It seemed such an innocuous decision at the time. Life had gotten a bit much, I was behind schedule, the late August weather patterns looked bad, and I needed to get home to California for some meetings. "Well," I thought. "I'll just leave the airplane in New York for now and come back and get it in a couple of weeks. Life will be calmer, the weather will be better, and the trip will be much more relaxed."
Talk about famous last words.
Two weeks later, life was anything but calmer, and my airplane was suddenly grounded near ground zero of one of the most horrific events ever to occur on U.S. soil. Truth to tell, I didn't really mind having my airplane grounded at first, because I didn't much feel like flying-or doing anything else, for that matter. But I had to deal with getting the plane home at some point. Westchester County Airport was soon granted a limited exemption for Part 91 flight, but VFR flight was still prohibited not only in New York, but in the 30 biggest metropolitan areas in the country.
And yet, the new airspace and flight restrictions were just another challenge in a trip that had already begun to feel more like the epic journey of the Greek hero Ulysses than a simple cross-country flight. The original plan had been straightforward. I was just going to stop in New York and visit for a couple of weeks before heading back home. But then the Cheetah's engine started having problems, and I decided it would be prudent to get it fixed in New York before heading back across the continent.
Unfortunately, Jerry Parks and his team of wonderful mechanics at Panorama Aviation didn't have the tool required to do the work, and the engine shops I checked out on Long Island and at Textron-Lycoming in Pennsylvania were backed up for weeks. But the solution-oriented customer service folks at Lycoming were kind enough to loan Panorama the needed tool, and all seemed well. Then my starter died. Then my battery died. And now VFR flight out of Westchester County Airport was prohibited. I didn't even want to ask what would go wrong next-a wise move, as it turns out. Because the answer, had I been able to get it, would have involved thunderstorms, hail and tornadoes. But I get ahead of myself here.
The immediate problem was getting the plane out of the restricted New York airspace. Rescue came in the form of my friend Bruce Williams, a Microsoft FlightSim manager who's not only an instrument-rated pilot, but also a CFI-I. Bruce thought the trip sounded like enough fun that he offered to fly to New York and help me get the airplane home. Had he been able to foresee the tornadoes or how much time he would spend in Jackson, Mississippi, in the course of that effort, I suspect he might have rethought that offer. So perhaps it's sometimes a blessing that we can't see too far around the corner or down the road.
Returning to New York at the beginning of October was an interesting experience in and of itself. I'd seen the photos and television footage, of course. But walking the streets of lower Manhattan with my Aunt Lane, whose local firehouse alone had lost 10 men, brought the reality of the events home in a way no photo ever could have. So, too, did the view upon my departure from Westchester County.
A cold front had passed through the day before we left. And while that meant that I found myself doing my preflight with gloves on-an experience I'd almost forgotten since moving to California-the front also left the skies a crystal clear autumn blue, with visibility stretching 30 or 40 miles. As Bruce and I climbed out over the colorful fall landscape, I could see from West Point to the West Side of Manhattan, all the way down to Battery Park. I'd grown up with the New York skyline-a contour that, as long as I could remember, had been dominated by the World Trade Center towers. But now they were gone. It wasn't some awful dream. They were really gone. And my eyes and heart ached with more than the cold as my hometown receded into the distance behind us.
