Long ago and far away, I helped manage a four-plane flying club with its airplanes scattered around the major and minor airports surrounding our metropolitan area. It was winter, and we needed to move the club’s Piper Archer from Big City International to Suburban Regional for maintenance. Another club member and I met at the airplane.
I had a fresh instrument rating, which I earned flying the same airplane we needed to move. Both airports were familiar. It was an easy 15-mile hop. It was dark; that’s okay because I was night current and it would just be the pilot aboard, since one of us had to drive to the destination and pick up the other. And it was snowing.
