KCMI to KPIA to KCMI - 1.5 hrs

In an effort to stay instrument proficient, and as a favor for a friend, I flew to Peoria. My friend was picking up his plane from the local repair shop which, ironically, was fixing what another shop had done to it. Flying with a fellow pilot in the right seat is always a good opportunity to get under the hood and rack up some simulated IFR time. I decided to use this opportunity to shoot an approach at the destination.

The day prior had been a wild one weatherwise. The bulk of the bad weather had been to the north of us, but a little rogue cell popped up west of Champaign and eventually grew to such monstrous proportions it birthed a funnel cloud. My wife got a nice picture of of the evil little cloud as she was trying to hustle our boys into the basement.

The storm system left plenty of sun in its wake, but threw in a healthy dose of heat, humidity and blustery winds as a parting shot. These kind of conditions, while anything but hard IFR, always make for some of the most challenging training flights. The simmering cockpit, constant jostling from turbulence and crazy wind correction angles can quickly get your head spinning when you're under the hood.

A quick aside for those wondering what "the hood" is -

The hood is an IFR training device that looks a little like an overgrown tennis visor. When worn properly it blocks out any outside visual cues, leaving the pilot in command with nothing but a view of the flight instruments. On bright, sunny days the hood makes it possible to simulate IMC (Instrument Meteorological Conditions), otherwise known as clouds/fog/rain etc. Of course, flying alone while wearing the hood is frowned upon, so you take along a qualified spotter pilot to scope out traffic for you.

Today's flight was a quick one. Straight line distance is just 75 nautical miles and we filed direct. Winds at the surface were gusty and variable from the south. The direction of winds at the filed altitude of 4,000 ft were almost perpendicular to our ground track and about 10 knots stronger. Between the heat and winds, I anticipated a very bumpy ride.

We were given 14L as our departure runway. Winds favored runway 22 but the Institute students (or their instructors rather) were taking advantage of the challenging winds to practice crosswind takeoffs and landings on 14L and 14R . This was in the exact opposite direction we were headed, but the crosswind takeoff practice would do me good too.

As anticipated, the heat and humidity made Eight Delta Fox a tad sluggish on initial climbout. She rallied nicely, though, after I got the flaps up and was soon indicating a respectable 700-800 foot per minute climb. Departure had us climb away from the field on runway heading for quite a while. At least until they were satisfied our turn back toward Peoria wouldn't disturb the swarm of student pilots buzzing around the pattern.

Once on course I turned the autopilot on and started briefing the expected approach. We'd just taken off, but Eight Delta Fox can gobble up 75 miles in nothing flat if the winds are right. The XM weather link on the MFD (Multi-Function Display) indicated winds at Peoria favored runway 22, so I selected the corresponding RNAV (GPS) approach. Once I and my right seater were satisfied we knew what was going to happen on arrival, we spent a little time looking out the windows.

Not far past Bloomington, we were handed off to Peoria Approach and I put on the hood. Sure enough, runway 22 was active and we were told to expect vectors for the approach. As we got closer, the controller cleared us direct to the MAROC initial approach fix.  I opted to let the autopilot fly the approach since I rarely do that and I needed the practice punching buttons and turning knobs.

As we descended through 3,000 feet, things started to get bumpy. The autopilot was working hard to stay on course and maintain the programmed rate of descent. A little throttle jockeying was necessary to stabilize airspeed. I was getting a mild case of vertigo too. It's times like these that make it hard to simply go along for the ride and my thumb was hovering over the autopilot disconnect. Still, even with all the gyrations, I have to admit George (the autopilot) was doing a better job than I would have tracking the approach course.

When we made the turn to final at the WEKAR approach fix, the autopilot rolled out with a perfect 20+ degree wind correction angle. Truthfully I could've too since the PFD (Primary Flight Display) has a ground track line that shows my actual direction over the ground vs the heading of the nose, but I doubt I could've held altitude as precisely.

My spotter pilot would occasionally give me an update on the sight picture out the front. He said we had a pretty aggressive wind correction angle. I could see that on the PFD but it's always a little more dramatic when you see it out the windscreen. About two miles from the runway I disconnected the autopilot and raised the hood to take a look. Below me was a carpet of trees slowly rising to meet the approach end of the runway. I'd forgotten KPIA sat atop a hill.

A mile from the threshold I dropped full flaps and began the dance of rudder, stick and throttle that accompanies any gusty crosswind landing. I held a little extra airspeed in case the wind suddenly died down and tried to drop me into the trees. As I crossed the runway threshold that extra speed took its time bleeding off and made me work like a madman to hold centerline while I waited for the plane to quit flying. Thankfully I was rewarded for my efforts with a better than average landing.

After taxiing to the ramp and shutting down, my friend collected his plane and I availed myself of the FBO's facilities and free cookies. Soon we were each back in our respective planes and headed out. I was first in line for takeoff. It wasn't long after I'd made my turn toward Champaign and was climbing through 2,000 feet that I heard my friend, who had just left the runway, check onto the Peoria Departure frequency climbing through the same altitude. Show off.

His plane has a 110hp advantage over mine and he was apparently eager to remind me of that fact. I was still clawing my way through 4,000 when he passed me about 2 miles off my right wing. I watched as he slowly pulled away into the haze. As I passed south of Bloomington, Peoria handed both my friend and I off to Champaign at the same time. He hadn't gotten as far ahead of me as I thought.

 Checking in with Champaign I was told to expect the visual for runway 14L. There was a lot of chatter which seemed to indicate the student pilots were still busy honing their skills. The pattern would be just as crowded as I'd left it.

About 4 miles out I started lining up with the runway. I noticed right away that the wind drift was pushing me toward the centerline with little effort of my own. A glance at the wind vector on the PFD indicated winds aloft were directly across my path. Winds at the surface were 190 at 15 knots gusting to 20+.

As the wind pushed me into the centerline of the runway, I started dialing in the wind correction angle to hold it. And I kept dialing. And I kept dialing. Soon I was looking out the left side of the windscreen at the runway. On paper a 50 degree crosswind seemed aggressive but it looked even more so out the front.

I was just about to ask the tower for a wind check when a pilot on the parallel runway did it for me. It appears I wasn't the only one that thought things looked a little hairier than advertised. Tower came back and said winds at that moment were 190 at 18 knots. It really looked like more than that.

As at Peoria, I found myself having to rapidly juggle stick, rudder and throttle to hold glide slope and centerline. As before, my efforts were rewarded with a respectable landing. I sucked up the flaps as soon as the nosewheel touched down. I didn't want a wind gust to get me flying again before I had a chance to slow down.

My friend, whose hangar happens to be next to mine, hadn't been shut down long when I pulled up. He apparently beat me to Champaign by just a few minutes. He hadn't even gotten his hangar door open yet. Guess that 110 hp advantage didn't mean much on such a short trip. I'm sure had we been flying a much greater distance, he would've been buttoned up and sipping tea on his porch by the time I got back.

I can't say this flight was one my favorites, but I did have a sense of accomplishment. I could use more like it.

Trouble with #5

This post was originally started back in February of 2011. I encountered an engine problem that plagued me for most of that year, and resulted in almost two months without the plane once it was diagnosed properly. This is the story of how it all began.


A good chunk of pilot training is spent preparing for in-flight situations most pilots, even if they fly thousands of hours, will never encounter. I'm closing in on 1,000 hours of flying time and have never had an in-flight emergency. Well, there was the time nature called on my lovely wife at 4,500 feet, but that's an entirely different and far more amusing story than I relate here.

I haven't flown a lot this winter. Besides the unusually harsh weather, work has been particularly draining and we welcomed a newborn into the family in January. Finding the weather, time and energy to fly has been tough. Prior to the flight I'm writing about here, I hadn't flown for three weeks or more. On that flight, everything had been fine except for the bitter cold. Engine oil temps never quite broke 130 (normal is around 150). Cylinder head temps stayed below normal as well, but everything was in the green. I flew about an hour without incident.

On this flight, the weather was warmer and the start up, run up and take off were all uneventful. I didn't notice anything amiss until shortly after I called departure. The engine seemed just a tick off; as if it was vibrating a little more than normal. Even then I wasn't sure if what I sensed was more imagined than real. I glanced at the EGTs (Exhaust Gas Temps) and CHTs (Cylinder Head Temps). All appeared as it should. I chalked my vague sense of unease up to my three weeks away from the cockpit. That changed about 30 seconds later.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the #5 cylinder's temp starting to outpace its contemporaries. Not terribly unusual since cylinder temps frequently change during climbout. Only they usually do so while staying comfortably in the green. #5 was well above the others and headed into yellow territory . A pop up message appeared on my PFD (Primary Flight Display) and MFD (Multi Function Display) suggesting I "Check CHT Temps". A needless suggestion considering my attention was now riveted to them.

As #5's CHT climbed into the red, a chill went down my spine. I started a turn back toward the airport and mashed the transmit button, "Approach, Cirrus 218 delta fox is returning to the field. I've got a hot cylinder and some mild vibration." Now, a transmission such as this does not constitute the declaration of an emergency. There is fairly specific phraseology a pilot must use to declare an emergency. It gives him sequencing priority over every other flight in the area. It also grants the pilot discretion to deviate from FAA regulations and ATC instructions as he sees fit to escape danger. But with great freedom comes great responsibility.

Harsh administrative action awaits any pilot that disrupts the conduct of other flights by declaring an emergency that is later deemed by authorities to have been no emergency at all. While this was certainly the biggest in-flight problem I'd ever encountered, and the adrenaline was definitely flowing, I wasn't ready to utter the magic words. The engine was still running and I was in complete control of the plane. I just needed to get on the ground as soon as I could while those conditions prevailed.

During the turn back to the field I backed off the throttle a bit and started a descent. The combination of the lower power setting and extra airflow from the speed I picked up seemed to agree with the overheated cylinder. It started coming back down into the yellow. I reduced power further and the engine ran smoother with the #5 cylinder head temp eventually returning to green. Not much into the green, but green none the less.

The pattern was busy when I returned. Between the numerous radio calls, the adrenaline in my bloodstream and my obsession with the CHT indicator I found myself working harder than normal to keep up with events. My turns in the pattern were kind of sloppy and I wound up high on final. Looking back, the steeper approach would have come in handy if the engine actually had failed on final. But I can't, with a clean conscience, say that was part of my plan. It just worked out that way.

After landing, I scheduled an appointment with the local FBO and thought about all that had happened. As uncomfortable as the whole situation was, it was a valuable learning experience and I tried to glean all I could from it. The obvious lesson was, "Fly the plane". In all the aerial emergencies I'd read about, in particular those with happy endings, the protagonist always says the one thing that saved their life was remembering to fly the plane.

To the non-pilot, that seems obvious. But when the adrenaline starts flowing and your sense of well being seems tenuous, it's easy to fixate on the threat and forget the fundamentals. Every student pilot is taught on day one of their training that the order of business in any cockpit, be it a single-engine Cessna or a Boeing 747, is 1.) aviate, 2.) navigate, 3.) communicate. The order is inviolable and does not change whether everything's fine or going to hell in a hand basket. You always fly the plane first. In this instance it took me a lot longer to remember that than I would like to admit.

The other big lesson was don't come down till you absolute have too. The engine was running rough, but it was running. Oil pressure was fine. Strangely enough, so were exhaust gas temps. I am happy to say that I did make the conscious decision to hold altitude as long as I could before getting over the airport. Altitude equals options. Unfortunately, once I did get over the airport, I was still paying too much attention to the cylinder head temps and got sloppy in the pattern. I had the airport made. I should have focused entirely on the approach to landing. Even if the engine had conked, I would have had no trouble making a runway without it. I should've just . . . all together now . . . flown the plane.

Next time, and I pray there won't be one, I will remember this day. It was a relatively cheap lesson on the merits of focusing on the fundamentals when things go bad. A lesson I find helps outside the airplane too.

KCMI to K24 to KCMI - 3.2 hours

Mom's Day 2010. Mom was already at our house but dad had been delayed in Kentucky due to an unfortunate mishap with Grandpa. He'd fallen and hurt himself pretty badly. No broken bones, thankfully, but he was in a bit of pain and needed some assistance. Family, as family does, eventually stepped up and agreed to keep an eye on Grandpa so Dad could join us in Champaign. I flew down to get him.

The day was picture perfect - the complete opposite of the day before. Saturday had been a bear; gusting winds at the surface in the 30- to 40-knot range with ceilings about 3,500 broken to solid overcast over the entire route. Then Sunday dawned. It was like someone had flipped a switch. The winds were a pleasant 3 to 6 knots at the surface and sky cover was 5,000 to 7,000 scattered to thin broken.

The forecast was for 25- to 30-knots out of the NW at 7,000. They were even more sprightly at the higher altitudes, but 25-30 seemed mighty fine to me. The winds were right at my back too, so I had options. I could throttle back and save some gas or throttle up and save some time. Since it was going to be a quick turn on the ground at Jamestown (we needed to be back in time for dinner at 2) I planned on using lean-of-peak settings. My thought at the time was that I might have enough gas in the tank, even with the headwind I'd face on the return, to make it back without needing to refuel.

As beautiful as the day was, I only saw one of my fellow T-hangar denizens taxiing out to take advantage of the glorious conditions. Even the planes on the University ramp were still. It wasn't long before I had my clearance and was on my way.

As I was climbing out of Champaign I began to encounter a little light chop. The fields, still barren and brown, were generating quite a few thermals in the calm, cool air. I reached the base of the scattered layer at about 5,000 and entered the smooth air. Reaching 7,000, I pulled the power back to about 65% lean-of-peak. The winds were as advertised and I soon found myself reveling in 154-knots of groundspeed and only having to exert 139-knots true airspeed for the privilege. At that speed and power setting I was sipping fuel at about 9 gph. That's about 3.5 gph less than my best power fuel burn.

The further SE I flew the denser the cloud layer below me became. By Terre Haute I was over a thin-broken layer. By the time I was approaching the Ohio River the cloud layer was rising to greet me. Still, it never seemed to get much thicker than a couple thousand feet. If I did wind up in the clouds, I wouldn't have far to go, up or down, to get out of them.

As I passed out of Louisville Approach's jurisdiction and into the arms of Indy Center, I started thinking about getting down. Jamestown AWOS was indicating 4,100 broken over the field. There was plenty of room underneath the clouds for a visual approach so I thought I'd ask for an early descent to 3,000. My first request was politely declined, but the next Indy Center controller I talked to was much more accommodating.

I started my descent and caught a glimpse of Green River Lake through a break in the clouds. It's only about 15 minutes north of Jamestown with moderate winds. At the rate I was getting pushed along I'd be over Jamestown in about 10. I needed to get down sooner rather than later.

In an effort to preserve my engine life I've established the habit of very gradual power reductions in the descent. This is to avoid shock cooling the engine with abrupt power changes. But as I passed through the clouds and entered the more jubilant air below them it became clear I needed to be a tad more aggressive if I was going to get the speed down to a structurally friendly number.

Soon I was in the pattern for runway 35 at Jamestown. The rougher air made establishing a good approach profile a little more labor intensive, but eventually I was able to wrangle myself into a nice final approach with a few extra knots in the bank in case winds died down. Rolling out on final I looked like I was way high, but I remembered that the runway was on a grade. Whenever landing in the uphill direction the approach always looks steeper than it probably is. The plus side is, with a good headwind, the landing rolls are pretty short. Gravity does a good job helping to slow the plane's momentum with minimal braking required.

Oh, I almost forgot. About a third of the way to K24 I abandoned my original power plan. The temptation to go fast with the aid of a generous tailwind had proven too great. I had pushed the throttle up to Best Power somewhere just SE of Terre Haute and thus needed fuel. So I taxiied up to the self serve pump so I could take on fuel.

It took about 30 minutes to take on fuel, Dad and his luggage. As we prepared to board, another SR20 wheeled over the field in a crosswind entry to the left downwind for runway 17. The winds actually favored runway 35. He was going to be landing downhill with a tailwind. Morbid curiosity compelled me to stand and watch. He flew a Navy approach, or what looked like one. His base leg was non-existent. He touched down about 1/4 the way down the runway and rolled all the way to the other end.

I watched him walk toward the parking lot after he'd shut down and parked his plane. He seemed to be contemplating his navel. I recognized the posture. I too probably looked that way after encountering a challenging landing of my own creation. It was kind of a "I know what I was doing, but what was I thinking?" sort of thing.

I opted to takeoff the way I'd arrived, on runway 35. Now, normally I prefer 17 if the winds are no factor. It's downhill and the ground slopes away from you as you climb. Runway 35 is exactly the opposite. But I had enough of a headwind that I thought the takeoff roll would be sufficiently short enough to allow ample time for comfortable terrain clearance. I was kind of right.

I was airborne about halfway down the runway and climbing, but not as briskly as I would have liked. The features of the houses below me presented themselves in unnerving detail. But soon we were flaps up and climbing at a reassuring 800 fpm. If anything, it was a vivid demonstration of the safety that extra power affords you. Had we been in a 310 hp SR22, we would've been nearing pattern altitude before I crossed the departure end of the runway. Well, maybe. In any case I probably wouldn't have puckered as much.

By now it was nearing noon and the sun had been baking the earth for a while. The air was alive with thermal activity. I had originally filed for 4,000 on the return trip as the winds were forecast to be light and variable. Just 2,000 feet above at 6,000 they were forecast to be as brisk as what I'd encountered on the way down, only right on my nose. We started out at 4,000, but I was soon asking for 6,000 as it was just too bumpy for a comfortable 1.6 hour ride.

6,000 put us just above the clouds. And by just above I mean brushing their tops. By the time we were headed back across the Ohio River into Indiana I was weaving in and around the tops. That's flying my friends. Nothing like zipping past or through a cloud to remind you that you're doing something pretty special in the grand scheme of human events.

Fortunately, the winds at 6,000 proved to be far friendlier than forecast. The net result was still a headwind, but not nearly of the proportions that I'd expected. We were making really good time. And, wonder of wonders, Dad stayed awake and talked with me the entire trip. Usually he was sawing logs before we'd even reached cruise altitude. Between talking with him and enjoying the grandeur of the cloud valleys we were flying though, the trip went by quickly.

Starting our descent into Champaign, the clouds had all but disappeared. There were holdouts here and there, but for all intents and purposes conditions were severe clear. All that remained was the turbulence which had increased in severity as the afternoon wore on. At 3,000 about 30 nm SE of Champaign I was having to do quite a bit of throttle jockeying to maintain a safe structural cruising speed and altitude. Several times I had the nose in a 5 degree, nose-down attitude and was still getting pushed up at about 500 fpm. Other times I was pushing the throttle all the way forward to maintain altitude in a downdraft. It wasn't a whole lot of fun but it still beat the heck out of my best day at work.

We were cleared for a landing on 32R and I greased it on. It would've been a shame to have worked so hard on approach only to bounce it. As an added bonus, we'd managed to return a good 30 minutes before dinner time. Laurie was happy, Dad was happy and Mom was happy. All in all, not a bad run.

Time to Dust this Thing Off

It's been well over a year since I last posted anything. Since the last flight I chronicled I've logged a little over 100 hours. Most of those flights were pretty unremarkable. A couple I will never forget as long as I live whether I write about them or not. For reasons of my own, I will not.

But I am making this pledge to myself, and whoever else may stumble across this, that I will start posting again with the next flight. How soon that will be depends largely on when winter will start cutting me some slack.

Until then . . .

KCMI to KEYE to KCMI - 1.6 hours

A fellow SR20 owner who was in need of an annual asked if I'd follow him over to Eagle Creek and fly him back to CMI after he dropped off his plane. Initially I was a little concerned because the forecast was for severe T-storms and the Nexrad showed things were already starting to kick up a little to our south and west. But Indy is a very quick trip that can be done in just over an hour, round trip. Plus, the route to and from EYE was clear. It looked like we'd be able to get over and back well before the storms arrived. We decided to go for it and headed to our respective airplanes.

The flight over for me was at 3,500. At that altitude I was already enjoying a 35 - 40 knot tailwind, so I saw no reason to climb further. Other than being a tad warm, I was happy. Not long after I'd settled into cruise, I heard N706RH, the plane that I was accompanying, check on to the departure frequency. From the sound of it, I had a pretty good head start and he was climbing to 5,000. It would be interesting to see if he'd catch me before we got to Indy as the winds and TAS were even more friendly at his altitude.

Aside from simmering in the cockpit and sweating profusely, the flight over was a piece of cake. I encountered some fairly exuberant chop in the pattern at EYE which made flying a pretty pattern a chore, but it wasn't awful. As I turned downwind to base I heard 6RH check in on CTAF saying he was 5 miles out. He almost caught me.

After delivering 6RH to the A&P for its annual we were ready to go again. The whole stop lasted no more than 10 minutes. Naturally, the ensuing hot start was on my mind. But using my usual hot start procedure (mixture to cutoff, throttle wide open, boost pump on for 20 sec then throttle to idle, mixture rich and start), N218DF started right up after just a few turns.

Winds favored 21 and the ASOS was reporting a density altitude of 2,600 feet. I anticipated somewhat sluggish climb performance which, unfortunately, turned out to be the case. This time I tried leaving the flaps down a little longer to see if the winds and drag would allow me to climb over the runway a little more. Initially this plan seemed to be working, but the drag of the flaps made gaining airspeed difficult and I sucked them in. Having tried both techniques (flaps in right away and delayed flap retraction) I'd say it's probably better to get them in sooner and reduce drag. It might make for an uncomfortable few moments of 0 fpm close to the ground but it will get me to cruise climb speed faster.

We picked up flight following about 5 west of EYE and climbed to 4,500 for the trip back to CMI. Just east of Covington, we began to encounter a broken layer with tops at about 3,800. CMI ATIS was indicating overlapping scattered layers over Champaign, but the closer we got to Champaign the more they looked like broken layers.

After checking in with Approach we asked for a local IFR approach using the RNAV 22. The controller said we could but needed us to stay VFR on top for a bit while he sorted things out. By now the fuel calculator was showing we'd be right at minimum reserve on arrival and I was having to bend our course a little south to avoid some of the taller buildups. To make things even more interesting the controller told me to go direct to a fix that did not load into my GPS with the version of the approach that I had selected.

I started to get that behind-the-8-ball feeling. Plus I was kind of annoyed with myself for not checking something other than radar prior to our departure from EYE. I think my copilot sensed my angst as I fumbled through the GPS menus trying to load the prescribed fix. He lent a hand by helping to see if we could spot it on the MFD.

Finally I found the fix and steered for it. Unfortunately it was taking us quite a ways off a direct route to the airport. I throttled back to conserve fuel, hoping ATC would give me lower sooner. As I got back into the game I noticed that the cloud bases looked to be above 3,000, so I called approach and asked for lower. He said he had another plane in the chute and needed me to stay up where I was. When I explained I could probably break out of IMC if he let me descend, he cleared me to 3,000. We broke out at 3,100.

As I looked to my left for the airport my copilot rhetorically asked, "What altitude did he clear us to?" A glance at my altimeter showed that in my haste to locate the airport I'd allowed us to descend to 2,600. I thanked the copilot and climbed back to 3,000 mentally kicking my ass for getting so far behind the plane.

Now that we were in the clear I asked to cancel IFR and proceed VFR direct to the airport. The controller cancelled IFR and then, ever so patiently, reminded me I was following someone and said the best he could do is let me fly a westerly heading. I took what I could get.

Now that we had the airport in sight, and I was in the clear, it really started to sink in just how ill prepared I had been for the day's events. Granted, it wasn't anything remotely close to an in-flight emergency, but unexpected weather is something I should be able to handle with a minimum of fuss. I did alright, but I could've handled it a whole lot better.

Fortunately I was able to redeem myself by greasing on a really nice crosswind landing on 22. My copilot, sensing I needed the encouragement, complimented me on the touchdown.

Today's lessons:

- Thoroughly check weather no matter how short the flight and even if you've only been on the ground 5 minutes and are flying right back the way you came.

- You can never be too familiar with your avionics. Practice procedures whenever you can.

KCMI to K24 to KCMI - 3.5 hours

Last Tuesday we received word that my father's cousin Royce passed away suddenly from a heart attack. Dad asked me to fly he and Luke down to Kentucky for the funeral on Thursday.

We departed late Wednesday afternoon under gorgeous blue skies and some of the best weather I've seen all year. Temps were in the high 60's and winds were light from the NW. Coupled with the green of spring, it just doesn't get much better than that in Central Illinois. Winds aloft were also smiling upon us. The forecast for our cruising altitude called for 20 to 30 knot winds from the NW -- right on our tail.

With dad, Luke and myself, plus our overnight bags, we were at max gross takeoff weight with just 40 gallons of fuel. Plenty for our trip, especially with the tailwind. If memory serves the DUAT online flight planning tool predicted a 1 hour 36 minute flight. Since we were maxed out I opted for a full-length takeoff on runway 32R. I probably would've had enough runway for a Bravo intersection takeoff, but knowing my climb rate was going to be a little less, I decided more climb time over the runway was better.

Once at altitude and on course we enjoyed consistent ground speeds in the 165 to 175 knot range. And the trip computer was showing an estimated time enroute of 1 hour 36 mintues--exactly what Duat had predicted. It's always great "when a plan comes together." Because of the clear skies we had a fantastic view from horizon to horizon the entire flight. Earth greened up even more the further south we went.

On our arrival at K24, the AWOS was reporting winds light and favoring runway 17. I made an upwind entry and flew over the runway, banking over the ramp to see if our ride was there. The landing was a satisfying squeaker, but I noticed during the transition into the flare that pitch forces were much lighter than I was used to. Usually my CG is slightly forward when it's just Laurie and I. But with the extra passenger in back (who, without divulging any secrets, is roughly the same weight as me)the CG was much closer to center. I made a mental note to remember that on the return trip.

Thursday, the visitation and funeral had concluded by about noon. As we prepared to head to the airport I used my iPod Touch to grab some bandwidth from the neighbors and check the weather. To my surprise, the weather that wasn't really expected in CMI until the following day looked to be only a few hours away based on the rash of storm echoes that were massing on the west side of the Mississippi. I yelled at dad and Luke to pick up the pace. We needed to depart soon. I had no idea of the speed or direction of the cells I saw, but I knew if they forced us to widen our route to the east to deviate around them, fuel was going to become an issue.

The winds that had been so good to us just a day before were going to be right on our nose if I chose my usual return VFR cruising altitude of 6,500 feet. Those headwinds coupled with the fact that it was a warmer day than before and our climb rate was going to be even more sluggish meant any required weather deviation from our relatively direct route could result in a fairly tight fuel situation.

Since the object was to get back, not get back fast, I opted to save a little fuel in climb and cruise by flying lower at 4,500 feet. Strangely the winds were significantly lighter at this altitude than just 2,000 feet above and they were variable meaning I had a chance at a tailwind during some portion of the flight. To further maximize our deviation flexibility I decided to use economy power which, while about 10 knots slower, saved me almost 3.5 gallons per hour in my fuel burn.

As predicted, climb out after takeoff with the higher temperature (and at the higher field elevation of K24) was diminished. I waited a little longer to retract the flaps as a result. In hindsight I probably should have sucked them up sooner and reduced drag, but I didn't relish experiencing that initial reduction in climb rate after flap retraction as low as I was. It wasn't too low, just low enough to induce a little pucker factor.

Once we reached altitude and everything was squared away for the cruise phase, I engaged the autopilot and checked weather. The radar echoes didn't seem to have moved much from the time I checked weather on the ground. According to Nexrad, the only weather that appeared to be on a collision course with our destination was still over St. Louis and poking along at a mere 19 knots. No deviation was going to be necessary. I thought about pushing the throttle and mixture back up to the best power setting but decided not to out of deference to my fuel bill. Besides, we weren't in as big a hurry to get back anyway and I could use the extra 20 minutes or so that it would tack onto our flight time in my log book.

Arriving in Champaign's airspace were told to make straight in for runway 32R. We were also asked to keep our speed up until 5 miles from the airport so we could get out of the way of a Flightstar jet that was arriving behind us. I pushed the throttles up to best power and put the nose down, holding about a 160 knot ground speed all the way to the prescribed 5-mile limit.

Once again, as I rounded out in the flare for landing I could feel how much lighter the required pitch forces were. I had to really force myself to use lighter control inputs to keep from accidentally popping back into the air out of ground effect. My patience was rewarded with that satisfying 'chirp' the tires make when you grease one on.

A quick glance at the timer on the transponder indicated a total flight time of 1 hour and 55 minutes. After putting the plane away and collecting our cars, dad, Luke and I headed to Esquire for some drinks. Always a great way to wrap up a flight.

KCMI Local Flight - 0.8 hours

Today I worked on a few fundamentals like slow flight and steep turns. It's pretty quiet at KCMI now that the students are gone for the summer. I think the tower was happy to talk to anyone today.

Winds were gusty and it was warm (about 80). This made for a bumpy brew. Not the worst I've seen, but certainly challenging. At one point I was in a thermal climbing at 500 fpm with flaps out, nose down and power pulled back to 25%. This made practicing turns in slow flight a little difficult. I was jockeying the throttle quite a bit to maintain altitude as I went bouncing in and out of thermals. Steep turns were not as challenging.

Climb rate was actually pretty good considering how much warmer it was today than it has been.