Byron's Bay Dive

Byron's Bay, 9:30am

As I sat there drinking a perfect cup of coffee and soaking up the meager warmth of the winter Aussie sun, I was wondering how well I'd hold up on the dive. It's winter here, still not terribly cold, but the waters are 65 degrees, visibility is expected to be poor, and there's little warmth at the surface to look forward to before or after the dive. Well, at least it was a dang good cup of coffee, with a bitterness strong enough to tame any amount of cream. I swished away the visions of myself chattering mercilessly below the waves with a regulator in my mouth, and I headed over to the dive shop. They said something about having 5-mil thick wet suits - that sounds pretty thick I guess.

This was a different sort of a dive for me. Most of the dives I've done involve going out a few clicks in a big boat with 20 other people. Today, we would suit up at the shop and make a short drive to the beach, where we would help the dive team launch a small Zodiac into the water from the beach. As I sat there listening to the dive briefing, I was looking at the Zodiac, realizing that there really wasn't going to be any relief from wet and wind until we were all the way done with the dive. Again, I swished away the chattering, submerged image of Don. I suited up in my 5-mil thick suit, hoping to start building up heat inside the suit as far in advance as possible. I noticed several folks had dry suits, and everybody but me seemed to have a hood. I inquired to the dive master, "Do those hoods make a big difference?" The Dive Master confirmed this and thankfully handed me a nice thick hood. As I slipped it over my head, he replied in his thick Aussie accent, "There you go mate, now you look the part."

A dozen fully suited black human seals loaded into the back of a truck, and we were on our way. You can tell they launch these boats 6 times a day. Within minutes, the truck is flying backwards down the sandy beach to launch the zodiac. We were quickly motioned to do as briefed. Everybody held onto the side of the zodiac and walked it out into the water deep enough to crank. The smaller of the crew pulled themselves aboard, then the remaining men helped push the boat a little deeper before boarding. The thick wet suit, I learned at this point, does the job. The chill of the colder waters was not going to be so bad. Once we shimmied on board the boat, we took our seat on the inflated pontoon-like hulls of the boat, and we were on our way.

Sometimes you just have to realize, right then, that you are having one of those moments to remember. Skimming along inches above the water in the zodiac, my senses were overwhelmed with wet and salty winds, bright blue winter morning skies, and the beautiful Australian coastline set against a dark blue sea. Julian Rocks was our destination, and it took no time to get there. Again, true to our briefing, the boat pulled up to a mooring, and diver number 1 was instructed to slide on his gear and fall backwards into the blue. I was diver #3 this morning, and I was glad to be one of the first so I'd have a little longer to reacquaint myself with a mask and regulator. As predicted, the visibility was not great, maybe 5 meters or less. I've been diving in less visibility than that, so I knew it could still be a good dive, just so long as we could stay grouped.

We began our descent by following the mooring line down into the murky depths. I don't think it was more than 12 meters to the bottom, but with the poor visibility, that was enough to give the impression we were descending into nothingness. The only evidence that my fellow divers were waiting on me at the bottom was the proof of their bubbles racing for the surface. Once we arrived at the bottom, our dive master checked everyone for the ok sign, and we were on our way. I was immediately treated to the typical array of beautiful and colorful fish as I have seen on countless Caribbean dives. If we saw nothing more, I'd go home happy. No sooner had that thought bubbled to the surface than my dive master crouched closer to the sandy bottom and shined his flashlight on the large shark swimming right in front of us! My initial reaction was an odd mix of "holy crap" and "heck yes" and "can I get eaten" all rolled into one. "Heck yes" quickly dominated the other two. This was officially a shark dive, and we were just getting started.

He was not alone. With the visibility being so poor, I do not know how many sharks there were, but we frequently had two or three running their routes around us through the reefs. I estimated the length of several to be 10 feet, give or take my bulging eyes. I'd later learn that these sharks were Grey Nurse sharks, also called Sand Tiger sharks. The Grey Nurse shark is not to be confused with the more whiskery and wimpy Nurse sharks of the Caribbean. They are an endangered species here in Australia, once fiercely hunted by locals because of their (false) reputation as man-eaters. The Grey Nurse shark is what you picture when you think "shark". It is like a fighter jet of the ocean. It's mere sight commands respect and conveys speed and danger. Sometimes on a dive you will have that one great find, a single minute that makes the 45 minute dive stand out. Today I had way more than that minute. We would spend our entire dive with these amazing creatures. Sometimes they would surprise us from the side or go zipping past us in front. On a few occasions, we just sank down to the sand and let them give us their show. We were close enough to touch them, and one diver did just that. The shark showed is disapproval and shot forward, more in my direction. I was thinking how ironic it would be that he might start the ruckus with the tail and I get the teeth, but he zipped on by. Mental note: I erased my own thought that I might touch one after that. The front row seat was good enough.

With that as the main act of the dive, it'd be easy to forget everything else, but there was much more. As we circled Julian Rocks, we were treated to one Octopus, dozens of Carpet Sharks (aka Wobbegongs by the Aussies), and one particularly beautiful passage through a tunnel in the reefs where we swam through a soup of millions of tiny fish. Oh, and I did feel up one of the Carpet Sharks - so check: touched a shark. I never had a chance to think about the cold water or dwell on the poor visibility. In our small sphere of visibility to this undersea world, I felt for a moment more like an intimate part of their world.

A little later on, as I was zipping along on the wrong side of road up the Aussie highway, I sipped on a water bottle and noted the neat hint of saltiness coming from my lips. I was reminded of a dive-crazy friend who once remarked that he didn't like to go too long without getting his taste of salt water. Today, I understood his addiction.

[editorial note: none of these pics are taken from my dive - just added for illustration. a few of these still do originate from byron's bay by others.]

Aliens Took My Wife

My lovely wife, Gennett, is one of those who feels more a victim of my general aviation hobby than a beneficiary. Oh the stories of marital strife I can tell with planes serving as a wicked ingredient. Not so much these days. Either aliens have taken my wife, or a constant dose of RV is a powerful medicine.

My son, Tyler, graduates from boot camp, and thankfully the US Army likes places in the middle of nowhere, like Fort Leonard, Missouri. This place even features an airport that shares both military and general aviation. Hmmmm. Drive 12 or more hours to the graduation ceremony or fly for 3 hours and land right in the middle of the post? My RV-7 winked and smiled at her, I swear it.

As I checked the weather today, I surmised that it was a doable VFR trip, but it was not the severe clear day that Gennett usually holds out for. There was some colorful stuff on the nexrad between my home base in Atlanta and Fort Leonard, but no impenetrable fronts. Still, I knew I was going to get a chance to expose Gennett to some interesting VFR/VMC weather. (By "interesting", I mean "interesting and educational" not "dangerous".)

We began our trip below the clouds. The cumulonimbus around Atlanta was a bit too tall for anything over the top, even for the RV. Under would have to suffice. It was beautiful yet bumpy, bouncing along at around 2500'. We experienced some nice and light VFR rain. Rain? That's no good, she thinks. With a calming voice, I pointed out that we could easily see miles ahead and on all sides, and that the rain was little more than occasional mistings that we would pass through quickly. Off to the sides here and there, Gennett also witnessed several rain showers that were much more developed, and she was able to observe the difference.

By the time we got into Alabama, the big stuff was more spread out, which gave me an opportunity for some altitude. We climbed up to 8000' and we were treated to a magnificent 100 mile view of the weather. From this vantage point, we could see the giant monsters off in the distance. It was very comforting to her to compare the nexrad displayed in front of her with the real world outside. We talked about what Nexrad can tell you and what it cannot tell you.

As we got into western Tennessee, we faced our next line of obstacles. There were some cumulo-monsters lying directly on my magenta road to Missouri. For this round, I thought over and around was a good option, but I needed more altitude. I reached behind me and dangled a spaghetti of oxygen lines and cannulas in front of my wife, and the initial reaction was "are you kidding me?" Honey, even at lower altitudes, O2 will make you feel more refreshed and less fatigued. Sold. We ran along for a little while at 10500 with the O2. She was fine, so we climbed up and up. At 16500, I was satisfied that we would be able to circumnavigate worst of the monsters with a minimum of maneuvering through a few cloud canyons. Gennett, by now, was fascinated with our view of such awesome power as contained within those thunderstorms, but she could see that we were safe even from this lofty vantage point.

Southern Missouri presented the next VFR/VMC challenge. More monsters on the path. But now a diversion around is too much. There are also some higher altitude MOA's to deal with, and the layers below seemed less broken. Under is my only option. From aloft, I have no idea if "under" will work. If it doesn't, we will have a $100 hamburger somewhere nearby. I descend from on high down through the broken layers. The ceilings proved more than adequate at 3000 feet and the visibility was excellent. There were some showers, but they are easily seen and skirted.

It is always wonderful to see the "ETE" finally tick down to the sub 30 minute mark. I ring up the tower at Fort Leonard. It must be my lucky day as the wall of restricted airspace blocking the approach to Fort Leonard was just opened. Only one obstacle remains: the tower warns me of winds gusting to 22 knots across the runway. Great. OK, honey, this is going to be a bumpy approach, but we'll be fine. I will abort the landing and go around if there is any issue. As we approach the field, the winds picked up to confirm that the tower was not joshing. The big weather system to the west of the field was coming in. I set up for a straight in approach and tested the amount of crab required to maintain the center-line. Dang. I kept it a little fast and only dropped flaps a notch. As I crossed the fence, I added aileron and jammed in the rudder, more - more - more. Left main rolling. Then right. Then the tail settled down. Would you believe the tower complemented a perfect crosswind landing, right there with the wife to hear? I owe that guy five bucks.

All told, the trip was over 3 hours. Gennett experienced what it was like to fly over, under, through, and around stuff big enough to show up on radar. She experienced snorting O2 through a cannula at more than 3 miles above solid ground. She filled her camera up with dozens of pictures of thunder-boomers, and she learned quite a bit about how to gleen information from that pricey panel I put together with our money. Finally, she experienced a successful and uneventful trip, and she had a great time. We remarked how awful the drive would have been. The RV winked again, this time at me. I said thanks.

Trying to Get to Osh!

The best laid plans of pilots and airplanes... All week long I've been looking forward to Oshkosh. I guess I've been 5 or so times by now, and this year I'm even staying for the whole week instead of just a few days. One of the things that I'm particularly looking forward to is that we're staying in a motorhome right in the middle of things at Osh. I've never done the motorhome thing before, but I've always been somewhat intrigued by the idea of going "RV'ing" in the land yacht variety of RV.
I digress. Abby and I are trying to get to Oshkosh. Today is the day. Our plans were simple, and the weather forecast was looking good. I got up at 4:30am, threw Abby and luggage in the car, and we were off to the airport. By 6:30am, we were airborn, with a beautiful sunrise greeting us from the wide open view of my RV7 tip-up canopy. A perfect flying moment, and the only thing missing was my camera, buried deep in my pile of luggage. That'll have to be one for only Abby and me to remember. We were off to a great start.
Two things, however, were working against us. First, it was all headwinds, with as much as 20-30 knots off the nose. Second, there was a line of thunderstorms coming down through Indiana. There wasn't much we could do about the headwinds, but the RV is fast so my 140kt ground speed is not the worst thing in the world. We still made time. The thunderstorm line decided to play nice. There was an eastern line and a western line of the front, with a nice break in between. Thankfully, the break was nearly along my flight path. With a small amount of detouring, we set course right between the two fronts. This might sound iffy to read this, but we were flying at 12500 feet. We have weather in the cockpit, and we're able to see everything ahead of us for 100 miles. If radar and reality had not been in our favor, we had many airport options below me.
The timing of my plan today didn't leave much room for error thanks to the headwinds. I wanted to land at Oshkosh by 11:00 so that we could catch a noon bus back to Milwaukee to pick up our motorhome. We also needed to fly miserly so that we'd have sufficient fuel range and reserve. The plan was working, but the time was getting tight. Speaking of miserly, my airplane holds 42 gallons of gas, and I'd always considered that this was a 3 hour airplane with an hour reserve. Wrong. Going high and leaning out the mixture makes an unbelievable difference. We had fuel burn down to 7 gallons, and suddenly we had a nearly a 5 hour range plus reserve. My fuel computers were showing that I had enough to get to Osh plus 45 minutes. That's right at my limit, but there was also the possibility that we'd pick up ground speed considerably as we got closer to Osh. It would be something to monitor.
Nexrad showed two lines of storms, one behind the other. It was looking easy to fly over them. We had climbed to 16500', and we could see over the second line. Wait a minute. My O2 tank is getting low. Dangit. We're not going over the front. We quickly descended to 12500 and that wasn't enough for the clouds ahead. The front ahead was now shaping to be a giant pile of IMC (instrument meteorlogical conditions) at least at these altitudes altitude. I realized that I was looking at the last open patches of ground down below. My hopes of a direct flight to Osh just evaporated, but there's still plenty of day ahead of me. Abby and I went down lower and lower. The ceilings over Indiana were at around 3600 feet. That's still a safe VFR altitude, and I know that on the other side of this, it's wide open. Ironically, we've made it past everything that shows up on the NexRad, and it's just when I think we're getting along great that the weather actually got interesting. Low level overcast layers don't show up on radar.
Oh - Abby. I'm sorry. In my descent from up high, her ears didn't clear fast enough, and she cried with the pain before I knew she was suffering. I showed her how to clear her ears, and the pain subsided.
We plodded along at 3500, then 3000 was better. We were in and out of small showers. It was still completely VFR with high visibility, but it did not look very good ahead. I checked every airport metar I could, and the Lafayette was reporting 3600 just straight ahead, but my eyeballs said no way. The ceilings ahead were getting much lower. I called up Lafayette tower, and they said they were just about to change the weather report as ceilings had just dropped to 1400. Enough. Time to get on the ground. Lafayette cleared me to land on runway 23. After 430 miles of flying, I landed with 15 gallons remaining- not bad!
That's where I am now. Lafayette, Indiana. About an hour's flight from the RV. It's a nice airport. They have a lovely pilot lounge with nice recliners and wifi. I'm all set to blog, while Abby enjoys an episode of Hannah Montana.

Young Eagle Day

Young Eagles - EAA's program to expose as many kids to flying as possible. I mentioned Young Eagles in my early post as Abby flew her first RV flight with Jamie Painter on a Y.E. Day last month, soon after followed by her first flight in my airplane. This month, EAA690 needed more than the usual line-up of pilots because somewhere around 70 kids were expected to show up. I think most of the kids were fresh out of some aviation related summer camp.
I've never done the Y.E. thing before. I just never considered it with my old Archer, but the RV7 is a great plane for these events, so this past Saturday I decided it'd be fun to show our support for the Y.E. program. At around 8:15, I taxied my plane over into a growing line-up with a nice variety of planes. There were at least 3 RV's in the line, including an rv7a, rv6a, and my rv7. There was also the popular Piper Warrior, a classic 1947 Aeronca Chief, the speedy Beechcraft Bonanza, a beautiful and classic Sinson, the venerable Cessna 182, and a few others. Not too bad.
The folks at EAA690 really have it going on for these Young Eagle Days. There were at least a dozen non-piloting volunteers organizing the event. For the kids, the first stop is the sign-in station. From there, they each go to a "pre-flight briefing" session, and after that they're queued up for the ride. Once his or her name comes up, a handler in the line crew brings each kid with some paperwork out to the pilot and plane. My first Young Eagle was a nice kid named Matthew, around age 8, fresh out of the summer camp. I signed his Young Eagle paperwork, and introduced myself to his mother. I can only wonder what this mother is thinking as she's walking her kid over to this unpainted "homebuilt" airplane. Gennett would have run away, but Matthew's mom is going with the flow today.
I give Matthew and mom a brief intro to the plane, and help her set up a few pics. Now it's time to get this show on the road. Matthew climbs in, and I show him how a 5 point harness works. I get myself situated, and close the canopy to cracked position. "Clear Prop." I hit the starter, and the blades turn. And turn and turn and turn. Dangit! I knew this would happen. I don't have the "hot start" sequence nailed yet. It won't crank, presumably I've flooded the engine. I hit the starter again. More turns. More nothing. Dangit again! I can tell I'm sucking the battery dry, and I better find the magic formula soon. What must mother be thinking now? How 'bout, "get my kid outta that thing!" That's probably what I would have been thinking. Go figure out how to start your plane with some other kid. Hehe. Thankfully Mike Stewart runs over and prescribes his methods for hot start. Bang, she fires up.
I'm embarassed, but it's running, and Matthew may yet get a nice flight. He does. I followed Jamie's RV7 out of the airport to the south. Matthew's going to get the Stone Mountain run. We just loop around the mountain and head back. The flight takes maybe 20 minutes, and Matthew gets a chance to see the carving from a new perspective, plus some nice sightseeing enroute. With some hesitation, I convince him it's ok to take the controls and try his own hand at piloting the plane. A future pilot is born.
Once back at the airport, Matthew and I return to the hangar where the ground crew is ready with a nice Young Eagle certificate, and my next ride is ready to go. My next ride is a little less than random. It just so happens that a co-worker of mine, Phil Brass, was there that day getting his 8-yr old a ride in the Stinson. Phil's 15-yr old daughter, Katie, was just along to see her younger brother get a ride, but she didn't count on the persistence and peer pressure that Mike and I were more than willing to dish out. Katie was quite the sport, and with a thoughtful smile, she caved in to our shameless pressure tactics. Her first small airplane ride would be in my rv7.
After my earlier pitiful attempts at cranking, I was hoping to do a little better for Katie. It still took more turns of the blade to crank than I'd like to admit, but I got it going with slightly less trouble. By this point of the day, it was getting considerably hotter, and the winds were unusal for such a hot day. I decided to try the Lake Lanier run with Katie. One nice thing about the RV is that it can get up to cooler air pretty fast. Today, that also meant smoother and clearer air. At around 4000 feet, Katie seemed to be enjoying herself, so I brought up the possibility of doing a roll. The peer pressure today was ruthless. She agreed. I explained to her how it would go, and then we did it. Maybe that will be something to talk about with her friends. We then resumed straight and level tours of the lake, the dam, and the famous "cocktail cove" at Lanier Islands. On the way back, I warned her to expect turbulence, and we got every bit of it. There was also a nice crosswind landing. A great flight, but not the best conditions around the airport for young eagles. I decided I'm done for the day. At first, I felt a little guilty at leaving more burden on the other pilots to fly the remaining kids, but within 30 minutes, most of the other pilots had reached the same conclusion. Another Y.E. plane ran off into a ditch on takeoff, with no injury. (Think that poor kid is done with aviation for the rest of his life?!) And yet another plane had to break out the air sickness bags. Young Eagle Day was terminated early due to the hot turbulence and crosswinds. We were still able to get around 50 kids up in the air. For my case, I have my first two young eagles under the belt, and it was really neat that one of them was Katie, who was around 5 years old when I first met her dad. Katie, I hope you had half as much fun as I did.

Gennett's First Flight

That's right! I'll be honest. I didn't expect Gennett to go flying until I had a gazillion hours on my plane. Then the other day she surprised me. It was a really nice day, so what the heck, I asked her. "Wanna go up?"
I didn't get a no! I did get a few pre-conditions, mainly just that I would behave and keep the airplane right-side up. No problem. I know that Gennett would never get in the plane again if I felt sneaky, so there was no chance of a surprise roll.
That afternoon, she was having lunch with her friends, so we agreed just to meet at the airport afterward. She was easily the best dressed at the airport that day, showing up all fancy in a nice sun dress. Jamie Painter was putting up his plane as we rolled into the airport, so he got a quick intro and later concluded that I had "married up". Jamie, you're not the first nor the last to think that.
We cruise on over to my hangar, and within a few minutes we're ready to roll. I help Gennett climb in and showed her how to do a 5-point harness seatbelt. I walk around, climb in, do my own seatbelts, and pull the canopy down. At that moment, Gennett takes a deep breath. You can tell that she just got that "closed in" feeling as if the coffin lid just closed. She's hanging in there. Good girl. The canopy is actually the furthest thing from a coffin lid. Once airborne, you can see the world unblocked. Let's just get this thing in the air. "Gwinnett Ground, Experimental 5-1-7-Delta-Golf at north ramp with information, vfr to the north". "Experimental-7-Delta-Golf, taxi via Zulu to 7".
At this time, I'll take a minute to give you a quick reminder of another first flight. Many years ago, Gennett was going on her first flight with me in my ole '75 Archer. We were taking a day trip to Calloway Gardens. As we took off, the cockpit was filled with a loud rushing of air. Voila idiot! I forgot to latch the door. This is not a danger condition, but it's downright noisy. No problem, I figure I'll just put the airplane into a slip and reach over and slam the door shut. Putting the airplane into a slip means flying a little sideways, with the right wing a little down. As I open the door, all Gennett sees is, well, open door and ground. I must be trying to throw her out. About 1/1000oth of a second later, I realize the open door is better left open. Obviously to Gennett it's better to crash the plane than be thrown from it. A few reassuring words with the hands off the door handle restored order to the cockpit. We ended up having a nice trip, but that was never forgotten.
Fast forward back to day. As I'm cleared for takeoff, Gennett faithfully reminds me, "Don't forget to close the canopy!". Thanks honey. As I roll out onto the runway and apply power, Gennett bites her thumb. She's silent, and I can tell she's scared. The plane is quickly off the ground, and I'm trying to perform the most gentle climb that my plane can muster. Slowly but surely, Gennett starts to relax. My normal intro flight is a quick spin over the lake, maybe check out the house, and look for the kids. We do all that, and I decide it might be nice to show her how easy cross country travel can be, so I set the plane in a nice easy climb toward the north. Now Gennett goes camera crazy. snap snap snap. Nice pictures. snap snap snap. Goofy pictures. snap snap snap. How many pictures can we take in flight? Answer: a lot. After a short run up north, I turn back for Lawrenceville. snap snap snap. Right down to final. snap snap. And one more off the taxi way, snap.
Our first flight was a total success. There will be others.

Abby Likes Loops

There's not been much time for flying lately.  I just got back from India, and work seems to double-down on the return.   The weather is not really cooperating either, but that didn't stop me from heading out to the airport with Abby yesterday.   It was a gusty and rainy, but I could always hope for an opening.

When I got to the airport, I was surprised to see that EAA690 was doing the Young Eagles thing.  Once per month, the chapter will line up a bunch of pilots to take kids to the air as part of the Young Eagle program sponsored at the national EAA level.  It's completely free.  The chapter recruits schools, scouts, and anyone with a kid between 8 and 18 to come out, see the planes, and go for a nice ride with an experienced pilot.   It's a wonderful program with a goal to introduce kids and parents alike to the fun side of aviation.

Abby was so excited to go flying today that I jumped on the chance for her to experience her first RV flight in Jamie Painter's nice RV-7A.    Jamie's been flying Young Eagles for a while, so I knew he'd give Abby a great flight.  The clouds were starting to show a few breaks here and there, and I knew Jamie and his 7A would handle the gusts well.   I gave a parental thumbs up for inverted flight if Abby consented.   That's not typical for Young Eagles, but I've flown with Jamie, and I knew he'd insure that priority one was a good flight for Abby.   Thirty minutes later, Abby was back at the hangar with a big grin on her face.   As it turned out, Jamie was able to get up above the clouds, giving Abby a nice Sunny Day experience on a day that was anything but sunny.  Abby was a little apprehensive about inverted flight, so Jamie kept things upright.  

The first flight 

only convinced Abby that she wanted another flight with me all the more.  I was harassed to no end that I had to take her flying.  Twist my arm, sweetheart.  After lunch, I granted her wish.

Our first mission was a bombing run at the Ashway Drive intelligence post.   We laid down many lines of fine smoke as Mom, Allie, and the grandparents scattered for cover, waving haplessly at our assault.  Thereafter, we climbed for the clouds, up into the sunshine above a layer of cotton.  From there, with Abby helping at the controls, we exercised my vast repertoire of aerobatic maneuvers, which can be summed up in two words: loops, rolls.  Oh, and maybe a cuban or two.    I pulled the stick back, and the RV quickly climbed through vertical and then the world starts to go upside down, followed soon after by a window full of green as the G's come in at the end of the loop.   Somewhere in the departure from straight and level,  Abby decides that a 5-point harness is not enough, and she is hugging my arm.  Ironically, the very person who is causing her world to be topsy-turvy is also able to give her comfort and security.   I realize that my decision to build a plane with side-by-side seating was just completely validated.   We eventually lose count of the loops and rolls, and it's time to descend.    We swirl downward through the layers of clouds, and as Lake Lanier rotates around, I'm picking out the shoreline that will lead me to Gainesville.  It's a windy day, and a touch-n-go landing at Gainesville will give me a good test of the cross-winds before heading back to Lawrenceville.    

The crosswinds at Lawrenceville had settled down, but it was still a nice test of my taildragger skills.  I score the landing an 8.   I score the experience a 10.   I have so much still to look forward to now that I can bring the RV flying experience to my family and friends.  Will my kids loving flying?  Will they get a bug for aerobatics?   Only the future will tell.  But today, I can tell you that Abby likes loops.

Allie gives a thumbs up

Today was a day to take the leash off. What leash? Well, when you first get your airplane flying, it's confined to a "phase 1" flight area for up to 40 flying hours. The idea is that the FAA expects you to conduct flight testing, and they want you fairly close to your home airport. They also don't want you taking passengers up. You're flying, but with some shackles. As mentioned in the previous post, I had already marked the end of my Phase 1 by taking up my dad. We did a nice and short evening cruise over the lake, doing some sightseeing in the north metro Atlanta area. I did not, as it happens, leave my phase 1 flight area.

What better way to break out of the penalty box than to take one of my girls to an actual RV flyin! There seems to be a fly-in about every weekend somewhere within easy flying distance. But up till now, I could only read the emails going back and forth between all the flying guys enjoying all the burgers and comraderie, whilst the rest of the still-building guys ramble on about the latest puzzle-du-jour from a multitude of lonely basement projects. Today was to mark the first time I can crossover into that other flying-guy world, where having a plane is now a ticket to a burger.

My RV7 only has two seats, so I'm guaranteed that each trip will be a nice one on one date with my wife or one of my girls. Eeny-Meeny-Miney-Mo, Allie is the first to go. Now recall that I started building my plane almost 4 years ago now. Allie was only 18 months old at the time, so to her, having an airplane project in the basement was just something that was always there. Since our playroom and outdoor play area are both next to the shop, she's spent all her life playing within 20 feet of dad and the airplane factory. Allie is a fearless athletic ball of kinetic energy, and she has always shown an unreserved interest in going flying with dad. As soon as she woke up this morning, she was demanding that we get ready and over to the airport first thing. "Dad, close the computer, and let's go!" Such problems.

The weather today did not look good, but the reports were ok. Good enough for safe local VFR flight. There were low clouds, but they would be picking up as the day goes on. I expected some thundershowers, but they would hopefully be avoidable pop-ups in the afternoon. It's a typical summer pattern for the Southeast. I admit I'm a bit more nervous as I taxi for the first time with the responsibility for the safety of my precious 5 year old daughter, but she is absolutely ready to go. Wow. Most passengers are a little apprehensive going up in a small airplane, but Allie is ready to mash the launch button without any hesitation.

Finally, the tower clears me, "experimental-five-one-seven-delta-golf is clear for take-off two-five left turn out". I roll onto the runway and mash the launch button. Within seconds, I push the stick forward and the tail comes up. A few seconds later, we're airborne a few inches above the runway, and my headset is filled with the exclamations of a five year old yelling, "Boy this is so much fun!" Then I quickly climb up to 2000 feet, which is all the clouds are going to give me today. Allie wants to go upside-down, but I disappoint her as I'd rather save that for higher altitudes. We tour Lake Lanier and Allie cannot stop talking. "Look at the boats! Can you take me swimming? Can we fly over our house? Look at the clouds. This is so cool. Daddy, I love you." All that riveting just paid for itself. Again.

Our destination was Peachtree City's Falcon Field where the Falcon RV squadron is hosting a fly-in. The weather and Atlanta class B airspace dictate an approach from the south. Each of the 3 GPS map displays in my cockpit is doing it's thing, keeping me safe from traffic, weather, and airspace. As we weave under and around all these obstacles, we find ourselves staring down at Atlanta Motor Speedway. Nice. Wonder when the next Nascar event is? Minutes later, we're pulling into the hangar area where the Falcon squadron is hanging out. No sooner has my prop stopped turning when a couple people are pushing my plane into a parking space on RV row. It takes me 20 minutes to walk 20 feet to the food display because I have a lot of questions to answer about my plane before I can eat.

Lesson: don't show up at a fly-in at 12:30 expecting any burgers to be left. Oh well, the side items will hold us over. I met a few guys still doing their builds, and I can say that my plane was given a thorough inspection by them. Allie quickly finds a scooter and some kids her age to play with, and she is not missing the hamburgers. Cupcakes are hot targets. She's off to play while daddy gets into pilot-speak. Each and every member of the Falcon squadron introduced themselves and demonstrated true Southern hospitality. One fly-in now under the belt. As Allie and I get back in and fire up the engine, every pilot secures every child and gives me the thumbs up sign to taxi.

Moments later, we're airborne; zooming back to Lawrenceville. A check of weather before departure revealed that I was in a horse race with the rain. It was a close race. My WX weather display shows fingers of an ugly weather system reaching down to Lawrenceville, but the current conditions are still good. As my RV quickly closes the distance on the airport, I can see we're headed straight for a nasty black rainstorm. If the rain wins the race, Allie and I may have dinner in Athens. Nope, thankfully the RV is fast and the nasty black rainstorm is still a few miles north of the airport. We're cleared for landing and I've won the race with the clouds. As I spin the plane around in front of my hangar, the dark clouds form over the airport, and a light rain crosses my finish line in second place. Allie poses for the RV grin shot. She's now logged just under two hours of RV time. Many more to come, Allie-bug.