It takes a long time to get past.
 
Heading to the Sebring U.S. Sport Aviation Expo, I was on the one way path south out of the New York City area yesterday at the only altitude normally available—6,000 feet. A Cirrus 22 pilot ahead of me was on the same route and somehow convinced the controllers over New Jersey to let him try 4,000 feet. He reported a whopping decrease of nearly 30 knots in headwind. Amazingly the Atlantic City controller asked me if I wanted to try 4,000 in my Baron for the lower winds. Of course I did.
 
Soon the controllers realized that my ground speed was about 30 knots faster than the SR22 and we were on the same airway at the same altitude. The ATC solution was for me to climb back to 6,000 feet, where I would have no speed advantage, or chance of running into the Cirrus.
 
As luck would have it there was an airway just to the east of V1 that is little used and would keep me well clear of the Cirrus as I closed the range. I was 12 nm in trail when ATC approved my left turn to the new route.
 
I watched on the traffic display as the distance closed on the Cirrus, and progress was very slow. Where was that 30 knots? Then I did the math. I was covering about 30 nm more in the next hour than the SR22. I started 12 nm back, and needed to be at least four or five miles ahead when our courses converged again over the Cape Charles VOR. That was going to take more than 30 minutes to gain the 17 nm or so to put me ahead.
 
It worked. I had a solid six-mile lead closing in on the VOR but it was close. A 30-knot speed advantage seemed like so much, but in the real world, it sure takes time to cash in on the airplane ahead. But it sure was one heck of a lot better than climbing back up to 6,000 and being blown backwards.