Flying Adventures with Frank & Jolene: 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.