Reacting to Low Rotor RPM

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Yeah, I know RPM = life, but think about it, guys!

I did my monthly perusal of the NTSB helicopter accident reports this morning and this one jumped out at me. It’s another instance of a pilot reacting badly to a low rotor RPM situation. (You can read my favorite example of a poor response to low rotor RPM here.)

The report is short and, for some reason, cut off before the end. (NTSB seems to be having trouble with its database lately.) Here’s the story:

The commercial helicopter pilot reported that he was on a Title 14, CFR Part 91 business flight transporting one passenger and seven dogs to a remote camp. He said as he approached the camp, which was at 3,800 feet msl on a snow-covered glacier, flat light conditions made it difficult to discern topographical features on the glacier, so he elected to land at an alternate landing site at 3,200 feet msl to wait for conditions to improve. During the approach to the alternate site, just before touchdown, the pilot said the low rotor annunciator horn sounded, and he lowered the collective to regain rotor rpm. The pilot said he was unable to initiate a go-around, so he brought the helicopter to a hover, but due to the prevailing flat light he was unable to discern his height above the site, and he unintentionally allowed the helicopter’s left skid to touchdown on the uneven, snow-covered terrain. He said that there was an “instantaneous dynamic rollover” as the helicopter rolled to the left, the main rotor blades struck the snow, and the helicopter came to rest inverted. The helicopter sustained substantial damage to the fuselage, tail boom and main rotor drive system.

Glacier Crash with Dogs

Coast Guard photo of crash site. We’re taught to keep the shiny side up. Note dogs.

The two human occupants were not injured. They don’t say anything about the dogs, but since they were likely crammed into the back seat area, they probably cushioned each other and are okay, too. (Seriously, who puts seven dogs in the back seat area of a 4-seat helicopter?)

About Low Rotor RPM

Helicopter pilots have a saying: RPM = life. It means that if your blades are spinning fast enough, you should be able to fly. But if you lose RPM, there’s a chance that you might drop out of the sky (yes, like a brick) and have a very ugly encounter with the ground. Why? Because the spinning of the rotor blades is what gives a helicopter lift. If they stop spinning, they’re not generating lift. If they’re not spinning fast enough, they’re not generating enough lift to keep the helicopter airborne.

Helicopters have low rotor RPM warning systems. In an R44, it consists of a light on the instrument panel and a “horn.” The sound of the horn is very annoying and impossible to miss. (See for yourself here.) Because RPM is so important, the full system — light and horn — are required for flight.

On a Robinson helicopter, the low rotor RPM warning system kicks in at 97% RPM. Since the helicopter is operating at 102% RPM, that’s just 5 units below normal operation. But as they teach in the Robinson Safety Course, the helicopter should be able to fly with RPM of 80% + 1% per 1,000 feet of density altitude. Using this accident altitude as an example and assuming that it wasn’t above the standard day temperature of 15°C at the “snow-covered glacier” landing zone, the helicopter should have been capable of flight with rotor RPM as low as 84% or 85% (see density altitude chart). I use the word should (and italicize it for emphasis) because this is a rule of thumb. I do not recommend flying a helicopter below normal operating RPM. This rule of thumb just helps pilots understand how critical a low rotor RPM situation might be.

What causes low rotor RPM? Engine malfunction is one cause. A bad magneto or stuck value could rob the engine of horsepower, thus preventing it from keeping the rotor RPM where it needs to be. Performance needs beyond what the engine can produce is another. For example, it takes more power to hover than to fly; attempting to hover with a heavy load at high density altitude could result in a loss of rotor RPM. That may have been the situation here; the pilot was in an R44 Raven I (or possibly an Astro) at more than 3,000 feet density altitude at or near max gross weight*.

Emergency!

During flight training, helicopter pilots are trained to react to low-rotor RPM situations. In fact, Robinson helicopter pilots get extra training every two years (per SFAR 73) because of the unusually high number of low RPM accidents in early Robinson helicopters. Although modern-day Robinsons have correlators and governors to help the pilot maintain proper RPM, this special training and endorsement is still required.

Low rotor RPM is treated as an “emergency.” That means it has an emergency procedure associated with it. Helicopter pilots are drilled on the procedure until it becomes second nature.

Page 3-10 (in the “Emergency Procedures” section of the R44 Raven II Pilot’s Operating Handbook) states:

A horn and an illuminated caution light indicate that rotor RPM may be below safe limits. To restore RPM, immediately roll throttle on, lower collective and, in forward flight, apply aft cyclic.

As a result, when we hear that low rotor RPM warning horn — which is directly related to the deterioration of life-giving RPM — we react quickly to recover lost RPM. That means increasing throttle (to add engine power) and lowering the collective (to reduce drag caused by the rotor blades). Pulling back on the cyclic, when moving forward, can also help recover lost RPM by transferring energy in the forward speed to rotor RPM (which is why RPM increases during a cyclic flare in an autorotation).

Lots of folks argue about which is more important and whether you need to do all three. I think rolling on the throttle is most important but will acknowledge that it doesn’t always resolve the problem. Lowering the collective usually helps.

Hold that Collective

While that is all well and good, I’d like to make this radical suggestion: is lowering the collective to recover RPM a good idea when you’re within 10 feet of the ground?

In this accident, the pilot heard the low rotor RPM horn “just before touchdown.” I’ll be generous and take that to mean anywhere within 10 feet of the ground. So he’s coming in for a landing. He’s already got his descent going and he’s either increasing power to bring it into a hover or he’s past that point and is reducing power gently to touch down. Either way, lowering the collective will cause him to descend faster than he already is. (It doesn’t say anything about rolling on the throttle; did he?) He’s less than 10 feet from the ground. The report goes on to state that he was able to bring it into a hover but was apparently lower than he thought (perhaps because of his collective work?) and touched a skid to the snow, causing dynamic rollover.

Low Rotor RPM Might Not Always be an Emergency

I’d like to argue that low rotor RPM is not an emergency situation when you’re very close to the ground.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? At less than 10 feet, you don’t need the RPM to keep you alive. Even if the RPM dropped to 0 when you were only a few feet off the ground, you’re not going to die. You’ll drop like a brick — a few feet. Spread the skids a little. I don’t even think the belly would touch the ground. If it did, the seats would collapse as designed and (literally) save your ass. We’re talking less than 10 feet here.

Instead of dealing with low rotor RPM when you’re less than 10 feet from the ground, doesn’t it make sense to ignore the horn and just land?

Remember, in an R22 or R44, the horn sounds at 97% RPM. In this example, he could still remain in flight with the RPM all the way down to 85%.

Let’s review. The pilot is at a critical moment of flight: landing, just before touchdown. The low rotor horn goes off, zapping his concentration. Instead of completing the maneuver he was almost done with, a maneuver that would put him safely on the ground, he switches gears to handle the sudden “emergency.” That reaction just puts him closer to the ground with him focused more on the RPM situation than the ground he could very well make contact with. As a result, he botches the landing, possibly distracted by a non-emergency “emergency.”

A side note here: I have witnessed a low-time pilot literally freezing up when the low rotor RPM horn sounded on landing. I was sitting beside him, horn blaring, in a hover 3 feet off the ground at a very high density altitude airport — 10,000 feet. His brain simply shut off. I repeated the words, “Just set it down,” three times before he snapped out of it. There was no danger, but the damn horn sent him into some kind of mental seizure. If that happens in cruise flight, he’s definitely dead.

The horn is scary. We’re trained to react to it. But is low rotor RPM recovery always the answer? I’ll argue that any time you’re very close to the ground, you need to think about the consequences of all of your actions before making them. Don’t react to an emergency that doesn’t exist.

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* Doing the math… I don’t have the details of the accident flight’s weight. But if you figure two grown men weighing at least 180 pounds each and seven 50-pound sled dogs in the back, you have 710 pounds for just the cabin occupants. A Raven I with minimal equipment weighs at least 1440 pounds. So that brings a total of 2150 pounds. Add half tanks of fuel for another 150 pounds; that’s a total of 2300 pounds. The max gross weight of a Raven I is only 2400 pounds. So with my guesstimates, he was pretty close to max gross weight.

Now because I know the mentality of the helicopter forum participants who often lurk here (and then share their opinions about me in the forums they troll), I feel compelled to defend my calculations here instead of in the comments thread. (I don’t waste my time in the forums anymore.)

The dogs were “sled dogs,” which you’d expect since that’s the kind of dog most useful at “remote camps” in Alaska. They were later rescued by the Coast Guard, which airlifted them off Godwin Glacier after the crash. I’m estimating 50 pounds each, but they could easily be larger. Here’s a photo of them. (Frankly, I’m having trouble imagining seven 50-pound dogs crammed into the back seat area of a helicopter like mine. I’m also cringing at the thought of vacuuming all the shedded fur out.)

And yes, both the pilot and the passenger could have been Weight Watchers graduates weighing in at 140 pounds or less each. And they could have been wearing shorts and sandals. Or nothing at all. And there might have been only 10 gallons of fuel on board.

But my guesstimates are based on what I’ve experienced in reality. People are fat and like to bring unclaimed baggage, pilots like to take as much fuel as they can for missions in remote areas. It’s far more likely that the passenger was even bigger and had gear with him and the pilot had his tanks much closer to full than empty. But until the FAA releases more info — which is not likely, since there was no fatality in this accident — guesstimates are the best we can do.

Ebook Costs and Pricing, Part I: The Costs

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People need to understand the value of what they’re getting.

Kindle

Nook

iBooks on iPad

Today’s most popular ebook readers, in order of release: Kindle, Nook, iPad (displaying iBooks)

I have been long awaiting the ebook revolution. The idea of being able to store dozens or hundreds or perhaps even thousands of books on a device has always intrigued and excited me. If done properly, I could search book contents to find information quickly and easily. I could view full-color images that are part of the book’s content. I could annotate my copy to highlight or make notations about blocks of text. I could synchronize my digital library to access my books on any of my computers or reading devices. I could loan a book out to a friend — and be sure to get it back.

While people have been talking about and experimenting with ebooks for a long time, it’s only recently, through the introduction of modern ebook reading devices such as the Kindle, Nook, and iPad that the things I want in my ebook experience are becoming reality. That each platform supports a different collection of features is somewhat disturbing — for example, only Nook currently supports the [limited] lending of books, only Kindle currently supports a complete range of devices, and only iPad supports full color. But we’re getting there, slowly but surely. High quality, functional ebooks are no longer over the horizon. They’ve almost arrived. It’ll just take demands from serious ebook consumers to get everyone on the same page (pun intended) as far as features are concerned.

But there’s still a serious barrier to full-blown ebook acceptance by folk like me who want to be serious ebook consumers: pricing.

An Ebook is Not a Physical Product

The reality is that an ebook is not a physical product. It’s digital; it has no substance. Suppose you’re a Kindle user and buy books for your device in the Kindle format. What happens when that format changes and evolves? When the Kindle reader is improved to the point where the old format simply can’t be read on it? Or if the Kindle format dies completely? Think of all your VHS tapes and floppy disks. When was the last time you enjoyed using one of them?

Traditional printed books, however, have been around for over a thousand years, in one form or another. They have substance. They can line shelves or live in stacks on the floor. You can pick one up and hand it to someone else, who can then take it home with them and enjoy it. They can be sold as well as bought. They continue to have value after they have reached the consumer and the consumer has read them.

There’s also an undeniable cost associated with a traditionally printed book that is simply not part of an ebook. Paper is the obvious one — printed books are printed on paper. Paper costs money to buy. Printing costs money to complete — after all, it involves supplies such as ink and machinery such as printing presses, binding machines, cutting machines, etc. Other costs of printed books include the cartons they’re packed into (as well as the labor or machinery to do the packing), the buildings they’re stored or sold in, the transportation to move them from manufacturer to warehouse to retailer to customer.

Costs of Publishing

It’s important to note here that there are publishing costs that are shared by both printed books and ebooks. I need to review these, because in the arguments surrounding ebook pricing, many of these costs are overlooked.

Author
At the top of my list is the author, who needs to get compensated for her work. If the author can’t make a living as an author, she’ll stop writing. If all authors do this, there simply won’t be any new books — or at least none of any quality. Writing is a profession, like being a doctor or a carpenter or a baseball player. Who do you think does better work, the professional doctor, carpenter, or baseball player or the amateur? Professionals need to be paid for their work so they can afford to keep doing it. This makes it possible for them to hone their skills and be even better at what they do.

Editor
Although I may criticize the work of some editors — I am, after all, a writer, and that’s what we do — editors are critical to the production of a quality book. I’m talking here about all kinds of editors, from acquisition editors, who analyze markets and acquire authors and titles, to copyeditors, who make sure that the manuscript text is correct and easy to read. These people are also professionals who need to make a living. They need to be paid.

Designer
The need for design varies depending on the book’s format. At the very least, it needs a cover which must be designed. Ebooks have covers, too. If the book is formatted in such a way that it looks the same in print as it does as an ebook — for example, if it’s distributed as an ebook PDF — then it also needs a designer to determine what it should look like as far as fonts and white space and image layout goes. Then it also needs a production editor and layout staff to create the finished pages. Again, this isn’t always the case of ebooks — especially ones that are primarily text — but some amount of design will always be required. And that costs money.

Marketing
How do you learn about books? That’s what marketing is all about. It helps spread the word about new books. Without marketing, you wouldn’t know anything about the books out there. Now you might say that you heard about a book on television or on the radio or in a magazine in something other than an ad. But how do you think that particular form of communication learned about the book? Through press releases, review copies, release lists. Marketing. And it costs money.

Publisher
Publishers are also in the business of making money. So after a publisher has paid the author, editor, designer, and marketing staff — and handled all the other tasks of publishing, such as getting ISBNs, listing books in published book databases, registering copyright, and learning about publishing trends — there must be money left over to add to that bottom line. In the world of ebook publishing, the publisher is the one that stands the greatest possibility of being eliminated. But think of a publisher as a packager — they’ve got the resources to create the book and get it into the hands of readers, no matter what format they’re reading it in. There’s value there and it would be a shame to see it lost.

Retail Distribution
Transportation costs aside, there’s always a cost of distributing a book. Retailers are in business to make money — they’ll get a cut of every book sold. That’ll likely range from 10% to 60% of the book’s retail price. This compensates them for their “brick and mortar” building (think traditional bookstore) or Web-based shopping service (think Amazon.com’s programmers and servers, and don’t forget their warehouses for print books).

These are just some of the costs of publishing that must apply to both printed and electronic books. So when you look at the price of the book, remember that that’s where the money you pay is going.

Don’t fall into the common trap of thinking that because an ebook isn’t printed on paper it has no cost. That is simply not true.

More to Come

Ebook Costs and Pricing
Part I: The Costs
Part II: The Pricing

In Part II, I’ll continue this discussion with a review of current pricing realities and offer my thoughts on some pricing strategies for publishers that can satisfy consumers and remain profitable.

Until then, I’d really like to get some feedback from readers, especially those in the publishing industry. What costs have I omitted that apply to both printed books and ebooks? How about costs that are ebook only? Enlighten us.

I Love Blog Comments Here

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But I hate spammers.

There’s nothing I find more rewarding about this blog than to check the comments held for moderation and find some comments from a reader that really add value to what I’ve written. These reactions are part of why I blog. I want to start a dialog with my readers, I want to learn from them and see their points of view.

Often, I find interesting blogs or Twitter friends among my commenters. I’ve even built relationships with commenters — fellow author Miraz Jordan is a good example — I met her when she commented on my blog years ago. We’ve been friends since then and even co-authored a book together.

I see the comment feature as a way of opening my world to my reader’s worlds. What they say gives me an idea of what they’re thinking, what they’re all about.

Sadly, Comment Moderation is Required

Comments on this site are moderated. There are two main reasons for that:

  • Spam happens. I use automated spam filters, but spam gets through. Spam, in a blog’s comments, are unslightly and unprofessional. They indicate that the blogger isn’t taking care of his or her blog. I take care of my blog. I approve every single comment before it appear on this blog.
  • Some people are abusive jerks. As I wrote a while back in “Why Forums Suck…,” common courtesy appears to be a thing of the past. Online, people say whatever they want to whoever they want, sometimes rudely and abusively. I do not tolerate that behavior here*. Rude personal attacks on me or another commenter will not see the light of day. (And, for the record, I didn’t want to use the word jerk at the beginning of this bullet point. The word I wanted to use was a bit stronger and far less ladylike. I’m trying hard to keep my language more civil these days.)

When I’m in my office or have access to the Internet on my iPad, I check comments throughout the day. I almost always approve or reject a comment within 24 hours and, if I’m sitting at my desk, it could be within minutes. So although moderation doe slow down the dialog, it does not bring it to a screeching halt.

Don’t Think You Can Fool Me

I should elaborate a bit on the spam issue. I also don’t tolerate spam masquerading as a real comment. I’m talking about comments that are obviously hand-written (as opposed to bot-posted) and do add something of value to the original post. But instead of entering his name, the commenter enters his company name. And, of course, there’s a URL in the appropriate field, pointing to the company Web site.

That’s spam.

I handle that kind of comment one of two ways:

  • If it has no real value to the post, I simply mark it as spam and delete it.
  • If it has some value to the post, I remove the company name and URL and approve the comment.

What am I getting at here? Well, if you want to use the comments feature on my blog to get people to visit your site or blog, you need to enter your name (not your company name) in the Name field and compose a real comment that adds value for other readers. Then, when you put your site or blog URL in the URL field, it’s likely to remain and you’ll get the link you want so badly. Consider it a cost of advertising.

I’ve disabled the CommentLuv plugin because it was attracting so many spammers.

June 30, 2014 Update
I’ve finally gotten around to writing up the site comment policy on a regular page (rather than post) on this site. You can find it here: Comment Policy.

You can read my complete comment policy here.

Got something to say? I hope so! Use the Comments link or form for this post to share your thoughts.

—
Note: In the past, I have tolerated abusive behavior and it quickly got out of hand. Do you want to see how nasty some people can get? Check out this post‘s comments. And those commenters are supposed to be “good Christians” (whatever that means). And please don’t think you can comment on that post here. You can’t.

Hitching a Ride in a Helicopter

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Looking back, I realize this was a bit over the top.

I’ve been wanting to blog this story, but a lot of time has gone by and it’s a bit stale in my mind. It is something I want to journalize so I can remember it in years to come. Since that’s mostly what this blog is about, and because a Twitter friend showed some interest in reading it, here it is.

It was April and I was planning to spend a few days down in our Phoenix apartment. I’d already paid for my monthly hangar rental down at Deer Valley Airport (DVT) and figured I’d fly the helicopter down and put it in the hangar in case I got any calls for flights while I was down there.

My faithful Toyota was sitting in the airport parking lot, waiting for me. A true “airport car,” I left it there so I’d have something to drive when I flew in. My to do list for the upcoming month included driving it home and stowing it for the summer, when it wasn’t needed. (No sense in letting the poor thing rot out in the sun.)

I pulled the helicopter out of my Wickenburg hangar with a golf cart I have just for that purpose and parked it on the ramp. I unhooked the tow gear and disconnected the ground handling wheels. I put the golf cart and tow bar away. I parked my Jeep in the hangar, too, and locked it all up. I was good to go.

I did my preflight and climbed on board. A few minutes later, the engine was running and the blades were spinning.

And then my Aux Fuel light came on. The circuit breaker had popped out.

Let me take a moment to explain what this means. A Robinson R44 Raven II is fuel injected. It has two fuel pumps. One is the engine-driven pump which is the primarily means of feeding the engine when the engine is running. The other is the auxiliary fuel pump, an electric pump that’s used to prime the engine and as a back up in the unlikely event that the engine-driven pump fails. It’s a secondary system. If it fails in flight, the helicopter will continue to run.

I have a history with Zero-Mike-Lima’s auxiliary fuel pump dating back to the day after I picked it up at the factory. Back then, I educated myself about the system to troubleshoot a popping circuit breaker problem. My thorough knowledge of the fuel system helped me out on an FAA check ride 2 years later when the circuit breaker popped again. I got the fuel pump replaced right after that incident, when the helicopter was only two years old.

The fuel pump had begun giving me problems a few weeks before — but I didn’t recognize it, at first, as a problem. Circuit breaker had popped during a tour in the Phoenix area. I (incorrectly, it appears) assumed that the front seat passenger had knocked the circuit breaker out with her sandals. Okay, so it was a stupid assumption, but since it didn’t pop again when I pushed it back in, what else could I assume?

On another flight a week or so later, it happened again. That’s when I realized the pump was acting up again and would likely need replacement soon. Fortunately, I still had the old one. I did some checking around and learned that the manufacturer could rebuild it for about 60% of the cost of a new one. Since saving $600 on a like-new part sounded like a good idea to me, I sent it off to be rebuilt and kept my eye on the situation.

Well, the situation came to a head that day on the ramp at Wickenburg. As I sat there, blades spinning, looking at that warning light, a few thoughts went through my mind:

  • If I flew down to Deer Valley, there was no one there to fix the fuel pump. If it completely failed, the helicopter would be stuck there.
  • If I left the helicopter in Wickenburg, my mechanic there could replace the fuel pump when the rebuilt one arrived. After all, he’d replaced the last one.
  • I really didn’t want to drive down to Phoenix. I already had a car there and my husband, Mike, already had two cars down there. Besides, it was a long drive.

I knew what I should do. I cut the throttle, flicked the Clutch switch off, and shut down.

While I was doing this, a helicopter flew in to the airport and landed at the fuel island. It was a MD helicopter that looked like a 500. I didn’t know who it belonged to, so it wasn’t someone local. That meant when the pilot was done fueling, he’d likely leave. It was late in the day. Maybe he’d go home. He was flying a helicopter. There are lots of helicopters based at Scottsdale, which is near Deer Valley. Maybe Deer Valley was on the way home for him. Maybe he could drop me off.

This gives you an idea of the way I think. I have a problem, I immediately consider all kinds of options — including wacky ones — as a solution.

Could I ask a perfect stranger to fly me to Deer Valley Airport in his helicopter?

Nah.

My blades slowed to a stop. I got out and looked at that helicopter by the fuel island.

Why not?

I walked over to the pilot, who was now out, messing with the hose. He was about my age — maybe a bit older — and looked friendly and easy-going in jeans and a casual shirt. He reminded me a bit of the two Hughes 500 pilots who lived in Wickenburg. Regular guys who just happened to own turbine helicopters.

After the usual, “Hi, how are you doing?” greeting, I asked, “Where are you based?”

“Stellar,” he replied. Stellar Air Park was a private residential/commercial airport in Chandler, south of Phoenix. Wickenburg was north of Phoenix. This was looking promising.

“You’re not going home from here, are you?”

“Well, I was just out tooling around the desert. Why? What do you need?”

I explained my situation.

Before I could ask for a lift, he said “Sure, I can drop you off at Deer Valley.”

“That would be great. I just need to put the helicopter away.”

I hurried back to my hangar and fetched my tow gear. Ten minutes later, the helicopter and tow gear was all put away again and the hangar was locked. I left my Jeep parked on the ramp outside my hangar door. I got to the helicopter at the fuel island just as the pilot finished fueling.

We introduced ourselves and he told me to hop in.

I climbed on board. It really was a climb. 500s have long legs. I maneuvered into the passenger seat with the cyclic stick between my knees and stowed my small bag behind me. He climbed in the other side.

The aircraft’s panel looked brand new, with glass cockpit instrumentation. I said something idiotic like, “Great panel. Did you have it redone?”

“No. The helicopter is new.”

That’s when I realized it wasn’t the same model as the Hughes 500s my friends flew. Theirs dated from the 1970s.

“It’s not a 500?” I asked.

MD 500f

This wasn’t the helicopter I flew in, but this is the same model. Photo from the MDHelicopters Web site.

“No. It’s a 530.”

I sat back as he started up. First, the rapid click-click-click of the igniter. Then the woosh as the jet fuel lit. Then the familiar whine as the jet engine spun up and the blades picked up speed over our heads. If there’s one thing I like about turbine helicopters, it’s the sound of the engine startup and the smell of burning JetA.

The flight to Deer Valley was uneventful. We talked about mutual friends — he knew one of my Hughes 500 pilot friends in Wickenburg and had heard of the other. We talked about places to fly. He was also an airplane pilot and had already flown much of the state — and then some. There was no place new I could suggest.

He offered to let me fly but I turned him down.

He was smooth on the controls and had the same low-flying habit the rest of us desert explorers have. (Once we know where the wires are, it’s not uncommon for us to cruise just a couple hundred feet over the empty desert floor.) He told me he’d never flown into Deer Valley, so I filled him in on what I usually do and where I park. He came in from the north, crossed over the top as instructed by the tower, and set down on one of the two helipads in front of the terminal. I grabbed my bag from the back, thanked him several times, and climbed out. He lifted off just as I got to the terminal gate.

It wasn’t until later that I gave the whole thing some serious thought. Did this qualify as hitchhiking? If so, what would my mother say?

On Truck Problems and Unbelievably Good Luck

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They say we make our own luck, but how could I in this case?

I’m up in Central Washington State on a number of cherry drying contracts. My only means of transportation — unless you want to count my bicycle — is my husband’s 2001 Chevy Duramax Diesel pickup. It’s a great truck, well cared for and very reliable.

The other day, I started noticing that it was having trouble starting. It would start, but it needed more cranking than usual. I attributed that to my bad habit of listening to the stereo with the engine off while working on the helicopter. I figured that if I stopped doing that, the problem would go away after my next long, battery-charging drive to Wenatchee or Ephrata to fill the transfer tank with 100LL.

Yesterday was my big errands day. The weather was supposed to be good. I planned to do my laundry at 7:30 AM, then head up to Wenatchee to get some fuel, a new mattress for the RV, and some groceries. And maybe some sushi for lunch.

These grand plans came to a grinding halt when I turned the key in the truck. I waited, like a good girl, until the glow plug indicator (a diesel thing) had gone out, turned the key, and got the sound of an almost dead battery trying in vain to crank a diesel truck engine. Not enough juice.

Of course, I tried it a few more times. It just got worse.

I dialed my husband in Arizona. I figured I’d ask him if he’d ever experienced this kind of problem before and whether he had any tips on how I should start troubleshooting. But he wasn’t answering his phone.

And that’s when my next door neighbor here at the campground appeared, standing at the front of his travel trailer, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Having trouble?”

He’d heard the dismal cranking sound and had come out to see if he could help. I produced a pair of jumper cables — the Girl Scout motto is “Be Prepared,” after all — and opened the hood. But instead of him pulling his pickup over to mine, he walked over with what looked like a brand new car battery. He put it on the ground beside the truck. Then he went back to his truck and came back with a battery tester. He tested both batteries in my truck. (Yes, it has two.) “They’re both a little low, but they should be okay. Sometimes it’s the connections. A loose wire or a gunked up terminal. Then the battery doesn’t charge right. You have terminals on the sides, but the ones on the top are better because they’re easier to keep clean.” He went on in the same vein, telling me more about car batteries than I ever wanted to know.

It was then that I remembered what this man did for a living: he traveled around the northwest, collecting and recycling car and truck batteries. In other words, he was a car battery expert.

How could I be so lucky?

We jump-started the truck from the battery he’d brought over and let it run for a while. That confirmed that the problem was not the starter. He pointed out where the connections could be a problem. I shut off the truck, then turned the key and restarted it. I asked him where I should go to get it fixed. He told me that if I took it to a car place, they’d probably try to sell me another battery, which I didn’t need. He was pretty sure I just needed my terminals cleaned. He said he could do it.

A Bad BoltTen minutes later, he was pulling off the terminal connectors and cleaning them with his wire brush. (For the record, I also had a wire brush in my toolbox.) One connector had quite a bit of corrosion — it might have been the culprit all along — and needed to be replaced; he pulled a new one out of his truck and did the job. (Do you know anyone who keeps new terminal bolts for side battery connections handy? Can you say Maria is lucky?)

We chatted while he worked. We talked about the geology of the area. He collected petrified wood and knew all about the Missoula Floods that had carved coulees through the volcanic rock of the area. “You should see them from the air,” I said.

“Yeah, that must be great.”

“When you’re done, I’ll take you and your wife.”

Ancient LakeSo when he was finished and I had everything put away, he followed me to the ag strip where the helicopter is parked. I had to do some interior reconfiguration — remove my helmet and the oil bottles under the front seat that I’m using for ballast, add headsets — and then we all climbed in. I took him and his wife for a 20-minute flight around the area that included downtown Quincy, Crescent Bar on the Columbia River, Quincy Lakes, the Gorge Amphitheater, and Frenchman’s Coulee. Along the way, I learned that he and I had the same birthday (different years) and that he’d won a helicopter ride when he was a kid in the late 1950s. He took pictures and said he’ll send me copies.

I really appreciated the way he stepped up and offered to help me with my truck problems. It’s nice to see that there are still people who are willing to come to a stranger’s assistance when they can. Most people couldn’t be bothered. Or they’d worry about liability.

He really appreciated the helicopter ride. He wouldn’t take any money for the parts or his hour or so of time in making the repair. This morning, before he and his wife headed out to their next campground, he stopped by to thank me yet again.

But it was me who needed to thank him again. Not only had he fixed my truck for free, but he’d given me a good excuse to go flying on a nice day — for a change.