Cockpit Chronicles: C-172, Oshkosh

Hello, hello, hello!

This week’s Cockpit Chronicles are tales from flying my 1956 Cessna 172, N5140A.

It was the spring of 2002, and I was shopping for a Cessna 172. I flew to Dallas, Texas, to visit my friend Rocky and see what I could find.

Rocky had a friend named Hank who kept a 172 in a barn beside the grass runway at his North Texas home. Hank was an octogenarian and quite a character. We flew from Rocky’s grass runway to what could loosely be called Hank’s “airport.”

Hank’s runway had one very unusual feature: power lines crossed it at midfield. Every takeoff and landing had to be made underneath the power lines.

Hank greeted us after we landed and took us to the barn. The tires on his 172 were flat, the battery was dead, and the airplane was covered with dust. Nonetheless, I asked to see the logbooks.

There was a nine-year gap during which Hank had made no entries whatsoever.

I thanked him for his time, and Rocky and I took off— once again passing beneath the power lines.

I found another 172 for sale at a small country airport south of Fort Worth. It was being offered by another elderly gentleman. This airplane had relatively new paint and interior, and its logbooks were in order. The radios and instruments were original, and the engine was nearing the end of its life.

That suited me perfectly because I wanted to oversee the engine overhaul myself.

We took the airplane for a test flight. The owner sat in the pilot’s seat, but shortly after takeoff, he became frustrated because he couldn’t understand the air traffic controller. He ripped off his headset, handed it to me, and pointed at the controls.

I chuckled, took the controls, and coordinated our flight with the tower.

I was primarily interested in the condition of the engine, but I also performed a quick check of the navigation radio. I tuned in a local station, dialed in the course, observed the needle swing, and moved on to the next item.

Everything appeared satisfactory, so we completed a bank transfer, shook hands, and I took off for Michigan.

About 30 miles into the journey, I discovered that the navigation radio only worked when I was within approximately 20 miles of the station—not the normal 200 miles or so.

LOL.

From Dallas all the way to Michigan, I flew clutching a paper map and looking out the window.

I spent the night in Paducah, Kentucky, and landed the following day at Monroe, Michigan. I eventually found hangar space at Grosse Ile Municipal Airport. During that first year, I flew all over Michigan and especially enjoyed popping into Put-in-Bay and Mackinac Island.

The original navigation radio was an old tube-type unit. I removed it and bought a handheld GPS, which made navigation considerably easier.

Because the engine was approaching the end of its life, I would not fly over water or large forests beyond gliding distance of shore or a suitable landing area. That winter, I worked alongside a mechanic and overhauled the engine.

In 2005, I purchased my home at the Airpark.

The sellers and I agreed to meet there on a Sunday afternoon in June to exchange the keys. That morning, I arranged for a neighbor to fly me from the Airpark to Grosse Ile so I could retrieve my Cessna and bring it to its new home.

When the sellers arrived, I was waiting with both my car and my airplane.

The seller looked at the plane, looked at the car, looked at me, and asked:

“How did you do that?”

LOL.

Fifty Cessnas to Oshkosh

In 2006, the Cessna 172 celebrated its 50th birthday. I was invited to participate in a 50-airplane formation arrival at the EAA AirVenture airshow in Oshkosh, Wisconsin.

Before participating, I had to complete formation-flight training and earn my formation card. On arrival day, all 50 airplanes assembled approximately 50 miles south of Oshkosh and we flew together for the mass arrival.

We landed in formation and parked together in a specially designated area. My airplane, built during the first year of Cessna 172 production, was the oldest 172 in the formation.

It was quite an honor for both of us.

Amanda’s First Oshkosh Adventure

After Amanda and I met, I invited her to accompany me to Oshkosh for the world’s largest airshow. More than 10,000 airplanes descend upon Oshkosh during AirVenture week.

Before we left, I asked Amanda whether she was comfortable flying directly across Lake Michigan or whether she would prefer to go around it.

She opted to go around.

No problem.

We had clear skies in Jackson, and the FAA weather report indicated that the morning fog between Jackson and Chicago would burn off. We took off, planning to make a fuel stop near Chicago.

Sure enough, little puffy white clouds began forming beneath us. Those scattered clouds gradually developed into a solid overcast layer, but we remained in clear air above it. The fog near Chicago was reportedly already dissipated.

Then, suddenly, we were in the soup.

Blind.

My Cessna still had its original instrument panel, which was designed primarily for visual flying and was barely adequate in the clouds. I concentrated on the instruments and began a smooth 180-degree turn to get us out of the cloud and back into clear air.

I didn’t want to move my head unnecessarily and risk inducing vertigo, so I began asking Amanda:

“Are we out of the cloud yet?”

I could feel her looking out the window and then looking at me. I was amused by the thought that she must have been wondering whether she had climbed into an airplane with a complete moron.

Finally, we broke out into clear air.

I could now see that the line of clouds stretched north and south, so I turned south and paralleled the cloud bank. My plan was to turn west toward Chicago as soon as I found a break.

By the time we reached Coldwater, Michigan, I had had enough. We landed.

Like so many small airports across the country, the airport had an old jalopy of a courtesy car available for visiting pilots. We borrowed it and went to breakfast.

By the time we returned, the clouds had burned off. We enjoyed clear sailing to Chicago and then onward to Oshkosh.

Rock Your Wings!

Flying into Oshkosh is quite an experience.

The arrival begins over the town of Ripon, southwest of Oshkosh. Airplanes form a single-file line and follow the railroad tracks toward Fisk while monitoring a designated radio frequency.

Near Fisk, an air traffic controller sits on the ground with binoculars and identifies each approaching airplane by type and color.

“Blue-and-white Cessna, rock your wings!”

I rocked my wings.

“I’ve got your wing rock. Proceed to Runway 36. Enjoy the show!”

I turned east toward Oshkosh and monitored the tower frequency assigned to Runway 36. With hundreds of airplanes converging on the airport, the controllers alternate traffic among the runways and assign specific landing spots.

For AirVenture, large colored circles are painted along the runways. These “dots” allow controllers to land multiple airplanes safely on different sections of the same runway.

As I approached, the tower called:

“Blue-and-white Cessna, rock your wings!”

I rocked them again.

“I’ve got your wing rock. You’re cleared to land on Runway 36, green dot.”

I rocked my wings to acknowledge the clearance and continued toward the runway.

The procedure is to touch down on the assigned dot and then clear immediately into the grass. You do not continue rolling until you reach a paved taxiway. There are far too many airplanes behind you for that!

Once we were in the grass, a young volunteer wearing an orange vest and floppy hat rode up on a moped and looked toward the cockpit.

I held up a sign marked “VAP”—Vintage Aircraft Parking.

He gave me a thumbs-up and motioned for me to follow. After a few hundred yards, he directed me toward the next marshal. A succession of volunteers guided us along until one crossed his arms, signaling that we had reached our parking spot.

I shut down the engine and turned to look at Amanda for the first time since the arrival began.

I had never touched the microphone. Every acknowledgment had been made by rocking the wings.

Amanda’s eyes were as big as saucers.

Oshkosh Twice in One Week

We rendezvoused with friends and took a boat to dinner. While we were out, I received a call from Delta.

They needed me to fly an Airbus A330 from Detroit to Baltimore and back the following afternoon.

At the crack of dawn, Amanda and I returned to the airport and ordered fuel. For some reason, the fuel trucks were backed up, and I couldn’t afford to wait.

We took off, hopped over to an airport on the Lake Michigan shoreline, filled the tanks, and immediately blasted off directly across the lake.

So much for going around!

We landed at the Airpark. I pushed the Cessna into the hangar, ran into the house, changed into my airline uniform, and drove to Detroit Metropolitan Airport. I met my crew and flew the A330 to Baltimore and back.

I arrived home at approximately 10 o’clock that night.

I looked at Amanda and asked, “Do you want to go back to Oshkosh tomorrow morning?”

She said, “Sure!”

The following morning, we climbed back into the Cessna and flew to Oshkosh again.

Amanda got to experience the famous Oshkosh arrival twice in one week.

RC, the Cargo Ship and the Caviar

A few years ago, Amanda’s father, RC—84 years old at the time—flew with me to Oshkosh.

The air was the smoothest I had ever experienced. I barely needed to touch the controls as we flew from the Airpark to Zeeland, Michigan, for fuel before crossing Lake Michigan.

As we departed Zeeland, I simply advanced the throttle and allowed the Cessna to fly off the runway when she was ready.

We reached cruising altitude and settled in for the crossing.

Suddenly, there was a clunk accompanied by a mild jarring sensation.

I looked around to see whether we had struck something, but we had not. I deduced the takeoff had been so smooth that the nose-gear scissors had not allowed the nose gear to extend to its full travel. As we climbed into colder air, the metal contracted just enough for the gear to release into the same position it had reached immediately after a thousand previous takeoffs.

We pressed on.

RC broke the silence.

“Well, that could have happened AFTER we crossed Lake Michigan!”

As we approached the midpoint of the lake, beyond gliding distance of either shore, I began looking around.

RC asked what I was searching for.

“Boats,” I told him. “If the engine quits, we will ditch close enough to one. I have a yacht on my side. Do you have anything on your side?”

“I have a cargo ship,” he replied.

He paused and then continued. "Let's go for the yacht... they'll have caviar and Champagne."

I agreed.

An Airplane Underneath Us

We flew the Oshkosh arrival and were initially assigned to land on the third dot.

While we were on short final, the controller amended our clearance and instructed us to land on the first dot. He advised a faster, high-performance airplane would slip beneath us and continue to the third dot.

RC was a little hard of hearing and, unbeknownst to me, had not heard the amended clearance.

When the other airplane slipped beneath us, RC jerked upright and hollered in alarm.

I grinned and assured him that everything was fine.

At Oshkosh, that’s just another day at the airport.

The Next Generation

Two Sundays ago, I gave seven rides in the Stearman. Our manager, Danielle, asked whether I could take her children flying.

I felt they were too small to ride safely in the Stearman, so I took them in the Cessna.

We placed her 10-year-old son in the front seat and his little sister in the back. I seated her directly behind her brother so I could keep an eye on her. She was so tiny that it took every inch of the seatbelt to strap her in.

After we leveled off, I let her brother take the controls.

He was doing a great job, so I turned around and told his little sister that her brother was flying the airplane.

She immediately began to cry.

Apparently, that announcement did not inspire the confidence I had expected!

I gave her two thumbs-up, assured her that everything was fine, reached back for a high five, and then gave her a fist bump.

She was happy again.

Nearly a quarter-century has passed since I flew that old Cessna home from Texas with a useless navigation radio, a paper map in my hands, and an engine nearing the end of its life.

Since then, she has carried me over Michigan, into massive formations, through the skies over Oshkosh, across Lake Michigan, and into a new home with a runway in the front yard. She introduced Amanda to one of aviation’s greatest adventures, gave RC a chance to contemplate the relative culinary merits of yachts and cargo ships, and recently allowed two children to discover what the world looks like from above.

She isn’t the fastest airplane I have flown.

She isn’t the biggest.

She certainly isn’t the most sophisticated.

But for more than 20 years, that little blue-and-white Cessna has carried some of the biggest memories of my life.

Blue Skies,

Lorenzo