Sunset Flights

The fun was over in Seminole and it was time to get the Traveler back to her home. I showed up on the tarmac at 2000L to find her eager for a short sunset flight. Where an elderly 182 sat just one night before, sat a sleek RV-6 that had brought company to the Traveler. She was tucked into bed with a canopy cover that had her name stitched in it. It was somewhat like a blanket that a grandmother would make for her newest grandchild or a dust cover for an exotic car that gets attention on special occasion. The fuel pumps were no longer guarded by the V-Tail Bo and the pumps sat alone.

Three shots o' prime and the Lycoming came to life under the cowl. The sun was nearing its retirement for the day and I wasn't about to miss one of the most spectacular sights from earth. "Seminole Traffic, Grumman eight eight lima, rollin' three four, Seminole". I rolled left into a climbing turn that would take me up to four thousand five hundred and set my eyes on the beautiful green earth below.

I rolled the numbers on the radio around to 124.60 and called up Oke City Approach seeking their services in my adventure back to Norman. They gave me a squawk and I slowly rolled it into the transponder as I read back "zero four two seven, ident, Grumman eight eight lima". To the controller at the TRACON I was just another speck on the screen amongst a few others that evening. In my mind I was far from that. My screen slowly rolled beautiful footage of lakes, homes, cars, and even cows enjoying their evening meal. The flight was romantic and I was sad to see it end upon arrival to Norman. The adventure was short-lived, but I knew there would be more on another day.

Sunset flights open up a romance between aviator and airplane that exists in no other place on planet earth. What a great way to start a new page in the book.

Night Flights with Friends

For the ground based folks a broke-down car brings about frustration and stress.  My car hasn't moved from it's parking spot in front of my house since the last week of April.  I've managed to get from here to there with the help of friends and family.

Friday evening I hitched a ride to the airport to put wind under the wings of the Traveler and set out to Seminole, OK (SRE) for a few days of visiting with friends.  The flight to Seminole is a "quick hop" from Norman.  I took my time and enjoyed the soft skies of the night that reminded me of a perfectly paved interstate.  I trimmed for cruise climb and wound the dial up to "three point five".  Central Oklahoma is a canvas of lights that represent everything from oil rigs searching for their gold to the small farm house in the middle of thousands of acres.  The seat I had was spectacular and I took it all in with much amazement, just like hundreds of times before.

Seven clicks on 122.80 and the grand finale burst out before my eyes.  I was witnessing the light show that late-night pilots get free of charge every time they fly. "Seminole Traffic, Grumman eight eight lima, final one-six , Seminole".  Before I knew it I was locked in with one white and two red and the last notch of flaps slowly rolling down. The second light of the VASI was out so I hung on at the edge of slighly high and on glideslope.  Seconds later I touched down just after the numbers and taxiied to the main ramp.

A beautiful Bonanza sat next to the fuel pumps with chockfree tires and no tiedown in sight.  Perhaps it would be piloted later that night by a low time commercial pilot on a ferry flight across the nation seeking to build time or maybe a doctor who was in town visiting with high school friends from years before.  The old terminal, with a light on the corner, was beautiful in every sense except to a modern architect.  The building had stood for years it seemed.  Just under the rotating beacon, that couldn't seem to get enough energy to shine bright, sat an older 182 with the light from the terminal providing a night light for the sleeping Continental under the cowling.  I didn't get her numbers, but she looked a little lonely so I decided to park the Traveler there along side her.  After being around airplanes more than the everyday citizen you begin to think of airplanes as individuals rather than machines with a seat for their operator.

The night was beautiful and I had just finished a perfect night flight that completed the sixth page of my logbook.