FROM TEXAS TO NEW HAMPSHIRE
Slowly... Via a 1940 J-3 Cub - Part 3
I was fascinated by what lay beneath my wings. As I prepared to snap a few shots though, I was jolted to reality as the Cub violently pitched down, started to vibrate badly and lose significant power. My misfiring little Continental 65 was running very rough, on what felt like three cylinders. My first thought was that I had a stuck exhaust valve, but it wasn’t quite aggressive enough, as I’d experienced this several years ago in my Cessna 140. I was able to maintain altitude at about 50 mph as I scanned the area for a place to put her down and noted the wind direction. Large flat fields were abundant, so my options were many, but we were still flying with a good margin. I re-trimmed, scanned the cockpit and checked the fuel shut off, the fuel level, the primer, the magneto switch and tried carb heat, but nothing seemed to remedy our problem. I was perplexed, when, as quickly as it appeared, it went away and the engine was running as smoothly as it had been. I’d drained a generous sample of fuel from the tank during the pre-flight, but had found no contaminant. It did take a while to get my heart rate down though, as I continued on my way towards Harrisburg, Illinois, watching my engine intently. Once home, we pulled the balking cylinder and discovered an improperly installed valve seat.
The rest of the day proceeded uneventfully, as I flew just north of beautiful Patoka Lake and the Hoosier National Forest to land and refuel in French Lick, and later Greensburg, Indiana, southeast of Indianapolis. Skirting the Cincinnati TCA to the north, we flew in search of Dayton Wright Brothers Field (MGY) in Ohio. With just one north/south runway and a very strong, gusty wind from the west, I was unable to land on runway 20. The conditions were such, that I ran out of aileron and rudder, as the tires chirped sideways across the asphalt, creating side load. I determined that a landing here would be risky and inevitably terminate with an embarrassing groundloop. On the go-around though, I noticed a luxurious carpet of unobstructed grass on the west side and decided to utilize it. After all, that’s what Cubs do!
On the FBO ramp, I was greeted by a group of young corporate pilots, flying King Airs and other turboprops; a magnificent collection of beautifully maintained airplanes. They were interested in the Cub, but more so by my landing on the grass. A quick poll revealed that none of my young aviator friends had ever landed on anything other than a paved runway. Additional fuel, and a Coke and a sandwich provided by one of the corporate pilots from his airplane galley and I was on my way. But not before I entertained them by propping the Cub.
The next leg of our flight encountered rising terrain and more densely populated areas, as we flew south of Columbus, Ohio, between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, to the east of Akron-Canton and Youngstown, Ohio into Pennsylvania. Our course brought us just west of the Allegheny River and Allegheny Plateau as we continued towards New York. Our first New York landing was at Olean (OLE), where we encountered winter-like conditions of turbulence, lowered ceilings and scattered snow showers as we flew past peaks reaching as high as 2,400 feet. I was beginning to think that this late autumn, early winter flight was a mistake, as we were tossed about considerably, flying through these mountains. Conditions improved significantly though, as we flew south of the Finger Lakes Region, past Elmira and landed in Binghamton, NY for the night.
I’d planned our trip home, specifically to pass over the Susquehanna River and into Binghamton at Link Field, as this was the location of my first airline job. It was a sentimental journey of sorts. I’d been hired here at Commuter Airlines in 1974 to fly their Navajos, Metroliners and Dumod Infinite II’s with passengers to Newark, JFK and Washington National. But what pleased me most was flying their Beech 18s on the night mail runs. This was my first exposure to radial engines and tailwheel airplanes, that would become a lifelong interest. Although nearly 30 years had passed since I’d been here last, it may as well have been a lifetime, as nothing at the airfield was the same. The terminal building, the hangar, the access roads were all different and I recognized nothing. On my way downtown, I was unable to locate the Valley View Motel that I’d lived in and diner that I’d eaten at as a young pilot, with my sights set on a bright future with the airlines. I suspected that they’d been razed.
Unlike my previous stops, the FBO at Binghamton was large, impersonal, expensive and more suited to servicing large corporate equipment. Understandably, from their viewpoint, the Cub and her nine gallons of gas were a nuisance. I really had no business being there and wished now that I’d spent the night at Tri Cities, just to the south, and left Binghamton in my memory. For the first time on my trip, I needed to copy an ATIS, contact clearance delivery, contact ground control, then tower and finally departure control before departing and leaving Binghamton in my past. I guess you can’t go home again!
My outlook improved quickly though, as the scenery became more interesting. We flew over the beautiful Catskill Mountains, some reaching as high as 4,000 feet, in a very desolate and rugged section of New York State. Just south of Albany, NY, we flew over the historic Hudson River and into Massachusetts where the sky was blue, the winds fair and I now recognized the terrain without a chart. With a significant tailwind, I stretched the fuel on my penultimate leg, flying into southern Vermont, over the Connecticut River and into New Hampshire. At Jaffrey, NH, I met airport owners and good friends, Lee and Harvey Sawyer, awaiting my return with my new Cub. After a quick lunch, topping the tank, and letting Harvey fly the Cub around the patch, it was back into the air for my final 20-minute leg home to Brookline, New Hampshire. I was met by airport owner Tom Moran upon landing, who helped me secure the Cub into her slot in the hangar. Her final resting place, you might say. As I walked from the hangar with Tom, I told him of my adventure and the wonderful people that I’d met along the way. I concluded that those who participate in General Aviation in America are alive and well. I knew this anyway, but it had certainly been reinforced.
Six days on the road and four full days of flying. Twenty-six hours aloft and 1,600 nautical miles over mostly unfamiliar terrain and what do you suppose I did the next day? Yup. I came out and flew the Cub! Thanks to everyone along the way who helped make my trip a whole lot easier.
by Rand K. Peck