I stood on the ramp, camera in hand, waiting for Doug, my airplane partner, to get his IFR and taxi clearances. Finally, the engine rpm picked up and the airplane moved off the chocks. Doug turned left to taxi to Runway 5, and as he passed by I snapped my shot. I needed that picture to remind me of my airplane, because I was losing it for the next few months. About 10 minutes later I watched it climb away at full song.
Most airplane partnerships are based on equal access. Call your partner to see if it's available when you want it. If not, the conflict usually can be worked out so that, in the end, no one loses.
Our partnership is a little different. I don't have to check with Doug to see if he has plans for the Twin Comanche, and he doesn't have to check with me. That's because I live in Southwest Florida and Doug lives in Kansas City, Missouri. Our access is based on the calendar. I get the airplane for half a year; he gets it for half a year.
At least, that's the way it used to work. We've taken on a third player, Rick, as our renaissance partner.
Early last year we finished putting a new interior in the airplane, and we were looking forward to the next major improvement, new paint. The plan veered sharply off course when we discovered that the right engine was making metal. It was fixable, but at 1,700 hours why throw good money after bad? A major overhaul was the only prudent course.
An engine overhaul, new paint, a few cavities in the panel that needed filling — we were facing some major costs. Another factor was at work as well. Doug was looking forward to retiring soon, and was keen on reducing his airplane expenses. We looked at the facts, gulped, and agreed to find a third partner.
Airplane partnerships are easily formed, but not so easily sustained. Success depends on the two Cs — compatibility and compromise. Doug and I have earned As in those Cs. We've successfully practiced the give and take that is necessary in any business or personal relationship.
But that balance can easily be disturbed with the addition of a third person. So it was quite remarkable when Rick came along and, with minimal fuss, blended into the partnership.
It happened almost too casually. I mentioned at a local aviation event that we were shopping for a third partner. Rick came over and said he might be interested. Soon we had agreed on a price and terms, and Rick wrote a check. It was as simple as that.
That was about 13 months ago. Since then Rick has written many more checks, as have we. The three of us have been through two expensive annual inspections and an engine overhaul. The airplane has been painted. We've installed a Stormscope and a new transponder, overhauled the horizontal situation indicator, replaced the generators, replaced two fuel cells, and taken on a monthly hangar bill. The silver lining is that each partner's checkbook only takes one-third of the hit. That, of course, is the central reason you enter an airplane partnership in the first place — to cut costs by half, two-thirds, three-fourths, or by however many partners are involved. Partnerships also mean the airplane flies more, which is better for it than sitting idle.
In many ways Rick was an ideal fit. He came into the partnership with multiengine and instrument ratings, Twin Comanche experience, and the invaluable perspective of having owned airplanes in the past. He is easygoing and, if anything, more fanatical about maintenance than his two partners.
He also has raised the bar on hangaring. When we secured a lease on a new T-hangar in March, Rick became our interior designer (it came naturally — he's married to one). He pushed to have the floor professionally painted. He furnished the hangar with a table, chairs, a wicker lounger with hassock, shelves, a small refrigerator, shop-vac, push broom, and all the tools, towels, cleaners, and buckets needed to keep the airplane sparkling and serviceable. What started out as colorless hangar space is now a comfortable clubhouse.
Rick has brought a lot more to the table than his checkbook, and for his part, he says the partnership is working very well for him. Against all advice, we operate according to the barest set of rules (leave the tanks full, $40 per flight hour to build a maintenance fund and overhaul reserve, and split all costs three ways).
If there is a short straw in the arrangement, it is held by Doug. Because Rick and I live in the same town, the airplane now stays here the majority of the year. Doug, who is a thousand miles away, doesn't have equal access. Lately he's been joking that if he did the cost-benefit math, he might switch to chartering a Gulfstream to save a few bucks.
So, I could hardly feel bad about him showing up — just as the airplane was released from its annual inspection — to take it back to Kansas City for a few months to enjoy the luxury of sole possession. Even so, it was a bittersweet moment as I watched the gear tuck up into the belly and the airplane grow smaller until it dissolved in the pale midday sky.
