Posted Thu Jul 14 17:25:45 PDT 2022
Because I had my relatively short day yesterday, only making it as far as Redding, the trip to Bend today wasn't going to be very long either. Redding was a logical place to stop, since Eureka would be a left turn across the mountains, and Bend would be a gentle turn to the right, although much further.
My hotel last night was the Americana Modern, one of the apparently many buildings in downtown Redding that's been remodeled and modernized. It was in the classic layout of a roadside motel, but the remodel was well done. It was a good place to stay, though I vaguely wish I'd landed at the airport that's closer to the hotel.
My goal was to depart as early as possible, but when I went to schedule a Lyft last night, I found that there was no option to schedule a future ride. The pool of available drivers is apparently pretty shallow in Redding, and my ride to the hotel last night was with someone who'd never given a Lyft ride before -- I was her first fare. She was delightful, and I was glad of the coincidence of a brand new driver and such a new rider as myself being thrown together (I only started using Lyft on this trip).
As expected, this morning at 6 am, there were no drivers available. I had hoped to be at the airport at 6:30 when the FBO opened their doors (btw, I've mentioned FBOs a few times: that stands for Fixed Base Operator, and is usually a business that does maintenance, sometimes rents airplanes, and commonly caters to travelers like myself), but as I waited and waited for the app to show a ride was on the way, it became clear that wouldn't happen.
The man who finally did answer the call gave me a perfunctory greeting, and switched from the audiobook he'd been listening to, over to the news. And, sure enough, it was Fox News. I was treated to a long series of stories on people in the Redding area (going back several years, apparently they only found two) who'd been sentenced for child pornography. It was weird, because that's the entirety of the news they reported on. I heard a few words about the stock market, but the local reporting was just on these two people, neither case particularly current.
The fascination of Fox News with child pornography is frankly quite creepy.
Once at the airport, I got the fuel truck sorted out, and did my preflight. When I got back to the tailwheel, I realized it looked a little odd, so I paid more careful attention to it than I had on past inspections. I discovered that the dust cover on the far side of the wheel from the arm was barely hanging on, just one screw of three remaining, and it wasn't even particularly tight. With a sigh and a glance at my watch, it was clear I wouldn't be getting the dawn launch I wanted.
So, I took my one sample screw and trudged back to the FBO office to see if they sold parts. It's never obvious which FBOs are actually maintenance facilities, and which are just polished reception facilities for high-dollar jet passengers which wouldn't sully their gloves with something as plebian as maintenance. Fortunately, this FBO had maintenance folks (and therefore a stock of spares). Unfortunately, the parts department didn't open until 8, and it was only 7:30. Tick tock, away grinds the time.
I went back to the plane (of course I tied it down nearly as far as possible from the office) and got absolutely everything else set up for the flight, then went back in to wait for their parts folks to arrive. Around 7:45, someone asked if I was the one looking for parts, and he led me back to the shop. He handed me three screws (these are little tiny things, 1/2" long #6 screws) and bade me be on my way, which was nice. It's always a bit fussy working up an invoice for 20 cents worth of hardware.
The new screws were just the right thing. I did some impromptu, field-expedient metal forming using the folded-up multitool as a hammer, and my leg as the sandbag, to bash out the dent that had probably happened when the original two screws went missing.
Tailwheel sorted out, I hopped in the plane, and powered up. After some confusion over Redding's giant sign, which reads "NO TRESSPASSING: GENERAL AVIATION PILOTS DO NOT ENTER. $11,000 FINE" along taxiway A (what it means is, "don't walk in through this door please;" what I and at least one other person in the short time I was listening see is "don't go anywhere near here with your airplane"), I was onto runway 32. We powered up and launched into the cloudless blue sky.
My course out of Redding took me more or less along I-5 to the north. So I got to pass Mt. Shasta, and Lake Shasta (which was very low on water). I was cruising up at 8500 and eventually 9000 feet, which was getting pretty chilly. Between looking out for that vibrating landing wire (kick the right rudder, remember to fly crooked, but not too crooked) and the oscillating strut, I reflected on how I had a nice toasty fleece jacket strapped into the seat in front of me, and completely inaccessible in flight. I'd have to remember to put it on in Medford, my planned fuel stop.
Dropping down from my cruising altitude into Medford was fun. I'd stayed up high for longer than I needed to when some traffic coming the other way distracted me -- the controller had me turn toward the local mountaintop observatory west of Ashland to get out of their way -- and so my descent was steep and fast. A jet took off ahead of me from Medford, and then I was on the ground. My landings still aren't perfect, but I've actually had at least one perfect landing, so I know it's possible. This one was acceptable, but not great.
Medford was a brief stop, but I did remember to pull out that fleece jacket. I knew I'd want to be at 10,500 or 11,500 feet for the flight over the mountains to Bend, and I was already on the verge of too cold at 9000 feet. In fact, I ended up seeing 49° F over the mountains at 11.5k, so I'm glad I prepared for it.
Flying out of Medford was weird, because there was just no way to trick myself: I was aiming squarely at a bunch of mountains and nowhere to land if things went south. I've gained enough trust in the plane at this point that I'm not too worried about the engine suddenly dying, but it's a thought that's never far from my mind. So I was definitely climbing at a good clip, or at least as good as was practical. Climbing at 2400 RPM instead of full throttle has been working well for keeping the temperatures from going too high.
Then, I was over the mountains. I got up to 10.5 and let the engine rest a little bit before going up to 11.5. The rules say that if you're traveling pointing at the east side of the compass, you should be at an odd number of thousands plus 500 (so, 3500, 5500, 7500, etc.), and if you're going west, it should be even thousands (4500, 6500, etc.). I was going about 20 degrees east of north, so I figured 11.5 would be correct. Plus, more altitude more better, both for avoiding high terrain, and for having more options if the fan stops blowing.
If you draw a line between Medford and Bend on a map, it goes quite close to Crater Lake, which is a spectacular deep-blue lake in a dormant volcano's crater. No way I was going to pass that up, so I made sure to correct my path a little south of the straight line, and hug the lake a bit so I could get photos and see it clearly. A layer of a few clouds was hanging out with me at 11.5k feet, and I had to juke around a few of them, which is always enjoyable.
Once we were past the lake, it was much less interesting flying, so I spent most of my time watching out for vibrating bits of the plane, and looking out for landing spots. We were mostly following some variety of highway, I think highway 97, and that looked like where I'd probably aim if I needed a place to land in an emergency.
Then, before terribly long, I was descending into the suddenly-warm air, and joining the traffic pattern for Bend Municipal Airport. Right pattern to runway 16, and I was down without too many hops and skips. Fuel up, tie down, check in with the local FBO (tie-down fee waived because I bought fuel). When I came out of the bathroom, there was my aunt Deb waiting for me in the lobby.
We had a quick greeting, and then I took her out to the plane. Her dog Lundy was with us, but in deference to his poor feetses and the very hot tarmac, he was left tied up in the shade while she came out to see the plane. Her thought was that it was much smaller than she'd been expecting, but also more lovely than pictures could capture, both of which are reactions I perfectly understand.
I unpacked and tidied up the plane, and then we were off. I've spent the afternoon and evening catching up, which has been cool, and we've had a couple meals. Now, it's approaching 10 in the evening, and I need to power through my evening ablutions, and get myself to bed for another early morning departure.
One note on the name: I asked on Twitter, and the few people who voted in the poll seem to like Florence best. Twitter is not really the best format for that kind of thing (it's hard to really explain why each name is cool), so I'm taking it with a large grain of salt, but Florence has received a boost.
Tomorrow, off to Scappoose, and I'll be onto truly home turf: I've flown in and out of Scappoose many times, since my parents live in the area, and the flight from Scappoose to Seattle is very familiar. I'll be mixing it up this time, with visits with a few more friends I know from online but not in person, so it's not quite like a perfectly normal flight home. There's always that excitement of actually meeting someone you kind of know through casual online contact.
For all that I've made negative-sounding words about the end of the trip and the end of the adventure, the allure of my own bed and my own shower and more than one change of clothes being at hand is pretty strong.
Copyright © 2022 by Ian Johnston.