roy said, and turned a knob on the AFS. The artificial horizon on the Dynon tilted, and the compass needle ticked past numbers. Our altitude was still five thousand feet. We were still on course. Still in the clouds. Still above the Smoky Mountains.
My fear would never miss a chance to natter on about how scary things are, so no way would it miss out on a flight like this.
Usually, my job is to enter and manage our route with the FMS. Instead, my fear was sitting in my lap, whining about how we were going to fall out of the sky. My fear was taking the place where my co-piloting could reside.
I nudged Roy and pointed at the Dynon. “It’s 3 degrees outside.” Water droplets formed on the wing. Filtered light gave way to dark, ominous gray. We were between layers of clouds that curved in long waves, like upside down turkey platters.
Roy nodded and dialed up weather information on the AFS. “Looks like it should clear soon,” he said.
“Lenticular clouds,” I blurted. My butt cheeks tightened in the seat. “That means unstable air.” My fear studied the temperature on the Dynon as if it were about to divulge the relationship between gravity and electromagnetism.
We popped out into gray light just long enough to see dark, rain sodden rolls of a cumulus formation. I shut my eyes tight, and shook my head. “I don’t want to go in that big ass cloud,” my fear announced.
Our plane bounced and yawed. I smelled exhaust and my own body odor, and the faint smell of Roy’s Irish Spring. The bouncing stopped and I opened my eyes. We were still in the clouds, but they were thinner. Our altitude was still five thousand feet. I pulled the iPad out of the side pocket and opened the Avidyne app. Our compass heading matched our flight-plan trajectory. I looked at the chart on the AFS. We were well above any mountains. The radar overlay showed we were on the edge of the weather system.
I looked out the canopy and spotted ground through wet blankets of gray.
Roy reached for my hand. “Okay now?” He asked.
“Yes,” I brushed my fingers across the stubble on his cheek. I knew he’d shave it off after we arrived at his cousins home in Savanna, and I knew I’d miss it. “I’m okay,” I said. And suddenly, in saying the words, I knew I was.
Long, white chicken houses rolled by below, and homes, and barns in folds of the mountains. The trees distinguished themselves in stands of red and gold maple and green pine.
It felt like we were sinking. “We’re still at five thousand feet, right?” I pointed to the altimeter.
“That’s MSL,” Roy replied. “We’re three thousand...”
The radio interrupted his reply. “174RT,” the Controllers voice said, “Climb to 5,500 for terrain.”
My fear had nothing to say about this.
The clouds thinned. Entire farms we visible, then roads and town. Suddenly, the mountains fell away to a broad, delta and the clouds dissipated. The ground was flat and wet and green. Small, wispy clouds passed over our wing and canopy. My fear was still with me, but it was somewhere in the baggage compartment, with the wet socks, where it couldn’t prevent me from thinking.
The long, black rectangle of the Savanna, Georgia runway sat in the middle of the delta.
“Savanna Approach, Experimental 174RT” Roy said into the radio, “We have the runway in sight.”
“174RT,” The controller replied, “You’re number three for the runway. Clear to land.”
Number three? I thought. “Where’s our traffic?”
Roy pointed out the canopy. Two Delta Airlines jets were at our ten O’clock and twelve o’clock.
“Caution wake turbulence,” I said and laughed. Roy turned and grinned at me, then raised his finger in the “quite please” gesture.
Later, I stood in the posh reception area of the Savanna FBO, my hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and watched a large jet being towed past the picture windows. Our plane was out on the tie-downs, a miniature next to the private flying limousines. I felt very small, very human, and very alive.
