Short on Experience, Long on Adventure, Part II

In June, at 46 degrees latitude, the sun rises very early. We were up at dawn, and couldn’t find a place to eat at that hour, so we called a taxi and headed for the Rapid City Airport. When we arrived, we loaded our bags into the Sedan and turned her nose into the weak sun to thaw the frost on the windshield, then went into the fixed base operator’s office to warm up. We were so desperate for food that we ate what must have been week-old doughnuts from a tray in the pilot’s lounge. One cup of coffee was our limit because the Sedan has no bathroom facilities on board. By 7:30, the frost had finally melted on the Sedan, and we took off across South Dakota, a brisk tailwind still pushing us east.

We found the site of the Wounded Knee massacre, and Jan decided that we should have a picture of the desolate draw where so much Native American blood was spilled. She unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed into the back seat to rummage through her backpack for the camera. I shrieked at her, but without her headset, she couldn’t hear me. After she settled back into her seat, I said, “Don’t you know the door pops open when you bump it? What would I have done if you’d fallen out?” She just grinned, and took her photos.

Our first fuel stop was Ainsworth, Nebraska, a former military airport with two long, concrete runways. Unfortunately, neither runway was aligned with the wind that was howling out of the northwest. I used almost every foot of concrete available to force the reluctant Sedan to earth. Our airspeed was nearly 90 mph when we touched down (normal touchdown speed is about 45 mph; higher speeds are necessary to counter the effects of a crosswind.} I feared that the wheel bearings would overheat with the high rate of spin. The next problem was to slow down enough to let the tailwheel settle to the ground without having the wind twirl the Sedan into a ground loop. My mouth was dry, but every other part of me dripped with sweat by the time we crept up to the fuel pumps and tied down.

After we wrestled the fuel hose to the top of the wings, wind whipping our hair into our faces, we managed to fill the tanks to the brim. Inside the office were two little old ladies who were so delighted to have company, especially of the feminine persuasion, that they wanted us to stay for lunch. We were truly sorry to turn down their offer of homemade sandwiches, especially in light of our miserable breakfast, but we had to hurry on our way to reach Omaha before dark. We promised to stop on our return trip.

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