Flying Carpet

Rescue by starlight

"I am totally bummed," said my wife, Jean, when I picked up the phone. We lived in Indiana at the time, and she was calling from Rochester, Minnesota.

"I'm done a day early but can't get home - every flight is full until four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. What am I going to do, sitting here alone for another night and day in a hospital complex?"

Jean was on no vacation. Following months of urging by her doctor, she had traveled to the Mayo Clinic for medical evaluation. Now, after enduring tests there for the better part of a week, she had finally been released to go home. The only problem was that it was six o'clock in the evening, and there were no open flights to Lafayette until late the next afternoon.

"I'd fly up and get you," I said, "but I'm dining tonight with an out-of-town client. And coming tomorrow wouldn't get you home early enough to be worth it - it's a long way and wouldn't be very cost-effective either." We discussed airline alternatives, but Jean had already checked every option I could think of. Apparently, the major problem was connecting into our home airport at Lafayette. Flights to nearby Indianapolis were also booked solid.

"I am so depressed," said Jean, on the verge of tears. "Being here in the hospital has been horrible - I just want to come home."

Unable to forget her anguish as I dressed for dinner, I struggled to think of some way to help her. Then it struck me; if Jean could at least book a flight into some closer hub, perhaps I could fly there late in the Flying Carpet and pick her up.

I phoned back to run the idea past her, but her line at the hotel was busy. I left a message. "It's a long shot," I said, "but why don't you check flights into Chicago tonight - maybe we could rendezvous there after my dinner engagement."

A few minutes later she called back, dejected. "It was a good idea," said Jean, "but the only remaining flight to O'Hare doesn't arrive until midnight."

"That's fine. Give me the flight information and I'll pick you up at the general aviation terminal at 12:30."

"You'd do that for me?" said Jean, suddenly beaming hope. "You must really love me."

"Of course I love you," I said. "See you then!" The new lilt in her voice confirmed that I'd made the right decision.

Never guessing I might have trouble getting an airplane for such a late-night mission, I soon learned to my chagrin that the flying club's Cessna 172 and 182 were away on trips, while the 210 was across town at a different airport for maintenance. Fortunately, when I phoned the club's maintenance officer I learned that the work was complete. "You can take the 210," he said. "Just reposition it to our home airport when you get back."

With just minutes remaining until my dinner appointment, I now faced a new challenge. Who'd be willing to shuttle cars and airplanes in the middle of a weeknight? Several panicked calls later I reached fellow club member Larry, a former Navy carrier pilot. He liked the sound of the mission, but there was a problem.

"I can't go, Greg; I've already begun sipping a glass of wine."

"No problem, Larry," I replied, "it's your good company I want, and an extra pair of eyes. Are you sober enough to meet me at Purdue Airport around 10:30? We'll leave my car there and drive to Aretz Field together."

"Hey, I said I was only sipping!" insisted my friend. He consented to join me.

That night's client dinner went well, and afterwards Larry and I were airborne by 11. We talked briefly after leveling off, but then turned quiet under the spell of a starry night. My mind drifted back to previous missions of mercy.

Years earlier as a new pilot in Wisconsin, I'd shuttled my first college girlfriend, Jo Ann, back and forth between Madison and Sheboygan to visit her terminally ill mother. With each trip we found the unfortunate woman's condition worse, yet Jo Ann was forever grateful at the opportunity to go. Deep emotions were re- kindled in remembering those flights, especially with Jean's health now in question.

Then there was the time one of my instrument students proposed a last-minute Mayo Clinic trip for his wife - health problems dictated a half-day evaluation, and the weather was too low for him to take her VFR. Bob and I coordinated his wife's appointment with the long cross-country required for his instrument rating. Dropping her at Rochester, we shot additional approaches elsewhere and then retrieved her on the return trip. It saved Bob's suffering wife a three-day travel ordeal, and she was no less grateful than Jean must be tonight.

Soon Larry and I were handed off to Chicago Approach, and it was time to refocus on flying. I had landed at O'Hare several times in the past and expected little difficulty at this late hour, especially in the 210 with its relatively high approach speed.

"Did I tell you about the time I landed a 172 here at midday?" I asked Larry.

"No," he replied. "But I suspect you weren't welcomed with open arms."

"True," I said, "but I can see why the controllers don't like that sort of thing. To keep me from backing up traffic with an extended final, they vectored me in tight on downwind for a slam-dunk landing between jets. All along they kept asking, "Is that as fast as you can go?"

"'Unfortunately, yes - what turnoff would you like me to take?' I replied. 'The second diagonal taxiway,' said the controller. To do my part I kept speed up until the last moment, then touched down just short of the intersection and rolled around the corner to stop on that gigantic high-speed taxiway. I occupied the runway for only seconds. Great fun!"

We were soon cleared to land, and Larry navigated us through O'Hare's labyrinth of taxiways to the general aviation ramp. There, just inside the executive terminal, waited my wife, her eyes filled with happy tears. From the way Jean embraced me the counter attendant must have thought we'd been separated for months; even Larry got a hug.

There would be other missions of mercy in my future, but none more personally fulfilling than this one. On the return flight our spirits were lifted by a happy omen that not only would Jean get home early, but her medical results would prove favorable and her hospital stay well-spent - for hardly had city lights fallen behind us when a rare shower of shooting stars celebrated her late-night journey home.

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.