Muffins
It is a break from the routine. Another pilot is stranded in Fargo. The poor guy landed in a snowstorm the previous morning covered in ice, unable to see forward then got stranded when the airport shut down because of the weather.
The snow was so bad he couldn't get to a hotel, despite three valiant attempts, and wound up spending the night on the floor at the FBO. Flying freight is a glamorous job, for certain.
The heater on his airplane has gone belly up so I get to fly a mechanic, some tools and spare parts up. We'll give the poor, stranded pilot our airplane so he can finish his run and get home, fix his airplane then bring it back to base.
It's a beautiful VFR day, but cold. The winds are howling, right on our nose all the way up, and the 145-knot groundspeed makes it a long trip. At least it will be quick coming home.
I chuckle when we realize the heater in our salvation airplane is barely working. The good news for the stranded pilot is that he gets to go home. The bad news is the heater sucks.
In Fargo I leave the mechanic in a chilly hangar to sort out the mysteries of the broken heater and gorge myself on coffee, fresh-baked muffins and the flat-panel plasma television in the FBOs lovely pilot's lounge.
For a moment I feel slightly guilty that I am warm, fed, sipping coffee in a leather recliner and watching a Clint Eastwood flick while the mechanic is freezing in a hangar, crawling around a broken airplane.
The moment passes, however, and I go back to watching Clint dispatch the bad guys. It is a good FBO, they know how to take care of pilots here.
Besides, I have almost no idea what makes the heater actually work, much less what makes it break, so I figure the most efficient course of action is to stay out of the way drinking coffee, eating muffins and watching a big flat-screen plasma TV.
Eventually the mechanic appears. He's young enough that working in a cold hangar doesn't bother him. I'm getting old and soft, a status I'm starting to enjoy. The heater is working again but he's not certain how long it will stay that way.
I brush some muffin crumbs off my chest, finish my coffee and we hustle out, fire up the airplane, pick up our clearance and head for home.
It is toasty warm until we're at 500 feet on the climb out. The gear has just clunked into the “up” position when the heater quits.
The aviation gods are getting their pound of flesh for my muffin-eating, coffee-drinking, plasma-screen-watching indulgence earlier.
Damn, time for a command decision. Oh well, that's what I get paid for, making the big decisions.
“Um, look man,” I say in my best captain's voice, “an hour freezing to death sure beats a night in Fargo.” The mechanic agrees.
Outside, it is -25C at altitude. I have no idea how cold it is inside, but by the time we land back at base my hands are frozen solid. I don't fully warm up until several hours later, huddled under a blanket on the couch at home.
It wasn't the most enjoyable trip home but despite the cold it was safe. Almost as important, I'm home and not spending the night in Fargo.
The snow was so bad he couldn't get to a hotel, despite three valiant attempts, and wound up spending the night on the floor at the FBO. Flying freight is a glamorous job, for certain.
The heater on his airplane has gone belly up so I get to fly a mechanic, some tools and spare parts up. We'll give the poor, stranded pilot our airplane so he can finish his run and get home, fix his airplane then bring it back to base.
It's a beautiful VFR day, but cold. The winds are howling, right on our nose all the way up, and the 145-knot groundspeed makes it a long trip. At least it will be quick coming home.
I chuckle when we realize the heater in our salvation airplane is barely working. The good news for the stranded pilot is that he gets to go home. The bad news is the heater sucks.
In Fargo I leave the mechanic in a chilly hangar to sort out the mysteries of the broken heater and gorge myself on coffee, fresh-baked muffins and the flat-panel plasma television in the FBOs lovely pilot's lounge.
For a moment I feel slightly guilty that I am warm, fed, sipping coffee in a leather recliner and watching a Clint Eastwood flick while the mechanic is freezing in a hangar, crawling around a broken airplane.
The moment passes, however, and I go back to watching Clint dispatch the bad guys. It is a good FBO, they know how to take care of pilots here.
Besides, I have almost no idea what makes the heater actually work, much less what makes it break, so I figure the most efficient course of action is to stay out of the way drinking coffee, eating muffins and watching a big flat-screen plasma TV.
Eventually the mechanic appears. He's young enough that working in a cold hangar doesn't bother him. I'm getting old and soft, a status I'm starting to enjoy. The heater is working again but he's not certain how long it will stay that way.
I brush some muffin crumbs off my chest, finish my coffee and we hustle out, fire up the airplane, pick up our clearance and head for home.
It is toasty warm until we're at 500 feet on the climb out. The gear has just clunked into the “up” position when the heater quits.
The aviation gods are getting their pound of flesh for my muffin-eating, coffee-drinking, plasma-screen-watching indulgence earlier.
Damn, time for a command decision. Oh well, that's what I get paid for, making the big decisions.
“Um, look man,” I say in my best captain's voice, “an hour freezing to death sure beats a night in Fargo.” The mechanic agrees.
Outside, it is -25C at altitude. I have no idea how cold it is inside, but by the time we land back at base my hands are frozen solid. I don't fully warm up until several hours later, huddled under a blanket on the couch at home.
It wasn't the most enjoyable trip home but despite the cold it was safe. Almost as important, I'm home and not spending the night in Fargo.
posted by Will at 9:43 AM
2 Comments:
flew down to Florida in a Lake Amphibian this week; got a fine taste of Kentucky for a few days worth of fog, low clouds/Mtns & an oil leak & marginal alternator
but did get to meet some great pilots... I'd be happy for the coffee/muffins - and after long enough; we could have donated plasma
The heater in my 310 has been intermittent this winter. Its barely a year old but the warranty is long gone. 'Just doing my best to stay in the southern half of the U.S. until you guys thaw out for good.
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