DIVISIBLE MAN--ENGINE OUT & OTHER SHORT FLIGHTS by Howard Seaborne

Author:Howard Seaborne [Seaborne, Howard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Trans World Data LLC

NAKED GUY

April 21, 2020 to April 24, 2022

7

PAYMENT IN KIND

The gyros in the cockpit hummed their way toward silence. The hot exhaust manifolds on the twin engines ticked as they cooled. I secured my headset, iPad and knee board. I watched the small caravan carrying Sandy and Arun depart, then slid out of the pilot’s seat, climbed out of the aircraft, and closed the cabin door.

I took a moment to appreciate the scent of fresh-cut Iowa hay coming from an adjacent field. Second or third cutting of the season. My teen years as a farmhand taught me to favor any cutting after the first. The smaller yield per acre meant fewer bales, which meant finishing faster—the salient objective of any teenaged farmhand.

Except for a light breeze carrying the alfalfa perfume, the small-town airport lay still under a high blue sky. Crows carried on a debate in the distance. A confused cricket chirped in the grass at the edge of the ramp, apparently unaware that the sun had risen and the ladies looking for mates had retired from the field.

I took my time fueling the airplane. As I poured 100LL Avgas into the last of four tanks, I examined the ramp. A shallow downslope flowed away from the gas pumps. I decided to see if I could simply push the airplane a few fuselage lengths away from the pumps, rather than start the engines and taxi clear. Courtesy demanded that I leave enough room for the next guy to gas up, but beyond that, the ramp had plenty of space and this little one-runway airport wasn’t exactly O’Hare Field. Shoving the Navajo aside would suffice. A benign weather forecast negated the need for a tiedown.

After turning the nose wheel to scribe a curved path away from the pumps, I leaned into the wing root to push.

“You want a hand with that?”

The voice startled me. I looked over the engine nacelle. The young man walked with purpose toward me. Jeans, denim shirt, and a cap with a farm implement dealer’s patch on coordinated with the sun-colored, corn-fed face and friendly grin.

“I won’t turn it down,” I said.

He picked up the pace and hurried to the other side of the nose. He leaned into the right-side wing root at the correct spot. We rolled the airplane back, careful not to build up too much speed or momentum.

“That’s good,” I said, letting it go and watching it roll to a stop. “Thanks.”

“Nice airplane,” he said, backing away and looking it over.

“It is that. You fly?”

“We keep a Citation in that hangar over there.” He pointed.

You win. He gave me a crooked smile that said he knew it.

“That’ll get you where you’re going. What business are you in?”

“Farming.” He gestured at the sprawl of agricultural land all around us. I wondered if he meant the gesture as an example, or in the possessive sense. “How about you?”

“I just fly it. The airplane belongs to—”

“That Education outfit?”

“You’re familiar?”

“My daddy’s on the school board. I heard they were in town.

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