Never again: Just like in the real world

N208GG is a terrific platform. AOPA replaced its mid-1970s instrumentation with an Aspen serving as primary flight display (the winner added a second Aspen screen that functions as a multifunction display), dual Garmin GNS 430Ws, an Avidyne MFD with a weather display, and an S-TEC 55X autopilot. The airplane has been a solid, affordable, glass option that our membership in the Penn Yan Flying Club has embraced.

Between Penn Yan and Lapeer lay a cold front that brought a line of scattered storms. I determined that with our cockpit weather and ATC, the risk was acceptable, and if things closed up by the time we got to the weather we would land and await its passage. Buffalo Approach did a terrific job working with us as we passed through light to moderate precipitation at 8,000 feet. The pitot heat was on continuously with temperatures at 9 degrees Fahrenheit.

When my wife and I got in the clear over Ontario and had time to relax, I noticed the true airspeed showing 140 mph or better with a greater-than-expected headwind. In hindsight this was a clue that when things seem too good to be true (cruise airspeed), they probably are.

Weather was good at Dupont-Lapeer, so I cancelled IFR and entered a left upwind for Runway 36. A Piper Cub departing Runway 36 closed traffic was one of several other airplanes in the area.

Things became interesting when I saw my airspeed in the 70s instead of around 100, so I added power and mentally kicked myself for not paying attention (N208GG is not equipped with a backup analog gauge.) Entering crosswind and downwind, I allowed for what I thought would be adequate spacing behind the slower Cub, but I was still having issues keeping the airspeed up and frantically looking for drag sources. I extended downwind a bit for spacing and asked the Cub pilot for his intentions, and he replied, “Touch and go.” By now I was highly motivated to get on the ground.

Between the high TAS and the erratic indications in the pattern, I might have been quicker on the uptake—and sure will be if there is ever a next time.Turning final, I was once again catching up to the Cub while struggling to maintain airspeed. Finally, the airspeed indicator did me a huge favor by unwinding so quickly that it was obviously wrong. I cut power, assumed the appropriate sight picture, and landed. While not a formation landing with the Cub, it was closer than it should have been, and a CFI on the radio chewed me out while the PFD went into fail mode with a “check pitot heat” warning. My brief explanation elicited a curt “no excuse.”

Since we were there to meet friends, we went out for lunch. Upon returning I told them no worries—we would either have a functioning airplane or a rental car. We towed the Archer near an outlet to run on ground power, and the airspeed came alive showing 70 mph. I turned on the pitot heat for a while and there was little change. However, after turning it off and making a call to home base, the instruments were correct.

I hoped to get a consult with a local mechanic, but he was swamped. So we taxied to the runway, executed a gentle aborted takeoff to verify the airspeed came alive and went back to zero, and flew uneventfully to Traverse City and then home (at 130 mph TAS). The exact cause remains a mystery.

The takeaways are interesting to contemplate. Between the high TAS and the erratic indications in the pattern, I might have been quicker on the uptake—and sure will be if there is ever a next time. I could have cross-checked the GPS groundspeed but did not think to do so.

I could have gone around to avoid getting close to the Cub, and I hope I would have had he announced a full-stop landing. Of course, his intended touch-and-go was at best a plan pending realization, so “no excuse” may have been more on the mark than I would like to think.

In any event, I am grateful to the first instructor who trained me to land a Cessna 172 without an airspeed indicator in 1978; my Penn Yan CFIs who regularly torture me with partial panel (and no airspeed) approaches during each instrument proficiency check; and all the CFIs in between who have challenged me to think.

Harvey R. Greenberg passed away shortly before publication. He was a 750-hour instrument-rated private pilot.

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