"No way!" said Austin. "You promised we'd make this trip by Flying Carpet."
"That's right," said Jean. "What do you think we are, wimps?"
Foolish of me to ask, I suppose, when for years my family has calmly endured whatever the weather dished out. Jean has even been known to claim that "turbulence is fun."
Given their approval, I filed the long way to Colorado Springs - northeast over Las Vegas, New Mexico, then north along the Front Range. That would add almost an hour to our flight, but would be safer than tackling high mountain passes in such weather.
An hour later Austin climbed us on instruments through damp clouds from Phoenix, planting us on course with a memorable tailwind (170 knots earns bragging rights for a straight-leg Cessna Skylane). When bumps arose over western New Mexico, Austin reclaimed control from the autopilot. But the real carnival ride began at Glorieta Pass near Santa Fe - with seatbelts cinched tight, we battled the elements at maneuvering speed for two brutal hours to our destination. Never before has our son begged and then ordered me to take the controls so he could rest. Exhausted, we landed in 35-kt winds at Colorado Springs.
Like our previous visit (see "Flying Carpet: In Pursuit of a Dream," July 2000 AOPA Flight Training), we were here pursuing Austin's longtime dream of attending the Air Force Academy. After a day of briefings he sampled dorm life overnight, then attended morning classes with a cadet host. That afternoon we were to leave. But again like last year, snow began around noon and quickly accelerated into a blizzard. Austin and I couldn't believe we were two for two, getting stranded in Colorado Springs.
Next morning the airport was closed because of wind and snow, with stations along our route reporting gusts to 60 kt. Having little else to do, Austin donned the new boots he'd purchased on campus, and the two of us trudged irrationally for miles through stinging snow. Jean read in the hotel lobby.
After noon clearing skies enticed us to the airport. There we found the Flying Carpet alarmingly shifted in her tiedown by the gale. Fortunately, she was undamaged, but time was running out for our departure. Mountain-flying wisdom says "don't go" when ridgetop winds exceed 30 kt. Well, winds aloft were still forecast at 35 from the west, and even on the ground they approached 30. Worse yet, flight service warned of another storm approaching tomorrow. Just as we plunged into cumulative oh-no-not-another-motel-night funk, our savior taxied in.
It was a Mooney, and encouraged by the first moving lightplane we'd seen, I interrogated the pilot at the coffeepot. He shared the valuable advice that comes only from an experienced local flier.
"The ride's not bad," he said, "providing you know the tricks. With strong westerly winds like these, the worst turbulence forms downwind of La Veta Pass. Distance yourself by flying east of Pueblo, then via Trinidad to Las Vegas. It also helps to stay low - 8,500 feet will keep you beneath most turbulence that extends out that far."
Armed with that wise counsel, we secured our belongings and launched into a howling crosswind. The ride was bumpy, but nothing like what we'd experienced on the way up. Through our mentor's guidance, we slipped smoothly beneath cloud streamers trailing 20 miles from the passes. After skimming green foothills near Trinidad we turned westbound over Las Vegas. It was then, with headwinds slowing us to a crawl and the promise of home beyond the horizon, that my companions dropped off to sleep.
"Hey, Dad," says Austin, awakening suddenly. "Remember talking last year, on the flight home?"
"Sure do," I reply. "You said that your next trip to the Air Force Academy would be as a cadet and made me promise we'd travel there together by Flying Carpet."
"That's right, and we've accomplished both those things!" says Austin, "I'll never forget Mom yelling 'Yippee!' into the congressman's ear, when he called to say I was accepted to the Academy." Jean chuckles sleepily from the back seat. "And wait'll my friends see these combat boots! That snow already started breaking 'em in." Recent travails melt away as the three of us proudly retrace one young man's journey in achieving his first career goal.
"Mom...Dad..." says Austin more seriously, "thank you both so much for coming with me to new cadet orientation."
Those special words sustain me another hour until at last we cross into Arizona. There, while watching mountain lakes silver with sunset, I revel in keeping my promise to our son. After all, it was small-cockpit adventures like these that stimulated his dream in the first place. And whatever Austin's future exploits in the service of his country, I know he'll never forget his first official report to the U.S. Air Force Academy, piloting his mom and dad through challenging weather by Flying Carpet.
Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, and Job Hunting for Pilots. Visit his Web site ( www.GregBrownFlyingCarpet.com ).
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