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.

KCMI Local Flight - 0.5 hours

Many flights have transpired between the last post and this one. I got lazy with the blogging. Tonight I stayed in the pattern and shot some night landings to keep myself current for night flying. They weren't the prettiest, but they were passible. Winds were fairly brisk aloft despite being relatively calm at the surface. It made for some pretty good ground reference maneuver practice. Because winds were calm near the surface, the ground speed on final felt higher than normal.

Winds dictated everyone use runway 4 this evening. Instead of allowing me to take the Bravo taxiway all the way to the end, they had me enter the runway at Charlie (a good 3/4 of the way down the runway) and back taxi to my start point. The tower controller left how far back I taxied to my discretion.

As for visibility, it was kind of hazy, but I'm not complaining. This is the first night it actually felt a little like summer. It was nice just to be able to start without pre-heat again.

KCMI to KEZI to KCMI - 1.5 hours

Laurie and I decided to take advantage of the good weather to get some flying time and look for furniture. We launched for Kewanee and Good's furniture at about 10 till 1. The conditions were severe clear with calm winds at the surface. Aloft, the winds were a little more brisk. I climbed to 6,500 so we could enjoy the clear conditions and get a better view. The view was gorgeous but came at the price of almost 30 knots ground speed. Winds at that altitude were almost exactly on our nose, varying between 25 and 30 knots. We never saw much above 125 knots ground speed even though we were truing out at a healthy 150 knots.

Our route crossed the Illinois River just NE of Peoria. We could see big chunks of ice in the water. There was quite a bit of snow left in this area as well. It made it tough to spot the airfield as we neared it. All the usual terrain distinctions that sometimes define airport boundaries were covered. It wasn't until we got within about 4 miles that I was able to pick the runways out of the white.

Before I go on, a word or two about radio etiquette. One of the drawbacks to flying on a beautiful day after a bout of bad weather is all the fair weather pilots who don't do a lot of flying during the winter take to the skies. And I don't hold this against them, but they're usually pretty rusty on the radio. Leaving the relatively professional environment of the approach frequency and switching to the CTAF for Kewanee I was greeted by a cacophony of static and interference squeals as everyone and their uncle tried to talk over each other.

In hindsight, had I waited until I was lower, I wouldn't have picked up so many airports, but still, some folks just don't know when to shut up. You've got the guy shooting touch and gos in the pattern somewhere that feels the need to use his entire five character call sign every time he keys the mike. You've got the gal who's flying into another airport and feels she has to unburden herself of every single intention she has at the destination in a single 15 second long transmission. And then, my personal favorite, the good ole boy at another airport who treats CTAF like a chat room and has to greet every familiar voice he hears on frequency. "Chet, that you? What's happenin'? We're just out enjoying the weather." Blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile I'm trying to fire off quick position reports in the middle of it all. Thankfully, I got through, but I had Laurie watching for traffic just in case the Chatty Kathys prevented me from talking to someone who needed to hear from us.

After we finished shopping we headed home about 5. The winds that dogged our progress on the way in were now on our tail. Level at 5,500 we saw a very satisfactory ground speed of 177. On the descent into Champaign I kept the power on and let the airspeed creep up. At one point we were seeing about 166 KTAS and a ground speed of 188. Yeah, it's cool. As the approach controller handed us off to tower, he told me to keep the speed up. As I found out later a Northwest turboprop wasn't far behind us. I held 140 indicated until about a 3 mile final and then started backing off. The arrival was further expedited by opting to land flaps up.I needed the practice and we had the runway to play with. Plus, it's fun.

KCMI to KTYQ to KCMI - 1.2

This trip was a maintenance run to Indy Exec. I had a really small weather window to get it done. The day prior had been crappy and the forecast for the afternoon and next day was not good either. The goal was to get over and back before lunch so I wouldn't have to miss a whole day of work.

The temp at the time I fired up was in the mid 30's. Skies were clear over CMI, but METARs were indicating 1,700 ft. overcast at TYQ. This was in line with the area forecast which said the overcast layer wasn't supposed to be any thicker than a couple thousand feet. If there was any ice I wouldn't be in it long. And if the overcast layer looked any thicker (or wetter) when I got over Indy, it would be a quick 30 minutes back to CMI. I had an escape plan. If there's anything I've learned in my relatively adolescent flying career, anytime you fly in conditions where ice may be a possibility, make sure you have a way out.

It was only 7:30 or so as I taxied out but already things were hopping. Most of the Institute students were taking advantage of the same weather window I was to get some practice in. I had to wait out a few touch and goes before tower cleared me for takeoff. Once again I found myself pleasantly surprised by how eagerly Eight Delta Fox climbed to altitude. I really need to fly more in winter. It certainly makes me much happier with 200 hp than I usually am in mid-July.

It wasn't long after departure turned me on course that I began to encounter the thin overcast mentioned in the METARs. It began a little east of Danville and got progressively denser the further east I flew. Still, at just 5,000 ft, I was well above the tops so I wasn't too worried. Adding to my encouragement were the METARs I was seeing on XM weather that indicated the ceiling wasn't any lower than 1,700 and visibilities were still above 6 miles. As I came into the Indy area the cloud layer was fairly solid, but I was catching glimpses of ground now and then. Things looked good for a fairly easy ILS into TYQ. And sure enough, that's what Indy Approach told me to expect.

Since this was going to be my first ILS in actual conditions in quite a while, and I was flying solo, I opted to let George do the flying so I could concentrate on working with Approach. I was cleared to descend to 3000 which put me right into the top of the clouds. Zipping in and out of the cloud tops never gets old. It's the only time you really feel like you're doing 150 mph.

The closer I got to the final approach fix, the thicker the clouds got. There was still plenty of light inside so I didn't get too worried about a ton of ice accumulation. Prior to descending into the clouds I'd taken as many precautions as I could. I turned on the pitot heat, cranked the window defrost and pulled on the alternate air induction. Alt air induction is what you use if you think the normal induction is getting iced up. This usually manifests itself as a decrease in power or engine roughness. Roughness isn't as pucker inducing at altitude when you have a few thousand feet to sort things out. Engine roughness at just a couple thousand feet AGL, however, is a great way to get the adrenaline flowing. Hence I chose the preventative measure of using alt air before things deteriorated to that point.

As George rolled onto the localizer I was looking intently at the wings and windshield for indications of ice accumulation. The windshield was clear but I couldn't really tell if anything was happening to the wings or not. The white backdrop of the clouds against my white wings made it tough to detect any trace amounts. If I was going to be able to visually spot ice, I figured it would have to be pretty substantial before I could pick it out. To me, the wings looked clean and I wasn't noticing any handling problems or having to use any extra power. Right before I crossed the outer marker, Approach asked me to report the altitude I broke out. About 4 miles out I broke into the clear at 2,200.

I called Approach and reported the ceiling before canceling IFR and switching to advisory. After landing and shutting down, I hopped out and ran my hand along the leading edges of the wings and prop. There was about a 1/32 in thick layer of rime ice but nothing to write home about. Well, I am blogging about it I suppose.

As usual, Brian and the guys at Montgomery Aviation took great care of me and I was back in the air in about an hour or so. The flight home was pretty uneventful and the overcast that greeted me on arrival had become a scattered layer. About the only "trouble" was a slight headwind. But even with that I managed to get back home by noon.

KCMI to KIGQ to KCMI - 1.7 hours

This is another flight that actually took place about 3 weeks ago. I've been slacking in blogging about these. Due to the passage of time and my overtaxed brain cells (I'm not saying I do a lot of thinking, it's more a mental horsepower thing) I can't recall a lot details about this flight.

I do recall Laurie and I enjoyed a nice tail wind on the way up. I believe we had a 180 knot ground speed at one point. On the way back we had the wind in our faces and a thin overcast to deal with. Unsure of the thickness of it I did a little scud running before calling Chicago Center to pick up my clearance. I wasn't alone. We had a rather uncomfortable encounter with another plane doing the same thing in the opposite direction. Thankfully I determined the overcast was indeed very thin and could probably be penetrated with little if any ice accumulation. I was anxious to leave the company of my non-IFR brethren who were all vying for the same 1,500 feet of available altitude below the cloud deck.

Coming into Champaign the overcast was even thinner and more scattered but visibility was such that I opted for the 14L back course approach. I let George fly the transition legs, but once I was at the initial approach fix, I took the controls. I find the situational awareness I enjoy with a glass panel plane actually makes hand flying more enjoyable if not more comfortable. The autopilot on the SR-20 is pretty digital in its handling. It can sometimes make a well-beyond-standard-rate turn when flying an approach. It's perfectly safe, but kind of disconcerting to the passengers. I'm a little smoother than George. And since I wasn't flying this approach to anywhere near minimums, I felt fine taking the controls myself.

Even with a big crosswind I found I could easily hold the final approach course using the handy ground track indication on the HSI. It's really cool. Basically what it does is shows me the direction of my actual track over the ground in relation to the direction my nose is pointed. If I line the dotted ground track line up with the CDI centered I will fly right down the chute every time. Some would call it cheating, I call it genius.

KCMI Local Flight - .5 hours

Now that the sun is setting at about 5 or so, I'm going to find myself doing a lot more night flying if I want to fly at all. And the last couple of night flights I've had, I've felt the landings weren't that great. So, tonight I pulled the plane out about 8:30 and did some stop and gos.

It was already sub 30's when I got to the hangar. Flight prep always seems more difficult in the cold. The hangar door, which is manually operated, gets really tough to open. Tonight it felt like the gates of Mordor. Plus, I hadn't preheated the engine and it took a pretty hard crank to get it fired up. I cringe just thinking about it.

The flight itself was pretty uneventful. The sliver of moon was setting when I showed up at the field and was gone by the time I took runway 32R. With no moonlight, you sometimes feel like you're in a black hole. That's when you have to really watch out for vertigo. Luckily I didn't experience any.

The flight was pretty uneventful. I had the field to myself. No one else was in the pattern. All the landings were, by my estimation, much better. At the very least, I felt better about them.

(Note: This flight actually occurred about 4 weeks ago. I'm just now getting around to blogging about it.)

KCMI Local Flight - .8 hours

A while back Laurie asked me to take one of her coworker's grandkids up for a birthday flight. Today was the day. The birthday boy, Skyler, was turning 5. His grandma and 8 year old brother, Teron, joined him for the flight. And as first flights in a small airplane go, Skyler's couldn't have been on a more beautiful day. No clouds, light winds, an azure blue autumn sky and unlimited visibility--it just doesn't get much better than that.

Everybody showed up at the hangar about 2. Skyler's mom, dad, aunt and youngest brother all showed up to see him off on his big adventure. While Laurie belted everybody in I answered parents' questions while finishing the preflight. If they were nervous, they really didn't show it. I think dad wished he could have come along.

Skyler sat next to me in the copilot seat. He wasn't much bigger than my flight bag and the headphones practically swallowed his head. The instrument panel completely obscured his view out the front, but he had a decent view out the side window. He sat looking straight ahead with his hands in his lap. I thought this was a sign of nerves at first, but before long he was asking lots of questions. Talking is good. When passengers go quiet, that's usually when I start checking to make sure the sick sacks are handy.

Before takeoff, I gave the standard safety briefing to grandma. This was her first flight in a small plane, too. A discussion of all the things that might go wrong and how to handle them is not usually how I like to introduce people to general aviation, but regulations require it. Plus, if things really did get hinky, she'd have to help take charge of the boys. I found myself prefacing every briefing item with something like, "Don't worry about this, but regulations require me to brief you ..." As I talked I used the expression in her eyes to gauge how successful I was at convincing her all would be fine. She seemed to trust that all would be well, but I could tell I had introduced a thought or two she hadn't considered.

As we taxied out the boys ogled all the planes on the ramp, calling out to each other, "Look at that one." I love that stuff. That's one of the many things that makes getting the license worth it--being able to make a kid's world bigger and watching their eyes widen as they take it all in.

I usually keep first flights relatively short in case nerves or tummies get upset. We we're just going to fly over Allerton Park and come back. It would be about a 20 minute flight. That's usually a good time frame for the parents or loved ones waiting for you to come back, too.

As we took off, Skyler was looking straight ahead, hands in his lap. I pointed out the side window and said, "Check it out, we're flying." He looked briefly out the side window and said, "Yep." I think the relatively giant headphones made looking around a little tough for the guy. They certainly didn't keep him from talking, though. Between he and his brother I had to use the pilot isolate switch a couple of times to make sure I could hear ATC.

As we flew over Monticello, we saw the glider club had some equipment out. I called on Monticello CTAF and let them know we were going to be doing some sight seeing. Somebody called back and said a couple of gliders were up over the airport, but we never saw them. We stayed out of the way to the west over Allerton. After a couple of laps around the Sun Singer we decided to head over Mahomet. Turns out that's where Skyler's family and his grandma live. We spotted Grandma's place. Skyler said he saw his. As long as he thought so, I was happy. I called approach and let them know we were ready to head back to the airport.

About 10 miles out ATC called traffic, a Diamond Star, opposite direction about 600 feet above. They were talking to him too and let him know where I was. While I was looking up for him, movement at about my altitude and 12 o'clock caught my eye. It was another airplane and it wasn't the one I was looking for. We must've spotted each other about the same time as his jink to the right perfectly mirrored mine. I stabbed the mic button and told approach I had traffic, but it wasn't a Diamond and it wasn't 600 feet above me.

They quickly responded that my new friend wasn't squawking anything and asked me what the aircraft type was. Based on the fleeting, but uncomfortably intimate, look I got, it was an Arrow. ATC asked what color, I said, "It looked to be green and yellow with some white," and then in an effort to lighten the mood a little, added, "And he was wearing a nice shirt, too." The controller was laughing when he responded and handed me off to tower.

I just hope the jag in the Arrow got a little closer to God as a result of this and will be more careful in the future. That's the only downside to flying on a really nice day. It brings out all the guys who don't fly on anything but the best days and that's not flying enough to stay proficient. Thankfully he didn't alarm my passengers and God saw to it that I saw him in time, so I guess all's well that ends well.

I tried to make the landing as smooth as possible and, I think, succeeded. At least grandma said it was a good one. I dropped my passengers off at Flightstar, said goodbye and put the plane back in the hangar. Despite the interloper near the end of the flight, it was good one. And, judging by the grins on Skyler and Teron's faces, it was for them, too.

KCMI to KIJX to KCMI - 1.5 hours

Last flight we checked out the Beardstown, IL airport under the assumption I would drop Laurie off there for her women's retreat weekend. After talking it over with the folks who would be picking her up we decided a better plan would be to drop her off at Jacksonville, IL a little to south.

Weather had been sketchy the days previous to the flight and was still on the iffy side the day of. Skies were still overcast and it was a little blustery on the ground. Provided the ceiling was high enough and no major precipitation was in the area, I was comfortable with making the decision to fly. The only other factor to think about was temps aloft. It's right about this time of year that pilots sometimes find themselves surprised by ice in the clouds.

About 4:00 that afternoon I checked weather one more time before heading to the airport. Radar looked free of any precipitation and the METARs for airports along the route told roughly the same story--few clouds at 4,000, more at around 4,800 and solid overcast at 6,000. I opted to file for 4,000 on the way out and 5,000 on the way back. It's a short trip so it was kind of pointless to burn alot of gas getting to higher altitudes. Especially the altitudes necessary to get above the clouds. According to area forecasts that was about 8,000.

When we got to the hangar I noticed four F-18s (it was impossible to miss them actually) on the University ramp. When the line guys arrived to gas me up I asked where the jets came from and why they were here. He said they'd come from a couple of bases in the south to do a flyover during the national anthem at the Michigan vs. Illinois game. Considering it was going to be a nationally televised game, I guess it made sense. I bet the pilots were all alumni of either of the two schools. I think both have pretty strong Navy ROTC programs.

As we lined up on 22 for takeoff, winds were about 270@12. The temps were cooler than they had been in recent flights too. You could really feel the difference in engine performance. There was an even stronger sense of acceleration on the takeoff roll. On the climb out, Departure told me to maintain runway heading for a bit because of some IFR traffic landing at Monticello to the west. I opted to use the delay to shorten our time to climb up to 4,000. This is where the effect of the cooler temps could really be noticed. I was holding a solid 800 - 1000 feet per minute climb all the way up. She was climbing like a homesick angel. Kind of exhilarating after those hot, humid days of summer when you were lucky to see anything over 500 fpm.

Eventually we got our turn on course and were on our way. The wind vector on the PFD showed winds right in our face at about 28 knots. It was going to take a little longer than planned to get there. I'd estimated that it would be a 45 min. flight, but looking at the ETA generated by the GPS it was probably going to be more like an hour or a little less. So, I turned the plane over to George (the autopilot) and settled in to enjoy the flight. At 4,000, well below the overcast, visibility was excellent. And since it was about dusk, lights were coming on in the towns that passed us below. That's always a neat time to fly.

By the time we began our approach into IJX, it was dark. I canceled my IFR flight plan with Springfield Approach. Before clearing me off frequency, the helpful controller had already pulled up my return flight plan and told me to give him a call airborne or on the ground outlet they have in Jacksonville when I was ready to head back.

Winds at Jacksonville were straight out of the west giving me the option of either 22 or 31. I opted for 31 because the crosswind was 10 degrees less. Considering this was my first time landing at Jacksonville, and it was night, the less crosswind correction on final meant more to me than the shorter taxi to the ramp we would've had landing on 22.

Because the winds were a little gusty, I carried about 5 extra knots on final. Consequently our landing roll out was a little longer. Oh yeah--I noticed on the chart for the airport it indicated the possibility of deer being on the airport, so I was also on the lookout for Bambi as we rolled down the runway.

We pulled up to the ramp where Laurie's ride was waiting. I unloaded, kissed her goodbye and climbed right back into the plane. It was about a 10 minute stop which made me apprehensive about hot starts. This time I decided maybe it was cool enough and I hadn't been sitting long enough for the fuel in the injector feeds to vaporize. I decided to try a normal start with the boost pump on, but without the prime. Voila! She fired right up. Let's hope that holds true in the future.

I was excited about the flight back because I'd be cruising at a higher altitude which meant slightly higher true airspeeds. This combined with the strong winds that would now be working with me instead of against me gave me hope of a quick flight home. I was not disappointed. As I turned on course during climb out, I glanced down at the ground speed. I was already doing 143 knots. It was indeed going to be a quick flight.

Leveling out at 5,000 I set the power so I had 2500 prop rpms. Using a best power mixture setting this resulted in about 25" manifold pressure and 79% in the power indicator. But more importantly, it resulted in a 151 knot true airspeed and . . . wait for it . . . 180 knot ground speed. I was cooking along at over 200 mph over the ground. Like pilot author Stephen Coonts says in the Cannibal Queen, and I paraphrase, "Tailwinds are like a smile from a beautiful woman. You don't get them that often but when you do it makes your day like nothing else."

I was moving along so fast that Springfield Approach had handed me off to Champaign and I was only 10 minutes into the flight. "Woo hoo!", was about all that was going through my head. Just a little west of Monticello, Approach had me descend to 4,000. I kept the power on as I descended pushing the TAS up to 162 knots and the ground speed to 193. The little devil in me was whispering, "C'mon go for 200", but the airplane owner in me was going "For what purpose other than to unnecessarily strain the airframe?" I listened to the owner angel. I probably would've still been in the green on the airspeed indicator but hitting some turbulence at that speed probably wouldn't be very good. I contented myself with 193.

Even setting up for the downwind for 32R at Champaign, with the indicated airspeed showing just 110 knots I was still showing a 130+ knot ground speed. Turning onto final, ground speed went way down. Winds were reported at 280@12 but they felt stronger. Gusty too. I had to make a couple of pretty significant power changes to stay on glideslope. Taxing back it felt like I had to use more directional control that I should with 12 knots of wind to keep from weather vaning into the wind. I'm guessing winds were more like 15 to 18. I checked the elapsed flight time. 36 minutes. Not bad. Not bad at all.

As I taxied back to the hangar I went by the F-18s sitting on the ramp. In the daylight they looked fast, sleek, cool. But as I passed by them in the dark, I couldn't get over how ominous they looked in their dark, non-reflective ghost gray paint. I had much the same sensation once on a night flight over California's central valley. I was flying over Lemoore NAS and the Hornet drivers were flying circuits. Practicing night landing I guess. It was a full moon and I was in a tiny Cessna 150 at 5,000 feet. As I passed over I would occasionally catch glimpses of the F-18s flying under me. They looked like circling sharks.

Both then and now, I thought about how it must suck to have one of those things hunting you in the dark. For some reason it also made me think of the great empires of history past. But that's a blog for another forum.

KCMI to K06 to KCMI - 1.6 hours

Today's flight was to Beardstown, IL. It was a typical Sunday drive for me and the world's most beautiful passenger. The weather was fantabulous. On the way there we flew over my . . . oh, why Beardstown? Laurie (world's most beautiful passenger) is attending a women's retreat near there next weekend and asked me to fly her. We thought we'd avail ourselves of today's fantastic weather and check it out. Now you have the backstory.

So, as I was saying, our route took us right over Monticello. From the little bumps we were experiencing I fully expected to see a glider or two. While we did catch a glimpse of the tow plane parked on the taxiway and one glider outside the hangar, we didn't see any airborne. The route also took us just to the north of Decatur and Springfield. As we were flying pretty low (4,500), I thought for sure we'd see some traffic around there too, but no.

As we approached Beardstown I got to thinking about what Airnav had said about the runway ("some cracks"). I decided we'd do a low approach and survey the surface before we actually landed. We entered a left downwind for runway 18 and put in a notch of flaps. I set up for a final approach that would fly us down the west side of the runway. This way I could get a good look at the surface condition.

On final I descended to about 300' AGL (above ground level) and checked it out. As we paralleled the runway a glance at the turn/slip indicator on the PFD showed me flying in a slight slip. A look at the artificial horizon confirmed my suspicions. I was about 5 degrees nose high, hence the slight ball deflection. I gave it a little right rudder and went back to scanning the runway (Note to self: always be conscious of the ball when just 300 ft. from terra firma). From what I could tell the runway looked way better than advertised. I called the CTAF (Common Traffic Advisory Frequency) and let anyone within earshot know that we were going to make the next pattern full stop and entered the downwind.

Touchdown was nice and the runway was smooth as butter. Apparently improvements had been made since the last Airnav survey. Considering Beardstown was a tiny 4,000' x 60' strip in the middle of nowhere, I'm guessing it wasn't high on their list of priorities.

As we taxied back to the ramp, which was barren but for one lonely airplane and a guy on a cell phone, Laurie suggested we just turn around and head back. We really only came to see if it was a good drop off spot for next weekend anyway. I dutifully taxied us back to the approach end of the runway and pointed N218DF's nose back into the wind. 30 seconds later we were airborne and on our way back to Champaign.

We were light on fuel so I stayed low and slow on the way back. It was nice. I like doing that now and again. It reminds me of the days buzzing around at 100 knots in a little Cessna 152 as a student. You can see so much more detail at 3,500 feet. Illinois really is a beautiful place. You just have to have the right perspective.

As we passed north of Decatur we caught a whiff of what smelled like stale french fries. Yes, even 20 miles north at 3,500 Decatur was able to make its presence known. I can see that being handy if I have a complete avionics blackout. I'll always be able to get to Decatur. Just follow my nose.

Coming back over Monticello I called and let anyone in a glider who might be too busy looking for indications of lift in their variometers to look for traffic that I was coming through. I heard a faint, but garbled reply. Nothing else was said after that. No traffic was visible for miles. My guess is that someone was telling me they'd sewed it up for the day. It looked like that was the case anyway as I flew over the airport. Everything appeared to be put away.

As we set up for a 4 mile final to runway 14L at Champaign, I decided to try a flaps up landing. This is a procedure that I was taught during transition training. It's used in the event I have an electrical malfunction (primarily alternator failure) that requires me to conserve as much battery power as possible. It is in no way dangerous. Just slightly abnormal. Instead of flying the approach at 75 knots and full flaps I'm zooming down final at 85 knots in a slightly nose high attitude. That's the "abnormal" part. You have a slightly different picture out the front and the ground is going by a little faster as you touchdown. On a big, fat, long runway like 14L at Champaign, it's a piece of cake. There might be slightly more pucker factor if you have to do it someplace like, well, Beardstown.

I like flying them because, in a Cirrus anyway, the higher ground speed and nose high attitude makes you feel like you're flying a jet. I greased it on, but I was probably a couple knots hot. It certainly didn't take as long as it normally did to reach the turnoff at Bravo taxiway.

We shut down in front of the hangar and stepped out of the plane to a beautiful sunset and gentle breeze. They don't end much more picture book than that. Laurie snapped a picture of N218DF basking in the glow. That's the main picture that will serve as the anchor image for the blog. She's a beaut' ain't she?

KCMI to K24 to KCMI--3.4 hours

I left Champaign about 4:15. Winds were about 150 @ 7. The purpose of this trip was to fly down to Jamestown, KY and pick up my grandparents. I was to bring them back for my little cousin Lars' baptism. The weather along my route was supposed to be scattered layers of clouds between 4,000 and 7,000 feet, so I filed for 5,000. Figured I'd split the difference. Radar also showed a smattering of what appeared to be isolated thunderstorms building to the northeast of Louisville. I'd have to keep an eye on the Nexrad to make sure they didn't start popping up any closer.

At Champaign the clouds were on the high end, but the further I went the lower they got. Eventually, about Terre Haute, I was punching in and out of the bottoms of some fairly good sized cumulus. That's always fun. At 5,000 feet you really don't get a sensation of how fast you're going over the ground. But fly through a cloud and you're quickly reminded you're scootin'.

Just before I popped into one cloud I got a glimpse of my plane's shadow perfectly silhouetted on the fluffy white. I kicked myself, again, for not having my camera. Another wasted Kodak moment came as I skirted a buildup that, on Nexrad anyway, was indicating it might be a thunderstorm. When it finally came into view it wasn't nearly as intimidating as the radar was letting on. And my stormscope stayed dark. I still wasn't going to fly through it. Even in its relatively diminished state, the big cloud was probably a good 6,000 feet tall. And lightning or no, big cumulus clouds can still rock your butt. But from the safety of about 5 miles away, with the setting sun lighting up its western face it looked more beautiful than threatening.

After passing the brute, I punched through a few more poofies and into clear skies on the other side. About 60 NW of K24, I canceled IFR with Indy Center but asked for flight following for a little further. A check of the K24 AWOS indicated near perfect conditions on the ground at Jamestown. Winds were calm, skies were clear and the temperature was a very pleasant 75 degrees or so.

I made a left midfield entry to the downwind for runway 17. Mainly so I could fly over the ramp and verify grandma and grandpa were waiting. I saw their car, so that was good. After greasing one on, even if I do say so myself, I pulled up to the ramp to find the car gone and no grandparents. They had apparently been waiting at the airport since 5. It was 6:15. At 80+, they really don't like to wait around for much. Turns out they'd left their house before dad could give them my new arrival time. Plus, my grandmother has a very morbid imagination and had, I knew, assumed the worst. She was probably bugging aunt Kievel to drive them to a phone so should could call and learn of her grandson's demise.

The heck of it is, I FLEW RIGHT OVER THE TOP OF THEM. I thought for sure they had seen me. Turns out they had, but grandpa said, "That's not him. He's too high." (sigh) I called dad, told them they'd driven off just as I got there. He said to sit tight. They'd be back as soon as grandma had confirmed I wasn't dead yet.

When they did return, I hurriedly loaded them into the plane. The entire time grandma was asking, "Are you sure we have enough gas to get back? I've heard at least three news stories about planes going down . . . " "Grandma, we're fine. Please get in the plane." Grandpa just sat in the backseat shaking his head.

My troubles didn't end there. I had to perform a very difficult hot start which took at least two or three attempts before the engine finally caught. Of all the passengers for it to happen with, it had to be my grandmother who was already doubtful about our fuel situation. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything except to ask if it needed to cool down a little before we tried to start it again.

As I lined up on 35 the sun was just sinking behind the horizon. We took off into clear skies. Climbing out of Jamestown I picked up my clearance from Indy Center. A nice tailwind and "best economy" power setting at 6,500 feet ensured I'd have 17 gal left when we landed at Champaign. "See grandma? We're going to make it."

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Winds were a little more brisk at Champaign and I could tell on downwind for runway 14L we were getting pushed along at a pretty good clip. I knew I'd have to crank in a little extra bank on base to keep the pattern nice and tight. It was a pretty weird sensation turning from base to final. The conveyor belt of lights that had been moving pretty quickly below the plane slowed to a near crawl all in a matter of about 5 seconds as I put the nose back into the wind. It made for a mild sense of vertigo.

The landing wasn't my best. I bounced it. I guess they can't all be greasers. The funny thing was, mid-bounce grandma patted my arm and said, "That was a very nice flight Larry." I thought, "Thanks grandma, but it's not exactly over yet." The 2nd landing was better, punctuated with that very satisfying "chirp, chirp".

As I pulled up to Flightstar to unload the grandparents, Laurie was there waiting to help. I was very glad to see her. That's actually the scariest part of flying with my grandparents--getting them in and out of the plane. Thankfully, nobody tumbled off a wing.

After I put away the plane and dad retrieved Mode and Eli, Laurie and I went home. The whole way back I was kicking myself about bouncing the landing. Nothing sticks in a pilot's craw more than a less than perfect landing. You could have conducted the rest of the flight flawlessly and by the book, but you bounce a landing and it ruins the whole thing. Laurie has seen obsess about this kind of thing before and is always quick to remind me to get over it. While it may not have been a good landing to me, the passengers didn't complain or scream out in terror. So just live with it. I suppose. Still, if I'd just . . .

KCMI to KIGQ to KCMI -- 1.6 hrs

Today we flew up to see Gert. Gert fell down about a week ago and has been hospitalized. She's doing well. The flight up was a quickie. When we departed Champaign, winds at the surface were 180@16, gusting to 24. It made for a pretty short takeoff roll. Once we were cleared on course with the wind at our tail, we enjoyed 140 knot ground speeds during the climbout.

I was trying to remember what I'd read about the best way to exploit a big tailwind during climb. As I recalled, the advice was to climb aggressively to altitude since the tailwind is helping you compensate for the relatively low indicated airspeed you experience at Vy. Conversely if you're climbing out with a stiff headwind, you want to use a shallower climb rate to maximize ground speed.

Once level at 5,500, I leaned for 75% best power and let her rip. Initially we enjoyed a 174 knot ground speed. The wind vector was showing 178@30 knots and the air data computer showed the true airspeed fluctuating between 148 and 151. I ended up slowing down a little, though, due to turbulence.

It was a little rough. The farmers have all harvested their fields making them ideal thermal generators. This makes flying on a warm, sunny afternoon a little bumpy. I reported continuous light-to-moderate chop to Chicago Center who was providing flight following.

Once in the pattern for runway 18 at Lansing, we were still cooking along in the downwind with a 130 knot groundspeed. It made the turn to base a little interesting. Even anticipating the higher than normal groundspeed, and using a steeper bank angle, we still got pushed out an extra mile or so on final before I could get the right ground track established. The AWOS reported winds were 180@16 gusting to 26. Even carrying about 10 extra knots on final, I still had to jockey the throttle a little to stay on glideslope.

The trip back, while much slower, was much smoother. The 30 knot wind that had got us up there so quickly (40 minutes) was now in our face. Thankfully, though, the sun was on its way down and the bump machine wasn't nearly as active. I elected to save a little fuel and set the power for 65% lean of peak.

Champaign approach set us up for runway 18 and it was a smooth approach all the way to touchdown. All said and done it took about 55 minutes to get home. Not too shabby considering the headwind and the fact my TAS was 13 knots slower than if I'd used Best Power.