Around the Patch: Defensive driving

When Yingling’s Steve Draher told me only one seat would be installed in the airplane, my internal alarm went off. “One seat?” I said. That meant no one could ride right seat with me from Wichita to Oshkosh. The prospect of flying into AirVenture my first time solo was, frankly, scary. Thousands of airplanes fly into OSH each year, and because of the volume of traffic, pilots have to follow precise instructions outlined in a 38-page notice to airmen. These include navigating to specific checkpoints; maintaining a specific altitude and airspeed; and not talking on the radio once you are within 30 miles of the airport. Instead, you wait for air traffic controllers to pick out your airplane, comply when told to “rock your wings,” and follow their instructions—which may or may not include landing on a colored dot on the runway.

Over the next few days I studied the notam and videos of the arrival procedures, and told myself it would be fine. Plenty of people fly into AirVenture by themselves. But plenty take along a pilot, or at least a passenger who can help watch for traffic, said my inner nervous pilot. Finally, I called Draher and asked if Yingling would install a co-pilot seat. It wouldn’t be a finished seat, Draher said. I didn’t care. My relief was immense.

Hirschman was headed to AirVenture anyway, so he detoured to Wichita. AOPA’s online Flight Planner has a brand-new feature that depicts forecast weather along a route, and it was telling us that conditions looked great for our entire trip. While we weren’t expected at OSH until the following day, when you’re traveling VFR you grab the weather window you have.

We stopped for fuel at Ottumwa Municipal Airport in Ottumwa, Iowa. “Can I ask you a question?” the lineman asked, rolling a ladder up to our mottled Skyhawk with its mismatched doors. “What is going on with this Skyhawk?” He took photos after we explained that this is the next AOPA sweepstakes airplane.

Rather than flying directly to OSH while communicating with the control tower, as would be the case on the other 354 days of the year, our 172 soon joined a long procession of aircraft that Hirschman dubbed “the conga line.” We were chugging along at 90 knots and 1,800 feet, in accordance with the notam. Hirschman helped me pick out the railroad tracks that you must follow for a portion of the approach, and he was the one who spotted the taildragger in the conga line between us and the flight of three high-wing aircraft.

“Keep moving,” the tower urged the taildragger as we were cleared to land and eased down short final for Runway 36. The taildragger seemed to take forever, and I wondered aloud if we would have to do a go-around. “No!” Hirschman said. “Keep on coming; he’ll be off by the time we touch down.”

And he was. A few minutes later the 172’s tires squeaked on the fabled runway. We had officially touched down at the World’s Great Airshow, and I was so excited to be a part of it—and equally glad I had taken extra steps to make the trip as safely as possible.

Email Technical Editor Jill Tallman at [email protected]; Twitter: @jtallman1959.