THE PLACE AND THE MACHINE

After what has occupied my life for the last four hundred and eighty five days, give or take a week or two for various military obligations family life, girlfriend, batman etc etc, Checkers Kitten (N502KW) is finally coming to completion. It's been a long arduous, tense and consuming ride, believe me when I tell you that times have occurred when the battle of Aircraft Parts vs Ramen Noodles leaned heavily in favor of parts. I need to loose about ten pounds any way for...ah...weight and balance purposes.

And now sits in a hanger at Lakeland the fruits of my labors and efforts, I give you MY OWN AIRCRAFT.

...psst, where's the Pic?

...what do you mean no pic?!

...well what happened to the digital?

...Really. Ever think about gloves there slippy??

So no pictures for now, but rest assured she looks like the photo on the first post to this blog but with wings and a checkered tail. Trust me, the tail happened, it took 11 hours to mask and paint and I'm not just making up a story about an unfinished hanger queen, I've got the scars and lack of sleep to prove otherwise.

THE PLAN!

Unbeknownest to those of us working the ragged edge of the flight line and contrary to what had been suggested, it turns out that despite my slave like job and interesting lack of earnings (do bags of sand and rock count as payment?) our mighty struggles may to actually be met with the indifferent silence and lack of compensation but instead actually carries a great deal of benefits that are, well, beneficial. One of these may prove to be quite useful to my own endeavours, the almighty coveted VACATION TIME.

Yes, the forgotten glory of packing up the kids and wife into the station wagon and setting sail on the high seas of asphalt...wait, wait, what is this, 1984, who the hell even owns a station wagon?....got that a bit backwards. Take two.

Yes the forgotten glory of escaping from the office to bury yourself in your apartment continuing to work and drudge over projects that SHALL NOT WAIT BECAUSE YOUR ASS AND YOUR JOB DEPEND ON IT. Tied forever to the boat anchor suspiciously labeled "Black Berry" that has become an accessory that has become attached to your face. The corporate world still waits in anguish for the inter-cranial comm/data chip, so you can work EVERYWHERE!!! ALL THE TIME!!!EVEN WHILE YOU SLEEP!!!!!YEA!!!!BACK TO WORK NUMBER 4178!!!!!....wait, wait, still got it ass backwards.

Yes, the forgotten glory of escaping from everything, putting down the cell phone, turning off the laptop, ignoring the postman (if you're still receiving that ancient form of conversation) locking the doors and setting off either for destinations known or getting hopelessly lost in manner that even Magellan would raise and eyebrow over. True. No Distractions. Vacation.

Webster defines vacation as:

Main Entry:

Pronunciation:

\vā-ˈkā-shən, və-\

Function:

noun

Usage:

often attributive

Etymology:

Middle English vacacioun, from Anglo-French vacacion, from Latin vacation-, vacatio freedom, exemption, from vacare

Date:

14th century

1: a respite or a time of respite from something : intermission2 a: a scheduled period during which activity (as of a court or school) is suspended b: a period of exemption from work granted to an employee3: a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation vacation at the beach>4: an act or an instance of vacating

Once in the U.S we had such a thing in place to ensure that workers wouldn't reach a level of overload that resulted in fatal shootings/stapler incidents. Although technically still found in contracts and agreements few, if ever any, vacation or time off is even taken any more by the vast public and although the explosion of workplace violence has not come to pass, it can be argued that the apathy level may have skyrocketed. Linked or mere coincidence?

Anyway, the key point to take away from all of the above ridiculously laid out rabble is that I have two weeks of time in which I can elect, at any given date, to NOT arrive at my place of employment, to NOT direct aircraft to parking and ensure safe ground operations, to NOT push as much overpriced blue octane down the throats of any hapless GA pilot that passes by and to NOT give a damn about the alarm clock AND get paid for it my complete lack of action on myFBO's part!

So as the plan goes, and one may have spotted this earlier on, is to vanish albeit it, inconveniently from the Lakeland area once the final bits have been placed on the bird and a good solid ten hours of time accumulated on the engine. By then I should know what bits may be inclined to not operate or fall off completely, hopefully not the latter.

With a solid jog north, I plan on flying Checkers to the big left turn at Albuquerque (the Florida pan handle) and proceed West, destination and means of covering the fuel totally unknown. The general idea would be to stick to I-10 as much as I can and make way as the blades turn. It's in the works and looks to be the start of what could be a grand adventure and a monumental chuck of cross country time the logs.

...if I can get someone on board who'd like to publish the tale, wink wink nudge nudge, even better. Stay tuned kids as the details, the be a comin.

KW

30 Minute Exercise

What happened to the bombshells of Aviation?

As a kid growing up in the Airport world I can remember days of hanger flying with alot of the "Old Guys" the WW2 and later conflict pilots. One of the traditions I had always heard of and day dreamed about was the Pin Up girl and the Bombshell beauty. Adorning aircraft of all shapes and types, ad sizes, these lovely ladies could be spotted from a distance and were often based off real women or famous works of great photogs. What happened to this fine art of yester year and why has the "skinny model" deviously slipped in her place, causing us all to believe that every woman on the planet should be pencil thin and with out shape?

I don't wish to express a sexiest sentiment, the exact opposite is in fact true. I simply would like to know where are all the pin up girls? Air brushed Barbi's lounging around the playboy mansion do not count. Sorry ladies, there's just something a bit glamorous missing from plastic. Neither in are the modes of high fashion to be considered in this lot as most appear to be in desperate need of a sammich. Not to mention a smile every once in a blue moon wouldn't be a bad thing either. Why the aversion to smiles I'll never understand. Either worry over wrinkles is at the root of the whole matter (ironic that worry supposedly causes wrinkles) or there's simply enough Botox floating around everywhere that wrinkles, lines, and emotions are never to be thought of again.

In the days of Sun N Fun I remember most as a child traveling from KY every year, a pilgrimage of sorts, I can remember heavy iron behemoths with the most gorgeous art work adorning the nose in display for all. Now, fewer and far between are the old war birds and growing even more scarce are he pin ups that made them so memorable. Growing even far less are the women who could make this style and look even possible. Sigh, I was born in the wrong era.

As if cued from the wings (no pun intended, just happened to show up anyway) of 30's/40's stage, in steps AMG and their creation My Bombshells. It's exactly what you think it is. No it's not something that would be a SFW problem, less of course you work for a REALLY pent up employer. Is this shameless promotion on my part? Probably, but I'm not getting any benefit for mentioning it, I'm simply ecstatic to see that the finesse has not been lost.

Now I'm not suggesting that every aircraft out there should be adorned with a beautiful woman painted somewhere on her fuselage. Most aircraft don't lend themselves that well to the concept anyway. But wouldn't it be nice to see a few more of these fleeting glimpses of a by gone art and era appearing on a ramp next your own bird or near the airport restaurant? I can't believe for a second that the world would be worse off if such a thing were more common place.

KW

This Is Not a Test

This is actually Real Life at its finest.

The finish line is coming up folks, it all comes down to the next few days and my future as well as yours and every other Americans, as quite possibly the worlds, will be forever changed as we elect a new representative to lead us out of the last eight year disastrous quagmire that will be known as the Bush legacy.

I'll make opinion clear and simple.

Obama: May actually save us from ourselves. Could also get assassinated.

McCain: George Orwell's 1984 becomes realized. Could lead to a riot from my "20 somethings" Generation.

Conclusion: God Help Us All

Say it again Tower!

I've just finished watching two of the most interesting and underrated movies that have been produced by our magnificent Motion Picture industry and both deal with an all to familiar theme that in one way or another effected the way know life today in both the Aviation world and the Grid Iron pigskin game America loves the nation over. Although both movies are works of fiction they both tackle an intrusive element that made its way so mysteriously into each at the cheers for some and the folly and reluctant acceptance of others.

Rules.

In aviation there are two books produced by our so benevolent FAA known as the FAR/AIM collection, or some would suggest the "bible" of the air. Others would claim the large heavy paper back as a truly effective doorstop when nothing else will stop the breeze from slamming the door. Within these pages are the "rules" or guidelines to which any aviating will be conducted. In the film "The Great Waldo Pepper" the issue of these new rules becoming the new standards in the mid 1920's and the elimination of the art of barnstorming and business of flying circuses while following the man himself as he struggles to survive in a brave (albeit it, a little boring) world. As with any great struggle between an immovable object, our hero must succumb to the new generation of flying, sacrificing all that he loves about it, or be rail-roaded over, the FAA (then the CAA) stopping for no man.

The second film came from the hands of George Clooney, who seems to have found a knack for period based cinema with his film Leather Heads. Battling a failing venture, the professional football team of yore was unrealized till college popularity began to pack stadiums, but with popularity comes again the need for rules and regulation and again our hero in this film is forced to either conform to the rules of a world he doesn't know or want, or again be run over passed by it.

Professional football at the turn of the 1920's was not unlike GA in it's toddling years in this pilots eyes, in that there were no real rules. Just set of guidelines meant to suggest certain items of common sense be adhered to. The same number of players should be butting heads on the field in football. When the ducks are walking, it might be a good idea to stay on the ground. NOW though we have entire sets of rules, regulations, time clocks to be watched, procedures, different nomenclatures, and the games and the flying of today wouldn't be recognized by the forefathers who delivered to us these wonderful distractions. Professional football players are more o less taken from raw talent and manufactures into cash generating machines for owners, providing bigger, faster, louder games that mere tights and leather head gear would never be able to keep up with. Barnstormers and the flying circuses have faded into the past time giving way to scheduled airlines, air freight, and fast efficient travel.

So one must wonder, is the soul still there? In what has become our past time of grid iron does there still exist a love of the game, a soul at which we all rally around and connect with? Is the game still fundamentally the same in that anyone who's willing can have fun in some way? Does a set of wings still inspire the stirring emotions of freedom from the worlds woes? Do aviator's, not just pilots, still exist? Are there men and women alike who stop in mid conversation to stare overhead at the sounds of passing engines, radial, in-line or other? I believe that in both cases the answer is unarguably Yes.

Any given weekend in either of the two passions, green park impromptu games can and do spring up, and at any given airport within reasonable distance with a decent greasy spoon will find patronage soaring their way. Do the rules and regulations provide choking restrictions that would otherwise inhibit the favorites of many a player and pilot? Or do they simply provide for a degree of safety and universal organization that allows for fairness and control where there would otherwise be improve from one end of the nation to the next. Given, some of the more lovable goofball antics have disappeared from football, just as have flying down main streets in small towns to stirrup attention have vanished to the wayside. Arguably more fun on the football field, in flying though, scaring the hell out of the local populace tends to antagonize the community against the GA world.

So to say that I'm totally sold on he rules could merely be a half truth. It's always fun to see the unexpected pitched in between the goal posts, the occasional low level pass over an empty pasture but all in all, the ones that we have seem to suffice and do provide the structure by which we can all at the very least agree. Long live the backyard BBQ, the in zone at the clothes line understanding , the short field final approaches and long well trimmed grass runways.

KW

Our Current Situation

First and foremost I must take this opportunity to apologize for not posting for around two weeks. Time has simply slipped away and Uncle Sam did ask my attention be elsewhere for a short period, so on that, sorry for having not kept up. Now to get on with it.

There are several things that drift in the realms of my mind this evening not the least of which is our curiously plummeting if ever turbulent economy that seems perpetually stuck in a nose dive and shows very little signs of returning to any form of "normal". Nor escapes my attention the direct and most profound effect these slow times are having not only on our day to day lives but the world of Aviation in general.

I sit in the Line Shack at LAL tonight surrounded by the deafening of silence that has enveloped this airfield so completely that the rare occasion that an aircraft propelled by anything other than a jet engine (which is becoming just as rare) flies overhead, that beautiful purr of piston engine isn't heralded by all as the returning days of glory that saw hundreds of passing props a day, but is treated instead almost as a nuisance, just another flight student to be tolerated, in and out, possibly lost and very little fuel needed.

Gone are the days of a full ramp buzzing and teaming with metallic and canvas Avian life, each crafted machine yearning for the air of the sky rather than the black of the asphalt. Gone are the days of full house at airport restaurants. Gone are the days of Airport Restaurants! No more do I see a full traffic pattern with pilots stacked two to three deep searching for the perfect hundred dollar burger. Between ownership cost, rental costs, fuel costs, and creepily invading ramp fees, the taste for slipping the surly bonds has vanished from the fine glow and sweet tones of freedom and accomplishment and instead has been deviously replaced by the bitter aftertaste of outrageous fuel costs and lack of reason to arrive. Why spend the time effort and exuberant amount of money to fly to a place that offers nothing but a thieves grasp of your wallet complete with a side of hunger unvanquished?

Flying, in all of its glory and love, when broken down is, at its core, a luxury. And as is the case with any given luxury, subject to severance or neglect when other more pressing issues such as House, Home, Family, Mortgage, the ability to eat, come in first. The majority of GA is for pleasure and is in fact the very reason that most pilots even learn in the first place as flying stimulates emotions and thoughts that most people will never be able to experience in their lives. Addicting as it is however, more pressing issues as mentioned, become much more relevant when bills can't be paid, obligations can not be met and as in the case of may many Americans, mortgages become impossible. This is where we have evidently found our precipice and have teetered ever so dangerously on the edge of for far to long. The credit crunch has finally caught up and firmly bit us all on the ass.

Watching the stock markets tumble the last several days and the air traffic continue to grow markedly thinner, no more apparent are these two correlated as is evident on the very ground that is so important to aircraft, the unsung hero that is the Airport. Where in the past airports across the country have been threatened by community encroachment, re-purposing of land, complaints from existing neighborhoods and the characteristic distrust that the general public has for small aircraft, now I fear that no longer are these threats the most damaging and significant to local fields but instead the realization that an even larger and uglier problem may be looming on the horizon should the economy fail to resurrect itself, the issue of neglect.

As it stands, the FBO I work for is currently one of two business entities that still operate in the terminal building. The remainder is stagnantly empty and even now, shows signs of neglect creeping in. Look past the bright blue roof and white stainless walls. Look instead to the vast amount of empty space that hollows out the cavernous interior. Look at the old Day Jet post with its now abandoned computer screens and pastel blue back wall. See the empty pilot lounge. Stroll the flight line and observe the wide tie down area, barren of long term home based wings. Listen and feel the stoic silence swell with the Florida temperature yet lingers in the calm afternoons, unyielding. Ask yourself "Where is everyone?" Visit other GA airports. Ask yourself the same question.

I normally don't like writing on such a down note but lately as the world turns we all seem to be holding our breath, waiting for those we once thought voted as our representatives to lead us from such crises to actually get up and DO SOMETHING other than systematically and thoroughly covering their own asses and retreats. Even despite the attempts at"Bailing Out" the economy with a ridiculous seven hundred billion dollar gamble, selective bank rescues and a whole lot of bacon, the public still remains leery and is slowly realizing that instead of fixing the problem, those who represent us may have just created an even larger one whose effects will remain for some time and that even more infuriating, it wasn't really a bailout at all. Instead just a last ditch effort at grabbing as much as one can before the domino falls, laughing all the way to the offshore accounts and letting Joe Average take the massive burden. Generations may suffer such ill conceived trite for years to come. Where then will aviation be?

I have seen first hand the effects of Neglect on airfields both paved and grass. The end result is eerily the same, dead stale air followed by grass climbing through cracks, mother nature reclaiming that which was lent. There is light at the ends of these tunnels however, economies do spring back even during the darkest of times when the bleakest seems to the be the inevitable, industries do come back. Markets do rebuild. I have no doubt in my mind that airports will become thriving places of commerce again. Commerce simply must catch back up and provide the need that turns blade and jet fans alike. Then we shall see a more vibrant sky, and hear the purr of engines unleashed. Until then though, those stalwart sentinels whom know no other love than that of flight will still be here, waiting. Hanger bums and ramp rats alike. Ever vigilant to keep and maintain that without which would be akin to life without oxygen. Simply not possible. So carry on cronies of the political world, and keep panicking those of the financial markets. We'll be here, ready when you come back to your senses and and back to reality.

'Be waiting at the Airport.

KW

How Tall Is Tom Hanks?

While perusing through Kevin Garrisons web log this morning (http://kevincreates.com/blog.html), enjoying my grande coffee of some sort from a foreign nation which I've never heard of but am quiet sure, given enough time, we will liberate the shit out of via high explosive ordinance (See also Sand Covered Nations) I was struck by question from the CSR at the desk that simply caused a complete and total vapor lock within the circuity of my brain.

Normally while at the airport I'm occupied with professional methods of goofing off during the slow periods, or I can be found scurrying around the T hangers during my free time and off days, but this particular morning I'd decided to camp out at the front desk which provides the most direct link the interwebs, while keeping a watchful eye on the ramp and open ear to the tower frequency. While blissfully ignoring the troubles of the world and day dreaming about burning precious blue octane at several thousand feet, the question in subject drifted across the room, into my ear and caused the melt down within the synapses, leaving me giggling and somewhat unable to reset.

"How tall is Tom Hanks?"

Rediculous right?
It's the sort of benign meaningless question that really doesn't warrant a response, as who would know such things just off hand, but either the absence of sleep from the night before or the lack of effect that the Foreign Java Juice should have been providing, caused me to completely vanish within the universe for a fraction of a second while the upstairs Vista executed a reset/restart. I can imagine as I sat with a blank stare, blue screens of death flickering across my eyes

"How tall is Tom Hanks?"
From nowhere this question came, one minute a bored wistful CSR banging out sales slips from the night before, next a great provider of mental conundrum that placed within certain range of intelligence agencies, would bring the entire operations of agents and analysts to their knees, pleading WHY!!!!!!!!

Now just what the Hell does this have to do with aviation, other than the event occurred at an airport? Contemplate this. You've just been flying for five plus hours on a long haul IFR, it's very dark, you're getting close to your drowsy stage and the bladder capacity is nearing a critical level. Picking up the ILS and lining everything up, completing the checklists and setting up for the last landing of the trip, you focus and try to hold the glide, course, and power in equilibrium to the coveted greased on touch down all while juggling one handed if you're bird doesn't have an auto-pilot. From nowhere in particular the question "How tall is Tom Hanks?" drifts across the headset and everything on your brains little view screen just goes blank. The NTSB report would probably read something like the following.

Cessna 172
Damage Significant
2 injured
Cause: PICs failure to maintain control of the aircraft while executing ILS approach. Controlled flight into terrain.

It's moments such as these that, while I laugh along with my co-workers occasionally, under no circumstances should I allow myself to become too distracted by interesting questions that demand the concentration of the cosmos, not for the simplicity of the answers to be obtained, but the very contemplation on why the question would be asked in the first place. Good luck to all of you whom this may plague now while flying IFR, KW takes no responsibility for whatever mental locks result as relaying this mornings transgressions.

Back to the IFR books, I bet Gleim or the Kings never had to deal with this sort of distraction.

KW

Lessons Learned

Something that I want to concentrate on with this particular Blog is a review of lessons learned. No, I don't intend on replicating the monotone of the FAA check ride guys as they non nonchalantly grill you in a hot cockpit, no pressure! Nor do I wish to select favorite passages of the Holy FAR/AIM and sermon on the printed word of the FAA, thy will be done, or yours shall not. Instead I'd like to share what I've picked up from flouncing about he sky.

I truly believe that in every flight there are lessons to be learned. Any flight that a lesson was not gleaned is either a flight that you should have been paying attention to, or alternatively, were riding in the back of the pressurized tube while some other crazy bastard was at the controls. Last night, in a moment of educational Karma I was reminded of two very important lessons that no pilot should ever forget. After launching an adventure to KVNC for a couple of hundred dollars chicken sandwiches, an ocean view, and live entertainment, the Girlfriend and I loaded up into the age graced 172 that belongs to another pilot in the Family and attempted to return to KLAL. After listening to a rather lengthy weather briefer describe every known thunderstorm and SIGMET hovering under the black star laden sky I developed a case of "Let's Go-idus."

A common ailment of pilots young and old, "Let's Go-idus" is characteristically known to cause even the most experienced and wise amongst us to throw common sense and the strong advice of others directly out the window in order to get air born and ultimately to the destination before the looming skies come crashing in.

Lesson ONE: "Lets Go-idus" will get you killed.

Jumping into the Cessna and Launching out of VNC for LAL, I already knew we'd be pushing it but confidently I carried on with Tampa ATC dialed in, flight following tracking my efforts, and guiding us North to avoid a growing storm to the East. No problem, the eyes on the ground are watching out , just a little longer flight and more time in the log.

Lesson TWO: ATC may be able to see weather, but clouds are very much YOUR PROBLEM.

Continuing North bound the little 172 was holding a respectable 100kts even considering the STOL kit dragging it down, and at 2000 feet everything seemed peachy keen. Of course peachy keen is exactly where you want to stay, unfortunately I was about to learn for mentioned Lesson Two, something that I had already been taught but the Aviation Gods were convinced a refresher was in order. ATC asked me to take up a heading, a right turn towards the very storm I was trying to stay away from to clear the way for another aircraft that was attempting to get into a close by field and had little room to move himself due to the surrounding thunder-bumpers. Looking around the windows to my new course, alarm bells were already dulling beginning to ring although so far distant amongst the radio chatter and flying the plane that I missed them entirely. ATC reported weather at two miles distant, but it was my job to avoid the clouds only a few thousand feet away, until I made my turn to course...right into them. Totally my fault, lack of thinking the culprit. CUE THE BELLS!

"Ahh, Tampa Approach, NXYZ is in the soup, need to come back to 360."

"NXYZ, maintain VFR (in a rather surprised tone of voice I might add) descend if necessary and turn back to 360"

"NXYZ, descending to One Thousand five and turning to 360"

"Piper YZX do you have Cessna traffic in sight?"

"Traffic in sight, he just popped out of that cloud he slipped into"

At this point, having just spent the last twenty long seconds on the instruments at night with minimal IFR training I was more than relieved to pop out to lights on the ground and clear air in front. Not shaken up by the sudden envelopment of white mind you, no the adrenaline rush would come seconds later as the edge of the storm, found the edge of my aircraft. Somewhere while passing through one thousand seven hundred feet the mighty 172 began tossing and bucking and strangely enough, flying sideways to my left. Mother Nature had stepped in a was kindly reminding me that it's A: not nice to fool or question her, and B: calling her a fickle whore while safely on the ground warranted a little Karma be sent my way.
TIME TO LAND.

Talking to Tampa rapidly, I requested a deviation to the same airport the previously mentioned Piper was headed for and with him in sight, began following like a lost puppy to the beautifully lighted, heavenly sent runway some three miles away. Meanwhile, back in the cockpit my widened eyes and rapid voice over the radio were doing little to sooth or calm my one and only who had a rather strong grip on the chair beneath her and eyes locked steadily on mine, despite the fact mine were firmly glued to the cockpit and instruments before me. Keeping it together however was first priority in my mind and I calmly relaxed and focused my eyes to the task of getting to SRQ, realizing that it doesn't do anyone any good what-so-ever if the Pilot throws his hands up and starts yelling "Holy Shit, we're all going to DIE!"

I sit here now and honestly can say that the landing I made was one of the softest I've ever preformed and was so gentle that my girlfriend thought we were still gliding along and wondered when I was actually going to stop screwing around and land the plane. I grin alot over those landings, no matter the conditions.

Taxing in to the nearest FBO, any port at that point, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and stepped out of the cockpit, a bit fried from the adrenaline and a more learned individual. Thoughts of becoming an NTSB report, or worse a running gag amongst other pilots passing gently away from my mind. I was on Terra Firm, chalks beneath the mains. Not a drop of water hit the ramp that night, the storm simply stayed put and chocked itself out in place. Of course, this took the better half of two hours ad I didn't get back to LAL till around 1am local, but the most important lesson gleaned from this flight was this. If the sky looks iffy before you get going, DON'T

KW

Greetings Travelers

For those of you migrating in from my previous Blog, a collection of random thoughts, original short stories (that ultimately failed to go anywhere) and satirical rantings WELCOME to a new ball game. For those of you just stepping in, or blundering through the door, or just passing by with a bit of a wave and a "How's your father?" welcome to my spin of General Aviation, a focused attempt to keep my written efforts driven towards the sights, sounds, and emotions of the GA Pilot on an extremely tight budget. Join me as I relate the world of Flight through my own trials and tribulations, humor and insight, love and fright as I work my way not only through my additional ratings, but the never ending upkeep of my own Cessna 150, (502KW) graciously known as Checkers, a work very much still in progress. I'm the third of three in my immediate family who slips the surely bounds, son of an A&P mechanic and Cessna Pilot, older brother to a wise ass Cyclic Monkey, (see also Helicopter Pilot) and Cessna owner, and passionate follower of all that leaves this world below and behind.



From the well worn and Florida favorite runways of KLAL, welcome to the home of Red Rooster Aviation, check back often as I will be posting frequently with my own slightly off interpretation of the world.

KW