Flight to Kirksville - Part 4
We taxied onto the ramp past an empty twin-engine turboprop, slowly loping along as I looked for a parking spot with tie-down ropes. Much to my surprise, there weren’t any. So, I pulled us into a spot that was convenient and shut the engine down.
“I can’t believe there aren’t any tie-downs,” I grumbled. “I left ours at home since there had been some last time.” Our last visit had been at the end of summer for the Ayers family reunion. “Where is everybody?”
“I don’t know,” Connie said. “I told my mom what time we would be here.”
I put the control lock and the throttle lock in place and then started gathering up our cockpit items and storing them in my flight bag. I hadn’t brought any chocks, either; and there were none around, so I felt like I was getting out of the airplane naked. The airplane was at risk, and I hated how that was feeling.
“There they are,” Connie said.
I looked up and saw Connie’s father and mother ambling out toward us. Connie’s sister in law Julie and her son Marty had arrived at the same time. We hopped out of the airplane one at a time, a necessary ritual in the Cheetah since two people at the rear edge of the wing at the same time could rock her back on her tail. An airplane is, after all, a see-saw with wings, and this one continues that behavior on the ground. We engaged in the requisite “hello’s” and handshakes and hugs. They asked how the flight was. The weather was fine, I said, but we had headwinds and it was bumpy all the way. The talk quickly shifted to where to go for supper.
“I hate to interrupt this,” I said. “But there are no tie-downs here. I need to go somewhere and get some rope.”
I explained that they had been here during our last visit, and that had lulled me into a false sense of security, so I had not brought ours with us. While Connie’s dad, Louis, Marty, and I talked about where the best place was to get some rope, Julie got on her cell phone and busily talked to someone. We decided to go to a hardware store on the nearest end of Kirksville.
Connie and I piled into her parent’s sporty red Chevelle and drove down to Westlake’s hardware store. Dad and I made our way back to the ropes, where there were several different types in either pre-manufactured lengths or cut from a spool. I picked up a bundle of twenty-five feet of yellow nylon rope and headed to the cash register. We paid for it, piled back into the car, and headed back to the airport.
When we got there, we found the airplane had already been tied down! As it turned out, Julie is quite well-connected in Kirksville, and she had called one of the gentlemen who worked at the airport and harangued him about there not being any tie-downs. He had to come out and meet a corporate twin coming in anyway, so he had traveled out early, gotten some rope, and tied the Cheetah down for us. I shook his hand, thanking him for his courtesy, and telling him how much I appreciated it.
I would later learn why there were not tie-downs there. Turns out it is a “winter thing”.
Kirksville is a nice little town, its economy driven by Truman State University and agriculture in the area. Connie had lived there a large portion of her life, though she had grown up in much smaller Green City, some twenty-miles west. The Kirksville airport is actually about five miles south of the city and has a single paved runway, 18/36, that is 6000 feet long and 100 feet wide. The charts show a small grass runway perpendicular to it. Runway 9/27 is 1393 feet long, 100 feet wide, and hard to see from the air. (I’ve never seen it at all.) The airport’s taxiways connect the Terminal and the hangars with 18/36. Taxiway Alpha (A) runs the length of the runway. Taxiway Bravo is at roughly mid-field and connects to the Terminal. Taxiway Charlie is south of Bravo, a little more than halfway down the field again from Bravo, and could be used for “intersection” takeoffs to the north, as Bravo could be if you were going north or south. (Me, I’m a strong believer in the old saying that “Gas and runway behind you are useless” and rarely use intersection takeoffs at all.)
The airport also has a full compliment of runway lights there as well as LOC/DME, VOR, VOR DME RNAV, and GPS approaches. There is talk of instituting an ILS there, especially after a commuter airliner crashed on an approach in the dark, killing nine people. A regular commuter airline connection from St. Louis flies in twice a day and corporate props and jets in addition to light plane traffic make up the rest of the sporadic traffic flow. Since 9/11, there has also been a small contingent of Transportation Security Administration agents there, located in a small office in the Terminal building. They’re there to screen the passengers for the commuter airline and the occasional Boeing 737 that diverts there for weather. (It has happened.)
We ate dinner at the Ponderosa, a steak house on the road back into Kirksville, and the we made our way back to Connie’s parents home in Green City.
Continued…
“I can’t believe there aren’t any tie-downs,” I grumbled. “I left ours at home since there had been some last time.” Our last visit had been at the end of summer for the Ayers family reunion. “Where is everybody?”
“I don’t know,” Connie said. “I told my mom what time we would be here.”
I put the control lock and the throttle lock in place and then started gathering up our cockpit items and storing them in my flight bag. I hadn’t brought any chocks, either; and there were none around, so I felt like I was getting out of the airplane naked. The airplane was at risk, and I hated how that was feeling.
“There they are,” Connie said.
I looked up and saw Connie’s father and mother ambling out toward us. Connie’s sister in law Julie and her son Marty had arrived at the same time. We hopped out of the airplane one at a time, a necessary ritual in the Cheetah since two people at the rear edge of the wing at the same time could rock her back on her tail. An airplane is, after all, a see-saw with wings, and this one continues that behavior on the ground. We engaged in the requisite “hello’s” and handshakes and hugs. They asked how the flight was. The weather was fine, I said, but we had headwinds and it was bumpy all the way. The talk quickly shifted to where to go for supper.
“I hate to interrupt this,” I said. “But there are no tie-downs here. I need to go somewhere and get some rope.”
I explained that they had been here during our last visit, and that had lulled me into a false sense of security, so I had not brought ours with us. While Connie’s dad, Louis, Marty, and I talked about where the best place was to get some rope, Julie got on her cell phone and busily talked to someone. We decided to go to a hardware store on the nearest end of Kirksville.
Connie and I piled into her parent’s sporty red Chevelle and drove down to Westlake’s hardware store. Dad and I made our way back to the ropes, where there were several different types in either pre-manufactured lengths or cut from a spool. I picked up a bundle of twenty-five feet of yellow nylon rope and headed to the cash register. We paid for it, piled back into the car, and headed back to the airport.
When we got there, we found the airplane had already been tied down! As it turned out, Julie is quite well-connected in Kirksville, and she had called one of the gentlemen who worked at the airport and harangued him about there not being any tie-downs. He had to come out and meet a corporate twin coming in anyway, so he had traveled out early, gotten some rope, and tied the Cheetah down for us. I shook his hand, thanking him for his courtesy, and telling him how much I appreciated it.
I would later learn why there were not tie-downs there. Turns out it is a “winter thing”.
Kirksville is a nice little town, its economy driven by Truman State University and agriculture in the area. Connie had lived there a large portion of her life, though she had grown up in much smaller Green City, some twenty-miles west. The Kirksville airport is actually about five miles south of the city and has a single paved runway, 18/36, that is 6000 feet long and 100 feet wide. The charts show a small grass runway perpendicular to it. Runway 9/27 is 1393 feet long, 100 feet wide, and hard to see from the air. (I’ve never seen it at all.) The airport’s taxiways connect the Terminal and the hangars with 18/36. Taxiway Alpha (A) runs the length of the runway. Taxiway Bravo is at roughly mid-field and connects to the Terminal. Taxiway Charlie is south of Bravo, a little more than halfway down the field again from Bravo, and could be used for “intersection” takeoffs to the north, as Bravo could be if you were going north or south. (Me, I’m a strong believer in the old saying that “Gas and runway behind you are useless” and rarely use intersection takeoffs at all.)
The airport also has a full compliment of runway lights there as well as LOC/DME, VOR, VOR DME RNAV, and GPS approaches. There is talk of instituting an ILS there, especially after a commuter airliner crashed on an approach in the dark, killing nine people. A regular commuter airline connection from St. Louis flies in twice a day and corporate props and jets in addition to light plane traffic make up the rest of the sporadic traffic flow. Since 9/11, there has also been a small contingent of Transportation Security Administration agents there, located in a small office in the Terminal building. They’re there to screen the passengers for the commuter airline and the occasional Boeing 737 that diverts there for weather. (It has happened.)
We ate dinner at the Ponderosa, a steak house on the road back into Kirksville, and the we made our way back to Connie’s parents home in Green City.
Continued…
posted by Andy Foster at 9:32 PM
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