Capt Sandy
Well Known Member
Summer Downtown Island Fly-In
The velour was worn off the brown sofa from years of too many pilot butts, but the air-conditioning inside the FBO at Downtown Island (KDXX) felt great. I held my phone in my lap and looked at photos my daughter just texted of my new grandson, while Roy stood in a circle of his pilot buddies and talked about building, flying, and other pilot-y things.
“What cha looking at?” my friend Juliette plopped down into the seat next to me, followed by my friend Sandy on the sofa to my right. “Baby photos! Let me see!” Juliette smiled. The three of us swapped stories of summer with our grandkids, and other summer fun until someone behind us said, “The food cart is open”. We stood all at once and headed outside.
“So great for Downtown Island to do this for all of us pilots,” we agreed, even as we roasted in the late afternoon sun. “Great excuse to fly to visit our airplane friends,” someone in line behind us said. We found a table with some other recent Tennessee transplants, and our neighbor at Hensley, and shared stories while noshing on spuds piled with goodies until Roy took my hand, “Sunset. We have to go.” I’m not used to living on an unlit runway yet.
(photo taken from our porch after landing)
A half hour later, “Look at the sunset,” Roy exclaimed as he turned downwind for 04TN. I turned and looked over my shoulder. The sky was glowing deep-red-orange as it kissed the horizon, and bright pink light reflected off the clouds. We tucked the plane away and called it an early night, so we could get up early and go to…
A Georgia Poker Run
The noise in the cockpit of our RV-7A drowned out the sound of Roy’s voice and the sound from the radio. Something was not right. I furrowed my eyebrows and glared at Roy, expecting him to turn the airplane on its wing and head back to Hensley. Instead, he gave me the ‘what is going on with you’ stare and shrugged his shoulders. I felt a light tapping on my neck. “Never mind,” I muttered, turned away, looked out over the right wing as if I had suddenly discovered something unusual in theme-park strewn Gatlinburg 4,500 feet below us, and put the earplugs for my Card Machine Works CQ1 headset in my ears. The sound in the cockpit quieted to its normal background hum.
“What state are we going to?” I asked.
Roy chuckled. “Georgia. Jackson County. KJAC.”
“Georgia,” I replied. “We’ve been here three years, but I am still not used to flying less than an hour and being in any number of adjacent states.”
He nodded. “I’m also laughing because we are flying an hour to go to a pancake breakfast, and then do an 85-mile Poker Run. Not what normal people do.”
“Who said we were normal?”
We flew over the Appalachia range, then down the other side, descended through warm, humid air, and landed on a well-maintained runway. It was easy to find our way to the pancake breakfast - it was the open hangar with grills and griddles set up out front. We climbed out of the plane, put our donation in the jar, and piled our plates with eggs, sausage, and pancakes. Another thing I’m not used to - southern pancake breakfast always comes with biscuits and gravy in addition to the usual eggs and sausage. Before my blueberry-banana-chocolate-chip-peanut-butter pancake was slathered with butter, we were greeted with ‘where-y’all-from’ and surrounded by the usual airplane banter.
“How many of y’all are here for the poker run?” A fellow in a gray polo shirt called out. A dozen people, including us, raise their hands.
“Okay, y’all gather round. Here are the rules. This is not a race.” He says a lot more than that, and I noticed Roy is making notes of the route and airport codes, so I stopped listening and counted the variety of airplanes participating. It was mostly RVs that participated in the poker run for our EAA Chapter 105 back in Oregon. Instead, here, there was a silver Luscombe, a Husky, Pipers, Cessnas, a Mustang Midget, and a Vashon Ranger.
Our route took us from Jackson County, KJCA to:
Franklin-Hart-Canon, 18A
Habersham County, KAJR
Taccoa Regional, KTOC
Then back to Jackson County.
In a crazy turn of events, I won the poker run, and went home with the entire pot!
To celebrate, Roy and I returned to Habersham, borrowed the courtesy car and went to Wolf Creek BBQ for lunch - a place I had made note of in my list of possible destinations some time ago.
And that is what we did with our RV this weekend - And the BBQ was delicious!
The velour was worn off the brown sofa from years of too many pilot butts, but the air-conditioning inside the FBO at Downtown Island (KDXX) felt great. I held my phone in my lap and looked at photos my daughter just texted of my new grandson, while Roy stood in a circle of his pilot buddies and talked about building, flying, and other pilot-y things.
“What cha looking at?” my friend Juliette plopped down into the seat next to me, followed by my friend Sandy on the sofa to my right. “Baby photos! Let me see!” Juliette smiled. The three of us swapped stories of summer with our grandkids, and other summer fun until someone behind us said, “The food cart is open”. We stood all at once and headed outside.
“So great for Downtown Island to do this for all of us pilots,” we agreed, even as we roasted in the late afternoon sun. “Great excuse to fly to visit our airplane friends,” someone in line behind us said. We found a table with some other recent Tennessee transplants, and our neighbor at Hensley, and shared stories while noshing on spuds piled with goodies until Roy took my hand, “Sunset. We have to go.” I’m not used to living on an unlit runway yet.
(photo taken from our porch after landing)
A half hour later, “Look at the sunset,” Roy exclaimed as he turned downwind for 04TN. I turned and looked over my shoulder. The sky was glowing deep-red-orange as it kissed the horizon, and bright pink light reflected off the clouds. We tucked the plane away and called it an early night, so we could get up early and go to…
A Georgia Poker Run
The noise in the cockpit of our RV-7A drowned out the sound of Roy’s voice and the sound from the radio. Something was not right. I furrowed my eyebrows and glared at Roy, expecting him to turn the airplane on its wing and head back to Hensley. Instead, he gave me the ‘what is going on with you’ stare and shrugged his shoulders. I felt a light tapping on my neck. “Never mind,” I muttered, turned away, looked out over the right wing as if I had suddenly discovered something unusual in theme-park strewn Gatlinburg 4,500 feet below us, and put the earplugs for my Card Machine Works CQ1 headset in my ears. The sound in the cockpit quieted to its normal background hum.
“What state are we going to?” I asked.
Roy chuckled. “Georgia. Jackson County. KJAC.”
“Georgia,” I replied. “We’ve been here three years, but I am still not used to flying less than an hour and being in any number of adjacent states.”
He nodded. “I’m also laughing because we are flying an hour to go to a pancake breakfast, and then do an 85-mile Poker Run. Not what normal people do.”
“Who said we were normal?”
We flew over the Appalachia range, then down the other side, descended through warm, humid air, and landed on a well-maintained runway. It was easy to find our way to the pancake breakfast - it was the open hangar with grills and griddles set up out front. We climbed out of the plane, put our donation in the jar, and piled our plates with eggs, sausage, and pancakes. Another thing I’m not used to - southern pancake breakfast always comes with biscuits and gravy in addition to the usual eggs and sausage. Before my blueberry-banana-chocolate-chip-peanut-butter pancake was slathered with butter, we were greeted with ‘where-y’all-from’ and surrounded by the usual airplane banter.
“How many of y’all are here for the poker run?” A fellow in a gray polo shirt called out. A dozen people, including us, raise their hands.
“Okay, y’all gather round. Here are the rules. This is not a race.” He says a lot more than that, and I noticed Roy is making notes of the route and airport codes, so I stopped listening and counted the variety of airplanes participating. It was mostly RVs that participated in the poker run for our EAA Chapter 105 back in Oregon. Instead, here, there was a silver Luscombe, a Husky, Pipers, Cessnas, a Mustang Midget, and a Vashon Ranger.
Our route took us from Jackson County, KJCA to:
Franklin-Hart-Canon, 18A
Habersham County, KAJR
Taccoa Regional, KTOC
Then back to Jackson County.
In a crazy turn of events, I won the poker run, and went home with the entire pot!
To celebrate, Roy and I returned to Habersham, borrowed the courtesy car and went to Wolf Creek BBQ for lunch - a place I had made note of in my list of possible destinations some time ago.
And that is what we did with our RV this weekend - And the BBQ was delicious!
