||| |—|—| | | | The morning was still clear and cool when I pushed the Cheetah’s throttle forward and lifted off from Runway one-four at Santa Rosa. At first it was a takeoff like any other I’d had with the plane, and I let out a sigh of relief at finally being off on our trip across the country. I turned crosswind and was climbing through about 1,200 feet when suddenly the engine made a unnatural, rumbling “BLAU-BLAU-BLUM” noise and a shudder ran through the airframe. For a single, heart-stopping moment, I thought I’d lost power completely. But, no, the engine seemed to have just stumbled and then regained its footing again.
I didn’t care. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t my imagination, and it wasn’t right. I called the tower and in a surprisingly calm voice told the controller I’d had a change in plan, my engine had just made a funny noise and I wanted an immediate return to the airport. Two other pilots in the pattern, bless their souls, called and volunteered to clear out of the way to give me priority, and a couple of minutes later my wheels touched down on pavement again.
