For about 8 months Troy has spoken about taking the RV-10 down to Dallas for paint. As usual I said “Sure, I can do that just tell me when.” Last week the plan was to leave on Wednesday, March 2nd. I said “Sure.” We chased the forecast looking for the magic route of VFR for the trip with stopovers accordingly. Then out of the blue on Friday evening, he brings up that Sunday may be the time for us to head out. I said “What!?” Then Troy says “Well, let me call you later and we can finalize because if we don’t go, we may not get in for two to three weeks.” After a day at his hangar working on the Mooney, I headed home for other commitments. No phone calls on the landline or otherwise so I am thinking no go for tomorrow.

The call comes in at 8:40 AM on Sunday and the words are, “So, you ready for Dallas? If you’re still on, I will fill in the E-APIS.” Wait, what, huh? No was the initial thought since there were high clouds in the sky. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Marilyn had just left for government accreditation testing and no contact was allowed until 12:30 PM. So, I texted her. Now flying can be dangerous but leaving on a cross-country trip without advising a human dynamo is a serious life-threatening endeavor for my soul and the afterlife. After I come to my senses, thinking of what could go poorly for me, I say “OK, what time?” Within half an hour, I am on the way to the airport. I am sure I can explain it all later… Cue the Death March soundtrack… No really!!!!

The airplane is rolled out and we start up. A flight plan is made, and we are airborne at 10:33 AM. The trip to Great Falls is some of the country I have seen dozens of times but not from 9,500 ASL and at 187 kts. We are over the border, and I guess they didn’t get a chance to paint the line for the boundary the day before; perhaps it was covered in snow. We called to Great Falls Approach and are cleared to base from 30 miles out. No one else would be flying with this wind out of the north. We easily touch down in KGTF at 11:54 AM after less than an hour and a half. We are directed by ground to Customs and the fuel truck chased us down hoping that they can sell us some fuel. It’s a slow day at KGTF. We pull to the ramp and wait inside the plane with passports in hand. Customs comes out with what looks like a Geiger counter and gives C-GTJE the once over. We open the doors to a stiff breeze and step onto the slickest patch of ice available and hand over the passports to an invite to come on inside. We close the flight plan and follow. The inside walls are lined with pelts of foxes, other four-legged critters, stuffed birds, and native artifacts, maybe confiscated from previous flights. Troy gives the fuel guys instructions for fuel and joins me at the desk. In a monotone voice, “Purpose of visit? Final destination? What is your occupation?” All of the questions have potential for smart-ass remarks but somehow, I contain myself. Troy presents the basics of registration. Then, without delay, “Alright, you guys have a good day, the restrooms are right behind here.” We have cleared customs and fueled in less than 20 minutes after opening the hatch. It had to be one of our quickest turnarounds ever.

After a hot start for the IO-540 and we contact ground for instruction to the active, we are airborne within minutes off of 21 and southbound. The same tailwind is still pushing us along, and we are heading for 11,500 ASL. Troy puts on the oxygen and I think to myself: hmm, what does hypoxia really feel like? (Hoping to get a bit of a buzz to help out with the time passing). With the fingernail check done, I am breathing pure high-altitude mountain air, and nothing. I sense nothing. I feel fine yet somehow a bit disappointed. So I ask for the oxygen and breathe as deep as I can, hoping that maybe rapid breaths will help with the time problem. Ground speed is showing 196 knots. We call Salt Lake center after Great Falls Departure and are given another transponder code and give the required information for Flight Following. The altimeter is set and we are cruising. Within about 30 minutes we are contacted to call Salt Lake Centre on a new frequency of 127.75 and given more of the same needed flight info. The altimeter setting has been fairly consistent all the way and the conditions have kept the same. Outside temperature is -17°C and inside it has to be 25°C. We are in T-shirts and have Sirius radio tuned to the ’70s station playing Jumpin’ Jack Flash, BTO, and others that give away one’s age too easily. Feeling the blast of heat coming from the back of the plane is very comfortable.

I glance around the cockpit and see that Troy is taking on a shade of pink, just like a New Brunswick lobster. It could be the heat, or it could be the sun beating through the Plexiglas tanning him. Having an aluminum plane makes you feel like a bit of a baked potato when the sun is reflecting off the wing. We pull out the collapsible sunshades and install them to help with the glare. It’s 13:30 now and we are showing five hours to Dallas. We thought Denver as a goal, but all is going really well so we press on. With time on our side, we bring out the iPad and play some darts, Scrabble, and other games, then look at the downloaded sectional maps. Matching the terrain with what looks like giant claw marks in the Wyoming landscape. The snow gives texture to the ground that can only be seen for this moment alone. High wave clouds show up above and we rode the smooth wave as we plug along. A couple of times, Troy pulled the power back as the true airspeed crept up to 185 kts while the autopilot held altitude. Winds were 46 kts at times quartering the tail.

In order to get the maximum range, the limited water taken in and the warm cabin can lead to a dull headache. I know it’s not hypoxia since we see a cloud shelf ahead and have ducked down to 9,500 to stay VFR. The controllers have really left us alone with the last instruction always being remain VFR. We have spoken with Salt Lake, Casper, and Denver centers with a call every once in a while saying that they will lose us on radar for the next bit but they are always just a thumb switch away. We have an in-flight meal of tuna sandwiches, seal up the container, clear the cabin of trash and place our seat backs in the most annoying position. When you seal Tupperware at altitude, it is just about impossible to get it open on the ground. The instruments faithfully give us 18.9 in Hg manifold pressure, 2340 RPM giving 55% power and 19.6 MPG US, burning around 11 GPH truing out at 171 kts while giving a 194 Kts ground speed.

We are closer to Denver now and we slide our route to the east to get a better line on Dallas. We see in the distance a hazy bit of mucky cloud. The nearer we get, it dissipates and we carry on having 20 miles visibility in haze. We all know that it gets worse; how long can our good fortune last? We are asked to set a new course and altitude to avoid traffic, and it takes us to higher terrain and lower ceilings. With the tailwind, it gets you there a bunch quicker and decisions have to be made in minutes. With a ground-to-sky wall in front of us, we squint and strain to see any hope of maintaining the track. No joy. Now we have to find the airport we just passed. We start the right turn. The thought of where to stay and for how long did cross our minds. When we turned around and flew 90 degrees to our right, we see to the left a bit of a sucker hole in the distance. We know it is clear skies on the other side from our XM weather. We look again and investigate as we get closer; we see a glimmer of sky with different shades of cloud and sun compared to the stark white of what we were trying to avoid. We fly towards this bit of hope all the while knowing that we are committed and we could have it close behind us. We have an escape plan that’s formulated with small bits of observations given back and forth that spark better decisions. With the escape plan readied, we press on and we find our way through with ever clearing sky and descending terrain.

We can enjoy Colorado now. On its eastern edge, it is much like Alberta with flat grassy farmland that strains the eyes for its distance. When we cross the Kansas border on the bias, we are presented with more farmland and the comfort of a hundred places to land. We set a new waypoint at KLBL, for Liberal Kansas. We still have a tailwind and 190+ kts is making our day. We release ourselves from Kansas centre letting them know we are doing a practice GPS approach and make the call for Liberal on 122.8 with the same information. With two runways intersecting, we have our pick. Now the wind is off to the right front quarter. We give the plane over to the autopilot tied to the GPS ILS approach and watch our progress like aircraft controllers watching from above. At each waypoint, the plane banks with a mind of its own, flying just like the pros. It was nice since the sun was low, right on the nose and the sky was very hazy, most likely from all the dust. We could not see the runway until we got fairly close. We go lower and the bumps reared their ugly head, so much so that on five-mile final, Troy’s skills get to shine through. The wind is on our nose. The airport winds on the ground were 32 gusting 45 kts.

At 1,000 AGL and two miles, all hell breaks loose. We fall like a loony in a swimming pool, side to side and rough. I glance outside and see the dust being pushed forward like cotton candy strings; at the same time, Troy calls out “Now we got a tailwind!” A quick check of the GPS arrow that showed the tailwind we just lost when we changed course, is still there. It has swung around in an instant. After a few eloquent words, we are powered up and climbing away to the south. I believe it was a downburst since the wind had changed so quickly; we lost altitude and the dust was being kicked forward and upward aggressively at ground level. I recalled seeing animation of the phenomenon and I believe it was a match. We hit nearest again on the GPS and found airports with runway options that were away from this memory. As we overfly the airport, the sock is still straight and down the runway. It would have turned into a headwind again at some point but the wind would have probably blown us over on the ground if we did land from the gust front.

At altitude again, clear skies a bit of haze, we are pushing a bit of wind on the nose now but no worries, runways ahead another 45 minutes and we are golden. The iPad gave us all the info about services we needed. Perryton, Texas here we come. At the field, the wind favored the grass strip but not knowing its condition a crosswind was going to be on the pavement. Even though Troy said it was difficult to hold the line, it was the same as all his landings; right down the middle. Maybe he’s that good or I was just glad to be on the ground.

Perryton is flat, really flat; a place where you could watch your dog run away for days on end. No one was around, broken glass on its doors. We thought “Where the hell are we?” With a phone call to the airport contact Yolanda, who was in the middle of a fundraiser, we were forwarded to her brother-in-law Kenny, who was in the middle of groceries. He would be there to pick us up just as soon as he could. We knew we were in Texas as soon she said “Hello.” I would like to say she used “y’all” in every sentence but she didn’t. We emptied then tied up the plane with chains and gust locks. When we were struggling with the cover, Kenny pulls up and gets us back to town. Perryton is a nice farming community of 8,000 people and 6,000 hogs and probably the same number of cattle. We checked in, had supper, made phone calls, and a change of wind is felt in the hotel. C-GTJE was now tail first into the wind and with no taxis in town, Troy lamented the fate of his plane. Will the gust locks hold, will it roll the wrong direction?

The next morning all was fine. The 1984 Suburban ride to the airport with Yolanda was right on time. They wouldn’t take payment so a donation to her fundraiser is agreed upon. The plane was fueled then plugged in for an hour and we were off in no time for the final leg with plenty of airfields to keep track of. We passed a military base and had the privilege of watching two KC-130s fly in formation in front and below us, opposite our route. No time for cameras, Dammit! The last 30 miles were a skud run at 1,500 AGL, dodging a few radio towers that stretched into the clouds. Everything is bigger in Texas. The landing at Roanoke was met with a little sink on flare but with that much engine, that presented no problems. We met the painter, Grady O’Neal, from GLO Custom Paint and the editor from Vans Air Force. Check out both websites as each has a multitude of information on them. After a tour of the plane for them, we went for a bite of lunch, unloaded the plane and we were off to Phoenix so we could get our flight back to Calgary. The direct flight home for us was over $1500, way too much so we became creative and took an extra day and saved about a grand each. We spent as much time in the silver tubes as we did in the RV10.

All in all, it was a great trip with a story that I can tell many times. The feeling is that as much as you plan these things with all the details covered, the weather will reach up and let you know that you are just an invited guest there. Invited to see it as it cycles from great to indifferent. If you have a deadline, it can cause a bit more grief. We had a superior plane, the ability to adjust for the weather, and a schedule that did not cause a decision to make itself for us. Good judgment has made this flight a reality. It is as great as the dreams conceived in years past.