Met my good friend and high school classmate, John Tiller, and his wife Sydney, for breakfast and spend an hour or so talking trash and having fun. They drove us to the airport and waited around until we fueled up and lifted off and I waved good-bye with the wings of my Waco.
We flew east from College Park (MD) airport over Annapolis and out over the Chesapeake Bay (for the fourth time in two days!) and over Easton and then over Delaware to the Atlantic Ocean, then headed south along the shore when we hit Bethany Beach, just below Rehoboth Beach.
All of a sudden the sky was alive with planes towing advertising banners up and down the beach. It seemed like an endless parade. We descended to about 150 feet and flew under them (they fly at 500 feet to stay within the FAA rules). But even at this lower altitude we had to watch out for the paragliders being towed by speedboats along the coast. This was the last day of the Fourth of July weekend and it was a madhouse out there.
The weather was the worst of the trip so far. The three H's (Hot, Humid, Hazy) were at a maximum. It was over 95 degrees and 90 percent humidity, and the haze was as bad as we have seen it. We were flying as if behind a veil, drawn across our flight path, and moving ahead of us just enough to reveal the next few hundred yards of landscape. Everything was gray, the colors had gone out of the land and the sky. Art's plane is gray, and I needed to keep close to him or he would disappear completely. We climbed to as much as 4500 feet and it was the same thick soup, so we came back down to levels where we could be more sure that (typical) pilots would not be flying.
We were soaking wet with sweat and we decided to land at Ocean City MD and get something to drink. We carry water bottles with us in the cockpit, and we refilled them with cool water when we left College Park, but now the water was already warm. We took a taxi to the boardwalk on the Ocean City beach and immediately ordered the first drink we could find, a huge lemonade filled with ice. It was the best lemonade I have ever had.
We sat on a bench at the side of the boardwalk and watched the world go by. It was probably the busiest weekend of the year and we people-watched some of the more extraordinary people we've seen yet on this trip. It seems as if body-piercing and tattoos are in vogue this year, as well as a most unusual mode of dress whereby young males wear their pants about 10 inches below their waist, revealing their underwear (boxers) which are worn at waist level.
Lifting off out of Ocean City I was glad to be back in my solitary sky again. The crowds at the beach, and the weirdness of the people, was not at all to my liking. I do so enjoy my times aloft where I can think my thoughts and play in the spaces between the clouds and the earth. Here I am anonymous and only my plane can be seen and it does, I am sure, inspire those who are moved to look up at it. Here I do not need to answer questions, or pay bills, or deal with any other people at all. Here I can move up, or down, or right or left, or loop or roll or anything I want. There are no Stop or Yield signs, or red lights. Only space. To be writ at my pleasure, my whim.
We followed the coastline of Maryland until it became Virginia and then we followed it some more until it became North Carolina, onward we pressed into the haze and the heat and the humidity. We crossed the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay where it becomes the Atlantic Ocean, and followed the bridge/tunnel which connects Cape Charles with Norfolk VA. At this point the bridge was our only reference to reality. As we left Cape Charles we could not see the other side of the Bay. Without that bridge below us, the entire universe would have been a formless gray. It would have been pure IFR in VFR conditions.
As we entered North Carolina, Art radioed that he wanted to divert to a nearby airport because he wanted to refuel. He has a new engine in his plane and it is still breaking in. He is experiencing gas and oil consumption greater than with his previous engine, and he estimates that it would be just too close empty when we got there. I have extended tanks on my plane so I don't have a problem, but we both divert inland to Elizabeth City NC. This is the place where they (still) make blimps. The Fuji blimp, the Bud blimp, the Pink Floyd blimp were all made here in Elizabeth City. It was a blimp base in W.W.II and they just kept at it while the rest of the world gave up on blimps.
While we were on the ground refueling, we took advantage of the break and took an extra hour to do an oil change on the planes. The shadows were getting long, the air was getting cooler, but our flying day was not yet done. We lifted off again and headed back to the coast, turned south and slipped down low over the surf. Four mile out, we started a climb to 1000 feet to get up over First Flight airport. Just beyond the airport, the monument to the Wright brothers was clearly visible. This is the exact spot where the first powered aircraft took flight.
Tomorrow we will fly back here and inspect this place in detail. For now, we must keep going. The sun is setting and we want to get on the ground before dark. Just a few more miles and we will be on the ground at the town of Manteo, on Roanoake Island, between the Outer Banks of North Carolina and the mainland. Manteo is the site of the oldest outdoor theater in America. It seems that every town is known for something.
As we tie down our planes for the night, the wind picks up considerably. It was 16 knots on touchdown, but now it is considerably over 25 knots. This seems unusual because the wind normally becomes calm later in the day. However, according to the locals, this is not the case in these parts. In fact, the Wright brothers chose the Outer Banks of North Carolina for their flying experiments because it could always be counted on for a good steady breeze. And I thought it was to be away from spies! This place is desolate.
After we check out the Wright Memorial at Kitty Hawk, we haven't a clue where we will go next. There is a big hurricane moving in from the south and we don't want to get caught by it. Maybe this is the time, and the place, where we turn west, and home.
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Topics to be developed: The Jim Franklin high speed taxi technique, used at Elizabeth City. The differences in the motel rooms, the proprietors, the rules, the amenities (this one: every towel, washcloth, and handtowel was a different color!)