Reno Air Race Story
Back to Reno pictures...
2600 miles -- in two days. Whew!
We're back from the Reno Air Races (two days early, sadly, to get out ahead
of a winter storm system that rolled into the Rockies on Friday afternoon),
and I'm here to tell you: Reno ROCKS!
I've never seen anything quite like it. In Reno, aircraft engines that were
designed to put out "only" 1500 horsepower are being pushed to over 3000
horsepower, and are powering aircraft around an 8 mile oval course at over
500 mph, just a few feet off the ground, and just a few feet apart. To say
it's exciting is a major understatement: It quite literally makes NASCAR
look like a walk in the park.
But I'm ahead of myself...
The Flight Out
***************************
Our flight started inauspiciously enough, with a line of showers and
thunderstorms working it's way into Iowa as we tried to depart at sunrise.
After waiting a bit to see how things would develop, it soon became apparent
that we either launched now, or we'd be stuck waiting till the front blew
through later that night. Since weak Midwestern summertime fronts are
usually spotty and easily circumnavigated, we launched, with the knowledge
that we might end up spending the night somewhere west of Des Moines.
With Mary acting as PIC, we cautiously worked our way west, listening ahead
to AWOSs, and aiming for the lighter areas of cloud cover. The ceiling never
dropped below 3,000 feet, and visibility was good as we picked our way
through light rain showers to the other side of the state. After passing
through one last line just east of Omaha, we broke out into glorious
sunshine and unlimited ceilings as far as the eye could see, as we winged
our way across Nebraska. Things were looking up! (And we never saw
another cloud, all the way to the west coast!)
(An aside: For the first time, ever, we were able to see a full, 100%
circular rainbow from the air. To see a round, 360 degree rainbow was
worth the price of admission right then and there! What percentage of
humans has ever seen one? It can't be very high...)
Relaxing, I did a double-take as I checked our GPS ground speed -- 88 knots!
Atlas usually trues out around 140 knots, so we were in for a looong day if
this kind of head-wind persisted. Luckily, the air was smooth at 8,500
feet, so we just loosened up the seat belts, turned on the autopilot, and
popped in another CD -- there was not much else we could do.
At last, Alliance, NE -- our first stop -- crept into view, with our ground
speed hovering around a disastrous 100 knots. Instead of taking 3.5 hours,
this first leg had taken close to five -- and we weren't even a third of the
way to Reno!
Alliance was chosen because (a) Jim Weir said they carried mogas, and
because (b) according to AOPA, they had a restaurant on the field. Well,
we managed to buy their last 50 gallons of mogas (which, according to the
FBO owner, they'll never be able to sell it again, due to insurance
restrictions), had to take the rest in avgas -- and found that the
restaurant had closed back in 1997. (Thanks AOPA!)
So, we borrowed their van and drove into Alliance for an outstanding country
breakfast at Ben and Mel's (or something like that) -- with great food, ugly
waitresses, and cheap prices. My kind of place!
Refreshed, we launched again into clear blue skies with me as PIC, wondering
what this headwind was going to do in the mountains ahead. Of course, we
were approaching the mountains at mid-day -- the worst possible time for
turbulence, according to the many mountain flying sources we consulted
before this flight. Sadly, however, we discovered that when you live in
Iowa there simply isn't much choice but to fly across them at mid-day,
unless you want to take two days to get to Reno.
Since we didn't have that kind of luxury, we simply took our chances with
the bumps...
Our ground speed gradually picked up to a more respectable 125 knots -- but
we continued to fall way behind schedule. As we passed Scott's Bluff the
terrain became more and more forbidding, with less evidence of human
habitation with every passing mile. Soon the foothills gave way to
mountains, which, to this flat-lander, looked pretty danged big indeed!
Atlas was running like a champ, as always, but we were sure wishing he was
turbo-charged as we droned along. At 10,500 feet, we were only able to pull
around 19 inches of manifold pressure, which sure didn't give us much
"ooomph" -- and the really big stuff still lay ahead. Occasionally we'd hit
a smoothly rising pocket of air, and I'd have to push over to maintain
altitude. During these brief spells, our ground speed would approach a more
normal 135 knots -- but the inevitable sinking pocket of air would soon
follow, necessitating a pull back to maintain altitude. During these
spells, ground speed would decay to an abysmal 85 knots.
By the end of the flight my left arm was noticeably sore from fighting this
up/down tendency, but that lay ahead...
Luckily, despite the strong winds aloft, we didn't hit any bad mountain
turbulence, and we were able to truly appreciate the majesty and glory of
the mountains from our tall -- if slow -- perch. Moments of spiritual
contemplation were broken only by the discomfiting knowledge that any engine
failure would likely be unsurvivable, as we crossed ridge after ridge of
ever-higher mountains. For the first time in my flying life, I longed for a
twin engined plane...
Flying VOR to VOR (only because they are placed in the lowest points in the
valley), our moving map GPS at last displayed Ogden, Utah creeping into
range. The approach into Ogden was truly spectacular, as we crossed through
a high pass at 10,500 feet, and then rapidly descended to land at the Ogden
airport down at 4500 feet or so. Skimming through the pass, with pine
trees and rocks seemingly just a few feet away, only to have the whole world
drop out from beneath you to reveal the great Salt Lake basin beyond, is a
truly wondrous experience!
With a quick gas up in Ogden (I knew we were in trouble when the line guys
were wearing ties -- the gas was $3.07 a gallon, and we needed over 60
gallons again), we were on our way to Reno, with no further stops planned.
After almost 8 hours in the air, and constant exposure to high altitude, we
were starting to feel pretty tired, but knowing the goal was in reach kept
us enthused. However, I was glad to let "Otto" fly the plane as we simply
monitored our progress on the maps, making minor course corrections and
watching as Reno inched ever closer.
Our plan was to land at Grass Valley, CA, in order to camp in Jim Weir's
yard for the night, followed by a return to Reno for a few days of hotels.
However, as we pressed westward, our ground speed never consistently
exceeded 130 knots, and our "easy" flight to Jim's was looking less and less
likely. A quick check with a bored military controller just west of Salt
Lake City confirmed that the sun would set in Reno just past 7 PM, and --
despite picking up two hours as we crossed from Central to Mountain to
Pacific daylight times -- it was looking like we might have to stop
somewhere short of Jim's for the night.
In fact, as we crossed Winnemucca, Nevada, our ETA to Reno was clicking down
precisely to sunset, so we knew that we weren't going to be seeing Jim or
Gail that night. It's one thing for a couple of dumb flat-landers to tempt
the Rockies in a single engine plane in the daytime -- it's another thing
entirely to try crossing them in the dark!
We at last touched down at Reno International just after sunset, an
incredible 12+ hours of flight-time after leaving Iowa City. Our estimated
flight time had expanded exponentially, but we were, at last, safe on the
ground.
We chose to park at Sierra, assuming that we'd only be there one night.
Even though it was only Wednesday, there were aircraft parked EVERYWHERE.
Fortunately, we got one of their last three single-engine aircraft parking
spots, for which they "only" charged us $25 per night -- and gas was a
painful $3.37 per gallon! Since we once again needed over 65 gallons, Reno
proved to be the most expensive single fuel stop we'd ever experienced!
The folks there were very helpful, however, and gave us a ride to the
commercial side of the airport, where we could catch our hotel's airport
shuttle bus. Within an hour I was sitting in a casino restaurant, dizzy
with fatigue after 12+ hours in the plane -- but glad (and somewhat amazed)
to at last be in Reno!
The Hotel
***************************
The next morning we "slept in" till 7 AM local time -- 9 AM our time -- and
started preparing for a day at the races. After pondering our options, we
soon realized that -- given the parking situation -- if we were to fly up to
Jim and Gail's for the day, we would not be able to return to Reno. This
would leave us with the sorry option of driving back and forth each day,
which was not something we wanted to deal with all weekend -- we were there
to see RACING!
So, a quick call to Gail allowed us to sadly beg off of our commitment to
use their shower and eat their food (I suspect they weren't quite as
disappointed as we were!), and we opted to "hotel it" for the remainder of
our stay.
The Silver Legacy hotel turned out to be the perfect solution to seeing the
Reno Air Races. Located in downtown Reno, it joins seamlessly with the
Circus Circus and Eldorado casinos, providing easy access to their many
restaurants and bars. Mary and I both hate to lose money, so we never
really checked out the gambling options -- but, for those who care about
such things, they were obvious and plentiful.
Best of all, the hotels were running a continuous shuttle bus out to the
race site, Stead Airport. The bus was a bit pricey, at $16 apiece round
trip -- but eliminating the "hassle factor" made it well worth it. (And
auto parking was 8 bucks, which made the bus look even better.)
If we are ever lucky enough to return to Reno, we will go back to the Silver
Legacy.
The Races
***************************
Upon arrival we found the ticket booths to be well-staffed, and we were soon
inside the grounds, marveling at the huge, purpose-built grandstands that
edged the airport ramp. Having spent many years at airports, ones eyes have
grown accustomed to seeing certain things: A beacon. Gas pumps. An FBO.
A wind tee. Mary and I both agreed that grandstands and bleachers looked
decidedly out of place!
But what a view from up there! I didn't realize that you could actually see
the entire race course from in the stands, but due to the gradually rising
terrain and the height of the stands, you can easily follow the entire race.
The race course is in a bowl, mostly ringed by mountains, which provide a
marvelous backdrop to the world's fastest motor sport.
And, wow, are they fast! When we arrived they were doing a T-6 race, which
looked pretty fast to my newbie eyes. In this class, because the aircraft
are so similar, the race is decided mostly by skill, rather than by brute
horsepower. (An aside: In years past, the T-6s were always the "middle
fast" race, with the biplanes occupying the "slowest of the bunch" category.
This year, some highly modified biplanes actually exceeded the T-6 race
speeds, relegating the T-6 drivers to the "slowest" category for the first
time. I imagine this didn't sit well with those guys!) The winner looked
like he was flying on rails, and his consistency was obviously the key to
success.
They then ran a Sport Class race, which is run on a smaller course -- and
those guys were just screaming around the track at over 340 mph! Darryl
Greenamyer has a tricked out Lancair that goes incredibly fast, and the
Thunder Mustang (which would have beaten the Lancair, if it could have held
together long enough) just sounded other-worldly!
After scouting out the vendors (this was, after all, a shopping trip for our
new Reno Air Racing Suite), we soon settled into the race routine. A race
would take place (qualifying heats, early on), followed by an airshow
performance, followed by a military flight demonstration -- and then another
race would start. This pattern continued throughout the day, and meant that
there was never a dull moment!
Red Bull Air Race
***************************
The Red Bull Air Race was a new addition this year, and it proved to be
incredibly popular. A timed event, each aerobatic pilot had to fly the
same closed course, marked by giant, inflatable pylons spaced directly in
front of the grandstands. With specific assigned maneuvers, each pilot
threw his plane around the course with wild abandon, to the delight and
amazement of a very jaded and knowledgeable crowd.
The wind was really whipping, which made the course doubly exciting as the
inflatable pylons waved ominously back and forth, seemingly trying to knock
down the planes. They set up three gigantic "jumbotron" TVs out in front of
the crowd, and, with live cameras transmitting from inside the cockpits, you
could clearly see those giant pylons waving to and fro as each competitor
knifed between them!
Coolest of all: Each pilot had to do a touch-and-go landing, on a 4 foot
patch of yellow chalk right in front of the stands -- coming out of a loop!
If they missed, it was a huge penalty.
Exciting doesn't describe it!
The Jet Class
***************************
This year the jets -- all Czech L-39s -- had a real race and class of their
own. (Apparently they've only flown exhibition races till now.) These
races are all decided by piloting skill, since the aircraft themselves are
virtually identical, and they really whip around that course. They lack
the thunder and drama of the unlimiteds, but they are still very, very cool.
(Especially since those guys are flying around in pressurized, air
conditioned comfort, unlike the rest of the field!)
The Unlimited Class
***************************
Of course, the Unlimiteds are what everyone goes to Reno to see. Originally
World War II fighter planes, the top contenders have all long-since been
modified into something far afield from their warbird days. Rare Bear, for
example -- originally a Grumman Bearcat -- has been so highly modified that
it's hard to see any wartime vestiges at all.
Engines are souped up way beyond anything their original designers could
have imagined, pulling twice as much manifold pressure and putting out
double the horsepower. The sound emanating from these engines is absolutely
indescribable, and brought chills up my spine with every lap. To see Dago
Red (what used to be a P-51 Mustang) screaming around the pylons in a
continual, knife-edge left turn, just feet from the ground, was truly an
amazing sight, and one I'll never forget.
The fact that there is almost literally a "Mayday!" declared on every race
indicates how hard these guys are pushing these engines. No one came to
any distress, but the constant danger and risk was thick in the air whenever
those beasts were airborne.
The Pits
***************************
Everyone told us that this was THE place to be -- and they couldn't have
been more right on. The pits are an amazing place to spend the day, with
row after row of incredibly beautiful and complex race planes lined up like
soldiers. Swarming on each plane was a small army of mechanics and support
crew, tweaking, repairing, polishing, and adjusting those high-strung
thoroughbreds to race-day perfection.
Depending on the racer's reputation and stature, you might have five guys
wrenching away in relative anonymity -- or, in the case of the bigger names,
you might have a dozen or more crew members, all wearing uniform shirts,
with dedicated vendors nearby selling everything from "Rare Bear" posters to
"Strega" polo shirts.
The most amazing part, to me, was how approachable everyone was. If you've
ever attended a Formula One race, you know that the pits are accessible, but
only with your eyes. Most of the race teams are all wearing identical jump
suits, and treat visitors at best as if they were invisible.
In Reno, everyone is utterly accessible, even the biggest names. Ask a
mechanic what he's working on, and he'll actually tell you! Strike up a
conversation with any random guy, and you might discover that he's the race
pilot. Everyone is doing what they love most, and they all know how
incredibly special and lucky they are to be there -- so there are no prima
donnas or elitists in the group.
Or, at least, we never met any of them.
A great example: Rare Bear was "making metal" after flying on Wednesday,
and we watched as those guys spent all day (and night!) tracking the source
down to a turbo-supercharger -- which they then completely replaced. We
were able to watch as they did instant oil analysis (they had a lab in their
support semi truck!), and determined that they had, indeed found the
problem, clearing the big plane for racing.
I was able to ask one of their team what was going on, and he actually took
the time to explain what they were doing -- to me, a mere spectator.
Despite the money involved (and there is, indeed, a lot of that) the feeling
of the place was very egalitarian.
Needless to say, we spent most of our time in the pits.
The Organizers
***************************
Our goal for this trip was to assemble enough artwork and memorabilia to
decorate a 590 square foot hot tub suite, which would be called the "Reno
Air Racing Suite." To this end, we scoured the vendors, and purchased
every poster, sticker and patch we could lay our hands on.
At the end of the first day, however, we were noticeably short on stuff,
much to our dismay. The vendors were mostly selling shirts and hats -- not
artwork -- and a lot of other "generic" stuff that simply didn't have the
ring of "Reno"authenticity that we required. As we were looking around for
options, Mary spotted a guy sitting in a golf cart, feet up, doing nothing
at all.
Reasoning that (a) a guy in a golf cart was on-staff, and (b) a guy doing
nothing was probably a big wheel, she struck up a conversation, and
explained our mission to him.
Pay dirt!
His eyes instantly grew animated, and he was obviously excited to hear about
what we were doing at our little hotel. He gave us the location of the
headquarters building, and the name of the head cheese to contact about
obtaining some REAL memorabilia, and wanted to hear all about each suite.
Totally at random we had stumbled across a guy who clearly knew all the
right people, and we walked away marveling at our luck.
Later in the day we headed over to the building -- which turned out to be a
warehouse chock-full of vendor supplies -- and asked around for Mike
Cummings. As luck would have it, the very first guy we asked turned out to
be Mike, and we once again explained our mission, and our desire to create a
unique air racing theme suite.
As our story unfolded (it takes a while to explain our lame-brained notion
of a hotel!), Mike was transformed from mildly interested to visibly
enthused. A mechanic in real life (and a RARA employee for two weeks each
year), Mike seemed to be taken with the concept of a Reno Suite in Iowa (go
figure!), and -- much to our amazement -- he literally dropped EVERYTHING he
was doing to drive us over to another warehouse, at the far end of the
field, where all the old posters and patches from previous years were
stored!
Now, you must remember that Mike was the guy in charge of keeping all the
vendors stocked. As such, his walkie talkie and cell phone were constantly
going off, and a steady stream of people were running in and out, shouting
for more "P-38 shirts, extra large!" on their way through the door. In the
middle of ALL this pandemonium and frenzy, Mike simply listened to our
story, was instantly caught up in it -- and drove us to the far end of the
airport in search of REAL memorabilia.
I was (and still am) dumbfounded at his friendliness and above-and-beyond
hospitality. We spent the next 30 minutes digging through that warehouse,
picking out the best autographed posters and patches from prior years,
surrounded by old and new (yet to be awarded!) race trophies. He even
supplied a large mailing tube, just so we wouldn't wreck our treasure-trove
of posters on the flight home...
He then drove us back to the grounds, all the while asking questions about
the hotel and our flight to Reno. Upon our return he fetched his boss, a
main race organizer (whose name I sadly can't recall), who also seemed
thrilled about what we were doing.
In the end, when I asked Mike what we owed him, he replied "nothing" --
which I simply couldn't believe. He had given us several hundred dollars
of impossible to find memorabilia (and that was at face value!), taken 30
minutes out of what was probably the busiest day of his life -- and he would
take nothing in exchange. I was and remain humbled to know that there are
people in this world like him, and we will always remember Reno not for the
racing, but for the incredible hospitality shown to us by the organizers.
The Weather
***************************
The climate in Reno is high desert, and even though it wasn't particularly
hot (locals were wearing long pants), we were amazed to find ourselves
thirsty ALL the time. I'll bet we consumed a gallon of water apiece each
day, simply because the dryness and wind conspired to desiccate us.
The wind on Friday was incredible. All week we had been watching the prog
charts as a major winter storm loomed off-shore, and ahead of this system
the wind just picked up and never stopped. In Iowa, we might see high
winds associated with a storm system, but rarely in perfect VFR conditions,
and rarely for a long period of time. At Stead, the wind literally blew at
25 knots all day long, with little or no variance or let up. Despite this,
the races went off without delay -- no mean feat in some of those smaller
biplanes!
This wind -- along with abundant sunshine, the high altitude, and low
humidity -- combined to make for a very tiring day. By the end of the day
we were loaded with artwork, tired beyond description -- and literally
getting sand-blasted as we waited for our shuttle bus back to the hotel.
Unfortunately, due to bad traffic and unexpectedly large pre-weekend crowds,
they ran way short of buses, and our wait stretched to over 90 minutes.
Tempers flared and patience grew thin as the sun set and temperatures
dropped, but eventually we were back at the hotel bar enjoying a cold one,
marveling at how we keep experiencing such incredibly good luck with our
crazy hotel endeavor.
Our good cheer didn't last long, however, as we had been keeping a wary eye
on the Weather Channel. After months of drought, it was obvious that a
major weather change was imminent on the west coast, as a tropical storm
coming up the Baja Peninsula was threatening to collide with a cold front
off the Pacific. The talking heads were babbling incessantly about "early
snow at higher elevations," and the prog charts showed no improvement for at
least five days after the front passed.
The deciding factor, however, was the fact that our daughter (back home with
friends) was going to turn eleven on Tuesday. Missing her birthday was NOT
an option, so we reluctantly began making plans for an early departure on
Saturday, rather than waiting till after the final races on Sunday or
Monday....
The Flight Home
***************************
Flight Service indicated that the front wouldn't hit the area until Saturday
afternoon, so our Saturday morning departure would be doable. When we
awakened Saturday morning, however, it was evident that things were
developing more quickly than predicted. Moisture from that tropical storm
was streaming up ahead of the front, causing clouds and some rain showers in
the mountains -- our worst case scenario!
Equally bad, the wind was howling at 15 gusting to 30 -- at sunrise. This
could only mean bad things in the mountains to come.
A helpful briefer went through the litany of conditions, and sadly stated
that Battle Mountain (just the other side of the first set of big mountains
east of Reno) was "mountain tops obscured in mist" -- and pronounced "VFR
not recommended."
He then went on to state that all other reporting stations were good VFR, an
d mentioned that conditions at Battle Mountain were probably a morning thing
that would abate by the time we got there. Apparently this is a not
uncommon condition in the mountains, in the morning, and I was glad to be
talking to an experienced, realistic briefer, rather than the all-too-common
"Chicken Little the sky is falling!" type.
Still, conditions were dicey enough to give me serious pause. We were at
the airport, ready to go -- but should we? We had given up our precious
hotel reservations on a sold-out weekend, so we had no where to stay if we
aborted. Weather conditions were predicted to deteriorate and STAY bad for
the next five days, so getting out soonest seemed like our best choice. My
daughter's birthday loomed large at the end of our rainbow.
I felt myself being cornered into making a "go/no-go" decision based on
factors other than the current conditions, and I was determined NOT to let
those factors influence my decision.
But, of course, they did. Determining that we were safe to depart, and that
clear skies beckoned just beyond Battle Mountain, we launched with some
misgivings into the unknown.
Climbing out of the Reno valley, we were buffeted around pretty good by wind
shear and gusts. I was gratified to see, however, that the scattered clouds
were several thousand feet above the surrounding mountains, and obviously
remained that way as far as the eye could see to the east. At 11,500 feet,
we turned east toward home.
Mary has never liked turbulence, ever since a very bad flight to Oelwein, IA
one winter day several years back, and I could see that she was absolutely
white-knuckled in the right seat. Although the bumps were continuous, I
never thought they approached severe (or even the level we experienced that
fateful day on our way to Oelwein) -- but you could never relax, even for a
minute. All the horror stories about mountain turbulence and planes being
thrown into unusual attitudes had us both completely on edge, and I found
myself actually making the situation worse by over-controlling the plane
when turbulence would toss a wing up or down.
It took a conscious effort to release my claw grip from the yoke, and a few
deep breaths to get myself back to flying the plane with two fingers, rather
than both hands. This, of course, lessened the "induced turbulence"
dramatically, as it always does, and I silently cursed myself for being so
stupid...
Glancing at my GPS, I was heartened to see 165 knots ground speed, meaning
that we would at least get through the mountains quickly. With Mary tuning
in AWOS's ahead, however, it was obvious that Battle Mountain (BAM) was
going to be the gauntlet we needed to cross, as they were reporting lowered
ceilings and virga in all quadrants. With the temperature aloft hovering
around 20 degrees, virga would NOT be a good thing.
As we droned along, a Skylane that had launched just behind us decided to go
IFR, and climbed to 12,000 feet. I thought this was odd, as climbing to
12,000 would put him in the scattered layer (also at the known icing level),
when we were in good VFR down at 11,500. In an effort to help, I made a
PIREP to ATC, stating that we were in "good VFR at 11,500 feet" and gave our
position for the benefit of the 182 pilot. Still, even though I questioned
his judgment, I silently wished that I had his IFR option, and droned
onward.
As we approached BAM, we found ourselves being forced lower by a sloping
cloud deck that had thickened from scattered to broken. We still had
thousands of feet beneath us, and visibility was good, but I decided to use
my moving map to follow I-80 anyway, reasoning that I could always play the
"I follow roads" card if need be. We cheated our altitude down to 11,100
feet in order to remain legally clear of clouds, and proceeded onward,
noting the location of every air strip along the way.
As we approached BAM, it was easy to see what was happening. The skies were
bright and clear in the distance, beyond a lowering veil of virga. This
was clearly the leading edge of the moisture, and it was precipitating out
as it hit the cold, dry air. Not quite a rain shower yet, it was still a
good, five-mile wide chunk of moisture that might result in icing. I aimed
for the brightest spot.
As we passed beneath the virga, I was heartened to penetrate this last line
without the slightest icing. A bit of moisture on the windshield was the
only indication of virga, and we soon broke out into clear air, as far as we
could see! Yahoo!
Suddenly the frequency came alive, as the 182 pilot behind us announced that
he had lost his NAV radios, and would need vectors out of the clouds.
Worse, he was picking up icing, and needed to get lower immediately.
It was apparent (well, I'm guessing here) that he did not have a moving map
GPS on board, but was relying instead on VORs and perhaps DME. Given his
situation, a moving map display would have instantly shown him where I-80's
valley was, and where he could have flown to remain clear of clouds and
icing. The tension in his voice was palpable as ATC vectored him safely to
a position directly behind us, and he was able to lower back into VFR
conditions.
Voice quavering, he announced that he'd "had enough" and was landing at
Battle Mountain. A few minutes later, however, he called back, obviously
relieved, and said that they had "had a change of heart" and were pressing
on to their ultimate destination somewhere in Utah. Mary and I were both
happy to hear that all had ended well for him, but I still can't understand
why he had chosen to climb up into the clouds in those temperatures, in a
Skylane, when we were in good VFR conditions...
Although our weather worries were over, our turbulence problems were not.
Beneath the cloud layers the turbulence was actually suppressed somewhat,
but we were now in the clear air, where the turbulence could really get
wound up. In retrospect we never hit anything beyond moderate
turbulence, but there was simply no way to know what was to come.
Occasionally we would hit an area that felt exactly like driving your car
off of a curb at 30 mph, which would cause us to tense up in preparation for
the worst -- which never came. After 90 minutes of this, however, I
noticed that my shoulders and neck were aching from being knotted into a
constant tension, trying to brace myself for whatever lay ahead.
Was it dangerous? Nope. Was it uncomfortable? For sure -- and I wouldn't
want to do it again.
Luckily our tail wind (albeit not nearly as strong as our headwind had been
three days earlier, naturally) held true, and we were whistling along at 165
knots, leaned way back to 11 gallons per hour. As a result, we were able
to entirely skip our first (of two) fuel stop, and landed instead at Scott's
Bluff, NE. Once again we were fighting the clock, as we were now LOSING
two hours of precious daylight on our flight home. Forced to forego a real
meal, we powered down some peanut butter crackers and a Snickers bar, tanked
up another 65 gallons (at over $3 per gallon), and arched back up into the
sky.
Scott's Bluff marks the end of the real mountains, and luckily the
turbulence lessened dramatically from that point on. With Mary acting as
PIC, we climbed back up to 11.5K in order to catch that big tailwind, and
rode it all the way to Iowa, touching down about 20 minutes after sunset.
Pushing the plane back into the hangar, a full 2-days before anyone expected
us back, we pondered where to sleep. We knew that our hotel, right next
door, was 100% booked for the night -- and we sure didn't want to go home
yet -- but we were too wiped out to drive anywhere.
So, we pulled out our unused camping gear, inflated our queen-sized air
bed -- and enjoyed our best night's sleep of the trip, right there next to
the plane...
What a trip! I don't think we'll ever try it again, but it was worth
doing once. And, boy, are we going to have the greatest "Reno Suite"
anyone has ever seen!
Jay & Mary Honeck
September, 2004
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