A Perfectly Imperfect Flight

After a cold and gray summer in the San Francisco Bay Area, the weather for tonight's flight is hot, so hot that record high temperatures were set today for several California cities. The goal is to complete back-to-back cross-country flights to meet commercial pilot requirements: One flight during the day, one at night, both a minimum of 2 hours with a straight-line distance of at least 100 nautical miles between departure and destination. Along the way I'll test the commercial candidate's ability to navigate with VORs, GPS, dead reckoning, and pilotage. The unstated goal, as is the case anytime pilots decide to go flying, will be to savor the joy of flight, even if the air is hot and dry.

These back-to-back cross-country flights are not new to me and I have a few possible destinations up my sleeve that will meet the distance and time requirements. For tonight, we'll fly to Harris Ranch, near Coalinga, California, at the Southern end of the San Joaquin Valley. Harris Ranch is more than 100 miles from Oakland. We can easily get there in less than 2 hours, so the solution is to give the pilot a diversion and there are many airports from which to choose. After diverting, we'll land at Harris Ranch, buy some fuel, sit in the air conditioned restaurant, have a bite to eat, if necessary we'll wait for official night to begin, and hope for a cooler two-hour return flight.

A luxury on long flights is the ample opportunity for a pilot to demonstrate their skills in a relaxed, slower paced setting. And since we'll be doing two cross-country flights with a break in between, the candidate gets a chance to integrate what he learns on the trip down and apply it on the trip back. Learning is a change in behavior ... A flight instructor candidate will be riding along in the back seat, observing, taking some photos and videos, and sharing the fun. The surface temperature at Oakland is a sizzling 34˚C, the air is still and bone dry, and it will be a thousand years until the winter rains come.

The aircraft for tonight's flight is a well-equipped, late-model G1000 Cessna 172 with a nice, accurate autopilot. That should help relieve the tedium of the long flight. We depart Oakland, turn to the East and begin a slow climb. Norcal Approach eventually clears us up to 5,500 feet and the outside air temperature gradually drops to 28˚C. That's over twenty degrees warmer than the standard temperature for this altitude, but the air flowing out the tiny cabin air vents feels surprisingly cool.

The initial route takes us over Tracy, California and then we begin some IFR flying (I Follow Roads) along Victor I-5, a major commercial freeway that runs the length of the state. It's hard to get lost following a big swath of pavement and there are several small airports along the route, just in case we unexpectedly need one.

Dead ahead is the Lemoore Military Operations Area, which brings up the first topic of discussion: Is the Lemoore MOA active? The pilot had planned a different route than what I've asked him to fly. He planned the trip primarily using IFR charts and confesses a dislike for VFR charts, but now he consults his sectional and finds the Lemoore MOA is listed as active. Just to be sure, he asks the approach controller who tells us the MOA is cold. Good to know that in the entire state of California, something is cold.

As we near Los Banos, it's time to divert and the fun begins. I take away the GPS navigational information and after drawing a course line, measuring the magnetic course and distance, estimating the time en route and fuel required, another lesson is learned: On long trips it sure helps to have a big plotter instead of one of those small, compact rulers. Flying along the new course using dead reckoning and pilotage distracts us from the heat. The winds aloft are negligible, the ride is smooth, and as the sun sinks to the horizon the Sierra Madre are bathed in a golden light.

The pilot locates and identifies various airports along the way, Madera, Fresno, Reedly. During the descent to Woodlake, California, the new destination, the temperature climbs. The Sierra foothills shimmer in the twilight and seem to be glowing from within. Peaceful orchards and farmland are slipping by underneath us, lush and green in spite of the heat. The life of a professional flight instructor is fraught with difficulties, but this view makes the trials and imperfections melt away. A little voice in my head says, "Fix these sights in your memory and they will give you solace in the future."

Gliding closer to the runway, we can see that the pavement appears freshly resurfaced. I recall landing here in a Caravan during 135 indoc training, doing a 180 and back-taxiing on the poorly surfaced runway because the parallel taxiway was even worse: A trail of broken asphalt and potholes. Back to the present, the Skyhawk seemingly hovering in the landing flare, I glance to the left and see a familiar wooden building. This unassuming structure houses something out of a time warp, the archetypal $100 hamburger restaurant straight out of a pilot's dream. I had a grilled cheese sandwich here years ago and the check airman had a cheeseburger. Alas, the restaurant is not open at this hour and after a touch and go, we depart straight-out for Harris Ranch.

My half-liter stainless steel water bottle that was filled with ice cubes and cold water is now empty. My stomach is growling and I didn't pack any snacks. The pilot neglected to bring any water at all, which spawns a quick discussion of aeromedical factors. In hot weather the body loses water fast and with low relative humidity perspiration dries so quickly you may not realize you're dehydrated until the symptoms start: Headache, dizziness, dry mouth, difficulty concentrating. Not to worry, we'll soon be ensconced in cool, air-conditioned comfort at the Harris Ranch restaurant.

On the way we briefly receive flight following from Lemoore Approach and the controller is busy talking to what I assume is a squadron of F-18 Hornets. Nothing appears on my traffic detector and I can only conclude their transponders are not turned on. Told to squawk VFR, the descent to Harris Ranch commences and the narrow, brightly lit runway comes into view next to I-5 and its endless stream of truck and automobile traffic. Turning final, something unexpected happens: The runway lights begin to flash on and off at regular intervals. We attempt to click the mic (the aviation equivalent of The Clapper), but the lights go off and stay off. We live in an imperfect world and it's time for a real-life diversion.

In the go-around there's a low-fuel annunciation, most likely due to the climb attitude combined with a somewhat low fuel quantity. We have at least an hour's worth of fuel, but a flashing yellow annunciator isn't soothing. The pilot chooses to divert to nearby New Coalinga where self-service fuel should be available. Then the sinking realization: No cold drinks, no snacks, no air-conditioned restaurant. The pilot needs water and I'm hungry. Another lesson relearned - something about Plan B ...

New Coalinga is deserted and save a few hangars, the only signs of any aviation activity whatsoever is a single Cessna, tied down on the ramp. The air is still and warm, but surprisingly, not that hot. And there's a smell in the air you'd instantly recognize if you've ever driven past Coalinga: We're downwind from a huge cattle stockyard. No matter, the fuel pump is functioning and there is a pilot's lounge/briefing room in a mobile-home style building just beyond the fence. A dog is barking somewhere in the darkness that has settled on the airport and then a light comes on.

The airport manager lives in the other half of the mobile home. He appears, dressed for the weather, barefoot, wearing jeans and sans t-shirt. I apologize if we've disturbed his evening. He says it's fine, turns on the lights for us and shows us what's available. There's no food to be had, but there is a vending machine with cold soft drinks. The CFI candidate riding along takes some pictures and the sounds his digital camera makes are all we hear.

I bring up FltPlan on my iPhone, locate Harris Ranch and give them a call. I get the hotel receptionist and describe the problem with the runway lights. I'm not sure the receptionist understands the nuances of runway lighting, but she assures me they'll look into it.

After departing, I ask the pilot to head toward Madera, he programs the GPS and contacts Lemoore Approach. We get flight following through the MOA, which seems to be active and the runway lights at Harris Ranch are working again. The controller is still talking to a bunch of Hornets, but we can only hear one side of the conversation since we're using a VHF transceiver and the F-18s are using high frequency transceivers. We see some flashing red beacons, but my traffic detector insists we're all alone.

When I was a kid and we were reaching the end of a road trip, I recall how a peculiar silence would engulf the car and make every small rattle, click, or bump in the road seem significant. That same feeling overtakes me as we cross over Tracy and turn toward San Francisco Bay. The pilot elects to fly a practice ILS approach and while Oakland's North Field is quiet, the South Field is humming with activity. A single tower controller is working all the frequencies for the entire airport: Tower, Ground, and Clearance Delivery. Whatever gets you through the night ...

The North Field is eerily quiet and the temperature is actually warmer here than it was at New Coalinga. With the plane back in the hangar, we're back to business cleaning all the leading edges and the windshield. A cynical Larry Summers famously claimed "In the history of the world, no one has ever washed a rental car." The same cannot be said of rental aircraft and Mr. Summers would get some serious remedial training if he were ever to fly with me. After a quick debrief and signing of the logbook, this evening's two cross-country flights are in the books.

Flying focuses our minds, offer tangible goals, tests physical and intellectual skills. Yet while we're focused on our flying performance, we're also taking in sights and sensations that only a flying animal can know and appreciate. The next time you go flying, bring a friend or a loved one, and drink in the world from above. May the joys you experience stay fixed in your mind and provide comfort as you make your way through this perfectly imperfect world.