I Shivered a little that September morning at Nashua Airport, on a ladder with my finger in the left tank of the Cessna 180 taildragger. Good, the 100LL was puddling over the flaps. Topping these tanks was kind of funky because the airplane had rubber bladders and stiffly hinged flappers under the caps … new ones, installed after a semi-harrowing adventure earlier that year.
Thinking about the three-hour flight ahead, I ratcheted the cap back on and climbed down. At Altoona, I’d fuel up, offload coffee and replenish my stash of peanut butter crackers. Forgetting headsets, charts, pens, sunglasses, flashlights and potty-bags is no big deal. Running out of peanut butter crackers and Tootsie Pops is a disaster. Then two and a half hours to Cincinnati. It was Sunday, and I’d spent the week “working”-doing type rating check rides in a DC-3 freighter that spent most of its time hauling baby chicks.
