Pilotage

What's the worst sound an airplane can make when you're checking your watch and running a little behind on an already tight schedule because you hadn't built in time for refueling but upon arriving at the airport you discover the tanks were not topped after the last flight and you have to call for the gas truck and finally that's done and you climb in the cockpit a little irritated because you just want to get the engine up and running and get on your way? What's the worst sound you could hear in a situation like that?

No sound.

No "thunk" of the starter solenoid popping out and engaging the flywheel, no grinding of the starter motor struggling to overcome the inertia of cold and stiff metal, no nothing. Because the battery is dead. And I killed it.

I didn't mean to. As is my custom, I flipped the Master switch on at the start of the preflight inspection to check lights and pitot heat on my Cessna 172. That drained some of the juice, but the real trouble came when I tried to start the engine.

I had a moment's indecision: should I or should I not prime first? The primer works exceedingly well — so well, in fact, that I had learned the hard way not to use it except in the coldest weather. But at 30 degrees the air wasn't all that cold, just chilly. I decided to give it a slug of raw gas anyhow. I pulled the plunger out, heard it sucking up a powerful charge of gas, then pushed it in, injecting the gas directly into the intake manifolds like a doctor administering a syringe full of adrenaline to a lethargic patient.

I turned the key and simultaneously began pumping the throttle. The engine fired once, twice, then gave up. I released the key and made a fateful decision: prime a second time.

Pull, plunge, twist the key, pump the throttle. It didn't start. I couldn't deny the awful truth any longer: I must have flooded it. I loosened my safety belt, opened the door, and craned my neck to look. Sure enough, I could see a puddle of fuel collecting around the nosewheel area.

I tried the flooded start routine — mixture to idle cutoff, throttle to the firewall, crank — but with no success. Not one small cough from the engine. Meanwhile it was becoming obvious that the starter motor was spinning slower and slower. The battery was headed south.

It is a strange quirk of human nature, especially among humans about to be late for an appointment, that when the engine is flooded and the battery is dying, they do the exact opposite of what they should do. Instead of patiently waiting for the excess gas to clear and rationing the remaining electrical juice, they go for broke: Twist the key to the Start position and hold it there, hoping against hope that the engine will start before the electrons stop flowing. It doesn't, of course.

Did I mention that my airplane does not feature a plug for a ground power receptacle? When the shocking realization finally sank in that the engine was not going to start and that I was definitely going to be late for my appointment, I began reviewing my options: 1) Hand prop; 2) Remove the cowling to get at the battery box on the firewall; 3) Tie the beast back down to its spot and get to where I needed to be by...that is, I would...I'd get back in my car and — I just couldn't bring myself to say it — I would drive!

The only sensible choice was the last. What had promised to be an interesting 160- nm direct-to-destination flight suddenly had become a tortuous 200-sm drive — one way.

Soon I was rolling along the interstate at about 50 percent of the groundspeed I would have been clocking had I been in my airplane. I began playing the green eyeshades game, comparing the cost and hassles of flying with the relatively cheap and no-brainer advantages of driving. Take this trip, for instance. Even if the airplane had started on the first try, I probably would not have arrived at my destination any sooner than I would by driving, because of the time it would have taken to drive to and from the departure and destination airports and the extra time involved in preflighting and securing the airplane. As for cost, well, we all know an airplane is no financial match for a lowly four-wheel, two- dimension transportation vehicle.

The problem is that spreadsheets have no column labeled "Quality of Life Index" that would apply a standard correction to the dollars and cents. Enter all the fixed and direct costs of airplane and car ownership, then tap the F8 key to adjust for quality of life. See the column labeled Totals scroll up the screen, the dollar figures changing as soon as they pop up — decreasing on the airplane ledger, increasing on the car side.

I pulled into my driveway very late that night, my mind numb from the monotony of the round-trip drive. The next morning the shop called and reported that my battery was terminal. It could be charged, but who knows how long it would perform? That battery is my ticket home in the event of an electrical system failure in the clouds. "Let's go for new," I said.

The shop quoted me the price of a new battery and labor to charge it and install it. The total was about three times the amount for a new battery in my car. Then I hit the F8 key.