Twin Trip, Part II

We rubber-necked our way to my daughter's lovely southern-style house, ooh'ed and ah'ed over the cathedral ceiling, hardwood floors, French doors, and marbled entryway, and sat down to begin a long-overdue visit. That evening, we watched the weather reports, and began to have an uneasy feeling about our lovely Sky King twin-engined plane parked at its small airport close to a river. Hurricane Irene was bearing down on North Carolina, following on the heels of Hurricane Floyd, which had wreaked havoc with floods and high winds the month before. It was too late to move our airplane; the weather was already closing in.

That night, as we tried to sleep, the rain pounded on the roof, and wind howled around the eaves of the house, rattling windows with gusto. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and we cowered under the blankets, imagining that our beautiful bird was being pummeled by hail or engulfed in floodwaters. The next morning was sodden and gray. After consuming several quarts of good black caffeine, we whined my daughter into taking us back to the airport to survey the imagined damage.

We pulled into the parking lot at the country airport, and were relieved to see only standing pools of water instead of floods washing across the tarmac. Our twin was still in its tiedowns, all in one piece, with no dents from hail. We opened the cockpit door, and found that the seat was soggy from rain leaking in around the door seal, but that was the only damage. Now we could really enjoy the next few days of sightseeing and visiting, though we were not able to make a planned side trip to Kitty Hawk and Gettysburg.

Soon it was time to begin working our way back West. We took off in relatively clear skies, heading across the autumn-blazing hills of Tennessee to our first stop in Sparta for fuel, then on to Walnut Ridge, Arkansas. Walnut Ridge didn't appear to have any ridges nearby, but did have a very large former military airfield. No one came out to meet us, so we tied down the 310 and wandered into the little fixed-base operator's building. There was a cozy café inside, but not a soul sight. A freshly baked pie tempted us on the counter, and we were considered cutting ourselves a few pieces. I noticed a sign over the counter giving a phone number to call for fuel after hours. There was a phone handy, so I dialed the number. A man answered and asked me how I got to the phone. I said, "Well, the door was open, so we just came in." He said "Dang, I guess I forgot to lock up. I'll be right over!"

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