Like whipped cream on cappuccino
"It should be clear the whole way," the briefer replied. "Your only problem will be strong winds from that approaching cold front."
Huh? I remembered no cold front from last night's forecast charts. Now I was awake. Although light winds currently dominated our planned route, they were scheduled to pick up by midday. The Las Vegas forecast called for afternoon surface winds of 26 knots; Tonopah, Nevada, expected wind gusts to 35 kt; and 30 miles from our destination, Reno anticipated wind gusts to 40. Surrounded by high mountains north of Lake Tahoe, Truckee is no place to land under such conditions.
Not only did powerful winds threaten today's flight, but an approaching storm ruled out completing it tomorrow. We must either postpone our long-awaited Memorial Day weekend with friends Tom and Laurel, or race the wind. With the weather predicted to be good at least as far as Las Vegas, Jean and I decided to hurry skyward and make flight decisions along the way. Ideally we'd beat the winds to Truckee, but if necessary we could land at Reno and drive from there. (Reno lies lower than Truckee in relatively open desert.) If that proved impossible, there was always Las Vegas--although it was only halfway to Truckee, there'd be few landing alternatives beyond there, and certainly nowhere else fun to get stuck overnight.
Leaping into our clothes, we tossed breakfast snacks into the cooler, dumped swimsuits into our luggage for the Las Vegas option, and rushed to the airport. The flight to Las Vegas indeed proved painless, and thankfully upon reaching there we found no compelling reason to land. Winds at Tonopah and Reno remained manageable for the moment, and friendly tailwinds hurried us on our way.
Near Mono Lake, however, the winds began picking up. Our tailwind shifted to a headwind, and turbulence rattled us in the lee of the 14,000-foot Sierra Nevada. Before long Tonopah reported 27-knot winds, while Reno and Truckee suffered gusts to 20. "I hope we don't need to turn around," said Jean.
Our ride was rough by the time we approached Minden, where Spooners Summit Pass was to lead us through Lake Tahoe's tall crown of mountains. With gales pouring invisibly over the Sierra from the west, we climbed to 13,000 feet for good ridge clearance before entering.
Those who fly among mountains know the helpless sensation of riding like a leaf upon a breaking wave. With clenched teeth we surfed the pass upwind and in bone-jarring turbulence pondered whirling whitecaps rippling Lake Tahoe's indigo waters below. But although gusty, Truckee's winds blew straight down the runway, and a departing pilot reported no worse indignity than turbulence. Tom had previously cautioned me to land long when using Runway 19, to avoid downdrafts spilling from the adjacent mountains, so I wrestled our Flying Carpet well down the runway before touching down. The landing was safe if not pretty, and there waited Tom on his antiquated bicycle to guide us in.
"You lucked out," Tom and Laurel yelled against the wind after welcoming us. "Our plane is in annual inspection, so you get the hangar. How about lunch and a latte before heading to the house?" Gone are the days when our friends lived in downtown Truckee, separated only by two-lane Main Street from the transcontinental rail line--no longer would trains roar and bellow through our room all night. Tom and Laurel now drift between seasonal rentals and house-sitting for vacationing friends.
"What's this open grate outside the front door?" I asked upon arriving at their latest abode.
"That's for scraping snow off your feet," came the answer. Little did I guess its pending relevance.
It might be 108 degrees Fahrenheit back home in Phoenix this Memorial Day weekend, but here in Truckee we awoke Saturday morning to five inches of new snow. With every leaf and pine needle frosted white, only the bright blue wings of a Steller's jay brought color to the scene. The swirling flurries had also bewildered shorts-clad golfers and fishermen all over town. We sipped coffeehouse cappuccino alongside shivering tourists while lakeside boat rental docks languished eerily under blankets of snow.
Other visitors seemed crushed, but we winter-deprived desert dwellers soon trudged gleefully through miles of snow along Donner Lake. Later Tom and Laurel drove us to Donner Summit where lingering winter drifts still shrouded the neighborhood. Carved from 10-foot snow banks were cutouts for street markers and stop signs. Nearby Norden reports the highest annual snowfall of any place in the contiguous 48 states, averaging 35 feet per year. (The record is 84 feet.) "I've seen snow in Truckee every month of the year--even August," said Tom, a resident since 1967. "Fortunately at this time of year it never lasts long."
Sure enough, the very next day we hiked in T-shirts through sun-sparkled emerald glades. Joined by Tom and Laurel's flying buddy Henry, we trailed a crackling mountain stream through gaudy wildflower bouquets of yellow buttercup and mule's ear, fiery Indian paintbrush, and scarlet shooting stars (the most Laurel had ever seen). At Sage Hen Meadow we lolled over lunch in a sea of periwinkle camas lilies bordering crystalline waters in a snow-bowl of silvery mountains.
Before departing the next morning we toasted our hosts over more cappuccino. Our flight home was blessed by calm winds, allowing the luxury of sightseeing diversions over Mono Lake; through the 10,000-foot-deep chasm of Owens Valley; past Mount Whitney, tallest mountain in the "lower 48"; and across the mineral-tinted barrens of Death Valley.
"Nothing mixes better than cold weather and warm friends," Jean commented wistfully as we descended into sweltering summertime Phoenix. "I may be wired on caffeine, but this weekend was like chilled whipped cream on hot cappuccino."
Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include Flying Carpet, The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, Job Hunting for Pilots, and You Can Fly! Visit his Web site.
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