It's just another bucolic Colorado summer Sunday morning: cool, dry, and calm. One of my neighbors blatted by on his Harley a few minutes ago, destined for a day ride through the mountains with his gang of accountants, attorneys, airline pilots, and other "bad boys"; another passed by in his pickup, headed for the radio-controlled flying field with his new large-scale North American P-51 Mustang. I'm pushing the Piper Cub out of the hangar behind my home, looking her over carefully before the morning's flight.
To the west, rose-colored ancient rocks gather the early light, ripening my revered Rocky Mountains. I feel the familiar twinge of anticipation as the hangar door opens, sun electrifying the Cub's yellow snout. It's a great day for flying.
I think I'll fly one of my favorite circuits through the foothills this morning. It's a beautiful run: up through Lyons, north along the "hogbacks," a spin around a mirrored Horsetooth Reservoir, and south again, utilizing the east upslope wind to coast effortlessly back to the Flatirons, just west of Boulder. In my speedy little Cub it takes about an hour and a half to complete the circuit and I look forward to every slow minute of it.
Clear!
I flip the thin metal prop blade from behind and the Continental starts easily, ticking over at a leisurely 500 rpm. That remarkable little engine was designed in the 1930s, manufactured in the 1940s, and still runs like a German sewing machine some 60 years later!
My airplane, newly deemed an LSA (light-sport aircraft) by the long-awaited sport pilot regulations, is still the same cheap, reliable go-nowhere airplane it always was. Under these new regs, there will be new airplanes designed and built to go low and slow, but I'm not convinced that any will do it better. The Cub is just dirt-simple, clean fun, capable of transporting me and sometimes one other lucky flier to magical horizons.
My shoes come off before I climb into the snug cockpit, strap in, and adjust my noise-canceling headphones. Recently I bought a small CD player, which plugs directly into my headset. Tunes really add the perfect seasoning to low-and-slow flying. Today's in-flight selections are from flutist Ian Anderson and cellist Yo-Yo Ma, both incredible musicians and longtime musical companions.
I'm airborne now and the air is as cool and smooth as polished marble. It's good to fly before the Gods of The Bumps have awakened. Climbing through 400 feet agl I feel the familiar warm-air inversion; it's a good 8 degrees warmer at this level. There is little need for a control stick on these mornings, as I am able to make the small corrections necessary by leaning fore and aft, and adding slight foot pressure against worn rudder bars.
Level at 500 feet above the ground, I fly across a newly raked hayfield, alternating light- and dark-green rows, sweet, and pungent; the farmer has already started baling in the northwest corner of the field, a long, hot day of work ahead. I don't envy him. A Swainson's hawk follows overhead in tight circles, watching for opportunity as the tractor and baler crawls across the field, transforming neatly raked rows into neater, packed cubes of hay, left slightly askew on the ground for drying.
The fresh green smell takes me back to the time I spent as a young boy in the sweat and heat of relentless summer suns, blue jeans sticking against my hot legs, itchy green hay irritating my arms as I gathered the bales on our farm. But who could forget the feeling of accomplishment when the field is finally swept clean and the work is done — until the next cutting, of course.
Flies with eagles
In the foothills now, I snap a few pictures of 14,255-foot Longs Peak, stark, slate gray in the early light, then notice a pack of bicycle racers traveling north along a long, straight road below. Blue, red, and yellow jerseys perched on black, ovoid-wheel shadows look like colorful, primitive insects.
I often see mule deer in these foot-hills on early morning flights, and occasionally spot a coyote or two. Today, there's a bald eagle spinning around one of the high ridges that I pass, and I pull into a tight turn, feeling for the same rising air that supports him. As I stay tightly focused in the weakly rising column, the Cub protests with a low rumble as uneven airflow spills across the tail surfaces. The eagle cocks his head, peering up at my yellow bird (is it prey? friendly?), probably wondering why it makes so much damn noise. As I pull tighter, the controls soften, yet I am still rising in the invisible shaft of air with a very puzzled eagle below casting an occasional glance upward toward his noisy visitor.
Finally, I mush out of the weak thermal — the Cub is too big and heavy for this little column; my eagle friend has one-upped me. Momentarily, I lose sight of the bird, but I am honored to have made three turns with him. The eagle's acceptance of me in his thermal is heartrending. I search below for his dark form.
There he is: smaller, still working the lift, now well above me. I tip my hat to his beautiful grace and effortless, natural skill.
As I land my little Cub back at the airpark and pull her back into her nest, the air has warmed noticeably, and is no longer soft and gentle. Some of my neighbors still linger in their beds, unaware of the adventure this little airplane and I just had while they tried to make their lazy Sunday morning last forever. It's only been an hour and 45 minutes since I left, yet I am changed, as we all are each time we taste this magic elixir called flight.
In the quiet hangar I remove unlucky bugs from the Cub's leading edges and wipe the tiny stream of oil that always trickles down the side of the cowl below the exhaust stack. This is my transition time from nether world to the more ordinary one in which we spend most of our life moments; this is time to thank my airplane for another great "nowhere" flying adventure. We didn't go far today, but that's the point. This is just flying, not traveling.
Michael Maya Charles is a self-described general aviation "nut" who flies McDonnell Douglas MD-11s so that he can afford gas for his Cub. His new book, Artful FLYING, will be released this summer. Visit the Web site ( www.artfulflying.com).
Related Articles
