Tag Archives: Phoenix

Public Opinion

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I realize that public opinion doesn’t really matter.

I run a Web site called wickenburg-az.com. Its primary purpose is to provide information about Wickenburg, including things to do and see and businesses that operate here in town. I built the Web site because there was no non-commercial Web site about the town. Basically, if you wanted your business on the Web, you had to cough up big bucks to get it on one of the commercial sites in town — sites that weren’t even updated on a regular basis. I didn’t think that was fair. I also didn’t think any of those sites provided useful information for residents or visitors.

Over the years, the site has become quite a forum for voicing opinions about the way things are going here in town. I admit that I started it. Then John started adding his two cents and since what he submitted was well-written and well-reasoned out, I couldn’t help but publish it online. Along the way, a handful of other people submitted articles and I published them. I felt that these opinion pieces helped round out the site.

Recently, I’ve gotten quite a few opinion pieces from people I’ve never heard from before. I’ve been publishing most of them. Others are a bit over the top, even for me. What amazes me, however, is how many people have written to say they agree with much of what appears on the site — even though these opinions aren’t what’s reflected in the local newspaper or among local politicians.

In other words, the town’s government is pushing one way on many issues and the newspaper is rubber-stamping their decisions. In the meantime, many people don’t agree with or even like what’s going on.

This has me a bit baffled. My understanding is that in a democracy, when the people vote, they are choosing the elected officials that stand the same way they do on most issues. When they vote on a proposition, they’re telling their elected officials that they either want it to pass or they don’t. It seems to make sense that the elected officials would do the things that their constituents expect them to, based on popular opinion. It also seems to make sense that if a proposition fails, it would simply fade away into obscurity — not be put up for another vote when a different collection of people were around to vote on it.

Sadly, that’s not the way democracy works in Wickenburg. Majority public opinion seems to have little or no bearing on what actually happens in town. Elected officials do whatever they want to, for whatever reasons strike their fancy. I still haven’t decided if they’re motivated by greed — money under the table and other reward promises — or stupidity — being led around by the nose by smooth-talking developers.

The bypass issue is a perfect example. This has been going on for years. The route 93 and 60 corridor has become a major thoroughfare for traffic between Phoenix and Las Vegas and will be part of the Canamex highway that will link NAFTA members Canada and Mexico. As a result, there is a huge amount of truck traffic going right through town.

ADOT brought consultants into town on a regular basis to meet with the public and gain their opinions on the dozen or so options. The public clearly favored an out-of-town bypass that would keep all those trucks south and west of town. Yet the local government and chamber of commerce favored a route that would put the traffic right through town. (I guess it was important to them for McDonald’s and Circle-K to keep selling burgers, coffee, and gas to the drive-through crowd.)

As a result, the “interim bypass” was developed. This monstrosity would put four lanes of traffic along the riverbed near the existing bridge — it isn’t clear yet whether they’ll build another bridge, too — and route that traffic right past the Community Center and Coffinger Park, through a neighborhood and a ranch (thus displacing dozens of people and destroying the values of the remaining homes), and deposit it back on 93 right where a local developer is attempting to build a high-priced housing development. (It will be interesting to see how many people will pay $800K+ for a house overlooking 4 lanes of truck traffic.) Along the way, this crazy plan calls for two “roundabouts” — the old-style traffic circles that are being dismantled throughout the east — so that our “winter visitors” (most of whom are in the 65+ age bracket) can merge with the trucks on their way to and from Wal-Mart in Surprise. (It might be a good idea to move the ambulance base to that intersection, since that’s where it’ll be spending a lot of time.)

All this is completely against the majority public opinion. People who live in Wickenburg year-round care about the town and its atmosphere. We don’t want highways in the riverbed where exhaust fumes will settle and noise will destroy the quality of life and whatever downtown ambiance we still have.

We also don’t want high-density housing, especially when there aren’t enough high-paying jobs to fill those homes with year-round residents. We don’t want an economy that centers around winter visitors who don’t even like to spend their money in town. We don’t want two Dollar Stores or two check cashing places or a pawn shop. We want businesses that will provide good jobs and the goods and services we need.

But in Wickenburg, public opinion doesn’t matter.

A Birthday Flight

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I take a 90-year-old woman, her 88-year-old brother, and her son on a helicopter tour.

I’ve been getting a lot of calls lately from people in Scottsdale, interested in helicopter tours. There’s a charter company down there named Westcor Aviation (associated with the Westcor malls and other real estate ventures) and my very first flight instructor, Paul, works for them as a pilot. They occasionally get calls from people who want to charter a helicopter and get “sticker shock” when they hear the rate: $1,500 per hour. So when asked to recommend other operators in the area, Westcor has begun recommending me, along with the others.

Doing flights out of Scottsdale isn’t exactly good for me. I ask $495 per hour for flights originating in the valley, with a one-hour minimum. But I don’t charge people for the amount of time it takes me to get from Wickenburg to the valley and back again. So I don’t really make much money on these flights. But they’re good experience and they do help pay for the helicopter. And they give me an excuse to fly.

I did one of these flights on Sunday. I’d gotten a call during the week and made arrangements with someone named Brad to fly his grandmother on a tour of the area for her 90th birthday. He’d fill the other two seats, too, and he’d make sure the total weight was below 650 for the three passengers. I just had to meet him at Scottsdale Airport at 10:00 AM.

This worked out well for Mike and I. Mike had gotten Greyhawk Members Club tickets to see the FBR US Open in Scottsdale, which wasn’t far from the airport. The tickets got us entrance to the event as well as entrance to hospitality tents scattered around the course. We could eat and watch the golfing from comfortable, shaded seats — all for free. We figured we’d head over to the course when my flight was finished.

We arrived at Scottsdale Airport about 40 minutes early and got a great parking spot right out in front of the terminal. We went into the restaurant for some weak coffee and a bite to eat and I spent some time reviewing the Phoenix Terminal Area Chart to see where I could take them. At 9:50, I headed out to the lobby to wait for my passengers. There were three young people there and one of them approached me. It was Brad.

I looked at him and his two companions. “I thought you said it was for your grandmother.”

“She’s on her way,” he said.

I tried to review the route I’d planned with him, hoping it would meet his approval. He didn’t seem to care. “She wants to see the Superstition Mountains,” he said.

I wanted to take her up the Salt River, which would take us near the Superstitions but not over them. I didn’t want to fly over or around the Superstitions. It’s rocky, dangerous terrain and I didn’t think it would make for an interesting or comfortable one-hour flight, given the wind conditions and the descending clouds out that way.

“She doesn’t know she’s doing this,” he added.

A while later, his grandmother arrived. With about twenty other people. She was a petite 90-year-old woman. They escorted her up to the window where she could see Zero-Mike-Lima parked on the ramp. “That’s your birthday present,” someone told her.

She was thrilled. They quickly sorted out who would be flying with her: her brother, who I can accurately describe as a little old man, and her son, who was considerably larger. I don’t think their total weight even reached 500 pounds. I escorted them outside to the security door and told them that only one person could accompany us through the gate to take photos. Out at the helicopter, I gave them the safety briefing. I put the birthday girl in the front, her brother behind her, and her son behind me. As I warmed up Zero-Mike-Lima, my passenger’s entourage watched from behind the glass partition.

We departed to the southwest to remain west of Runway 21. Although the controller told me he’d call my turn to the east, he was so busy with other traffic that I was clear of his airspace before he had a chance to. I passed north of Camelback, then headed east toward the Salt River. I skirted the north edge of Falcon Field’s airspace, then continued up the Salt River Canyon.

The desert was absolutely beautiful. I’d never seen it so green. And all the lakes we flew over — Saguaro, Canyon, Apache — were completely filled with water. The sunlight through the low clouds made a patchwork of shade over the entire scene, illuminating some hillsides and rock formations and shadowing others. The Superstitions were clearly visible, just below the clouds, to the south of us, so my passengers got to see what they wanted to, and so much more.

About 0.6 hours out, I made the turn to come back, using my GPS to give me a more direct route. The goal was to make the flight exactly 1.0 hours. Soon we were heading toward Fountain Hills. I looked at the clock on my instrument panel. It was nearly 11 AM. Is it possible that I’d overfly Fountain Hills just as they turned on the fountain? It was. We were still about three miles out when the water started to rise. It was an added bonus for my passengers to see it from the air.

We approached Scottsdale Airport from the west. Fortunately, the controller wasn’t nearly as busy as he’d been when we left and we had no trouble approaching the airport, crossing the runway, and landing right where we’d begun.

My passengers were very pleased with the flight. I was too.

And when the woman’s daughter handed me a check, a little voice in the back of my head reminded me, “And they pay you to do great stuff like this, too.”

The Governor Needs a Helicopter

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It could save her time and save the taxpayers money.

I got in to Wickenburg Airport yesterday afternoon sometime after 4:00 PM and set down near the pumps. When the blades stopped spinning and I finally got out with my passengers, I noticed a couple of men in suit jackets waiting in the parking area.

Gus came out of the terminal. “See those guys with the suits?” he asked me. “They’re with the FAA and they want to talk to you.”

As usual, Gus’s delivery was deadpan so I couldn’t help but believe him. I looked at the men. They seemed to be looking back at me. “About what?” I asked. I was near the end of my Part 135 certification process and the last thing I wanted was trouble with the FAA. On a Saturday, no less.

“It must be about you running out of fuel in the desert,” he said.

Technically, I hadn’t run out of fuel. I still had 1/8 tank. But I’d gotten a Low Fuel light four miles short of Wickenburg and had made a precautionary landing on a dirt road in the desert about two miles from pavement. I’d been stranded with Mike and two friends for about 30 minutes when my friend Ray delivered 10.7 gallons of 100LL and took off in his Hughes 500D to continue roaming the desert or chasing cows or doing whatever it is that he does when he’s burning JetA.

“There’s nothing wrong with making a precautionary landing,” I said defensively.

Gus laughed. “They’re not for you,” he said. “They’re for the governor. She’s flying in to Wickenburg.”

As he spoke, a few more suits showed up. The parking lot was nearly full. I remembered a trip to local radio station KBSZ-AM the day before. Rebecca from Robson’s had been there and she was all excited that the governor was going to pay them a visit. I never got a chance to ask why the governor was going to travel out to a mining museum/tourist attraction tucked into the mountains north of Aguila.

“This late?” I asked.

“Yeah. She’s due to arrive any minute now. She’s going out to Robson’s and then to something at the museum. She’s leaving here at 7:10.”

I looked at my watch. It was nearly 4:30 PM. Robson’s was at least 35 minutes away by car. “She’s going all the way out to Robson’s and back and then to the museum in less than three hours? What’s she coming in?”

“A King Air.”

A King Air is a big twin. “From Phoenix?” I asked with some disbelief.

“I think so.”

“That’s a bit of overkill, don’t you think?”

He pretty much agreed with me.

“So she’s going to fly in a King Air from Phoenix to Wickenburg, then hop in a car and drive all the way out to Robson’s?”

“I believe that’s the plan.”

“I should take her to Robson’s in my helicopter,” I said. “It’s a ten minute flight from here and I can land right by Robson’s gate. It’ll save her two long car rides. Suggest it to them, will you?”

He said he would. I parked the helicopter, wasted another half hour around the airport, and went to Safeway to do some grocery shopping. As we went into the store, the governor’s King Air flew overhead on its way to the airport. It was nearly 5:00 PM. That meant the governor would tackle the two half-hour car rides, Robson’s visit, and museum visit in just over two hours. Not likely. I had a sneaking suspicion that Rebecca would not see the governor that evening.

Of course, if the governor had a helicopter, it could save her plenty of time and save the taxpayers lots of money. The helicopter would have to be one like mine — not a fancy turbine job — because it’s relatively inexpensive to operate (compared to King Airs and Turbine helicopters), comfortable, and reliable.

Here’s how it could work. Any time the governor had to travel to a destination within 100 miles of her office, she could arrange for transportation by helicopter. The helicopter could pick her and two companions up at any designated landing zone — even a parking lot near her office in Phoenix — thus saving her the amount of time it takes to travel from her office to Sky Harbor, Deer Valley, Scottsdale, or wherever she normally departs from. No delays waiting for air traffic control, either. Then the helicopter could take her right to her destination and land in an appropriate landing zone there. No need to land at a suitable airport that might be 10 or 20 or 30 miles away from the final destination. More time saved. The helicopter cruises at 130 MPH, which isn’t as fast as a King Air, but much faster than a car. It could get to destinations within 100 miles in less than an hour. And while she was in flight, she’d be within 1000 feet of the ground, so she could actually see what she was flying over. Maybe it would give her a good look at the urban sprawl the Phoenix area suffers from or a glimpse of off-the-grid life out in the desert.

Now some people might say that the governor’s arrival and departure by helicopter might be too showy and a good example of how government spends taxpayer money. But I will argue that this mode of transportation, especially for distances under 100 miles, is far more cost effective than a King Air. And I think everyone would agree that the governor’s time would be much better spent en route to her destination than sitting in traffic and dealing with airport delays.

As for me? I’m no fool. I’ll take the helicopter where I’m going whenever I can. And it isn’t because I don’t have a King Air.

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.

A Trip to Chandler, AZ for a New Attitude (Indicator)

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I take a seasoned aerobatic pilot on a helicopter trip to Chandler and back.

My helicopter’s instrument panel includes an attitude indicator. That’s the gadget that tells you whether you’re flying straight and level or doing turns and climbs (or descents). My attitude indicator never worked right (how fitting!) in that it sometimes told me I was doing things I wasn’t doing. When it started telling me I was doing loops and rolls, I decided to get it fixed.

Ed Taylor pulled it out of my ship for me. He did some research and found a company that would fix it for a mere $1,195. Ouch. I made a few phone calls. A place in Mesa said they could fix it for me for about $900, but when I told them it was for a helicopter, they backed off. They said they didn’t have much luck with helicopter instruments and recommended that I buy a new one for about $1,400. I called the Chandler-based company they recommended and was told that the new one would be $1,700. Ouch ouch! But for $965, I could get an overhauled unit with the same one-year warranty as a new one. They had them in stock. I chatted with the woman for a while and she decided she liked me. She talked her boss down to $900. I gave her my credit card number before they could change their minds.

The day dragged on. A 2:30 meeting I had was finished in 10 minutes rather than an hour. At 3:00 PM, I was at the fuel pumps in Wickenburg with Three-Niner-Lima, doing a preflight for my trip to Chandler.

Nancy, one of our local pilots, stopped by. She’d just gone flying for the first time in several weeks and had put her plane away for the day. I didn’t know it, but she’d had a bicycle accident and that had kept her at home, nursing a nasty cut and bump on her head. Nancy flies a Decathalon, an aerobatic plane. In her words, the plane is “just as happy flying upside down as it is right side up.” So she flies it upside down a lot. And does loops and rolls. And hammerheads. The kinds of maneuvers that make some people sick. She does them a few times a week for about 20 to 30 minutes each outing, several miles north of the airport.

Nancy, who is also one of my favorite people, used to do aerobatics professionally. Now she just does it for fun. She’s 73 years old.

I asked Nancy what she was doing, and she told me she had nothing planned. I invited her to come with me on my trip to Chandler. She made a quick phone call, then hopped in. A while later, we were airborne, heading southeast. As we left, Gary, on duty at the airport, told me to remind Nancy that we couldn’t fly upside down.

I took my usual route to Chandler: southeast to Camelback mountain, east along the north side of Camelback, then south to Chandler. It avoids all other airspace, so the only airport you have to talk to is Chandler.

Nancy thoroughly enjoyed the flight. Years ago, her husband Bill owned a Hughes 269 helicopter. I’m not quite sure what that was, but Nancy tells me it sat three people. Probably a lot like a Schweitzer 300. They used to land it at their home in Scottsdale — we’re talking years ago — and later, at their home in Wickenburg. Oddly enough, their old home in Wickenburg now belongs to one of my neighbors, and I can clearly see the nice, flat area where Bill used to set down. She told me a story about how a friend of theirs once landed his helicopter at their home after they’d moved. “He realized pretty quick that we weren’t there anymore and took off,” she told me.

I got the impression that it had been a while since Nancy was in a helicopter. She said, “This is great,” about a dozen times. She remarked that in an airplane, you don’t see as much. That’s because in a plane, you’re not sitting in front of a window that’s bigger than you are.

We talked about the airport and the airport commission. Boring stuff that would put you to sleep if I detailed it here. Heck, it would put ME to sleep if I detailed it here.

I pointed out interesting landmarks along the way. Highways, malls, roads, mountains, airports. We could see right down the runway for Luke, just before we reached Arrowhead Mall. I remarked about the new construction. We listened to Scottsdale tower scold a pilot for flying the wrong direction. We searched for the Chandler High School, which was my landmark for approaching Chandler.

We came into Chandler and landed at the helipad near Quantum, then hover-taxied to the transient pad. I shut down. We walked to Varga, two buildings away from Quantum. Along the way, I saw Tristan’s helicopter, shoved up alongside the hangar, and ran into Paul Mansfield, my old mechanic. Paul greeted me warmly as ever. We talked about Tristan and how we wished we could slap him on the side of the head. Then we headed to Varga.

At Varga, we didn’t seem too welcome. But we eventually got the attention of the fat man behind the desk, who went into a back room to retrieve the attitude indicator. And here’s a funny thing. When I first talked to Ed about all this, I told him that I was thinking of replacing the attitude indicator with one that had a ball. The ball tells you if you’re in trim. My helicopter has trim strings that also do this, but they’re completely useless if its raining or dark. I thought it might be good to have a ball in the ship. Well guess what? The attitude indicator the fat man gave me had a ball.

We walked back to Quantum, stopping to chat with Paul again along the way. If it were up to Paul, we’d still be chatting with him. But we were anxious to get back before dark. It was already 5 PM and sunset was less than an hour away. The flight would take an hour. We pulled ourselves away and I took one last look at 45PG.

Meanwhile, Quantum’s R22s were flying in, like homing pigeons. One after another, they landed at the helipad and hover-taxied to parking spots. We started up as the last one glided past. I remembered all my radio calls, hover-taxied to the helipad when cleared, and took off to the west.

We went back along the south side of South Mountain, over the Gila River, over the northernmost part of the Estrella mountains, south of Goodyear, over Buckeye, and north along the Hassayampa. I wanted to show Nancy something different. She had a great time and I enjoyed her company. We set down at Wickenburg just before 6 PM.

Today, Ed installed my attitude indicator. I can’t wait to try out the ball.