Jonathan Baron
New member
Oy vey....sometimes getting out of bed is a dreadful idea.
We had a weather break up here in the Pacific Northwest, where folks are friendly and your buddy says "Great! Let's go!" when you need to fly from Seattle to Albany Oregon to fetch your Cruisemaster that has been languishing since June 8th. Furthermore this friend also has a Cruisemaster. I could feel that a fine day was laid before me like those silly red carpets they roll out in front of their golf carts as you deplane at the fancy FBOs.
On the way down we noticed some C-17s practicing some sort of instrument procedure near McCord. We were on top of a broken layer with kindness; the clouds seemed to part above airfields alone.
To behold my 14-19 again, on the ramp at Albany, made my heart race. The days are short now, so I planned to stay the night in Albany so I could fully flight test my Italian mistress for the rest of the day and return home tomorrow. Then....well....my buddy Russell and I made the mistake of getting close to the airplane. The repaired areas were covered with orange peel paint so attrocious it appeared to have been applied in a dust storm. There was still a visable bubble on the right wing from the power pack inspired failure that caused the gear-up landing. The spinner's paint felt like sand paper, and one wing faring had a large chip of paint missing. Time to head home in Russell's 'Master, and wait some more.
"I'm going to have to pull a four hundred thousand dollar Mooney out of the repair hanger and put yours in," Tom - the guy who runs the shop - said. I disguised my sheer pleasure at this fact.
A fella had flown his M20 down from Seattle that same day. It had been in his family for awhile and, like all M20s without letters after them, began life with wood wings and a wooden tail though they'd long since been replaced with their metal counterparts. We gave him a ride back to the Seattle area. He found the back seat of Russell's Cruisemaster a distinct improvement over the rear set room afforded to Mooney passengers, and we spent the time back in lively, pleasant conversation.
It was evening now, gorgeous to behold with velvet air. Those C-17s were still at it. One passed below us as we flew though.
Then, in less than a second, it was as if we had collided with a brick building. Headsets flew off, noise poured into our ears, heads hit the top of the cabin, hard. Russell and I simply looked at each other with WTF expressions on our faces. The Mooney guy said he thought his head was bleeding. We had collided with a horizontal tornado. Wake turbulance. I tried to joke that the right wing was still attached but it did not go over well. We never saw the airplane that had created this mighty vortex as it had to have passed above our altitude but the only big bird we saw had passed below us.
Mister Mooney did not have an open head wound thank goodness, though he did have a headache and he became quiet. The landing was uneventful, and we went our separate ways. On the way home one of those random SUVs tried to make a left turn in front of me, forcing me to ram a curb to avoid a head-on. My little Jetta seemed okay but a yellow triangle with a circle inside flashed in menacing fashion as strange noises grunted from below.
I nursed the car home, sat on the couch, and swore I would not leave it for at least a day
I hope a hard rain falls on that four hundred thousand dollar Mooney.
Jonathan
We had a weather break up here in the Pacific Northwest, where folks are friendly and your buddy says "Great! Let's go!" when you need to fly from Seattle to Albany Oregon to fetch your Cruisemaster that has been languishing since June 8th. Furthermore this friend also has a Cruisemaster. I could feel that a fine day was laid before me like those silly red carpets they roll out in front of their golf carts as you deplane at the fancy FBOs.
On the way down we noticed some C-17s practicing some sort of instrument procedure near McCord. We were on top of a broken layer with kindness; the clouds seemed to part above airfields alone.
To behold my 14-19 again, on the ramp at Albany, made my heart race. The days are short now, so I planned to stay the night in Albany so I could fully flight test my Italian mistress for the rest of the day and return home tomorrow. Then....well....my buddy Russell and I made the mistake of getting close to the airplane. The repaired areas were covered with orange peel paint so attrocious it appeared to have been applied in a dust storm. There was still a visable bubble on the right wing from the power pack inspired failure that caused the gear-up landing. The spinner's paint felt like sand paper, and one wing faring had a large chip of paint missing. Time to head home in Russell's 'Master, and wait some more.
"I'm going to have to pull a four hundred thousand dollar Mooney out of the repair hanger and put yours in," Tom - the guy who runs the shop - said. I disguised my sheer pleasure at this fact.
A fella had flown his M20 down from Seattle that same day. It had been in his family for awhile and, like all M20s without letters after them, began life with wood wings and a wooden tail though they'd long since been replaced with their metal counterparts. We gave him a ride back to the Seattle area. He found the back seat of Russell's Cruisemaster a distinct improvement over the rear set room afforded to Mooney passengers, and we spent the time back in lively, pleasant conversation.
It was evening now, gorgeous to behold with velvet air. Those C-17s were still at it. One passed below us as we flew though.
Then, in less than a second, it was as if we had collided with a brick building. Headsets flew off, noise poured into our ears, heads hit the top of the cabin, hard. Russell and I simply looked at each other with WTF expressions on our faces. The Mooney guy said he thought his head was bleeding. We had collided with a horizontal tornado. Wake turbulance. I tried to joke that the right wing was still attached but it did not go over well. We never saw the airplane that had created this mighty vortex as it had to have passed above our altitude but the only big bird we saw had passed below us.
Mister Mooney did not have an open head wound thank goodness, though he did have a headache and he became quiet. The landing was uneventful, and we went our separate ways. On the way home one of those random SUVs tried to make a left turn in front of me, forcing me to ram a curb to avoid a head-on. My little Jetta seemed okay but a yellow triangle with a circle inside flashed in menacing fashion as strange noises grunted from below.
I nursed the car home, sat on the couch, and swore I would not leave it for at least a day
I hope a hard rain falls on that four hundred thousand dollar Mooney.
Jonathan
