Streetlights are twinkling to life as I turn onto the field, and the airport beacon is already sweeping through the afternoon gloom. Minnesota winters are as dark as they are cold, and in January, both features are particularly oppressive. I park by the hangar and step out of the car, pulling my coat tight against the raw wind; snow crunches noisily under my feet. I fiddle with the hangar key and slip inside. The fluorescent lights flicker and blink, coolly revealing the hangar’s familiar jumble of contents: a dozen classic Ducati motorbikes in various states of repair, an old airboat, a disassembled Nieuport scale replica hanging from the rafters and a beautifully-crafted flying Pietenpol Air Camper. At the front, facing the hangar door with nose pointed expectantly skyward, is a yellow 1946 Piper Cub. As always, she looks happy to see me — even after weeks of being locked in a dark and cold hangar without so much as a hop around the patch.
I drag the homebuilt propane preheater around to the nose, though it’s a hangar fire waiting to happen and my chances of actually flying today are getting slimmer by the minute. Taking the Cub up sounded like a great idea when I landed the Embraer at Minneapolis–Saint Paul earlier, but the drive to Airlake Airport took longer than anticipated, and I forgot how quickly it would get dark. This Cub is strictly a daytime flier — no electrical system, no position lights, no landing light. I heave the bifold door open and am dismayed to see how much light has faded already. There’s technically 20 minutes left till sunset, but with the overcast, it’ll be dark as night by then. I reluctantly close the door and shut down the belching preheater. I pause a minute, contemplating the old bird’s battered leading edge. She isn’t the world’s prettiest Cub, but at least she’s mine — well, one-twelfth mine, anyway. I lean into the cockpit and check the hour log. I haven’t flown her in nearly a month, and neither has anyone else in the club. What the hell, as long as I’m here. I climb into the cockpit with the usual contortions familiar to anybody who’s ever strapped into a Cub. The vinyl seat is rock hard and freezing cold.
