Got the panel, avionics and autopilot upgrades done, which made all the trips much more ejoyable. Didn't track the flying carefully, but was surprised to see all the trips recorded on the trip logs in the 696, more than I would have thought. I'll write them in the book when the spirit moves.
Flew into Gaston's for the first time in 41 years, much easier since they cut down the trees on the east end and lengthened the airstrip. Seemed like there were more airplanes there this time, but mostly those with training wheels and very few real pilots. People were talking about how hard it is to land there, and some doofus said he even made a video about it and posted it on the internet. GMAB. Hell, I'd bet you could land a DC-3 there, not that anyone would actually do it.
I had planned to just fly in for lunch, but ended up staying for three days just for the entertainment value. You wouldn't believe the cast of characters that had assembled there. The first thing that happened was that some dude wearing a set of polyester long johns with flashing lights stepped out of a little blue airplane. My immediate reaction was to suggest that he might want to jump back in it and get the hell out, seeing as how we were in Arkansas and all. But he had some real clothes stashed somewhere and was a good guy to talk to at dinner.
A guy from west Texas was busy with some bailing wire and sections of fence posts, trying to tie the landing gear of his Bellanca down and locked to fly back home. Had dinner with him too, and he explained all about how he had it planned out. Good luck with that, I'm guessing it is still parked in Vernon or Childress.
One old Piper with a 3-blade had a really bad turd-muckle paint job, and some guy with a 195 must have given a hundred rides. Another guy in a 195 showed up for a while but left pretty quick. He said he was afraid some other guy there would steal it.
Another bozo in a V-tail was in and out a dozen times, but always had a confused look on his face, don't think he had any idea where he was going--or why. Some kid who looked like he was about 16 must have put a hundred hours on a Bird Dog, and some goofy dame kept paying for his gas. You would have thought she owned the damn thing. Some other kid who couldn't have been more than 14 said she was a flight instructor in Nebraska. You can't make this stuff up.
Some ditzy broad kept walking around wearing a parachute and trying to get other people to wear one and ride with her, but I don't think anybody went for it. Who's going to ride with somebody when the pilot thinks you may have to jump out? Doh.
Some dude in a Colt said he'd flown in all the way from Montana just for the weekend. Yeah, right. A guy parked his Mooney up in the corner, threw a cover on it and went fishing. Nobody saw him again for 3 days. The Mooney was gone one morning, so I assume he's not still in the river.
Some hot-dog made a low pass in a Baron, it looked like a P but I couldn't tell for sure. I wrote down his number and turned his ass in to the local FSDO, it was a cinch he wasn't trying to land. Or maybe he was, you can never be sure about those Baron drivers. Some other guy was there in a Baron too, and too dumb to stay out of the puddles. Rooster tail when he left looked like Miss Budweiser in the unlimited boat race.
Some skinny guy in a dogged-out old Aztec said he was from back east somewhere. Probably was, he had some hippie pony tail and wore combat boots. Another somewhat less-skinny guy couldn't figure out the gear system on his 210 and kept flying over the field with the gear doors open. I think he was from Chicago, which figures. They aren't known for being the brightest bulbs in the fixture. Then some other kid (they said he was a rich-boy college kid from back east) was talking about missing his airline flight because he didn't get to the airport on time. Go figure.
Some dude in bermuda shorts and black socks (I figured he had to be a doctor, nobody else dresses like that) was there in an old Seneca, measuring the gas in each tank with an eyedropper and walking up and down the landing strip looking for gopher holes, muttering to himself and sighing a lot.
Had breakfast the last day with a couple from Oklahoma who said they fly all over the country at low altitude looking at electrical lines and reading the numbers on the poles. How dumb would you have to be to believe that?
Some guy from the southeast saved my bacon by loaning me a set of tiedowns better than the Oshkosh specials I had in the bag compartment. He actually seemed like he had some sense, unlike most of the rest of the looney tunes that were there.
The only redeeming virtue was that they were all real friendly, had some good chow and drinks on the flight line and seemed to genuinely enjoy each other's company. They said I could come back next year, so I plan to take them up on it. The runway can't be any muddier and the food in the restaurant can't be any worse, so I figure I've got nothing to lose.
My goal for every year is the same, and that is to be sure that I have more takeoffs and landings on grass fields than concrete, which turned out to be easier than I had imagined. Looking forward to more of the same next year, maybe including the Idaho back-country events.
nonod: - had to scrub a bunch)
