A High School Daydream

barn·storm

ˈbärnˌstôrm/

verbNORTH AMERICAN

gerund or present participle: barnstorming

• tour rural districts giving theatrical performances, originally often in barns
• make a rapid tour of (an area), typically as part of a political campaign.
• travel around giving exhibitions of flying and performing stunts.

The beginning of my interest in flying began in high school from reading Flying Magazine. I  don’t remember how I came across that magazine, or where, or exactly when, but I clearly remember reading a few of their columnists on a regular basis. Richard Bach, author of Jonathan Livingston Seagul,  and Gordon Baxter, most notably. Both could turn a phrase that would make you fall in love with the art of flying without ever stepping into a cockpit or hanging on an airport fence. 

In another  book written by Bach  Nothing by Chance, he chronicled his version of barnstorming, which was to simply wake up in the morning, determine which direction provided the most favorable weather conditions, and aim for an airport in that direction. Stop by, perform a few aerobatic tricks, see who or what was there, talk to the locals and stay if it was interesting, and move on if not. Next day, rinse and repeat. I used to sit in class and daydream about that, what it must be like, how cool it would be to fly above the boring parts and discover a different town on your own time, when weather allowed. That daydream lived on into college, leading to flight lessons at the University of Minnesota (no scholastic credit, unfortunately). It lived into my work life, as I drove the countryside as a salesman, stopping into airports just to look around. Eventually, the daydream would become a mental note scheduled to be read upon retirement.

Well, that daydream became a reality in year three of that retirement (minus the aerobatic tricks).  Ten days were put aside at the end of August through Labor Day to just wake up in the morning and decide where to fly. The first morning, clouds were hugging the ground and it rained. Second morning, again. Third morning, just the clouds at or below marginal VFR (Visual Flight Rules), and worse to the east, my intended half of the compass to choose from. On the third night of my adventure, which wasn’t very adventurous at that point, I felt a bit of frustration and disappointment creep in, which was never part of my daydream. Something had to change. The forecast wasn’t changing. Until I looked west. There they were predicted to have sunny skies. under the influence of the high pressure that was pushing against the subsidence inversion responsible for our dismal cloud cover. If I could just get out of the cities and about 60 miles west, I could find conditions that would propel me on my way. The day four forecast was for marginal VFR in the area, but with good visibility. I could make that. The bags had been packed for three days, waiting in the car. It was time to make a move.

I hate when forecasters of gloomy weather are right (they often aren’t), and they had been for more than a week, including this day. Clouds were at minimums - my personal minimums, anyway - hanging around at about 1500 feet. Just enough room to maintain the 500 feet below the clouds required by FAA regulation, and the 800 to 1000 feet I wanted to stay above the ground. 

The B-25 was a good omen. As I filled the tanks of the Piper Warrior 160 hp airplane with 100 octane aviation fuel, they pulled it out of the CAF (Commerative Air Force) hangar, fired her up and headed out into the gray sky. Traveling back in time already, as they regularly entertain folks at their events at airports in small towns, the meaning of aviation barnstorming way back. I took off soon after they did, watching the clouds (see them in the background of the picture?), hoping they would stay high enough to keep me safely clear and make my way west. Fortunately, the visibility was great, and I could anticipate their height underway. Circumventing a couple of areas, it wasn’t long before the sky broke up and presented shots of blue, eventually giving way to bright sunshine and unlimited clearance. I was on my way. Exactly where I wasn’t certain. We’d see how things went, which airports the Warrior would stop among a number of options I had charted, depending on my bladder endurance. 

Here are links to the other segments of this series following my (some would say Don Quixote-ish) barnstorming escapade.

Part 2 -  Pilot Amenities
Part 3 - A Study in Topography
Part 4 - What I Thought I Saw
Part 5 - S.U.M.M.E.R.