So I’m flying along, fat dumb and happy, into the Charlottesville-Albemarle (Va.) Airport (KCHO). The tower controller tells me to enter a right base for Runway 03, which I do, followed by a touch-and-go and entering left closed traffic like a good boy. I mentally pat myself on the back, and think, “Good job, flying here at a Class D airport with the big boys in your little experimental hot rod.”
The controller then says, “Experimental 12345, you are number two to follow a Cirrus on short final, do you have the traffic in sight?” I say, “Experimental 12345, tally,” and the tower clears me to do a touch-and-go behind him, number two. I roll out on final and see the Cirrus still on the runway, still on the runway—still on the runway, two-thirds of the way down it now. Absolutely hogging the runway.
