After retiring from a long career of trucking between New York and Florida, my thoughts of hitting the road on a new motorcycle instantly vanished when my wife said, “I would sooner see you buy another airplane.”
After a 30-year absence from flying, we bought a nicely equipped Cherokee 180. It wasn’t long before I wanted to fly to Florida, and we were on our way. South of Savannah, Ga., flight following told us that two restricted areas ahead of us were hot and we would have to deviate. I asked for vectors and was told to follow I-95 to Brunswick turn right and resume my course. I replied, “There are a lot of highways down there.”
ATC came back with, “It’s that big one off your left wing.”
After 30 years of trailer-trucking up and down I-95, I simply had to laugh at the irony.
Emerson “Rhubarb” Reed
Penn Yan, N.Y.
At Austin, Minn., home of the J.C. Hormel Company, the VOR is named “JAY” and one of the intersections is named “SPAMM.”
Albert Lea, Minn.
When I was a newly minted instrument pilot, my wife and I flew to visit a friend in Addison, Texas.
Travelling from Addison to visit a fellow pilot who’d lived in Dallas for years, I assumed incorrectly that my friend was familiar with the airspace. Between microphone jack connection problems and my lack of airspace familiarity, we unknowingly found ourselves on a heading to cross the northbound arrival path into Dallas/Fort Worth airport.
The controller queried my familiarity with Dallas airspace. I acknowledged that this was my first time there. “That would explain a lot,” she replied and asked my intentions.
“My wife says we should go back and land in Addison,” was my response, since my wife was sitting backseat studying my airspace error on the Garmin 696.
The controller advised, “I think that would be a good idea,” and cleared us to land at Addison.
After turning off the runway, I thanked her for being, “so darn nice.”
This provided a few good lessons learned and, fortunately, no advice to call the FAA on a specified telephone number.
On a flight from Boston to Denver, I noticed the following sequence of waypoints in the flight plan over central Nebraska, just east of Denver: DHATT, FFFAT, DOGGG, DONTT, BARRK.
Alan R. von Ahlefeldt
The flight route from El Monte to San Diego Gillespie takes you by two parachute drop zones. On the climb out from El Monte we heard the following:
Jumper Flight Two: “SOCAL this is Jumper Flight Two, five jumpers away.”
SOCAL: “I thought there were six jumpers.”
Jumper Flight Two: “Yeah, but the groom didn’t jump.”
There was little radio discipline for the next few minutes.
San Diego, Calif.
I live and fly IFR in middle Tennessee. In keeping with the country music theme of Nashville , there are a few cleverly named procedures:
There are arrivals named Guitr Four, Hehaw Five, Pasly Two, Ryymn One, Swfft One and Volls Eight—named for country singers Brad Pasley and Taylor Swift, Ryman auditorium, and Tennessee Volunteers football.
We have departures Preds One and Tippn One—for the Predators hockey team, and singer Aaron Tippin.
We also have NDBs named Opery and Music On.
Once, airborne, an unknown voice called me using my amateur radio call letters.
Only my brother, who flies for a major airline, would know them.
We had a brief but nice conversation between him in his 757 over Orlando and me in my humble Grumman near West Palm Beach, about 130 nm apart.
Remarkable once, this same thing happened again three weeks later.
Juno Beach, Fla.