Pilotage

We hadn't intended for it to become a race, but since pilots are not known for passing up opportunities for a little friendly competition, that's the way it turned out.

The mission called for a Turbo Commander 690B to be ferried from Kansas City Downtown Airport (MKC) to Oklahoma City's Downtown Airpark (2DT), where it was to receive some minor maintenance. I offered to fly a Bonanza F33A to Oke City to retrieve the two Commander pilots. This would save them the inconvenience of having to cab it to Oklahoma City's Will Rogers World Airport and catch an airliner back to Kansas City International. It also meant a pleasant Sunday afternoon of flying to enter in my logbook.

We met on the ramp at MKC and briefed. I would depart first in the Bonanza since it takes a lot less time to preflight, start, and get going than the twin-turboprop Commander. My 10- to 15-minute head start — call it my handicap — also would negate much of the Commander's speed advantage over the approximately 270-nautical-mile distance so that we should arrive at about the same time; no one would be cooling their heels at 2DT waiting for the other airplane to appear. Once airborne and out of the Kansas City terminal area we would contact each other on 122.75 MHz and compare progress. If for some reason we couldn't get into Downtown Airpark we would meet at Million Air at Wiley Post Airport.

I thought the briefing was over, but Doug, the Twin Commander pilot, had one last comment. "Last one there buys the gas," he said with a confident smirk. With that he recast what was supposed to be a simple down-and-back ferry and chase flight into a contest. The significance of it all began to weigh on me. If the Commander won, well, it would be prima facie proof that turbine power can beat piston power on any day, any route, and practically any stage length. Also unspoken but undoubtedly lurking in the far reaches of Doug's mind (in spite of his being a nice guy) was the conviction that a win by him would say something pretty powerful about his canniness and skill as a pilot — and, therefore, my shortcomings. The image of him victoriously strutting and preening was too much to contemplate. The stakes were immense: My personal, albeit foolish, sense of pride as well as the honor of piston-powered singles everywhere. I crossed Doug's line in the sand. "You're on," I growled.

This was going to be more than a simple dash-for-the-cash sprint to the finish line. The weather was a factor. It was overcast at the departure and destination airports, as well as all points in between. The challenge for both of us was going to be negotiating with ATC for a descent through the overcast at Oklahoma City to land at 2DT, an airport with no published IFR approach procedure. I had a plan, as did Doug; I didn't share mine with him, and he didn't volunteer his.

Doug and his passenger, Bob, were still messing around outside the Commander when my sidekick, my son, and I taxied by in the Bonanza. Doug flipped us a jaunty fighter pilot-style salute. I wasn't close enough to see the smirk, but since he possessed a 90-knot cruise speed advantage I knew he was wearing one.

We departed MKC to the north and popped out on top of the overcast layer at about 4,500 feet MSL on the way to our filed altitude of 6,000. It was sunny and clear on top of the seamless carpet of cloud. Kansas City Approach choreographed for us a gradual, angular, 180-degree change in direction until we were headed south-southwest. Then came the welcome words, "Cleared direct."

I had filed direct Kansas City Downtown to Stillwater VOR northeast of Oklamoma City, then direct to Wiley Post Airport. My plan was to ask Oke City Approach for a wrong-way ILS approach to 17L at Wiley Post (the surface wind was out of the north and the VOR approach to 35R was active) and when VFR below the clouds, cancel IFR and scoot on over to Downtown Airpark about 10 miles to the southeast. The weather at Wiley Post had been low early in the morning, but was improving with each hour and was forecast to be decent VFR below the clouds by the time we arrived. More good news could be found on the loran display: We had a 10-knot tailwind component. Things were looking up.

I had been handed off to Kansas City Center but was eavesdropping on the Departure frequency when I heard Doug check in. Good! Mr. High-Flying Turbine Pilot got the same treatment as the Bonanza: Stop at 6,000 and please fly an extended boxed turn back to the south-southwest.

After a few minutes of high-fuel-flow, low-true-airspeed flying in that dense atmosphere, Doug was cleared to his requested altitude of FL240. On the way up he gave a call on the air-to-air frequency. "Hey neighbor, whereareya?" The good news was that the Bonanza was farther down the road and making better time than the competition, but that head-start advantage likely would be eaten up once the Commander was in its element.

Once there, however, Doug discovered that he would have to live with a 50-knot headwind component. He asked for lower. I declared it an unfair tactic since I didn't have the ability to climb much higher if I had wanted to do such a thing — which I didn't.

It was shaping up as a close contest. A lot would depend on how each of us managed to structure the approach into Oke City. Then came the time to reveal our respective hands. I laid out my scheme to the Center controller. He graciously offered to forward the request to Oke City Approach, and then handed me off. To my surprise and gratitude, Approach approved the request. I was beginning to feel pretty good about my chances of arriving at 2DT first.

Doug also revealed his plan. He had filed direct to the destination airport, hoping that ATC would be able to descend him low enough to clear the base of the overcast and proceed VFR into 2DT. The base of the overcast was at about 3,000 feet MSL. If he was still in the clouds at the minimum vectoring altitude (MVA), Doug would have to fly farther south to Will Rogers World Airport, shoot the approach to the north, then proceed north to Downtown Airpark. If that happened, I surely would get there first.

Doug asked the controller the big question: What is the MVA in the vicinity of Downtown Airpark? The answer made my heart sink: 2,700 feet MSL, some 300 feet below the overcast. The Commander would be able to go direct to the airport.

I shot the ILS to Wiley Post and broke out at about 3,300 feet. The tower told me to stay on frequency as I turned southeast toward Downtown Airpark. Three miles from the airport they gave me a traffic advisory: Commander approaching from the north at 3,000 feet. Just before clearing me to switch over to Airpark's unicom frequency, the tower controller noted that the Commander was entering a right downwind to Runway 34 at 2DT. I turned onto a left downwind and spotted the Commander scooting along on the east side of the runway. Doug called right downwind, I called left. "You gonna follow us in?" Doug asked triumphantly. He was slightly ahead and faster. "Yeah," I harrumphed.

The Commander turned final. When my left wing was abreast of his, I turned base. On final I watched as the Commander plunked down on the short, narrow runway with plenty of room to spare. Nice job, Doug. I called short final. Doug replied that he would roll to the end and hold there while I landed. "Thanks," I said, somewhat grumpily. I had lost.

It came to me in the flare. We were landing to the north. The quickest way to the ramp was a short taxiway toward the approach end of 34. Doug was holding on the north end of the runway. I touched down and gently braked to a stop on the runway. Then I pirouetted to face south and keyed the mike. "Downtown Airpark traffic, Bonanza Three-Lima-Hotel back- taxiing on 34."

Yogi Berra was right: It ain't over 'til it's over. I was going to get to the ramp first. I would win the race. There was nothing left to say — or was there? I punched the push-to-talk switch again and, with a smirk on my face, spoke slowly. "Last one there buys the gas."