A Morning Commute

I considered flying to work and back today, but forecast winds 15G25 gave me pause.

But at 6 AM, the air was clear, crisp, and still.

I drove straight to the airport before work, did a quick preflight, pulled the airplane out into the sun, tied the tail down, primed, spun, checked and tossed and soon the mighty Lycoming was puttering like my beagle when she's ready for a walk.

Untie, unchock, climb in, check oil once more, turn on radio -- ugh.

Oh well. It's early, no one else is out, and I have a spare AA battery carrier on board.

There’s the slightest breeze wafting in from the west. Runup good, check the sky, point west.
The tail comes up and soon the earth falls away.

The air is smooth and very clear – unusually so, even for a spring day. As I climb to 2500’ or so, I notice steam plumes from the powerplants bent to the northwest.

Level and cruising at 80 MPH, the ground creeps by at a snail’s pace. I check ground speed using the ultra-sophisticated “Look at the cars on the highway” method: ok, 55, maybe 60.

Even though the wind is from the southeast, the ride is smooth. That’s also unusual here, since southeast and easterly flows bounce across the washboard Alleghenies, making for unpleasant aviating. I continue east, dive a bit once over the fog shrouded Monongahela, and head towards the house.

Over the past few weeks the landscape has transitioned from nascent to full-on, riotous green. Trees shoulder one another with broad, leafy arms, fields bloom, and ponds and lakes wake to dustings of seeds and pollen.

From my vantage point above it all, the all-pervading sense is peace and stillness. Even cars look unoccupied and somehow natural, like beetles scurrying from one log to another on the forest floor. The birds haven’t yet climbed up, the dust and clouds and winds of the more mature day are yet to come. In my tiny fabric covered airplane, I am in control, and can go where I will, with simple nudges that would barely rouse a cat.

But the sensation is illusory – I slide open the side window some more and feel the wind blast, hear the engine putting. All that keeps me here is force and power – the burning of fuel and the mastery of aerodynamic forces that compel this heavy object into the sky work in concert, but only temporarily.

The familiar hills, water tower, and houses. I see Janet on the deck. How can all that I love in this world be contained in such a small space? This weekend our house will be filled with our children and our granddaughter. It looks too small, too frail, too miniscule for the weight of meaning placed within those old walls.

I wave, do a few low altitude turns about a point and then a zoom climb back to 2500’ on an easterly heading, towards the Summit (a 1930’s era landmark restaurant/hotel at the summit of Chestnut Ridge along Route 40, the first National Highway).

Bumps begin. The wind was still right on the nose and I slowed even more as I approached the west side of the ridge. I imagine all that air cascading down the face of the ridge like Niagara Falls, tumbling, and rolling. Still, the bumps are light and the cascade is more like a gentle stream flow than a torrent.

I look at my watch – I hate weekdays – and turn west. I push the nose forward and enjoy the speed – maybe 100 MPH groundspeed? – cars fade in my wake.

I turn on the radio and listen. One of my students is flying this morning.

I announce five miles east of the field. An inbound Cherokee announces 10 miles out. I let him know my intentions, push the nose down a bit more.

“Greene County traffic, Chief 24286, straight in 27 for the grass, Green County.”

I skim over the tree tops, pull power to idle, crank in trim, give a few slips just for grins, and touch down gently on the grass, decimating dandelions and spraying dew on struts and wings.

The restaurant is busy. I’m sure at least a few observers critique my landing. No mind. Taxi to the hangar, cut off the fuel, let it idle at 1000, putt-putt….

Click, click as the engine cools and I push the airplane back into its den. The breeze is freshening. By nightfall this beautiful, clear sky will be filled with rumbling, dark, malevolent energy roaring in from the west.

But not yet.