Tag Archives: helicopters

Flying for Food

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Mike tries to arrange a group outing for lunch.

We were at Stan’s house on Saturday afternoon when Mike said, “Let’s go fly together somewhere tomorrow.”

Stan’s wife, Rosemarie, and Dave, another local pilot, were there. Stan flies a Cessna 182 and Dave just got a second plane, an RV-4, that he needed to build time in before he could take up passengers. Mike is half owner of a Grumman Tiger.

What followed was a discussion of various responsibilities the next day. We finally decided to meet at the airport at 1 PM and fly somewhere for lunch. The “somewhere” wasn’t decided.

On Sunday morning, during breakfast, Mike and I started to discuss where we could fly. We brainstormed and came up with a list of airports within flying distance that had restaurants nearby:

Restaurants on Field:
– Prescott
– Falcon Field (2!)
– Payson
– Kingman
– Deer Valley
– Glendale
– Scottsdale
– Chandler
– Winslow (weird hours)

Restaurants within walking distance:
– Seligman
– Valle
– Chiriaco Summit (CA)

Restaurants within free shuttle distance:
– Parker (restaurant at the casino)
– Bullhead City (restaurants across river in Laughlin)

Quite a selection. (Note that Wickenburg isn’t on this list. Why someone with a few bucks doesn’t build a restaurant on the field is beyond me. I know why I don’t do it: I’ve already been through the employer nightmare in Wickenburg and have learned my lesson.)

Sunday morning progressed. We had chores to do around the house. We even cleaned a small part of the garage! Then Mike made the fatal error of attacking the mistletoe that had begun killing some of our mesquite trees. (Mistletoe is a parasitic plant and, if not periodically cut out of the trees it infests, it’ll kill the trees.) It was hard work that required him to stand in awkward positions with a heavy saw over his head. After 45 minutes of that, he was too tired to do anything. Including fly.

That didn’t bother me. I wanted to fly anyway. I felt pretty confident that I could get to the destination around the same time as the two planes. Zero-Mike-Lima cruises at 110 knots, but I could easily push it to 120 knots with only two people on board. I’d already called Jim to invite him to join us with his Hughes 500c. Although he wasn’t sure he would, it would be nice to have two helicopters with the two airplanes. I was hoping we’d go to Falcon Field; I really love the Italian restaurant, Anzio’s Landing, on the southeast end of the runway. And there’s plenty of parking right out front.

By the time we got to the airport at 12:40 PM, the wind had kicked up a bit. It was blowing across the runway at about 8 to 10 knots. Airplane pilots don’t like crosswinds. When no one had arrived by 12:55, I got the feeling that Mike’s plan wasn’t going to become a reality.

Jim was already there, working on his Beech 18. He bought the Beech a few months ago in Florida and managed to leak 10 gallons of oil from one of its engines on the ferry flight back to Arizona. Since then, he’d been working on finding and fixing the leaks. He thought he had it taken care of when he flew out to Blythe for some touch-and-goes the other day, but the left engine was still oozing. A bad O-ring on one of the cylinders. He has to pull the cylinder to fix it. In the meantime, he’s begun pulling just about everything else. Last month, he pulled out the floor and replaced it. He’s now waiting for new runners on which to mount the rear seats. Yesterday, when we arrived, he was pulling instruments out of the panel and rearranging them in more logical positions. His helicopter was not at the airport. His wife, Judith, had already said she didn’t want to come with us, so Jim had decided to work on the Beech — something he could probably do for the rest of his life if he wanted to.

Stan and Rosemarie drove up right around 1 PM. I was talking to Jim when they pulled up, so I missed the beginning of their conversation with Mike. But the end result was that they’d come with us in the helicopter. Dave wasn’t coming. So a flight that started with potentially four aircraft ended up with just one.

Of course, with the helicopter, the list of dining opportunities increases. Helicopters don’t need no stinkin’ runway. There were at least five more places we could eat:
– The Wayside Inn, near Alamo Lake, is the destination for Flying M Air‘s “Hamburger in the Middle of Nowhere.”
– Robson’s Mining World, in Aguila, has a nice little cafe.
– Wild Horse West, near Lake Pleasant, has great burgers.
– The Kofa Cafe, out in Vicksburg Junction, used to be very good, but I haven’t been back since my first experience with the new owner.
– A truckstop on I-10 south of Vicksburg has a dirt strip out back where you can land and not dust the truckers.

Mike wanted to go to the Wayside Inn, so that’s where we went. You can read all about it in another blog entry. The food ain’t bad and the atmosphere is definitely different, especially if you live in a big city and don’t have much exposure to an off-the-grid lifestyle.

We flew by way of Robson’s, which was pretty quiet that afternoon. Robson’s big anniversary celebration is coming up on the first Saturday in January, and I think they get more visitors in that one day than they get all year long. I do helicopter rides out there during the event and it’s always a lot of fun. Then we followed Ballard Wash (I think) from its narrow start almost all the way to Alamo Lake. I circled the Wayside once, trying to find a flag to judge the wind, then realized there wasn’t much wind there and just set down in my usual spot near the intersection of two dirt roads and the old, unmaintained dirt strip. (If you ever fly out there in a small plane, I recommend landing on the road rather than the strip; it’s a lot smoother and better maintained.) I kicked up a huge cloud of dust that drifted to the east as I cooled down the engine and shut down.

We crossed the road and went into the restaurant. Everyone at the bar looked at us. “I knew it was you,” the waitress said.

“Yeah, well…” I said. Everyone laughed.

We had lunch among the fish photos and trophies. The place was relatively quiet. The last time we’d been in there with helicopters, a crowd had gathered and the restaurant was completely full. I guess having four helicopters and a plane parked outside is a bit of a draw to the locals. But that day it was just us and a man eating at the bar. A few people came and went.

We paid up and left. As I started up, a few people in ATVs parked at the end of the dirt strip, facing us, ready for a show. They were not rocket scientists. Not only had they parked right in front of me, forcing me to depart in a different direction so as not to overfly them, but they were close enough to get seriously dusted when I took off. I took off to the northwest, along the road to Alamo Lake.

We did a tour of Alamo Lake, then the Santa Maria River, and then Date Creek before heading into Wickenburg. It had been a nice little outing — even if we were the only aircraft to participate.

An Excellent Weekend

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And it ain’t over yet.

Flying M Air’s second big weekend of the season started on Friday morning, with a call from a man who wanted to charter the helicopter. The weather was cloudy and it had rained earlier in the morning. Although he wanted to go to Sedona with his daughter, he’d settle for Tucson. He decided to wait and see what the weather was like closer to noon.

When I hung up, I started doing some research on the weather. There’s no weather forecast specifically for Sedona, but I checked Flagstaff and Prescott, which are on either side of Sedona. (Sedona is closer to Flag.) Things in Flag didn’t look good. Clouds, thunderstorms, wind with gust up to 27. It looked like there might be a window of opportunity (so to speak) between 11 AM and about 3 PM. But even that was suspect — a forecast like the one I was reading usually doesn’t hold out. It seemed to me that multiple weather systems were going through the area, west to east, and that anything could happen.

But ceilings were forecast high enough for me to fly. I only need 500 feet AGL to get from point A to Point B — “clear of clouds” is what the weather minimums say for helicopters — and the forecast told of clouds at 2,000 feet AGL. That’s certainly enough room for me to move around beneath them.

Things looked better at Prescott. Higher clouds, earlier clearing, less talk of T-storms and wind gusts. But of course, Sedona is closer to Flag.

I worked for a while on my QuickBooks book, did some e-mail, goofed off on eBay. Then I got a call from Stan, who was back from a trip to Portugal. Stan’s Latte Cafe — my nickname for his hangar and its professional espresso machine — was opening for business in a while. Did I feel like a Latte? I certainly didn’t feel like working. So I hopped in the Honda (which I’d just picked up from a nice detailing that morning) and sped on over to the airport.

I wasted a good hour there, then headed over to my hangar to do some paperwork and collect the camera mount I’d bought for the helicopter. I wasn’t happy with the way the mount attached and had thoughts of going to Benner-Nauman (the local fabrication place) and having a custom piece built. I also had to drive out to Congress to put up some posters for the $25 helicopter rides I planned the next day.

I was just heading out toward Congress when my potential customer called again. I told him what I’d learned about the weather, but added that I’d checked more than two hours ago and the forecast could have changed. He was very interested in Sedona and I was very interested in taking him. He and his daughter, who were from out of town, had driven up I-17 as far as Carefree Highway and he wanted to know whether there was somewhere around there that I could pick them up. I told him about Turf Soaring School, near Carefree Highway, and he said they’d head over there. I told him I’d check the weather again and get ready. If he didn’t hear from me, I’d meet him at 2 PM or sooner.

That began a flurry of activity. Checking weather (which did indeed look better), creating my Part 135 flight plan, filing two flight plans with the FAA (one for each leg of the trip), picking up Alex at work, bringing him home, dressing in something more appropriate for flying customers around, pulling the helicopter out of the hangar, fueling up, preflighting, starting up, warming up, and flying down to Turf.

Turf is about 30 miles from Wickenburg and I made it there in .3 hours. I got there 1:45 PM, set down, cooled down, and shut down. My customer, Tony, and his daughter, Angela, were pleasant people who had already flown many times in R44s. Tony, in fact, was a part owner of one and, with his partner and a flight instructor, operated a small flight school in the Detroit area where he lived. After a quick safety briefing, we climbed aboard. Tony volunteered to sit in back. I didn’t think he’d have enough room back there — he was a pretty big guy — but he later told me that the back seat was very comfortable and had good visibility. (It was his first time in the back; I’ve still never sat in the back of an R44.)

We flew to Sedona via Lake Pleasant and I-17. My passengers found the flight interesting — the terrain was so different from their home. The further north we got, the cloudier it got. We could see rain showers off to our right or left and flew through some rain once right before reaching Sedona. The ceilings were high enough and the air was pretty smooth, considering the look of those low, puffy clouds. Things at Sedona were pretty quiet — it was, after all, a Friday, and clouds tend to scare off most Arizona pleasure pilots. I called the FBO for a taxi as I set down on the helipad and the FBO guy came out in a pickup truck to get my passengers. I walked to the terminal in the light drizzle that was falling. My passengers were already gone when I got there.

I ordered fuel, said hello to the few folks I remembered from my back-to-back Sedona flights in late July, and headed over to the restaurant. It was the first time I ever sat inside there. Usually, I sit out on the patio in the shade. But the rain had closed down the patio. I settled down with my book (I’m currently reading The Name of the Rose) and had lunch. Tony would call when they were ready to come back, sometime around 4 PM.

They didn’t last that long. I’d just finished lunch when he called. He said the taxi would take them right to the helicopter, so I hustled up to pay for lunch, pay for fuel (which was actually cheaper than in Wickenburg), and head out to the helicopter.

I had just finished stowing my stuff and checking the oil when my cell phone rang. It was my contact at one of the local guest ranches. She had five people who wanted desperately to go to the Grand Canyon. Could I help? I made a phone call to try to get a second helicopter to take the extra two guests. Then we climbed on board and, after a quick tour of Sedona’s red rocks — looking dramatic but not terribly red in the cloudy weather — headed back to Turf.

After dropping off my passengers (and collecting payment), I flew right back to Wickenburg. It was after 5 PM when I set down on one of the helipads. I was driving home when I started checking messages on my cell phone. My contact at the ranch had called again. So had the guy I’d called to try to get another helicopter. I waited until I got home, then called the guy to get the helicopter story first. Because they’d have to ferry the helicopter from their base of operations (30 minutes from Wickenburg), it would cost my passengers $2,700 for the round trip flight from Wickenburg to the Grand Canyon. Ouch!!! Their hourly rate was $550 (for comparison, I get $395 from Wickenburg and $495 from the Valley but don’t charge for ferry time) and they expected it to take 2.5 hours each way. I charge a flat rate of $995 from Wickenburg to the Grand Canyon and back. So the total, including tax, for both helicopters would be nearly $4,000. For five people. And neither of us were allowed to fly over the canyon (at reasonable altitudes), so the passengers would still have to shell out $75 per person for their tours. Egads.

I called my contact at the ranch and gave her the bad news. She was appalled. I think she realized what a good deal Flying M Air offers passengers. She said she didn’t think the passengers would go for it, but she also said that they were willing to have just 3 passengers go to the canyon. I told her I’d plan on it then and that I’d call her in the morning for the weights and names I needed for my Part 135 manifest.

I called and told the helicopter guy that it was a no-go for him. I also told him that they might want to consider coming up with some kind of industry rate so I could use them in the future. $550 per hour with $550 going right to ferry time is insane.

Then I had to juggle my schedule. The first thing that had to go was the $25 helicopter rides in Congress. It wasn’t a real planned event and no one was really expecting me there. I just thought I’d spend a few hours on the side of the road at the intersection of 71 and 89 with signs up to see how I could do. If I didn’t fly, fine. I had a book to read. And fortunately, I never had an opportunity to put out the posters. But I couldn’t reach my contact by phone because I couldn’t find his phone number in the book. He’s probably still wondering what the hell happened to me.

In the afternoon, I’d been scheduled to help out BC Jeep Tours, the local Jeep tour operator, with a big party they had from the same ranch. I called and asked if Mike could drive instead of me. He’s a better Jeep driver anyway, I told them (and it’s probably true). Cathy said it would be fine and wished me luck on my big charter. Poor Mike was leading a horseback ride in the morning for the Wickenburg Horsemen’s Association. After the ride, he’d have to hurry home with the horses, skipping the lunch they’d planned, so he could be cleaned up, dressed, and in the Jeep at the ranch by 1:30 at the latest.

The next morning, I called my contact at the ranch and got the information I needed about the passengers. If the weights were right (and they weren’t), I’d have a light load. But I never believe weights and assumed they’d weigh more. (Of course, they wound up weighing even more than that, but Zero-Mike-Lima could handle it.) I did all my flight planning and FAA-required stuff, then headed out to the airport.

Stan’s Latte Cafe was open and I joined the crowd there for a latte. Then I preflighted the helicopter, started it up, and flew it over to the fuel island for fuel. Normally, I wouldn’t fly it, but I figured that would be a good way to shorten up the startup time by having the engine pre-warmed before the passengers arrived. The ranch van pulled up to the airport as the fueler was finishing up. I greeted them in the terminal and showed them, on the big chart, where we were going. That’s also when I realized that they were a bit heavier than I’d been told. I was glad I’d taken on less fuel than the flight planning said I could.

My passengers were three German men. One man spoke English very well and was accompanied by his grown son. The other man didn’t speak English very well at all. But all were friendly and in good spirits. I gave them the safety briefing, speaking slowly and using lots of hand motions to make sure they’d all understand. Then we climbed on board. I started up and took off.

I planned to follow a direct route to the Grand Canyon from Wickenburg. The only way I can make money on this fixed-price flight is to keep the flight time as short as possible. Duats calculated flight time as 1 hour and 16 minutes, but that was based on 110 knots. With my heavy load and the climbs necessary to clear the Weaver Mountains and Mogollon Rim near Williams, I was lucky to get 100 knots. The route took us over Yarnell, between Kirkland Junction and Kirkland, east of Skull Valley, West of Granite Mountain and Prescott, west of Chino Valley and Williams, and west of Valle. In fact, much of the ride was over open high desert — mostly deserted ranchland. I pointed out points of interest as I saw them. The men were generally quiet, but occasionally spoke to each other in German. The man who spoke good English usually told me what they were saying or asked me a question related to what they were saying.

It took about 90 minutes to get to the canyon. It was a beautiful day and the air was smooth — until we got to the airport. Then the wind was variable with some small gusts. The tower cleared me to land along the taxiway — with a quartering tailwind — but I didn’t have any trouble with the landing. I set down on the helipad I used to land at when I flew to work at Papillon two summers ago. I cooled down, shut down, and escorted my passengers to the terminal, where they’d board their 12 PM flight on Grand Canyon Airlines.

They weighed in at the counter and that’s when I learned that the “200-lb man” was really a 240-lb man. So I figured that the total weight I was carrying was about 80 pounds more than the ranch folks had told me. I calculated for 40 pounds more. When I ordered fuel, I had only 15 gallons put on. With the airport at nearly 7,000 feet, I wanted to be as light as possible for departure. It least it wasn’t hot — the ATIS claimed 12¬?F.

While waiting for the flight, my passengers broke out their box lunches and I shared it with them. Sandwiches, cheese, fruit, chips, cookies, and lots of bottled water. One of the photographers I knew from Papillon showed up to take pictures. He remembered me and we spent about 20 minutes chatting about things at Papillon and the pilots I’d known there. Then they started boarding. My passengers got on line for their flight and my photographer friend went to work. I settled back in the sun with my book and a bag of chips.

The flight lasted nearly an hour and when my passengers emerged, they flashed thumbs up. We went back into the terminal so they could look at their picture (which they bought) and use the rest rooms. Then we all climbed back into the helicopter. I fired it up, waited a long time while it warmed up, then called the tower and took off. I had a quick beep from the low rotor RPM horn as we started our takeoff run (rusty pilot technique), but we had plenty of power and were soon climbing over the taxiway and then away from the airport.

The helicopter felt heavy at that altitude and vibrated like the R22 used to when I left Grand Canyon Airport with full fuel on board. I could barely get 90 knots at the allowed power setting of 21 inches of manifold pressure. But we had a tailwind and were making well over 100 knots ground speed. I decided to take my passengers back a different way, over Prescott and down the Hassayampa River. I fully admit this was more for me than for them. Flying in a straight line was downright boring.

We descended over the Mogollon Rim west of Williams and the helicopter immediately felt better. More normal, if you know what I mean. Understand that the vibration at higher altitudes when you’re heavy is perfectly normal. Or at least it was to me. I remember my trip in the R22 when I flew around the Grand Canyon Airspace. I had to cross the Kaibab Plateau, where it was necessary to climb to 9600 feet. Even though it was just me and my gear on board and I only had 3/4 tanks of fuel, that poor helicopter vibrated as if it were going to come apart at the seams. (Okay, so I’m exaggerating.) I felt a lot better when I could descend to a more reasonable altitude and the vibrations went back to their normal levels. The R44, on the other hand, has very few vibrations (compared to the R22) so they’re a lot more noticeable when they occur.

Along the way, my passengers showed a keen interest in every rock quarry we passed over or near. I learned that that was their business: making patio blocks out of concrete and rocks. They saw a few antelope just outside of Prescott. We flew around the west side of the airspace because the airport was so busy the controller told us to stay five miles out. Then we passed over the town of Prescott and headed down the Hassayampa River. When we got to the canyon, the man next to me said they were getting their own private tour of a little Grand Canyon.

As we neared Wickenburg, one of the passengers asked if we could fly over the ranch. So I did a fly-by for them. We landed at the airport and the van I’d called for when we were still 8 miles out was waiting to take them back to the ranch. They gathered their belongings, thanked me and paid me, and shook my hand. Nice guys. It was a pleasure to take them.

It’s Sunday morning now and I’m “on call” for the ranch this afternoon. So there might be more flying fun later today. In the meantime, I’ll clean up the helicopter after its two big charters and stay near my cell phone.

131 Passengers

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Maria Speaks Episode 16: 131 Passengers.

This episode is straight from my blog, Maria’s WebLog. It discusses how I spent the last weekend in October. It wasn’t a typical weekend.

Transcript:

It all started during a conversation with Tom at Gold Coast Helicopters in Glendale about 10 days ago. He mentioned that they were going to be giving helicopter rides at the Thunderbird Balloon and Air Classic. That’s a huge annual event that includes balloons, warbirds, aerobatics, rides for the kids, and all kind of vendors. The event usually draws over 100,000 people and it lasts from Friday afternoon through Sunday afternoon.

“You flying the JetRanger?” I asked.

“No, just the R22.”

An R22, as you may know, is a 2-place helicopter. I owned one for about four years. It’s a great little helicopter, but it has one big drawback: it can only accommodate one passenger. That’s the main reason I sold mine and bought an R44, which can accommodate three passengers.

“You’re going to lose a lot of business to couples and families who want to ride together,” I warned, knowing this firsthand. It was a frustration I used to deal with regularly.

What followed was me suggesting that I bring my R44 down and fly with them to take groups of 2 or 3 passengers. I had already tentatively planned to spend Saturday of that weekend in Congress, doing rides at the Trading Post there. But that was tentative and could be easily changed. Tom and I talked money and decided on a reasonable number. Then he told me he’d ask Bill (the owner) and get back to me.

He called the next day. I was up at Howard Mesa, waiting for the gas guys to arrive, and my cell phone battery was getting low. So we kept it short. Bill had said yes. I should come down and meet with them Thursday before the show.

I flew down to Glendale on Thursday and met Tom face to face for the first time. He let me fly their R22 to the other side of the ramp to reposition it — the first time I was at the controls of an R22 in nearly a year. (I didn’t embarrass myself.) We talked business. We talked people in the business. We knew a lot of the same people and a lot of the same stories that went with them.

He told me to come back on Friday for a meeting at 1 PM. The air show was starting that afternoon. I should tell the controller I was with the show. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t let me land on the ramp.

I was back the next day with my banners and signs and scale. I wasn’t sure what the GC guys had, so I brought along some of my gear. I had two yellow banners that said “Helicopter Rides” in big letters and some plastic signs that said “Helicopter Rides Today.” I also had my original A-frame sign that said “Helicopter Rides” with an arrow on both sides. I didn’t bring the flags.

I didn’t need the flags. GC had an excellent location for selling tickets. Their JetRanger and their other R22 was parked right in front of the terminal on the ramp. They had an EZ-Up set up between them with a table. My yellow banners decorated two sides of the EZ-UP and my A-frame sign went out in the aisle between booths, pointing in. It was a nice setup.

The airport was packed with other static displays of aircraft, as well as booths for food, aviation-related items, and a few simple rides for the kids. On the north end of the ramp was a parking area for the warbirds that would be participating in the air show. Beyond that was a ramp where 2 F-16s waited for their turn to fly.

There was some confusion, at first, over where we would base the helicopters. The place we thought we’d use was inside “the box” — the area set aside for aerobatics use. But we hopped in Tom’s car and drove around the airport, looking for another place. We found four. The best of the possibilities was right next to the F-16s. We went back and asked all the necessary people — five of them, I think — if it was okay to operate there. Then we talked to the Air Boss, who would be running the show while the airport was closed to traffic, and told him what we’d do. He assigned us call signs of Ride-Hopper-One (me) and Ride-Hopper-Two (the R22) and told us all he wanted to know was when we were departing and when we were returning. “Otherwise, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

F-16sWe had no problem with that. I repositioned my helicopter to the north end of the ramp and set it down beside the two F-16s.

Heritage FlightThe airport closed at 3 PM and the Air Boss took over. A bunch of the performers took turns practicing their routines. It was mostly aerobatic stuff. The kind of flying that makes you wonder why people think helicopter pilots are crazy. These guys, purposely inverting their aircraft and letting it go out of control in tumbling dives are the ones who are crazy. But it was pretty cool to watch, as long as you didn’t try to think yourself into the cockpit. There was also a bunch of tight formation flying, including a flight with the F-16 and two other fighters: the Heritage Flight. (Not a bad shot with my new camera, huh?)

The gates opened to the public at 4 PM.

I did two flights that afternoon with 2 passengers each. The route was about 12 miles round trip. I’d take off from the ramp and follow the power lines between the Glendale and Luke airspaces. Then I’d either go northwest along Grand Avenue to Bell Road or continue north toward Sun City (which is laid out in a bunch of circles that look pretty cool from the air). Then I’d loop around to the right or left and come back pretty much the same way I’d left. The ride ranged from 8 to 12 minutes. GC helicopters was selling them for $45 per person, which I thought was a little high. (I was eventually proved wrong.)

We did rides while the air show was going on. Since we never crossed into the performance area, there was no danger. It was really weird to see a performer’s smoke trail on the return flight to the airport. We also did rides during the brief period when they reopened the airport to regular traffic. One time, on the second day, the Spitfire, which had to make a right traffic pattern during performances, flew over us. My passengers loved it. Late that afternoon, the GC guys brought their R22 over and I think they did a bunch of rides, too.

Balloon GlowThen the sun set and the balloon pilots started setting up for the big evening event: the desert glow. By 6:30, 19 balloons were floating right over the taxiway, using their burners to light up the night. The ramp was open to the public and thousands of people were wandering around right beneath the massive envelopes. It was magic.

I flew home in the dark, disappointed by the amount of work I’d done. Four passengers was not enough to even cover my transportation costs.

The next day — Saturday, October 29 — was distinctly different. Mike and I blew out of Wickenburg at 5:30 AM to arrive at the airport by 6 AM. It was dark in Wickenburg — especially dark since a power outage had affected the airport and none of the lights there worked. But I took off into the dark and soon saw the glow of Phoenix ahead. At 6 AM, I was three miles outside of Glendale. I made a radio call, which was answered by airport management. They told me the airport was closed. I told them I was part of the show. They told me to use caution when I landed.

I set down between the R22 and 2 F-16s again. The rent-a-cop the Air Force had hired to watch their birds overnight was standing exactly where he’d been the night before.

The balloons were already inflating for their morning flights. This was when the balloon owners actually made money — they sold hour-long rides as part of the show. Mike and I had taken a balloon ride back in New Jersey at an event like this years ago. It was expensive but something everyone should experience at least once.

Balloon ClassicI started flying at 7 AM, when the balloons were just lifting off. They drifted to the west-northwest, toward Luke Air Force Base. My pattern was a bit more north, so although I flew between a few of them, most of them were to my south. The view on the return part of our loop was incredible — dozens of balloons hanging in the early morning sky.

I flew on and off throughout the morning. The R22 did, too. Then somewhere around the middle of the day, things got busy. I flew nonstop for several hours, taking a break for fuel and another break when the F-16s flew. (For some reason, they didn’t want us in the air while the F-16 were flying.) Just after sunset, after finishing my last ride for the day, I consulted the tiny notebook where I’d been ticking off the passengers. 84 passengers. Wow.

I had a little excitement just after that last ride. The show had included a pair of rocket powered cars that sped down the runway, drag-strip style. I was still in the helicopter, listening to the radio, when someone told the Air Boss that one of the rocket cars had gone off the runway. The Air Boss acknowledged his words, but said nothing else. The other guy came back and said, “Well, can’t you send someone down there to make sure he’s alright?”

“I have no one to send,” the Air Boss replied.

“Ride-Hopper-One is spinning with no passengers,” I said. “Do you want me to go down and take a look?”

“Could you do that?” the Air Boss replied.

“Will do.”

I took off and sped down the taxiway while thousands of spectators watched me. It was dark and my navigation lights and landing lights were on. I probably looked like a blur of lights to them. I got down to the end of the runway around the same time as a pickup truck. The rocket car was pointed on an angle to the extended centerline, about 100 feet past the end of the runway. It was upright. Someone who looked like he could have been the driver was walking around. I reported all this to the Air Boss, along with the information that the pickup truck was there to help.

“We’re sending a fire truck down there,” the Air Boss said over the radio.

I started back along the runway. “The car is upright and there’s no smoke or flames,” I added.

I came back to my parking space on the ramp, set down, and shut down.

Mike and I watched the balloon glow together, walking among the balloons. It was still going on when we climbed back into Zero-Mike-Lima and went home. The next day, we arrived at the airport at 7 AM. Some of the balloons were already lifting off. The day got off to a slow start for us. But by 11 AM, we were cranking. I flew nonstop for several hours, then sent in the word that I was getting seriously tired and that they should stop selling tickets. By the time I finished at about 2 PM, I’d flown another 43 passengers.

I should say here that two things really amazed me. One was that folks thought nothing of spending $45 per person to take every member of the family for a ride. Mike thinks at least a dozen of the people I flew were kids under the age of 5. How many of those kids will remember the ride? A bunch of them were really excited and happy. One little red-headed boy had a smile bigger than the Cheshire Cat’s. I’m so accustomed to people balking at $30 or $32 per person for a flight that the idea of them lining up to spend $45 on multiple family members really surprised me.

The other thing that amazed me is how good kids are at buckling their seat belts. I don’t have kids and never had. I don’t spend much time at all with kids. But every once in a while, Mike would sit a kid in the front seat beside me for a flight. I’d tell him (they were mostly boys) to reach over and get his seat belt. He’d immediately locate the buckle (not just the strap), adjust it in the strap, and fasten it. Kids did this better than adults! I even watched one sharp 6-year-old untwist the belt before buckling it. Mike says it’s because kids that age are geniuses. They absorb everything they’re taught. I wish they could stay that way.

We managed to escape from Glendale right before one of the F-16s fired up for its part of the show. I called the Air Boss as I hovered into position for departure. “Ride-Hopper-One departing to the northwest.”

“Ride-Hopper-One, proceed as requested. This will probably be your last flight until the F-16 lands.”

“This is my last flight for the day,” I told him. “I’m going home. You guys have been great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” the Air Boss replied.

On my way back to Wickenburg, I pointed out the small herd of bison I’d spotted in a pasture less than a mile from Glendale Airport.

How Helicopters Fly

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Maria Speaks Episode 12: How Helicopters Fly.

Transcript:

Hi, I’m Maria Langer. Welcome to episode 12 of Maria Speaks, How Helicopters Fly.

I thought I’d take a break from my usual computer related topics to talk about something I really enjoy doing: flying helicopters.

For most of my life, I thought it would be pretty cool to know how to fly a helicopter. In October of 1998 I had some extra money and a flexible schedule so I took the plunge and began taking flying lessons.

A lot of people think you need to learn how to fly an airplane before you can learn to fly a helicopter. That just isn’t so. I don’t know how to fly a plane, and frankly, I have no interest in learning. Helicopters have fascinated me since my first helicopter ride at age 8. Airplanes just aren’t as interesting to me. So I skipped the airplane stuff and went right to helicopters.

It took me a year and a half to get my pilot certificate. This wasn’t because I was a slow learner — at least I hope not. It was because I took lessons part time, only an hour or two a week. When summer came, I took the summer off. No one wants to practice doing hovering autorotations when it’s a 115°?F outside. I finally got my pilot certificate in April 2000.

I soon realized that I had a problem. I had a pilot certificate but nothing to fly. The closest place to lease a helicopter was Scottsdale, about 70 miles away. I’d drive down there, fly for an hour, and drive back. It wasn’t fun.

Fortunately, I had a good year and some extra money and was able to solve the problem. I bought a used Robinson R22 helicopter. And what I found is that the more I flew, the more I wanted to fly. As I’ve said elsewhere in my blogs, flying is addictive and I’m hooked.

Years went by. I got my commercial helicopter rating and starting taking passengers up in my two place helicopter. I got a summer job at the Grand Canyon flying LongRangers with up to six passengers on board. Then I decided to step up and buy a larger helicopter, and to expand my helicopter tour business. Today, I have 160 hours on my new Robinson R44 four place helicopter. And I still can’t fly enough to satisfy me.

If you like reading flying stories, check my blog. It has lots of stories about flying.

Anyway, what I really wanted to talk about was how helicopters fly. Most people are familiar with the way airplanes fly but few know anything about helicopters. I find myself explaining the controls to passengers all the time. Now I’ll explain them to you.

First of all, a helicopter does indeed have wings. But rather than having big, bolted-on wings like an airplane, a helicopter’s wings are its narrow rotor blades. My helicopter has just two of these blades, but they’re very long — about 16 and a half feet each. Other helicopters have three, four, five, or even more blades, depending on the design and size of the helicopter. Generally speaking, the more blades a helicopter has, the shorter they can be. Of course, if the helicopter is very big, the blades need to be big, too.

To understand how a helicopter’s main rotor blades work to produce lift, start by thinking about an airplane. Everyone has seen an airplane taking off — or has been in one when it took off. It rolls down the runway, gathering speed. This moves air — referred to as relative wind — over the airplane’s wings. The wing is shaped like an airfoil, so higher pressure builds up below the wing than above it, producing lift. Before the pilot reaches the end of the runway, he pulls the airplane’s nose up, which, in turn, changes the angle of attack — the way the wings cut through all the air rushing past. This increases the lift and the airplane takes off.

A helicopter’s rotor blades are also shaped like airfoils and they work pretty much the same way as an airplane’s wings. But instead of speeding forward to increase relative wind, the helicopter rotates the blades while parked. The faster the blades spin, the higher the relative wind. Once the blades are spinning at 100% RPM, the pilot lifts the collective, which changes the pitch or angle of attack on all of the main rotor blades. The result: the helicopter lifts off the ground.

Now I just mentioned one helicopter control: the collective. The collective changes the pitch of all of the main rotor blades the same amount — or collectively. This up-and-down lever is what a helicopter pilot holds in his left hand while flying.

There are three other controls.

The throttle, which is a motorcycle-style twist grip on the end of the collective, is what the pilot uses to add or reduce power. You see, the higher the pitch, the higher the drag. To overcome this drag without losing rotor RPM, the pilot must increase the throttle. Fortunately, most modern helicopters have a correlator or governor or some other kind of device that adjusts the throttle automatically as needed. This greatly reduces the pilot’s workload.

The cyclic is the control the pilot holds in his right hand while flying. The cyclic changes the pitch of each rotor blade individually as it moves to change the direction of the rotor disk. Think of it this way: the rotating blades are like a disk when they’re spinning. The cyclic tilts this disk in the direction you want to fly. Push forward, the disk tilts forward and the helicopter moves forward. Pull back and the disk tilts back and the helicopter slows down or backs up. Left and right do the same thing to the left or right. The cyclic is an extremely sensitive control and doesn’t need to be moved very much to get results. In fact, the hardest part of flying a helicopter is getting a feel for the cyclic.

The last controls are the anti-torque pedals. Remember Newton’s Laws? One of them says that every action has an equal but opposite reaction. Think about the main rotor blades spinning. If the blades spin to the left, the fuselage wants to spin to the right. So a helicopter has a tail rotor (or something equivalent). The blades on the tail rotor are mounted sideways so the “lift” pushes the helicopter’s tail to the right, thus pushing the nose to the left. The anti-torque pedals, which the pilot works with his feet, change the pitch on the tail rotor blades to increase or decrease this lateral “lift.” This keeps the helicopter from spinning out of control.

Sounds pretty simple, no? Well, it isn’t — at least not when you first start practicing it. You see, every time you make a control input with one of the controls, you have to adjust one or more of the other controls. For example, when you raise the collective, you increase drag on the blades, so you (or the governor) have to increase the throttle. But when you increase power with the throttle, the helicopter tries harder to spin to the right, so you need to add left pedal. Since you’re using up some of your power to generate more lift on the tail rotor, you might need more throttle. Get the idea?

One of the most difficult things to do in a helicopter is hover. Hard to believe but its true. It takes the average pilot 5 to 10 hours of practice time just to be able to do it. It took me about 7 hours. I thought I’d never be able to do it and then, one day, I just could.

Hovering requires that you make multiple minute control inputs all the time. There’s no “neutral” position you can put the controls into. It takes constant effort. Add some wind — especially from one of the sides or the back — and you’re working hard. After all, the helicopter is like a big weather vane and the wind just wants to push it around so the nose faces into the wind.

That’s the basics of flying a helicopter. There’s lots more to it, of course. But it isn’t that hard to learn. I like to tell people that if I can do it, just about anyone can.

One more thing. Lots of people think that if a helicopter has an engine failure, it’ll drop out of the sky like a brick. If the pilot does what he should be doing, however, that just isn’t so.

Here’s how it works. Suppose I’m flying along and my engine quits. My main rotor blades were spinning when the engine quit and they have lots of energy stored in them. There’s also energy stored in my altitude, airspeed, and weight. The first thing I do is lower the collective to reduce the drag on the blades. This helps keep them spinning. The helicopter starts a steep descent. I look for a possible landing area — a field, a parking lot, a dry river bed (we have lots of those in Arizona) — and steer towards it as I glide down. About 30 feet off the ground, I pull the cyclic back to bring the nose up and flare. This reduces my airspeed and transfers some of that energy to the main rotor blades. I level out and pull the collective up just before hitting the ground. Remember, pulling the collective up increases lift, so if I do it just right, I’ll cushion the landing. This whole procedure is called an autorotation and I’m required to demonstrate it annually as part of my FAA Part 135 check ride. I also had to do it to get my private and then commercial ratings. In other words, I have to prove that I can do it.

Of course, if I screwed up and didn’t lower the collective right away, drag on the unpowered blades would slow them to the point where they wouldn’t produce lift. Then I’d be in big trouble. Like a falling brick.

Have you ever gone for a helicopter ride? If you haven’t, you should. It’s quite an experience. If you do go soon, remember what I’ve told you and watch what the pilot does. If you’re sitting up front with him, don’t be afraid to ask questions once you’re under way. Most pilots like to talk to passengers about what they’re doing.

I remember a helicopter ride Mike and I took back in 1995 (or thereabouts) while driving cross-country. It was in Florida in the panhandle. There was a Bell 47 parked on the side of the road with a sign that said “Helicopter Rides, $25.” Mike and I climbed aboard and I sat in the middle. I told the pilot that I wanted to learn to fly a helicopter and when we were in cruise flight, he let me put my hand over his on the cyclic. He wanted me to see how little it needed to move to change direction. It was nice of him to do that for me.

Well, I could keep talking about helicopters all day, but I won’t. I’ll save some other stuff for another day.

I hope you enjoyed this topic. It was nice to take a break from talking about computers. I’d love to hear what you think about this episode and my podcasts in general. Write to me at mariaspeaks@mac.com.

Thanks again for listening!

Weird Flying

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I fly over 7 hours, doing weird stuff with my helicopter.

No doubt about it: this was the weirdest weekend of flying I’d ever had.

Weird Flying 1: The Camping Trip

It started with the camping trip drop off on Saturday.

Jason and his girlfriend, Becky, had planned a trip to Red Creek, a tiny dirt airstrip on the Verde River. Jason flies a Citabria and has flown and out of there many times. Becky has come with him on several trips, but this was the first overnight trip they’d planned.

They arrived at the airport, where I was out on the ramp cleaning dust out of the inside of Zero-Mike-Lima. I hopped in my golf cart and rode over to Jason’s hangar to say hello. Becky was excited about the trip. She talked animatedly to me while Jason loaded their camping gear. I told them that I was planning a flight out that way, too. I was just waiting for someone to show up at the airport to come with me. I told her I’d rather fly with someone else than alone. She suggested that I stop by their campsite for a visit. “There’s horseshoes there, you know.”

I should mention here that even though Red Creek’s airstrip is extremely difficult to get to by wheeled vehicle, over the years, pilots and others have added amenities like a horseshoe pit, picnic table, fire pit with grills, lawn chairs, water jugs, etc. You can find all that near the strip on top of a small mesa overlooking the river. But my favorite camping amenity is found closer to the river itself: shade.

I agreed that I’d come visit and I hopped in my cart and put it away in my hangar. Then I went back to cleaning dust out of my helicopter.

A while later, I heard an airplane engine start. It may have sounded rough — I don’t know. To me, all airplane engines sound a little rough. It ran for about three minutes, then shut down. A minute or two later, it ran for another minute. Then silence.

I was wiping dust off the inside of the cowl near the hydraulic fluid reservoir when I heard my name called. It was Becky.

“Jason’s plane isn’t running right,” she told me. “The needle is going up and down. He says it might be the spark plugs. So I was wondering, could we charter you to take us to Red Creek?”

I thought for about two seconds. “Sure,” I told her. “It would be fun.”

We loaded all their gear into the helicopter. It fit under the seats and on one of the rear passenger seats. We put Jason up front because he’s tall and his long legs wouldn’t have fit comfortably in the back. I started up, warmed up, and took off. It was Becky’s first helicopter ride and she let out multiple squeals of delight as I climbed up over route 60 and back toward the east. I showed them my house from the air and continued toward Red Creek, adjusting my course slightly to overfly a waypoint north of Cave Creek that I’d already programmed in.

We talked the whole time. I showed them the abandoned mansion overlooking Lake Pleasant and they were surprised to see it — like most local pilots who understand the joy of flying low and slow, they’d explored quite a bit of the area in Jason’s Citabria. I was going to show them the ruins on Indian Mesa, but they’d already seen them. So we continued over the Agua Fria Arm of Lake Pleasant, climbing as I flew over I-17 in preparation for the high mesas ahead.

I saw a mesa that seemed broken off from the main mesa and pointed at it. Jason said, “Yeah.” In the back, Becky was fiddling with my iPod.

We were nearly up to this mesa when I said, “Wow. Doesn’t that mesa look like an island in the sky?”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. When Becky didn’t reply, he added, “Look, Becky. Doesn’t that mesa look kind of cool?”

She looked. “Yeah,” she agreed. But she didn’t sound very interested.

“I bet the views from up there are great,” I said, starting to slow down. The mesa offered excellent views of Phoenix, Scottsdale, Cave Creek, Carefree, and Deer Valley to the south. “The lights at night must be incredible.”

“Yeah, this is a really great spot,” Jason said. “I think we should camp here.

That got Becky’s attention. “Here?”

“Yes. What do you think, Becky? Should we camp here?”

By this time I was circling, looking for a good landing zone.

“No!” Becky yelled, sounding a bit frantic at the thought.

I almost laughed into my microphone.

“Red Creek is better. It has horseshoes.”

This time I did laugh.

“We can go to Red Creek anytime,” Jason said.

“That’s right,” I said. “But you can’t land a plane here.”

“But…”

“I want to camp here,” Jason said firmly. His tone of voice suggested that when he really wanted something badly enough, Becky usually gave in.

“It’s a really nice spot,” I added. “And the views are great.”

“Well, if we’re going to camp here, then maybe we can find Skeleton Ridge and camp there,” Becky said. “Or someplace where there’s indian ruins. Let’s find someplace with ruins.”

“We can’t tie up Maria all day,” Jason said.

By this time, I’d found a spot to land and was just waiting for the cue to start my approach. Becky gave it.”Okay,” she said.

I made my approach to a spot near the middle of the mesa. When I set down, I was less than 100 feet from the waypoint I’d programmed into my GPS that morning.

They unloaded their gear. Becky wanted me to shut down and hang out with them, but I’d been experiencing intermittent starter problems and did not want to get stranded on top of Black Mesa with them. So I left the engine running and held the controls while they unloaded. I told Jason to stand back when I took off, wished him luck, and lifted off.

Of course, I was in on the whole thing. Jason had called a month before to reserve the drop off and pick up dates with me. He’d sent me GPS coordinates, a map, and this photo only days before. He was planning to propose and to make the event more memorable, he thought a helicopter drop off and pick up at a remote location where no one would bother them would be ideal.

Photo

Who says men can’t be romantic?

From Black Mesa, I headed up to Prescott. Oddly enough both the folks at Guidance Helicopters and I had golf ball drops on Sunday: we were hired to drop golf balls out of a helicopter onto a target. The closest golf ball(s) win a prize. Its a fund-raising event. Theirs was for Special Olympics. Mine was for Wickenburg Youth Football. At Prescott Airport, I got a chance to see the device the Guidance folks had rigged up for the drop. It was very impressive. Guidance never does things halfway. Of course, it was not the kind of thing Mike and I could whip up in two days. We’d have to come up with a different solution.

While I was up there, I hopped in my old Toyota MR-2 and took it to the malls. As usual, that little car started right up and seemed eager to roll. I hit a few pet store places, bought a coffee pot for my Braun coffee machine (which I’d broken the morning of a dinner party, forcing me to buy a piece of crap coffee maker in Wickenburg to make coffee for my guests), and bought a bunch of fish for my big fish tank, which I’m just getting restocked after the fish from hell ate all his companions. I came back to the helicopter, loaded all my purchases under the seats, and buzzed back to Wickenburg.

I left the helicopter out on the ramp overnight. I had to fly it the next day.

On Sunday, the first order of business was to pick up Jason and Becky. I was late getting to the airport, primarily because I had to stop at my office and pick up a few things I’d need later on. Although my fuel level was lower than I wanted, I decided to pick up Jason and Becky first and get fuel afterward. I didn’t want them waiting on top of that mesa in the sun, wondering when I was going to get there, when they were expecting me at nine.

I made excellent time flying right to the mesa. At first, I didn’t see them. But then I spotted them on the north end of the mesa, right where it narrows to join the larger mesas to the north. There was an excellent landing zone nearby: level and rock-free. The only catch was that there was only about 10 feet of mesa in front of me and thirty feet behind me — beyond that were sheer, 500+ foot cliffs. A real pinnacle landing. I made it without trouble and was comforted by how firmly the helicopter sat on the ground. I frictioned-up the controls and got out to help them load. Becky showed me her engagement ring. Not only was Jason romantic, but he was generous and had excellent taste. The ring was a real beauty.

I asked them if they minded going to Deer Valley for fuel before I took them up to Peeples Valley. No problem. I lifted up, added forward cyclic, and gave us all the incredibly unsettling feeling of falling off a cliff. (For sheer thrills, a helicopter flight off the edge of a cliff can’t be beat. Unlike amusement park rides, it’s real and passengers must wonder whether they’re going to come out of it alive.)

Deer Valley wasn’t busy but the folks at Cutter were. They were terribly slow. I bought 15 gallons at $4.06/gallon. It took nearly 20 minutes to get and pay for it. Then we were on our way, first west per the controller’s instructions and then north toward Peeples Valley.

It was a pleasant flight: nice and smooth. I showed Jason how my traffic reporting system works. I also told them about how the helicopter works. Jason wants to learn, but not unless he could buy a helicopter. “That’s the tricky part,” I told him. “Anyone with time and money can learn to fly a helicopter. But to buy one isn’t quite as easy.”I showed them the canyon where the Weaver cabins are. We couldn’t see them from the air. Then we hopped over the top of East Antelope Peak and the town of Peeples Valley was before us. I descended down to the runway Jason had carved into a pasture at Becky’s house and landed. Becky’s parents came out. I told Becky to give her mother the news while I helped Jason unload.

It was a happy scene and it felt great to be part of it.

Weird Flying 2: The Golf Ball Drop

From Peeples Valley, I flew back to Wickenburg, where I topped off the tanks. Mike and I rolled the helicopter back into the hangar so we could work on it. We still needed a golf ball dropping solution. But Mike wanted lunch first and I needed to run home to get the golf balls we had for experimenting. We wasted about an hour on all that. Mike took the fairing off the pilot side front skid leg so it wouldn’t get damaged when we dropped the balls. But we couldn’t come up with a solution. In the end, we decided to use whatever bag or box the group provided.

We did take off and drop a bunch of balls out in the desert. I wanted to make sure that the balls wouldn’t bounce up if they hit the skid. They didn’t.

We flew back to Wickenburg and landed at the golf course, right on the fairway near the green where we’d be dropping the balls. Mike got out to watch my tail while I cooled down and shut down. It was a good thing he did. Three young boys came running toward the helicopter’s tail while it was still spinning. Mike’s loud whistle and hand motions stopped them in their tracks and got them into a retreat.

Up at the event, things weren’t nearly as busy as I’d expected. Christie, who I was working with, greeted us and showed us the duffle bag the balls were in. We decided that we’d put the bag on Mike’s lap, strap them both in, and let Mike just dump the balls out. We had some iced tea while we waited. Then, at 1:50, we went down, put the Mike and the balls in, and started up. A few moments later, I was airborne, moving into position about 200 feet above the green where they’d marked a silly little target.

We did the drop. I circled around. We’d hit the green but pretty much missed the target. When I landed to give back the bag, they asked me to do another drop. Mike said no, but I said okay. All the kids who had been watching sprung into motion to gather up the balls. Within two minutes, all 1,000 of them were back in the bag. A man helped Mike load the balls back into the helicopter on his lap. Then I took off again. This time, a bunch of the balls were inside the target. Enough to award prizes. We dropped off the bag and left.

Weird Flying 3: Follow that Car!

Back at the airport, we put on the helicopter’s doors. I didn’t even bother shutting down. We were due at a proving grounds an hour away at 3:30 PM for my last weird gig of the weekend. It was already 2:20 PM. I punched a waypoint into my GPS and we took off.

My flight path took me over Glendale Airport. The controller there was cranky. We listened to him scold a pilot before calling in. He instructed me to cross over the airport at 2600 feet. Nosebleed territory for me. I obeyed, wondering whether I’d be punching into the bottom of the Phoenix Class B airspace. As soon as I was clear of Glendale’s space, I dropped back down, closer to earth.

We passed over the proving grounds on our way to a nearby airport for fuel. They were spraying water alongside a road for a landing zone. I waved to the folks who looked up and continued to the airport.

After refueling, we landed on a road at the proving grounds. That’s when the really weird assignment began.

I’d been hired by a carmaker to take a photographer around to video a car on the track. That’s not so weird. Yet.

The video crew was not from this country and spoke very little English. Since I had four seats, they wanted to fill them all. But I’d been told that there would be only one cameraman and I’d topped off the tanks, so I couldn’t take three passengers, especially when I may need all the power available to me. So they settled on the director and the cameraman. They wore harnesses and we strapped them in with the cameraman behind me and the director beside me. All doors were off. The cameraman’s camera was rigged to a viewer that the director held in his hands, so he could see everything the cameraman saw. The director also wore two headsets: mine and his. Mine was attached to the voice activated intercom system and his was attached to a radio in his pocket. He held a push to talk switch for that so he could talk to the driver. One headset’s ear cup was on one ear and the other’s was on the other. But every time he talked to the driver, I could hear him because of the mouthpiece on my headset. That didn’t matter much because he was speaking their language and I couldn’t understand a word of it anyway.

I took off and began flying in formation with…well, a car. It was a bright blue car that’ll probably never be sold in this country. I don’t know much about it and even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. Mike signed a nondisclosure form for me and I’ll accept that as binding. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

First the car drove clockwise around the track. Since the cameraman was behind me, I flew on the outside of the track, following him. The entire time I flew, I heard words, commands, and conversations in that other language with the occasional “faster,” “slower,” “higher,” “lower” thrown in for me. The track was easy to follow, but there were some obstructions: a tower on the one corner was the first concern. Later, as I flew lower and lower for them, I worried about telephone poles with wires and other larger obstructions. I surprised myself with the amount of flying skill I had. We did flybys and other shots that amazed me. My favorite was this. I’d hover about 3 feet off the track while the blue car raced towards us. Then, when it was about 20 yards away, I’d pull pitch and rise 20 feet straight up. The car would pass beneath us.”Beautiful!” the director would exclaim.

So this is what the helicopter pilots who flew movies did. Cool. I could do this.

The cameraman only puked once. He was obviously very experienced at this. He puked right out the helicopter and didn’t get a drop of it inside.

This went on for over an hour. My right wrist was getting sore from the deadman’s grip I had on the cyclic. And I think I built new muscles in my left arm from manipulating the collective as much as I did.

The director called for a break and I went back to the landing zone where I shut down. The crew guzzled Diet Coke. I drank water.

We put three of the doors on, leaving the front passenger door off for the cameraman. The director sat in back. The director wanted to put a third person in again but I said no. With the kind of flying they were asking me to do, less was better than more. Then we took off to do the dusty part of the filming. The car would drive on an inner dirt track.

It was more of the same with a bit of out of ground effect hovering thrown in for good measure. No playing chicken this time; there was too much dust.

The sun got lower in the sky. I told the director it would set in less than 20 minutes. They got a few shots from the east with the sun shining through the dust churned up by the blue car. Then the sun was down. Now we chased the car around the track, videoing its red taillights in the dust.

I think we would have done that all night if I didn’t pull the plug. “I can’t see the wires anymore,” I told the director. That was a lie, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to see them in another 15 minutes. And I wasn’t looking forward to flying back to Wickenburg at night, without a moon to light the way.

I landed and they got out. I calculated the charges for this extravaganza. Over $1400. My contact, who spoke perfect English, gave me a credit card.

Everyone was happy. Even I was happy, although I was exhausted.

It was about 40 minutes past sunset when Mike and I took off. We had plenty of light for the first dark part of the flight but it was pretty dark by the time we got to Glendale. It was 7 PM by then and the cranky controller had gone home. I overflew at 2000 feet, turning the pilot controlled lighting runway lights on just to watch them light up as I flew over. When the last light of the city passed beneath us, I shifted to the east to follow the lights of Grand Avenue the rest of the way to Wickenburg. I set down on the pad, locked up, and went home.