Always have a plan B
"Why's that, Jean?" I asked, surprised at the urgency of my wife's request.
"I need to make an important presentation in Bullhead City that morning. I'm told it's a horrible drive, especially for a meeting that won't last over an hour. Can we fly?"
"Bullhead City?" I replied, surprised. "That's a remote spot for a meeting." I checked my calendar. "Sure, let's plan on it. That place is hard to get to; it'll be an ideal flying trip."
Now I understood Jean's eagerness to fly - getting there by any other means would be challenging. Bullhead City lies in the isolated northwest corner of Arizona, across the Colorado River from Laughlin, Nevada, and about 100 miles south of Las Vegas.
Although a few regional airline flights serve the community, fares are high and schedules sparse. The only other airline option is via Las Vegas and a two-hour ground shuttle. No wonder most travelers from Phoenix elect to drive - a four-hour ordeal mostly over crowded two-lane roads. None of these options would allow Jean to make her morning meeting unless she spent the night before in Bullhead City.
By Flying Carpet, however, Bullhead City would be an easy 90-minute flight. We would depart Phoenix at 7 a.m., Jean could attend her meeting, and we'd be home around noon. This would be perfect use of a light airplane. Gleefully, I began outlining a magazine column about how the Flying Carpet rescued my loved one from lonely hours of driving and a night in a bleak hotel room.
A week before the intended trip, however, our plans were clouded by a TV meteorologist. Noting a massive weather system approaching the California coast, he predicted a rare winter storm inundating Arizona "around next Tuesday."
"Isn't that the day we go to Bullhead?" I asked Jean.
"Yeah, but those forecasters are always wrong. I'll bet the storm goes north of us, like they usually do."
"I hope you're right. Unfortunately, big systems like that one are more predictable than the usual benign Arizona 'weather disturbances.'"
"I'm not worried. The Flying Carpet always gets us where we need to go. Besides, what's a little rain? You're instrument rated."
"I appreciate your confidence, Jean, but they're talking about a winter storm here, with snow levels down to 2,500 feet. That means big-time icing conditions."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"In any case, it's a whole week away; hopefully the storm won't show up exactly on Tuesday. And even if it does, ceilings might be high enough that we could go anyway - the terrain's relatively low in that direction."
My concerns were mostly hypothetical that evening, but night after night the TV weather forecast featured that same little rain cloud hovering over Tuesday. By Sunday I was getting nervous, especially when Jean mentioned tennis plans she had made for Monday night.
"This is an important presentation, right, Jean? You need a back-up plan for getting to Bullhead. Going by Flying Carpet looks doubtful, and there's no other way to depart Tuesday morning and make the meeting. That would mean driving or going commercial tomorrow afternoon."
"Alright," said Jean, markedly annoyed. "I'll line up a 'sub' for tennis tomorrow night, just in case." Still not taking me seriously, she ignored my request for alternate travel plans.
By late Monday morning, Tuesday's weather looked worse than ever. Heading our way was a massive storm that had battered the California coast, killing several people. Skies were still clear at Bullhead City, but lowering ceilings, high winds, and freezing precipitation were expected by midnight. I phoned Jean at work. "We can't fly to Bullhead City tomorrow. You need to go today."
Finally, reality sank in. "Is there any way I could still go by airline?" she asked, disheartened. Jean has never been comfortable with cross-country driving, especially alone, and this promised to be a grueling trip. Besides, she'd expected more time to polish her presentation.
"The weather's still good right now," I said, hesitating. "I suppose we could fly there this afternoon. You'd be sure of making your meeting tomorrow, and if we did get stuck there, at least we'd be together."
"That would be great!" she said, perking up. "Anything to avoid driving eight hours by myself." We agreed to take off around 4:30, which would get us to Bullhead City by dark.
But upon calling to file a flight plan, I learned to my astonishment that the storm had barreled ahead of the forecast. Icing and turbulence were already reported along the Colorado River, and winds aloft exceeded 50 knots.
By now it was lunchtime. I called Jean in a panic. "We can't fly. Leave work now - I'll make travel arrangements while you drive home and pack." How we did it I don't know, but by 4:15 p.m. Jean was on Southwest Airlines headed for Las Vegas, arriving just in time to catch the last Bullhead City shuttle. Unless the weather improved enough for me to fly in after the meeting, she'd return home the same way tomorrow. Jean phoned forlornly that night from a Laughlin hotel room. "I'm glad to be here, but it was a horrible trip. I do hope you can pick me up tomorrow by Flying Carpet."
Despite clearing skies the next morning, however, winds aloft still exceeded 50 kt. It was all I could do, sentencing her to board the Las Vegas shuttle while blue sky beckoned from the window. But with winds so strong, mountainous terrain is no place for a light aircraft.
Hours later, I retrieved Jean from the Phoenix airline terminal. "How was the flight?" I asked, battling guilt.
"You were wise not to fly, Greg. The winds were terrible, and coming home we experienced the worst turbulence I ever remember on an airliner. Thanks for being my travel agent, otherwise I'd never have made the meeting."
"My pleasure. It's a pilot's duty to have a Plan B in cases like this, so you don't feel pressured to go when the weather's bad. How'd your presentation go?"
"Great!" she replied. "In fact, they re-quested a follow-up meeting next month. Can we take the Flying Carpet? Believe me, I don't ever want to make that trip by airline again."
So much for my planned column touting the efficiency of lightplane travel, but then again, maybe the point was made more strongly this way. We pilots sometimes need to be reminded just how great we really have it.
Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include Flying Carpet: The Soul of an Airplane, The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, and Job Hunting for Pilots. Visit his Web site.
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