My flight instructor was not coming to the airport that day so, I planned to just walk into the flight school office, sign for the plane, taxi out among the jet bombers and air-to-air refueling tankers to the active runway, practice takeoffs and landings for an hour, taxi back to the flight school hangar, check the plane in and drive back to Electra where I worked in the produce department of a local grocery story. A pretty exciting adventure for small town kid.
The airport on this December morning was cold, dark, empty and still asleep. I walked into the half-lit flight school office and told the line boy (who was playing solitaire with a deck of cards), "I reserved the Cessna 150. I'll be gone for about an hour." He already knew it, and I knew he knew it--my reservation was on the schedule--but I just had to say those words, after all, I had already practiced saying that a dozen times during my drive over this morning.
The line boy handed me the airplane keys and I was on my way. I headed for the hangar where I held the green "Open" button down and walked slowly beside the huge hangar doors as they moved aside revealing a lighted world of beautiful multi-colored single and multi-engined aircraft. My Cessna 150 N7987E was right in front.
This 1959 Cessna 150 N7856E
is very similar to the 1959 Cessna 150 N7987E
that I flew in this story.
is very similar to the 1959 Cessna 150 N7987E
that I flew in this story.
After completing my pre-flight check in the warm lighted hangar, I donned my gloves so that I could grab the prop near the hub and pull the Cessna 150 (that was like a puppy to me) out of the hangar and onto the tarmac. I slowly pulled the plane toward the door, but, that 6-inch high ridge of snow and ice that ran the length of the hangar door stopped the airplane dead. No joy. So, I pushed the airplane backward 5 to 10 feet and so that I could get some momentum and jump the icy ridge. Still no joy. Should I go get the line boy to help me or should I try again? One more try I thought.
After pushing the little two-seater airplane back about 10 to 15 feet, I looked behind me toward the door to make sure that all was clear, put both hands on the prop near the hub and started walking backward pulling the plane as fast as I could. Success! The plane jumped the icy ridge and exited the hangar!
But, I didn't. I slipped and stumbled on the ice, crashed flat on my butt and felt the nose wheel of that Cessna 150 roll up between my legs, crawl up my crotch, continue up my abdomen and stop dead on my stomach.
I grabbed the nose wheel, pushed the plane backwards, wriggled out from underneath this dangerous killing machine and stood up. While standing up, even before I was steady on two feet, I thoroughly scanned the hangars left and right hoping desperately that no one had seen this unique and probably rare way to extricate a plane from a hangar. Nobody, nobody was in sight! I checked again. Nobody! Whew!
Brushing the snow and ice from my coat, I whistled like I thought a really cool and confident corporate pilot would whistle as I held red "Close" button and walked slowly by the closing hangar doors. Then, I boarded the aircraft and did what I came to do.
The rest of the flight was uneventful. The sun came up as I taxied to the end of runway. I owned the airport that day--not a single plane interfered with my early morning practice flight, and, upon leaving, I told the line boy that I left the plane outside the hangar just in case somebody else wanted to fly it today.
My secret was safe forever. Until you read this story.
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