How to Have a Fabulous Fall Day

First, send your wife to New York for the weekend.  Ooops, okay I didn’t really mean that first part.  I might have thought it and then, you know, it appeared on the paper.  (That ever happen to you?)

Buuut, if she does want to visit friends or family on the weekend, don’t be begging her not to.  ;)

Second, load your bicycle into your airplane and take off, headed for Ephraim, Wisconsin just about as the sun’s coming up over Lake Michigan.  Fly along the lakeshore taking in the fall colors and the solitude (see Step 1).

Head for Ephraim which has a great little airport just East of Fish Creek on the Northern tip of Door County peninsula.

Here’s a zoomed in view.

Land at Ephraim and take the bike out. 

From here it’s a 3 mile ride to Peninsula State Park.  When you get there, take the Sunset trail.  It’s a 10 mile loop along the lakeshore and through the woods resplendent in fall colors.

After the bike ride, head over to Wild Tomato.  (I’ve thoughtfully labelled it on the map for you.)  It’s right across the street from the entrance to Peninsula State Park.  Here, you order yourself a Cowboy Burger (big burger, cheddar cheese, onion straws, bacon and BBQ sauce) with a side of baked macaroni.  Now, it’s VERY important that you do this.  The idea is that you want to keep your ying and yang in balance and given the 13 miles of bike riding exercise you just inadvertently got oohing and ahhing over fall colors, this puppy is JUST the ticket.  Having polished off your cowboy burger, hop back on the bike and pedal your somewhat fatter ass back to the airport.  Put the bike back in the plane (you know it came out so chances are it’ll fit back in – trust me on this – I’m an engineer). 

Now what you wanna do (provided the weather is CAVU (ceiling and visibility unlimited) like it was last Saturday, is file a VFR flight plan on the way back.  This way it’s just you and the scenery and the music.  No annoying ATC guy to kill the mood.  Fly low along the lake and take it all in, while singing along to Beatles songs in your headset (I just got over a cold so singing along to Leslie Gore wasn’t working for me).

Before you know it, home sweet home.

 So, there you go.  Recipe for a perfect fall day.

There’s a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow…

A little backstory.  For those of you old enough to remember the 1964 World’s Fair or those who have wandered into the Carousel of Progress in Disney World will remember this fragment from the ear worm song of the same name.  The Carousel of Progress was one of four pavilions in the aforementioned World’s Fair that were designed by Walt Disney.  For those too young or deprived to either remember the ’64 World’s Fair or those who have never stumbled onto the Carousel of Progress at Disney World but have yet somehow discovered this blog, the premise was following a typical US family from the 1920’s, the 1930’s, the 1940’s, the 1950’s and “the future” (which in 1964 was anything past 1970 or so).  Two of the innovations of the exhibit were the first use of audio animatronics figures AND the stages or vignettes were situated on a fixed circular stage while the outer donut (containing the audience seating) rotated around revealing one stage after another.  To this day, whenever we visit Disney World, I insist (with what little authority I have in my family) on visiting the Carousel of Progress and I sing the theme (see title) along with the “cast” each time the audience rotates into a new position.  I, once again, am transported back to 1964 (and my daughter, who has accompanied me, once again is MORTIFIED).

ANYWAY, what’s this got to do with a blog ostensibly about flying?  Well, glad you asked; bear with me.  About 8 or so years ago, an acquaintance (older than me) suggested beginning the process to agree on a retirement location NOW.  He said, “The first 40 or so states are pretty easy to cross off.  After that, it gets harder.”  Now, anyone who’s wondering, “Well, why not just stay put and retire in the Chicago area.” has OBVIOUSLY never watched the news, or the weather.  Let me help.  Chicago is the LAST place you’d want to retire to unless you just love miserable weather and donating your entire life savings to paying absurd taxes designed to keep the world’s epicenter of corrupt politicians (and their families…and their friends) living in the style to which, your earnings have made them accustomed.  So, we did a few years of extensive due diligence and decided on Fort Collins, Colorado.  For those of you reading this with an abstract mindset, Fort Collins is FABULOUS!  Great weather (300 days of sunshine a year), Taxes about one tenth that of Chicago, endless outdoor activities and great restaurants and downtown.  For those of you who plan to retire in a few years, it’s terrible, you’d hate it.  (No sense jacking up the cost of living and crapping up Colorado with a horde of Chicagoans.)

After 37 years working as an engineer at UL, life tends to blur into the same “go-to loop”; wake up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, watch a little TV, read a book, repeat…for 37 years.  Now, we’re looking forward to retirement with no small degree of trepidation since it will be very different from the “go-to loop” that we are used to.  Like Socrates allegory of the person emerging from the cave, it’s a little scary.  A few weeks ago, we flew, once again, to Fort Collins, Colorado and came back firmly believing that, “There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow…” waiting for us there.

We lifted off from Waukegan airport at 4:00 in the morning into a dark gray, low overcast.  After climbing through about 5,000 feet of clouds, we emerged into crystal clear skies on top with the orange glow of the sunrise behind us.  Three hours later, we landed at Omaha, Nebraska, our half way point.  After gassing up, “freshening up” (a euphemism for peeing) getting a weather brief and filing our flight plan, we were off again.  Again, we climbed on top of now broken clouds and three hours later saw the Rocky Mountains in our windscreen.  We landed at Fort Collins and while one lineman guided us into our tie down spot, another pulled our rental car up to meet us and insisted on unloading our luggage.  We immediately went into town and made a beeline for Coopersmiths for a: 

Devils Backbone Buffalo Burger

One-third pound, ranch-raised buffalo burger charbroiled and then topped with a garlic portabella mushroom sauce and mozzarella cheese served with pub chips.

AND a big, might I say, well deserved, mug of Horsetooth Stout. 

Now, a little backstory:  Colorado in general and Fort Collins in particular has a beer problem.  There are 161 breweries in Colorado and 17 in Fort Collins.  Obviously then, there is a glut, a veritable overabundance of beer in Fort Collins and I feel, as a future resident, I OWE it to them to try to help them out of this predicament.  Besides, the FAA “8 hour bottle to throttle” requirement is completely silent on the “throttle to bottle” side of the equation.

That afternoon, we reacquainted ourselves on what caused us to fall in love with Fort Collins originally; strolling the town and the shops, luxuriating in the crystal clear skies and bright sunshine. 

The next morning, we returned to the airport and launched for Rapid City, South Dakota intent on seeing Mount Rushmore.  My initial thoughts were that we would fly past Mount Rushmore itself before landing but, a re-read of the FAA (inveterate party poopers) regulations and facts about Mount Rushmore itself, quashed those thoughts. 

The FAA:

b. Pilots are requested to maintain a minimum altitude of 2,000 feet above the surface of the following: National Parks, Monuments, Seashores, Lakeshores, Recreation Areas and Scenic Riverways administered by the National Park Service, National Wildlife Refuges, Big Game Refuges, Game Ranges and Wildlife Ranges administered by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and Wilderness and Primitive areas administered by the U.S. Forest Service.

(In FAA parlance, the term “requested” means, “…or we’ll take away your pilot’s license and the only time you’ll ever fly again is if an errant eagle grabs you by the ass”.  In fact, if you read the entire (3 inch thick) Federal Aviation Regulations and Airman Information Manual (FAR AIM), you’ll find the only place you’re actually allowed to fly is over your own house... once).

Additionally, “North by Northwest” aside, the faces of Mount Rushmore are only 60 feet high.  From 2,000 feet, you’d be lucky to even find them.

So, we flew from Fort Collins, to Rapid City.  People that haven’t travelled outside of Chicago would be shocked to discover how much of the US is completely devoid of any signs that humans had ever set foot.  Once we passed Cheyenne, Wyoming, we flew over endless miles and miles of nothing but rock outcropping and high plains.  Suddenly, we reached Rapid City, landed and drove into Keystone, South Dakota.  Keystone itself is a caricature of an old west town.  We had a great lunch at Ruby’s, authentically patterned after an old west saloon (though Ruby’s itself, was built in 2004).

Reinforced with lunch, it was on to the main attraction:

Even though only 60 feet high, being here, at this place, an image that we’ve grown up seeing in pictures and books was an indescribable experience; breathtaking.  This is a wonderful National Park and between the hiking trails, the museum, the sculptor’s studio and the visitor’s center, you can easily spend several hours, and we did.  Then, back to Keystone to buy the requisite tee shirts and made in China tourist crap.  Back to the airport; off the ground and two hours later, back in Fort Collins.

A WONDERFUL dinner at one of the many fine dining establishments in Old Town; again, throttle to bottle – undefined.

The next morning we had lunch with our great friends John and Stella who epitomize the veracity that there is life after retirement. Next time we see you, we’ll be similarly footloose and fancy free.  Later that afternoon, we drove up to Cheyenne for Frontier Days, the largest rodeo in the US.  We strolled the endless shops and booths and perused the make believe cowboys and their companions in Daisy Duke shorts and push up bras.  That night, we enjoyed a John Mellencamp concert and drove home.  (For the record, we did consider avoiding the traffic by flying to the Cheyenne airport, which is a short walk from the rodeo grounds but the airport closes before the concert was due to end and they would have charged a $50 call out fee as ransom to get our plane back.)

Sunday morning, 4 AM we were in the air this time flying into the sunrise.

A WONDERFUL trip.  The next time we see Fort Collins, it’ll be with a whole different mindset.  And we’ll see you soon!

1,713 nautical miles, 15 flying hours, 5 destinations in 7 days!

Well, this will likely be our last opportunity to see the some of the high points of sightseeing that are a convenient flying distance from Chicago.  So, we each made our list of “must sees” and what emerged was this eclectic list:

• The Jack Daniel’s Distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee

• Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee

• Biltmore Mansion in Asheville, North Carolina

• The Naval Air Museum in Pensacola, Florida and

• The Space Center in Huntsville Alabama

Okay, I hear the laughing.  If you don’t like our list, go buy a plane and make your own damn list!

For those who are still with us, Saturday morning at 5:00 AM, we launched from Waukegan, Illinois and flew South past the Chicago skyline just as the sun was rising in the East.  Here’s what we saw:

And here’s the view from inside:

This was an even more remarkable and rare sight than the glorious sunrise over Chicago; Jolene smiling at 5:00 in the morning!

By 9:30, we were on the ground at Tullahoma airport, being marshalled into our parking spot on the ramp and our rental car was driving up to meet us.  By 10:00 we were driving to Lynchburg, home of Jack Daniels.  For those of you who know me well, you’ll of course know that I’ve been doing my best to support the residents of Lynchburg for the past 35 years through the purchase of their product.  (It’s just not in my heart to see poor Tennesseans starve).   

So, we drove from Tullahoma to Lynchburg to see where this elixir is produced.  Jack Daniels started his distillery in 1875 at the age of 25 years old.  His product was, and continues to be very popular and, in 2013, they shipped over 11 million cases (apparently there are other good hearted folks who can't bear to see Tennesseans starve.)

Jack Daniels himself died at the age of 61.  His demise started about 5 years before.  He came to work one morning and tried to open the safe in his office (he had trouble remembering the combination).  After several tries, in frustration, he kicked the safe.  This resulted in a badly bruised toe which, in turn led to an infection.  Over the next several years, the infection spread leading to the loss of the toe, the shin, the leg and eventually his death in 1911.  Here’s our tour guide, (a bit too cheerfully) showing the safe:

Lynchburg itself, is somewhat underwhelming.  It consists of a very nice town square formed of buildings selling virtually anything you might care to imagine emblazoned with the Jack Daniel’s logo.  (We took home our fair share (remember, if not for us and our boundless charity, those poor starving Tennesseans.)

The next morning, we returned to the airport and flew to Knoxville where again we were marshalled into our spot and our rental car drove up to meet us.  After a brief respite (I’ve been all the way to the back of our plane and have yet to find the rest room), we drove to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, home of Dollywood, Tennessee’s answer to Disney World. 

Now, before the inevitable snickers start, let me just say, I admire Dolly Parton (and no, not for why you think)!  I have found that for any of us who live long enough, a legend begins to develop about us.  Like all legends, it is always based in some truth.  Like most legends, generally the legend takes on a life of its own and is much grander and much more interesting than the truth.  Many of us begin to embrace or just tolerate the legend without bothering to correct because, as Theodore Geisel once so eloquently put it, “Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”  To paraphrase, those who believe the legend don’t matter and those who know the truth don’t pay any mind to the legend. 

So it is with Dolly.  She has embraced the legend that has surrounded her, having once famously proclaimed, “It takes a lot of money to look this cheap.”  The truth, while not as grand or interesting is that she is a wholesome, down to earth person who never ever forgot her roots.  She is a person of character, integrity and morals and this comes through in her museum. 

One of the most touching and defining stories is told in her song “Coat of Many Colors”.  It tells the story of when Dolly was a little girl and getting ready to first go to school.  Her family was so poor that she had no coat to wear.  A friend gave them a pile of cloth scraps that her mother began to sew into a coat.  As she sewed, her mother told Dolly the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors, from the bible.  Dolly wore that coat to her first day of school and all of the other children began to laugh and make fun of her.  As she tells it:

And oh I couldn't understand it, for I felt I was rich

And I told them of the love my momma sewed in every stitch

And I told 'em all the story momma told me while she sewed

And how my coat of many colors was worth more than all their clothes

One is only poor, only if they choose to be

Now I know we had no money, but I was rich as I could be

In my coat of many colors my momma made for me

And THAT’S who Dolly Parton really is.  And here’s the coat:

Dollywood is a wonderful place.  Go, if you get the chance.

The next morning we drove to Asheville, North Carolina (wasn’t far enough to make sense flying).  Asheville is known for Biltmore mansion and gardens.  Biltmore was built by George Vanderbilt, grandson of Cornelius Vanderbilt.  Now being from the East Coast, we have toured many Vanderbilt estates; Newport, Rhode Island, Hyde Park New York, Centerport, New York.  The house in Asheville is the largest and grandest of them all.  Built between 1889 and 1895 it is the largest privately owned house in the United States, at 178,926 square feet of floor space and featuring 250 rooms.  It took us virtually the entire day to tour the house and gardens.  Here is the house:

The next morning we drove back to the airport and flew to Pensacola, Florida, home of the Blue Angels and the National Museum of Naval Aviation. 

Now, if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have noted that each place where we land, we are met by a line person holding two orange batons and guiding us into a spot to park our plane and then another line person drives our rental car up to the plane so we can unload our luggage. 

Upon landing at Pensacola International, I was pleased (pleased doesn’t begin to do it justice) to see that our “line person” was a perky blond young lady dressed in a pair of “Daisy Dukes” and a snug tee shirt PROUDLY proclaiming her association with Pensacola Aviation.  At the risk of TMI, what was going through my mind were two thoughts:

• Jolene, could you park this plane, this young lady would like me to follow her and

• What more effective way to say, “Welcome to Pensacola, Florida!”

(I’d post a picture of the line person but “my co-pilot” had some issue with taking the picture.)

The museum was amazing.  There is literally every plane the Navy has ever flown, many cockpits to sit in, and many full motion flight simulators (been there, done that, and been sick the rest of the day).  I think if I could afford to buy the fuel, this just might be my next vehicle:

Jolene picked out her own.  Perhaps we could have “his and hers” or would that be TOO decadent?

The next morning, we flew to Huntsville, Alabama.  (I thought of bringing my own line person but, alas, the co-pilot objected.)

As you’re driving from the airport along the expressway wondering where the US Space and Rocket center is, you see this:

To give you an idea of scale:

…Jolene’s about 5’4”.

Again, spent the day touring the museum.  Amazing stuff.  If you’re lucky, while you’re there, you’ll even run into a real live astronaut:

The next morning, as we pulled into the airport parking lot to leave for home, we passed a T38 on the ramp. 

I happened to run into the pilot in the men’s room and I commented, “Pretty cool plane you have”.  His response was priceless, “Actually, it’s not my plane but I sure do appreciate your paying your taxes and letting me fly it.”

We launched back for Chicago and ran into the first clouds we saw all week long.  Coming up from mid-Indiana on, we were in and out of some tall cumulus clouds.  Not a bad ride and very impressive views.

Just a fabulous vacation.  Again:

1,713 nautical miles, 15 flying hours, 5 destinations in 7 days!

A few more weeks and we’re off to Colorado, Cheyenne, Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse.  Stay tuned!