Getting Closer

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I have my first official FAA inspection as part of the Part 135 Certification Process.

An FAA inspector from the Scottsdale FSDO came up to visit me in my hangar yesterday. His name is Jim and he’d been up once before, just to introduce himself, when he was passing through on his way to Scottsdale from another airport.

Jim formally inspected my helicopter for compliance with the equipment requirements of Part 135. He came into the hangar, looked over the helicopter from the outside, and poked his head into the cockpit, for a good whiff of that new helicopter smell and a look at the instruments. He spent a considerable amount of time reading the fine print on the fire extinguisher, so he knew exactly what kind it was.

Next, he looked at the Hobbs Book I keep in the helicopter. The book has several sections.

One section lists aircraft time flown, by date. I use the same pages to record revenue, expenses, and fuel and oil added for each flight. I’m trying hard to keep a good record of my direct costs and revenues for this helicopter in an effort to improve my business.

Another section lists upcoming maintenance items by hours due and/or date due. Jim suspected that I may have left out some ADs, but when I checked with Ed later on, the page was correct and complete. I also learned that the annual inspection date is based on the Airworthiness Certificate date for a new aircraft. That means I don’t need an annual until next January (rather than December). AN extra month to keep that money in my pocket. But Jim suggested that I have every 100 hour inspection signed off as an Annual so I don’t get stuck doing an annual only 20 or 50 hours after the previous 100 hour inspection. Makes sense to me.

Another section of the Hobbs book provides a form for listing squawks. A “squawk” is a potential problem with an aircraft that must be resolved before the aircraft can be flown. For example, suppose I find a leak in my gearbox when doing my preflight. I’d write it up and make sure Ed looked at it and took care of it and signed off on it before I flew. Jim liked the form I’d come up with, which was based on a form I found on the Atlanta FSDO’s Web site.

Another section of the Hobbs book is my pilot duty log, a document I’m required to keep for the FAA. My “duty time” is limited by law and the record clearly indicates how many hours I’ve flown to ensure that I don’t fly too much. Not likely in Wickenburg.

The last section of the book has financial stuff: a folder for receipts, calculations of prices with tax (for easier billing), etc.

Next, Jim checked out the documents I store in my new cabinet, including the Maintenance Manual and Log Books. He went through all log book pages — there wasn’t much there in such a new helicopter — and pointed out a recurring item he though I’d omitted from the upcoming maintenance page. (I hadn’t; it was there.) I think he was pleased to see a copy of the 2005 FARs on the shelf, too.

Finished with the official stuff, we chatted about aviation-related things in general. I showed him my new sign and told him I was waiting for certification to hang it up because it includes the word “Charter.” He told me a funny story about a new Stinson pilot he knew years ago who made a Mayday call to the tower at an airport while she was still on the ground. (I tried telling the story to Chris later on (he owns a Stinson) and I mangled it. Some jokes I can tell, others I can’t. This one I obviously couldn’t tell.) Then we shook hands and he left for the long drive back to Scottsdale.

According to Bill, who is in charge of the certification process for me, we’re getting much closer. There are a few things I need to fix in my compliance statement and my MEL needs a lot of work. He has to come up and do a base inspection. I think that means he’ll be coming up to the hangar to make sure I have all my pilot records in order. (Too bad Jim couldn’t do that. But it wasn’t his department.) I also need a check ride with Bill, who was just signed off for R44s. (It’s scary that I’ll have more time in an R44 than my check pilot.) Then the paperwork can be wrapped up. The only thing I still need to do is my drug/alcohol program, and that’s in the works.

If things keep moving along, there’s a good chance I’ll have the certification done by month-end, or at least the end of the first week in February. And then I can hang that new sign.

Old Stuff

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I re-read some very old work.

I just spent an hour re-reading portions of a novel I was working on back in the 1980s.

The files are on my laptop and I know how old they are because I read the creation date of the files — August 1989 — and know for a fact that they date before that. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, they were originally written in longhand on yellow legal pads when I had my first job, right out of college. That would set the date at around 1982 or 1983. More than twenty years ago.

I probably typed them into my first computer, an Apple //c, not long after I bought it in 1984. I used AppleWorks back then. Then, when I bought my first Mac in 1989, they were probably among the batch of files I transferred from the Apple //c to the Mac IIcx via a specially-constructed serial cable as an upload into Microsoft Works. Somewhere along the way, I converted most of the files to Word format, but a few of them are still Works files. Word will open them, but there are a lot of extraneous characters that need editing out to make the work really readable.

I don’t really want to discuss the work here. I will say that it’s one of several novels I never finished and it really isn’t bad. It isn’t good, either, though. I know there’s more to it — still on yellow legal paper — somewhere in a box downstairs. I remember reading it not long ago when I was cleaning out a closet. It was never typed into AppleWorks. I probably lost interest in the piece before the typing was done.

I typed much slower in those days — only about 20 words per minute — and I remember how tedious all that typing was. I’m much faster now — probably 80 to 100 words per minute — and I actually type much faster than I write longhand. Maybe someday I’ll finish typing it all in, just so I can have some more aging computer files to look back on.

My PowerBook has just about all the fiction I’ve ever written and put into digital format stored on its hard disk. The backup is on my desktop Mac back at my office and on my iDisk storage space. I don’t write fiction in the office. And I don’t write computer books on my laptop.

Of all my fiction, I’ve only put one short story online. It’s a story about some of the characters from yet another unfinished novel. A back story, turned into a short story. I have a bunch of those back stories, but the one I put online is the only one I wanted to share with others. That story is also old — at least 5 years, according to the creation date of the file on my laptop. But then again, that might not be the original file. It could be older. Maybe I should date my work so I can tell how old it really is, even after file creation dates get changed by software updates and the like.

I think I’ll dig out those yellow pad pages again. I’d like to read the rest of what I wrote.

A Busy, Educational Day

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I spend Monday flying all over Arizona and taking care of odd jobs.

I think I have the flying bug out of my system, at least for a while. I should. I spent about 4 hours in the air yesterday.

I started out with a flight to Prescott. It was time for my annual medical. As a commercial pilot, I need a Class 2 medical certificate, which must be renewed every year. January is my renewal month.

These days, I go to Dr. Ritter at Prescott airport. (I used to go to Dr. McCarvel — whose name I probably just misspelled — down in Phoenix, but that’s another [weird] story.) Dr. Ritter’s office is right across the road from Prescott tower. Although I could land on the ramp behind his office, I decided to fly in to Guidance Helicopter’s ramp on the other side of the airport. I keep my 1987 Toyota MR-2 in the parking lot there and I hadn’t driven or even seen it since I brought it there from the Grand Canyon in October. I figured it was high time to see if it 1) was still there and 2) still ran. Besides, I had to talk to John Stonecipher, who runs Guidance, about a number of things. And heck, it’s always nice to show off a new helicopter where helicopter pilots will see it.

So I flew into Guidance and parked on the ramp. I was running late, so I just gave Lisa and the guy in the office a quick hello, telling them I’d be back in an hour or so. My Toyota was right where I’d left it. I got in, removed the sunshades, and turned the key. The darn thing started right up. The engine sounded like the car was staying, “Hey! Finally! Where the heck have you been? Let’s go!” I love that car.

Although Dr. Ritter’s office is right across the airport, you can’t get there from Guidance. Not on the airport property, anyway. You have to go out and around. In fact, you have to get on a highway (the Pioneer Parkway) and get off at the first exit. It’s about a 10-minute drive, with traffic lights.

I’d been worried about my medical this year. Last week, I stopped by the blood pressure machine at Safeway and put my arm in. The number it came up with was a bit on the high side. Dr. Ritter always seems to find my blood pressure high, even when Dr. Miller here in Wickenburg doesn’t. Maybe it has something to do with elevation. (Wickenburg is 2400 feet; Prescott is 5000 feet.) Anyway, I figured that if I saw it high down in Wickenburg, Dr. Ritter would see it high up in Prescott. And with a new helicopter to pay for, I couldn’t afford to have any questions about my medical certificate.

So I was nervous that Monday morning in Dr. Ritter’s waiting room. Nervousness doesn’t do anything positive for blood pressure, either. And the thought of that was making me more nervous.

I wasn’t the only person waiting. Dr. Ritter does a booming business. In the hour I was there, he saw at least 10 people. At $75 to $95 each, that’s not bad. He has a receptionist who gives you the form you fill out, gives you a cup to pee into, and retrieves the cup when you’re done. His son Garth takes your blood pressure. Then the doctor himself spends about 5 minutes with you, checking your eyesight, listening to your heart, and taking your blood pressure.

Yes, the doctor took my blood pressure, too. When Garth did it with the machine, the numbers he came up with didn’t make sense. At least that’s what he said after he did it the first, second, and third times. Seemed I had a nice slow pulse rate but high blood pressure numbers. “Better let the doctor do it,” he told me, leaving his form blank.

Of course, that only made me more nervous.

But in the doctor’s office, the nervousness subsided. He took my blood pressure and the numbers must have been good. I didn’t ask what they were because I didn’t want to start a conversation about blood pressure. He said my pulse was soft and hard to hear. I’d heard that before when I gave blood, so it didn’t surprise me.

I discovered that my left eye sees better than my right eye and that my short vision is still very good.

I looked out the window while we were chatting and saw a huge hangar under construction. I pointed that out to the doctor.

“Yes, that’s mine,” he said proudly.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine how many aircraft it would take to fill it.

“Lease it,” he said. “Are you interested?”

“Could I put living quarters in there?”

“Sure.”

“That would be nice,” I mused. “Living at Prescott Airport with my helicopter.” Then reality hit me. “You must want a lot of money for it, though.”

“Six thousand a month,” he told me.

“I’ll pass,” I said. That’s all I needed. Another $6K of monthly expenses. I still wasn’t sure where I was going to come up with the $4K a month I needed to keep Zero-Mike-Lima.

Back in the waiting room, the receptionist was typing up my new medical certificate.

“I guess I don’t need this anymore,” I said, extracting my old medical certificate from my wallet.

“Would you like me to shred it for you?” she said, without looking up.

“I think I’ve already taken care of that,” I replied. She looked up and saw the mangled condition of the little piece of paper that I held up. I’d been caught in a rainstorm at the Grand Canyon over the summer and my medical certificate, which had been folded in my shirt pocket, had been soaked with the rest of my clothes. It was torn and barely legible. Everyone in the waiting room had a good laugh.

Mission accomplished. I was good for another year.

I drove my Toyota back to the other side of the airport. I went into the FBO, ordered fuel, and changed the N-number for my credit card record on file. This made it possible to order fuel for my helicopter at Prescott without coming into the FBO to pay or even hanging around while it was being fueled. Then I went into the restaurant for a nice breakfast sandwich: bacon, egg, and cheese on an English muffin. Sodium! Yum!

Over at Guidance, I chatted with John S about the drug testing plan I needed for my Part 135 certificate, a bird strike I’d had on Saturday, and miscellaneous other helicopter-related things. He brought me into the hangar to show me “R44 Pods” — skid-mounted storage units. They were very impressive, but very expensive: about $6K for a pair. He told me they make a golf-club sized pod that he hasn’t gotten yet. That interested me. One of the things I’ve been wanting to do is take golfers to/from Los Caballeros and valley golf courses via helicopter. I think that if I pushed hard enough, I could create a market for it. Right now, however, I don’t have time to push and, even if I did, I don’t have the $8K needed to buy the big pods.

After speaking with John, I called Paul Alukonis, my first flight instructor. He works for Westcor Aviation, down in Scottsdale, flying charters. I was going to Scottsdale later in the day but had time to kill. I thought I’d kill it down there with him, showing off Zero-Mike-Lima and having lunch at the airport. But Paul had the day off (it was ML King day) and was spending it with his family. When he heard what I had in mind, I think he was on the verge of saying that he’d come meet me. But I didn’t give him the chance. I’d show it to him another time.

So now I had at least three hours to kill before meeting George for some practice. I decided to spend it by putting a couple of waypoints in my GPS.

I took off from Prescott and flew north, to my property at Howard Mesa. I was quite pleased to see that the ugly double-wide across the street still had a For Sale sign in front of it. One of my biggest fears is that some weirdo, anarchist drug maker will buy the place, set up a meth lab, and fill the yard with junk. It’s bad enough I have to look at that double-wide. I sometimes fantasize about winning the lottery (which I do play relatively regularly) and buying the place, tearing out the double-wide to restore my view and using the excellent solar system for my own home on my own lot. They say the best way to assure that you like your neighbors is to buy their property. If only I had the money to do it. That place would be history. I’d have that doublewide towed away before the ink on the title papers dried.

I landed on the gravel helipad we’d put in over the summer. The weeds I’d sprayed with poison were dead, but still rooted firmly. There were patches of snow on the ground. It was 10°C and breezy. I set up a waypoint and named it HMESA. Then I spun up and took off. I headed out toward a house on the other side of the mesa where some people we met had decided to live year-round. It didn’t seem as if anyone was home. So I dialed Sedona into the GPS and headed southeast.

The flight to Sedona was pleasant. The closer to I-40 that I got, the more ice and snow was on the ground. A huge field that I-40 cuts through was so covered with ice and snow that it looked like a lake from the air, with the highway cutting through it on a causeway. I reached a small canyon where snow melt was running off. I followed the canyon as it grew, looking below me for waterfalls. I wanted to fly in the canyon, but didn’t have a chart handy and couldn’t be sure that there weren’t wires running across it somewhere. So I stayed above it and enjoyed the view from there. The wind was doing weird things over the hills and the ride got a bit bumpy. The kind of bumps that scare first-time helicopter passengers. Nothing serious. But it was the first bumpy flying I’d done in the new ship.

Sedona was pretty quiet. As I approached from the northwest, I heard a plane land and another take off. As I got closer, I saw one of the tour helicopters flying alongside the red rocks north of the airport. I realized that I could also apply for a summer job with that outfit. That would be plan E or F. I had to work through other summer job plans first. The Grand Canyon, I had already decided, would be plan Z.

I crossed over the top of Sedona airport and headed south, flying right beside Bell Rock near Oak Creek. There were tourists parked alongside the road below me and I wondered whether any of them took a picture of me. I also wondered how the red helicopter would look next to the red rocks.

I picked up the Verde River, which was flowing pretty good with brown, silty water, and followed it to Camp Verde. Along the way, I crossed over two paved runways that were not on my GPS. I saw the Montezuma Castle National Monument (or Park?) and got a glimpse of the cliff dwellings from the air. Someone had suggested hooking up the tribe that runs the Cliff Castle Casino near there for tours and that was high on my list of plans for a summer job. I think it was Plan C. A friend of mine who trains horses is living on a ranch in the area and told me I could park my trailer there. She’d train my horses while I gave rides for the casino and lived in the trailer. Now that may not sound glamorous, but if you remember that my main goal is to escape the worst of the summer’s heat, it doesn’t sound bad at all.

I followed the Verde to Red Creek, which is southeast of Payson. Red Creek has a landing strip and a few amenities that make it a nice place to stop for a picnic or camp overnight. I’d tried to arrange a heli outing there on Sunday, but no one could come. (Which is why I wound up going to Quartzsite; covered in another blog entry.) I landed on the strip, which was in terrible condition, and created a GPS waypoint I named REDCK. (With only five characters to work with, you get creative.) Then I took off and continued down the river to the first big lake, which was full. I hopped over the mountains there, crossed over the top of Carefree Skyranch, flew to Scottsdale Road, and made my approach and landing at Scottsdale Airport.

It was just after 1 PM. I had two things to do in Scottsdale. First, I needed to contact the avionics people at Corporate Jets to see whether they could program my GPS and Transponder to talk to each other. I had a Garmin 420 GPS and Garmin 330 Mode S Transponder in my ship. If they’re properly connected to each other and programmed, the transponder will take traffic information provided by ATC in metro areas and put it on the GPS as targets. I bought the system not because I was interested in seeing traffic on my GPS — although I admit that could be useful and was definitely cool — but because this was cutting edge technology that could increase the value of my aircraft when it was time to be sold. The problem is, Robinson Helicopter does not support this technology, so they don’t properly install the two units to work with each other. And they don’t tell you what they don’t do. For example, is it wired but not programmed? Or not even wired? This is what I needed to find out. I’d been advised to have a Garmin dealer attempt to program it to see what would happen.

I called and was told that the avionics guy would be right out. I waited. And waited. And cleaned the bubble. And waited. And got fuel. And waited. It was about 1:45 when the avionics guy drove up in a tug. He had the document I’d e-mailed to Corporate Jets the day before, but that was it. It described how to program the transponder, but not the GPS. So we went back to Corporate Jets where I paid for my fuel and he got the information he wanted. Then back in the tug for a slow ride to Zero-Mike-Lima. Then more playing with the transponder and GPS. The message on the screen clearly indicated that no traffic information was available. But the avionics guy said it might work in flight.

Meanwhile, 2:30 had rolled around and I was late for my other appointment in Scottsdale, to meet with George McNeil of Universal Helicopters for some practice autorotations. I’m taking my Part 135 check ride soon — maybe even next week — and I wanted some more practice before the ride. The avionics guy gave me a lift in the tug, and we passed George on his way out to get me. I swapped seats and went back to Universal’s offices with George. He said he we had to talk first.

“So we’re flying into Sky Harbor,” he said.

My eyes must have opened as wide as platters. I’d completely forgotten my request to do a landing at Sky Harbor, Phoenix’s busy Class B airport. “I forgot all about it,” I said. I gave him my excuse for forgetting: that I’d been so concerned with my blood pressure for my medical that I’d couldn’t think of much else. “Pretty lame excuse, huh?” I finished.

“Yes,” he replied.

“But it’s true,” I protested. “We don’t have to do it today.”

He talked me into it. And we reviewed what we’d have to do to cross all three runways and land at Cutter on the southwest corner of the field. And then we went out to the helicopter to do it.

It wasn’t really a big deal. We called into Phoenix’s north tower while we were still about 8 miles north. We were given a squawk code and I punched it in. George reminded me that we couldn’t enter the airspace unless we were given clearance, so I started to circle, I was about 1/4 through the turn when we got clearance to enter and hold short of the north runway (26). Before we got there, the controller pointed out an Airbus on final and asked me if I saw it. How could I miss it? I confirmed I saw it and he told me to cross the runway behind it and hold short of the south runways (25 L and R). That’s where it got tricky. There isn’t much space between runway 26 and runway 25R. It’s the amount of space needed for the terminals and roads to access them. So although I could have done a circle there, it would have been tight. George advised me to hover. So I brought it into a 500 foot hover, not far from the tower, switched to the south tower frequency, and told the controller I was with him. No response at first, just some instructions to other aircraft. I called again. After a moment, the controller (who must have seen me hovering outside his window) told me about a Dash 8 on final. I told him I saw it. He told me to pass behind it and proceed to Cutter, remaining south of the runway 25L. We landed without incident.

Piece of cake.

We departed to the south. I had some trouble getting altitude quickly for our transition over I-10, but I managed it. George took pictures of the Salt River, which was running. We headed out to South Mountain, got a frequency change, and dropped into the valley there. Then we headed west, flew past the casino, got more pictures of the Salt River, and headed north to Deer Valley, where we’d practice the autos.

The south tower controller at Deer Valley was crazed and told us to go around the airspace to the north tower’s territory. Once in the airspace, we did a steep approach to the compass rose, followed by a bunch of straight in autorotations and a bunch of 180 autorotations. Then we headed out to the practice area to try something I’d never done before: autorotation from a high hover. This required me to bring it into a 600 foot hover, then dump the collective, and point the nose down to gain airspeed. There’s an awful moment when you’re looking right down at the ground and it’s rushing toward you at about 60 knots. Then you nose up to hold the airspeed and finish up like any other autorotation. George did the first one and I did the next two. In a way, they were kind of fun. The only thing I didn’t like about them was the high hover stuff. I never did like coming to a hover way up in the air; it always feels as if I’m falling backwards.

We had some trouble getting back into Scottsdale. It appeared there was a new controller in the tower and he couldn’t handle the load. It wasn’t much of a load, though. As a result, we were stuck circling north of the airspace along with two airplanes. One of them was circling at our altitude, which made me very nervous. George doesn’t like flying low, but I’ll be damned if I circle in the same space as an airplane. So I brought it down to 500 feet AGL. We were stuck out there at least ten minutes. Finally, George reminded the tower we were out there and he let us in.

I paid George and accepted his ride back to Corporate Jet to settle my avionics bill. The GPS traffic reporting did not work, but it had cost me a hefty $90 for the avionics guy to spend 30 minutes fooling around with it. A minimum of one hour labor, I was told. I didn’t tell them what I was thinking: that I wouldn’t be back to Corporate Jet for either avionics work or fuel.

I took off from Scottsdale just after sunset. It was a quick flight home — about 35 minutes. It was pretty dark at Wickenburg, but I didn’t have much trouble getting the helicopter put away.

It had been a long day with lots of flying, but I’d learned a lot. And I’d had some fun.

I Make a Startling Discovery

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People actually READ these blogs!

This weekend, I met — in person and via e-mail — two people who mentioned these blogs.

The first was a man I met at Robson’s. I took him for a helicopter ride and he sat up front in the seat next to mine. He told me, as we flew, that he read what I wrote on wickenburg-az.com. Little alarm bells went off in my head. I said, “Then either you’re going to say nice things or you’re going to try to push me out of the helicopter.”

He laughed and he said that he agreed with much of what I had to say about Wickenburg. He said he was thinking of moving to Wickenburg but he hadn’t decided yet whether it was right for him. He said that the Web site and my blogs were very helpful. Later, I ran into him at Anitas, when we went out for dinner. He told me I needed to put my address on the wickenburg-az.com Web site so people could send contributions to support the site. Wow. I’ll have to do that this week. Hopefully, the people who don’t like what I write won’t track me down to throw eggs at my house.

The other person e-mailed me this weekend. He congratulated me on my helicopter acquisition and mentioned how much he enjoys the blogs. That made me feel pretty good.

I write these blogs as a sort of online journal. I don’t intend them to be informational or educational or entertaining. I just use them as a way to journalize my life. I like to think my life is interesting, but I’m sure it isn’t nearly as interesting as many people’s. I’m glad people find what I write here worth reading.

I have, in the past, been contacted by people who wrote to thank me for some piece of information I covered in my blog entries. For example, a month or so ago, a helicopter pilot who will soon be looking for his first “real” job, wrote to say that he found my commentary on my Papillon job very interesting. It will help him know what to expect when he gets his first job. Other people have used the Comments feature to share their thoughts — or in the case of one person, a correction — to specific entries. I like that because it helps share different viewpoints.

I’ll keep writing these blogs and I guess some people will keep reading them. And even if no one reads them, I’ll keep writing.

A Trip to Quartzsite

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I have a nice flight to Quartzsite and back with some pilot friends.

Now that I’ve got my new helicopter, lining up paying gigs to fly it is my top priority. I need to take in about $4K a month to cover its fixed costs, like the monthly loan payment, insurance, and the cost of that annual inspection. Owning a helicopter ain’t cheap, which is why I started Flying M Air in the first place. There has to be some revenue coming in. The R22’s costs were about half of this helicopter’s, so I need to earn twice as much money with this helicopter to keep it.

That said, I’m always on the prowl for possible flying gigs. This month is the “big month” in Quartzsite, AZ. A friend of mine, Ivan, said he and his wife did some barnstorming out there one season with a Hiller and did very well. That was years ago, but he seems to think that it can be done again.

For those of you who have never heard of Quartzsite, let me explain. This little desert town is on I-10 about 20 miles east of the Colorado River and Arizona border. It has a year-round population of about 1,000. But when winter comes, the snowbirds begin arriving in their RVs. They descend upon the town, taking up all the campground parking spaces and overflowing into the BLM land around the town. At its peak — the time of the big RV show in January — there are about 100,000 people within a five-mile radius of the center of town, with more on the outskirts.

What brings all these people to an otherwise boring piece of desert on the highway? Swap meets, mostly. The place turns into a giant flea market, with hundreds of vendors selling everything from small tools to RV solar solutions. There are also a few specific shows, like the RV show, the Main Event, and Tyson Wells Extravaganza (or whatever it calls itself). People are shopping all day, looking for great deals and things to buy and do. And a helicopter ride over the area is a real eye-opener to how the town spreads out.

The trouble is the landing zone. Although the town doesn’t seem opposed to landing a helicopter on an empty lot and doing rides — as long as I have a business permit — the owner of that empty lot might not be so accommodating. So I have to locate an appropriate landing zone, track down the owner, and get his permission. If he says no, I have to start the whole process all over again.

Of course, Quartzsite is completely surrounded by BLM land and it is possible to get a permit from BLM. But it takes 6 months — really! — for them to decide whether they’ll let you. And I don’t have six months.

I called Dick Cloud of Cloud’s Jamboree. Mr. Cloud owned a ton of land on the east side of town, on either side of I-10. His Jamboree was held annually for years and years. Then the State decided that Quartzsite needed another exit. They wanted to put it on Mr. Cloud’s land. So they condemned most of it, paid him off (I hope), and built the new exit. He’s left with only 6 acres on the north side and a trailer park on the south side. He moved the Jamboree to the Avi hotel on the Colorado River in the southernmost reaches of Nevada. He said he’d give me the permission I want, but he doesn’t have room for me. There are RV dealers on the six acres and not enough room for me. But he’s trying to buy some of the land back from the state. In the meantime, I asked him about helicopter rides on weekends at the Avi. He’s going to talk to the General Manager there and let me know. I wouldn’t mind spending every weekend on the Colorado River, especially if they set me up with a room and let me bring Alex the Bird.

Mr. Cloud got some wheels turning in my head, though. The land that had once belonged to him now belonged to the state. If I could get a permit from the state — much easier, I’m told, than BLM — I can set up on some land adjacent to his property. He’d mentioned a lot behind his trailer park, but I wanted more ideas before I made a trip down to the State offices in Phoenix. So that meant a flight out to Quartzsite.

After taking care of some odd jobs around my apartments this morning — including scrubbing a kitchen floor on my hands and knees (but let’s not go there, okay?) — I headed out to the airport. Mike was busy and had other plans, so I figured I’d track down Ivan and his wife and ask them to come along with me. Ivan was there, but he was busy with his Yak. Ivan, who used to fly helicopters, now flies antique airplanes at airshows, etc. The Yak is his plane, but he also flies L-39 jets for an outfit out of Deer Valley. He’d taken his Yak apart about 6 months ago to restore it and was working on it faithfully, every Sunday. This Sunday, his wife wasn’t with him and he was busy cleaning some parts. He said he wanted to come, but had to work on the plane. Besides, his wife’s sister was coming and he had to be home by 4 PM.

Next, I walked around the corner of Ivan’s hangar in search of Ray and Robbie. Their car was there, but only Ray was in the hangar. He was changing the oil on his often-flown and well-pampered Mooney. Robbie was doing things at home. They couldn’t come because he had to finish the oil change and Robbie had some big but unspecified plans for the afternoon.

I was beginning to think it was me, that no one wanted to spend 90 minutes in a helicopter with me.

I called my friend Keri and left a message on her answering machine. Then I drove to Screamers and bought a milk shake. Then I drove back to the airport. Chris, who has the hangar across from me, was just leaving. I went into the hangar, vacuumed Zero-Mike-Lima’s interior, and got the mysterious blood stain off the rear seat. (I’d been pretty upset when I’d seen it, but it came right off the leather with water and a paper towel. Phew!) Keri called back. She had a bad cold and although she wanted to come, she didn’t want to get me sick. I didn’t want to get sick either. Lance, her husband, had just returned from a hunting trip. He’d been up since 2 AM and wouldn’t be good company.

By this time, it was 12:30 and if I wanted to walk around a bit in Quartzsite while I was there, I had better leave soon. So I started hooking up Zero-Mike-Lima to its tow equipment.

I heard a sound behind me and looked up. It was Bill, a former helicopter pilot, whose wife, Nancy, flies an aerobatic Decathalon. He’d come to look at the helicopter. I asked him what he was doing at the airport and he told me that he and Nancy were planning to take a flight out over the desert to see which rivers were flowing and look at some biking trails.”How would you like to come with me to Quartzsite instead?” I asked. “I want to fly out there to look at some landing zones and could use a little company.”It didn’t take a behavioral specialist to realize that he was thrilled at the idea. “When are you going to go?” he asked.”As soon as I get this outside,” I replied.”Nancy’s putting fuel in the plane,” he told me. “I’ll tell her to put it away.” And then he was gone.

Zero Mike Lima at WickenburgI pulled Zero-Mike-Lima out of the hangar, grabbed a water bottle and the emergency kit, closed up the hangar, and towed Zero-Mike-Lima to one of the jet parking spots on the ramp. I had it all disconnected and was taking photos of it when Nancy and Bill showed up, all ready to go.

Ray showed up, too. His Hughes 500D is being painted in Nevada and should be back any day now. He wanted to look at my ship. He peeked into the cockpit and made a comment that told me he was impressed by the interior. (I don’t think people expect to see leather in a helicopter.) Then, obviously realizing that we were on our way out, he wandered back to the terminal.

Bill sat up front and Nancy sat behind him. I started up, giving Bill a narrative of what I was doing. Bill had owned one of the first Rotorways years ago, when he and Nancy lived in Scottsdale and only one airplane was based at the then tiny Scottsdale Airport. He used to fly his helicopter all over the place — even drop Nancy off at work. They’d bought the land that my house currently sits on and built what is now my neighbor’s house. There was (and still is) a landing area there and he routinely landed there with his helicopter. So he seemed pretty interested in what I was telling him.

We flew off to the west. The day was absolutely perfect for flying. Light winds, warm but not hot, clear blue skies. We zipped along at 500 feet above the surface, doing about 110 knots. I didn’t have GPS coordinates for Quartzsite, so I couldn’t punch it into my GPS and get the ETA info. I figured it would take about 45 minutes, though. We had full fuel and none of us were in a hurry. We had some nice conversation, talking about flying and swapping stories about flights. We talked about the things we passed over or near. It was nice having passengers who knew how to position the mike on their headsets so the voice activation feature of the intercom worked flawlessly.

I crossed over Eagle Roost Airpark and the two dirt strips nearby in Aguila. Oddly enough, a plane was just taking off from Eagle Roost — I didn’t think any of those people actually flew. Then Indian Hills in Salome, which was dead as usual. I adjusted course to follow SR-60 and descended after the ridge west of Salome. We flew over the Kofa Cafe, which has gone steadily downhill since it changed ownership two years ago but still seems popular with truckers. Then we passed over one trailer park after another through the valley. We hooked up with I-10, came through a pass, and saw Quartzsite spread out before us.

At QuartzsiteWe circled the town a few times. Nancy took photos with my Canon digital, which I’d left in the back. Remember, I was looking for landing zones. She took a perfect shot of Mr. Cloud’s property on the east side of town on the north side of the property. The RV sellers hadn’t filled it (yet) and there was a nice gate on the far east side that would offer easy yet restricted access to passenger. I could call Mr. Cloud back and offer to e-mail the photo with my proposed LZ drawn in on it. I also saw some land adjacent to Mr. Cloud’s property on the north side of the highway. I’d try getting a permit for that with the state later in the week.

Quartzsite Landing ZoneI also saw a perfect LZ with a “No Camping” sign in it (yes, I was low enough to read it from the air) and wondered how I could find out who owned it. (It’s not as if lot numbers were printed on the land like on a map.) I liked it because there was some grass on it to keep down the dust and no power lines in sight. it was also on a heavily-trafficked road with plenty of parking on the roadside.

We spotted all three landing strips in town, including the one on the Sectional Charts (now marked with a big X in the middle), the one everyone lands at (which has a slight dogleg in it), and the one the ultralights used which I landed at a few times (which now has palm trees planted near the edge). Bill kept telling us about a rock crushing facility he knew of beside the highway, but none of us could see it. I think it may have closed down since he’d seen it or, perhaps it was further west on the highway.

Since neither Bill nor Nancy were interested in getting out to stretch their legs, we departed the area, heading northeast. Rather than going straight back to Wickenburg the way we’d come, I decided to take them for a trip past Swansea, up the Bill Williams River, and back to Wickenburg via the Wayside Inn and Robson’s. A scenic flight. Let’s face it, the flight path along SR-60 from Wickenburg to I-10 isn’t exactly scenic.

Swansea from the AirI made several course adjustments before I thought I was following the right road to Swansea. I wasn’t. We ended up on the Bill Williams River, west of Swansea. We followed the river east. The river was flowing hard and had done some damage to farmland in the valley. Lots of silt. We came upon Swansea a few minutes later. There were a few Jeeps and ATVs on the roads there. I was very surprised to see that half the old worker’s houses had brand new metal roofs on them. It appeared that BLM was not only taking care of the place but it was restoring it. Swansea is one of my intended destinations from Wickenburg when I get my Part 135 certificate. Of course, I’m only two weeks into the six month application process, so I don’t even know whether they’ll let me land there with paying passengers.

We followed the Bill Williams River to the Alamo Dam and Alamo Lake. The lake was the fullest I’d ever seen it, with plenty of brown water coming in from Burro Creek and the Santa Maria River. We flew over the Wayside Inn, which had an airplane parked nearby, and up the Date Creek wash, which was wet in places but not flowing. Spotting some ATVs on the road, I “buzzed” them from a safe altitude, just to give them something to talk about. Then we headed toward Robson’s, where I repeated part of the tour I’d been doing the day before, crossed north of Forepaugh, where the RC airplane pilots were playing, circled Vulture Peak, and landed at Wickenburg.

I’d put 2.1 hours on the Hobbs meter and had two very satisfied passengers. Bill insisted on paying for the fuel to top off the tanks, but knowing what that would cost, I told him I only needed one tank topped off. He wound up paying for 18.3 gallons, which, at $2.89 per gallon, is more than generous.

As I put Zero-Mike-Lima away, I reflected on how successful the flight had been. I’d found three possible landing zones and had already established the means to get permission for two of them. There was a good chance I’d be in Quartzsite next weekend and I was looking forward to it.