Snyder Airshow

Today I drove out to Schlemeyer Field in Odessa, pre-flighted my plane, and took to the sky, heading east.  I talked with Midland Approach and flew through Class C airspace, right over the runways at MAF.  I looked down from 1500' and thought about how tomorrow I will be on a United Canadair taking off from one of those runways, Houston bound.  

Time was tight.  I was running late.  I aimed the nose toward Snyder, TX, about an hours flight to the east of Odessa.  The 2012 Snyder airshow started at noon, and I got off the ground at 10:30.  Would I make the Snyder airport before it was shut down for the airshow?  I saw the NOTAM for the airshow, but I knew this was also billed as a fly-in, so I figured I could get in.

About 35 miles out I called in to the "airboss" at Snyder.  Normally it is an uncontrolled airport, but with the airshow NOTAM it becomes essentially Class D (e.g., it has an operating control tower but no radar).  With relatively little trouble I got into a right downwind for runway 17 and made an uneventful landing with 40-degree flaps -- in front of a crowd!  Who knew I would be the first act of the Snyder airshow?  Ok, I wasn't really.  Another plane or two came in after me.

I strolled over toward the FBO.  Most of the locals were sitting in the shade of the FBO or one of the hangars.  I unfolded my camp chair right up front, two feet from the yellow "do not cross" barrier.  I had the best seat in the house -- although it was plenty hot in the full sun and 97 F temps.  Just a few hardy souls joined me "up front".

My Cessna 150 at Snyder

 

Japanese "Zero"

As luck would have it, the first show of the day was formation flying by a group of Van's RV aircraft.  Now, if you know me well, you know I am very interesting in upgrading from my 1967 Cessna 150 (cruise speed 95 mph) to a Van's RV-9 (cruise speed 175 mph).  I love my little Cessna as long as I'm not at gross weight (1600 lbs) and the temps are below the mid-90s (actually density altitude below 5500 feet).  And as long as there is no tower, mountain or building in front of me -- the Cessna barely climbs at gross on a hot day.

 

RV aircraft in formation

RVs on the ground

I didn't get a chance to talk to the RV fliers, but I did note a few things.  First, all but one were tail-draggers (i.e., they have the third wheel at the back, not the front).  And second, all had the sliding canopies.  I think a taildragger endorsement is in my future.  The RVs look much, much better in that "conventional" configuration, versus the new-fangled tricycle gear.  Such as that on my 1967 Cessna.

RV's are homebuilt aircraft -- which does not mean some are not professionally built.  They are known for being fast and efficient for their (modest) power engines.  Also they all have at least moderate aerobatic capabilities, and can be set up as full-on upside-down aerobatic aircraft.

Like a kid in a 3D 100-octane candy shop, I stood up through the entire RV performance and might have been jumping up and down with joy at a few times.  As a pilot, I can imagine a little better what it must feel like to fly like that -- and to harness that power.  Of course, I have only done very pedestrian "aerobatics" in my Cessna, but I've been up there in the blue and I can imagine how it feels.  I appreciated this airshow more than any I've seen because of this pilot "familiarity-factor".

RVs on the ground, where they don't belong!

Next coolest and inspiring was the jet-powered glider display.  Now, I've seen this guy before -- but again the pilot familiarity factor entered the picture.  I was simply amazed by the bank angles this guy achieved, 100 feet of the ground.  So little margin for error!  Throw in the added "coolness" of a jet engine on a 900-pound plane, and smoke from both wingtips, and you're there.  Never mind that a jet engine is terribly inefficient at low altitude.  It was a jaw-dropping wow-stammering show.  Yes, I want to do that too.

Still a glider

Right around this time I found a key feature on my relatively new-to-me Canon G12 camera: rapid-fire continuous shooting.  It transformed my airshow photography experience.  I was able to take machine-gun shots of the glider show.  Wish I had that figured out for the RV's: I would have ten times more good pictures.   Absolutely required feature for airshows.

Part of the show was a little Vietnam War era re-enactment, where these little scout planes flew "low and slow" over the jungle and called in heavy fire from the Big Iron.  There was a second little plane like this one, painted all in olive drab.  It appears similar to a Cessna 152, but of course has tandem seating (versus side-by-side) and much more power. The olive drab plane was doing some amazing, very low speed turns and "swoops" at very low altitude.  I wish I felt that comfortable with my Cessna!  Even at 500' above ground a turn very gingerly... a couple degrees bank...  oooo, scary.

Next up were the Pitts aerobatic bi-planes.  Pretty impressive, although for some reason I'm not a huge fan of these aircraft.  The first Pitts pilot was doing his first airshow ever!  But he lacked a smoke maker, which detracts hugely from the magic.  The second Pitts was more aggressive and had the necessary smoke.

Pitts on the ground

Pitts "burning rubber"

By the time the Pitts even started, the crowd had thinned out considerably.  The sun beat silently down.  The ramp baked, strewn with discarded corn dog sticks and spattered with ketchup and spilled Cherry Lime Aid.

I waved down the fuel truck and picked up 8.6 gallons of 100 low lead for the trip home.  Pre-flighted the plane, started up and taxied out for runway 1-7.  Most of the other fly-in planes had already departed.  A Pitts taxied up behind me and I let him past.  I wanted to do my typical double run-up (one at 1700 rpm and one at 2000 rpm), and I felt pity on the Pitts pilot, who is under a tight-fitting plastic canopy.  Cessna 150 pilots like me get to taxi along with a solid aluminum roof over our heads and both windows open, if desired (and I sure did desire today).

The Pitts buzzed off and I wasn't far behind him.  Off the runway, 500' above ground, and I initiated a gentle turn to the west.  Thinking: why can't I turn like those guys in the show?  

Flying home, I kept well north of the direct route to see something new, and to avoid Class C airspace.  The sky was dotted with juvenile cumulus clouds, a sure sign of thermal activity.  The bumps began in the first mile, and they were strange: twisties, yawing the plane (nose right and left).  This is unsettling in such a small plane, and I still feel like I am in motion six hours later.  Churning westward toward Odessa, I tried "surfing" a few of the rising thermals.  I had mixed luck, because the rising shaft of air is not usually directly below the developing cloud above.  This is because the clouds are getting pushed off the thermal by the wind.  Still, a few times I caught a nice lift, up to 1200 fpm.  (Normally I can climb at around 300 fpm).  As nice as  it was to gain altitude for free, the ride was unsettling, bumping, ballooning and yawing.  Not for the weak of stomach.  

Nearing Odessa I caught a few updrafts that brought me up about 6000' MSL.  Outside of the updrafts, however, were large areas of annoying 500 fpm downdrafts.  In an aircraft as underpowered as a Cessna 150 at 6000' MSL on a hot day, it is nearly impossible to stay level in these downdrafts.  Losing altitude is a certainty.  So down, up up up, down down, up, was the path I took home.

Back into Odessa, did a full left pattern for runway 11.  It was good to be on the ground.  1.1 hours to Snyder, 1.6 hours back to Odessa, my longest cross-country after getting my pilot's license a month ago.  I now have 105 hours total flight time.

I did not expect so much out of a short trip to a little airshow in a little west Texas town.  It turned out to be one of the most fun, and perhaps most formative, trips of my aviation career (so far).

Four Flights

Thursday.  I took the afternoon off work.  The weather was ok.  I went and picked up my plane from the mechanic.  The cost was twice the already-high price I had estimated.  I taxied my plane over to the old FBO (they are building a new one) at KODO.  I had flight planning from a few weeks ago.  I called 1-800-WXBRIEF and got the current weather and winds aloft.  Finished my flight planning and Josh checked it.  Then we went for a flight, did the pattern three times or so.  Winds were very light. After flying Josh said I was good to go.  I asked him a bunch of questions about coming into (and leaving) Hobbs, which is a class D airport (towered).  We topped off the fuel and I went through the startup checklist. I had all my paperwork: airport diagrams, frequencies, and my iPad with GPS for navigation.  For backup I had my sectional charts.  Not long and I took off and turned WNW for Hobbs.  The air was smooth and 45 minutes or so later and I listened to Hobbs weather, then called up Hobbs.  No problem, they gave me the expected runway.  I landed and they told me where to taxi.  I requested immediate departure from the runway I had just landed on.  Cleared, I took off and headed nearly due south for Wink, TX.  

It was hard to climb.  The little 150 is a bit underpowered.  It'd be nice to have an extra 50% and really climb.  I stayed pretty low on the way to Wink.  Near Wink I listened to their weather and found winds right for the planned runway.  Uncontrolled airport, I self-announced on the CTAF frequency and entered the patten, and landed.  Taxied to the FBO where two pilots were cleaning up a really nice turbine helicopter.  Inside I found the old man attending the airport/living in the FBO.  It was around 7 PM, sun sets a bit after 8 PM.  The old guy filled up my tanks, they only took 9.5 gallons.  I chatted with the helicopter pilot and drank a diet Coke.  The helicopter pilots were stringing high-tension power wires using the helicopter.  They told me about it a while but I saw I needed to get back to Odessa.  Taxi, back in the air, not far east to Odessa.  I could see the town long before I got there, and I was a little impatient.  Entered the pattern and landed.  Josh was there and thankfully had a pizza.  I was starving and thirsty.  

Friday morning [Holiday= Good Friday] I drove to Big Spring, TX and took my FAA Private Pilot exam at US Flight Academy.  It was much easier than I expected.  I drove home.  Debi was picking up Mary in San Antonio and then camping for a few days in New Braunfels, TX, just north of SA.  After arriving at home I got a text from Josh asking if I wanted to fly with him in a Cirrus SR22 from Midland to Borger, TX and back.  Of course I jumped at the chance.

This particular SR22 is a turbo, capable of cruising at around 250 mph TAS.  Just about an hour to Borger, which is up in the Texas panhandle.  About an hour flight.  On the way we passed over Lubbock, Amarillo, and Palo Duro Canyon.  Pretty red rock country.

In Borger we picked up our passenger and Josh took over the left seat.  It's fun to cruise along so fast up at 11,000 feet.  The way back was bumpy.  We were under the few cumulus clouds.  I started to like the SR22, which I've flown before.  Now I have about 10 hours in them, although half of that time was right seat.  Josh gave me more of an intro to the flight systems, autopilot, flight director, and engine management.

Saturday morning Josh called me.  I had just gotten out of bed.  "Hey, are you ready with your flight planning for another solo cross country?".  I told him I could be ready by noon.  I pulled out my flight planning materials and planned a trip from Odessa to Upton Co. airport in McCamey, TX, and then to Big Spring, where I had taken the FAA test the day before.  

Got to the airport and Josh said he'd waive his normal requirement to fly with me between solo x-countries, counting our SR22 flight the day before.  He checked my planning and off I went.  I felt more confident this time -- until I was in the air.  Forecast was for thunderstorms later in the day.  Took off to the north and turned west to steer clear of Midland's class C airspace, passing the airport (KODO) on my left.  Bumpy, unsettling air.  I pointed south and tried to climb to 6,000' MSL.  Bang, push, twist.  A few gusts hit my wing and pushed it up.  My hands were sweaty.  

I eventually made it to 6,000' MSL, but then began to experience updrafts of 1100+ feet per minute, followed by extended downdrafts of 200-400 fpm.  At full power, at 3,000' MSL (the approximate elevation of KODO), the Cessna 150 climbs at 500-600 fpm.  So in a downdraft at 6,000' MSL on a warm day, I can barely hold altitude, even if I go to full power.  It was unsettling and it seemed to take forever to reach the windmill-encrusted mesa that I knew was just north of McCamey.

Mesa north of McCamey, TX

Seeing the mesa, I began to descend from 6,000' down to near 4,000'.  Again in the grip of downdrafts and updrafts, I found it difficult to arrest the descent I had set up in.  Finally I cleared all the windmills and called on CTAF to Upton Co. airport, with its single little E-W runway.  No activity.  I overflew the airport to get a good look at the windsock (no weather recording here) and it was lined up more or less perfectly for runway 1-0.  It was right traffic so I turned a wide right and came in near perfectly for 1-0.  Stopped on the ground, 180'd back to the start of 1-0 and took off.  To the NE this time, toward rising terrain.  Up over the mesa, riding one mild updraft that brought me to a safe 500' AGL so I could start a gentle turn.

Leaving McCamey

Now heading NE toward Big Spring, I found myself in no-man's-land.  Big Spring can be a busy airport (but it's non-towered).  It seemed like a long way, bumping and bouncing in the air, my hands still sweating.  I rode some thermals to 5,500' MSL but then I would find myself descending again, at around 80% power, back to 5,000' and below.  Finally the GPS said I was 15 miles out of Big Spring so I listened to their weather and, 10 miles out, called to the CTAF.  Came in on 2-4, pointing approximately west.  Taxied to the FBO and found I had missed them by three minutes.  Shut down and texted Josh.  Checked my fuel and found I should've had plenty to get back to KODO.  Started up, looked up and there was an attendent/instructor there.  I shut down and he topped off my tanks, again about 9.5 gallons.

Clouds were building up, looking stormy.  Check the weather again and the light wind had shifted almost 180 degrees, such that I took off on runway 6, the exact opposite direction I had landed.  Took off toward rising terrain.  Thankfully an updraft quickly brought me up to 800' AGL, where I executed a broad left turn, over the western part of the pretty town of Big Spring.  I lined up just north of I-20 and headed west-ish toward Midland.  20 miles out I called up Midland Approach and get a squak code for their class C airspace.  They vectored me north around Midland Aipark for an approaching King Air, which I never saw.  Not long and I was cleared direct to KODO, got the weather, picked a runway (2) and landed.   It was a neat landing, because coming in I felt low, swooping over the city in left turns to base and final, then found myself quite high over the numbers (at the beginning of the runway).  Pushed down the flaps from 30 degrees to 40 and angled down for the runway, holding about 62 mph.  An agressive flare and power-off and I swooshed along a few feet off the runway, bleeding speed until I touched down at about 35 mph, feeling like a butterfly alighting on a flower.  Back-taxied on 2 and to my hangar, put up the plane and called Josh.  He was not around so I patted myself on the back and headed home.

I was pretty sure my flying for the weekend was over.  But Easter Sunday around noon, I got a text from Josh: want to round-trip to Borger again in the SR22?  Yes.  From KODO to Borger with our passenger, then back again.  We flew over Tahoka Lake, where I went last year with Sibley Nature Center when my Tacoma was brand new.  I got to thinking that with a commercial pilot's license, an IFR rating, and an SR22 school, I could fly people around in one of these.

Tahoka Lake from 11,000' MSL

Now my Private Pilot License is a few more lessons and then a check-ride away.  But I realize now it's just a license to learn, and I will still have pretty severe personal weather minimums.  Trips to Big Bend will be a big, big deal at first.  And to practice and fly IFR, I will need a different plane.

What's up?

We got another dog.  His name is Daniel.  We think he's a Chiweenie.  Anna loves him!  They are best buds and they play-fight a lot of the time.  Anna is alpha dog, and she gets a bit upset when Daniel tries to nab her beef bone.  They share food just fine, but pets not so much: Anna is very jealous of attention we give to Daniel.

One drawback of Daniel is that he pees and poops in the house.  He will only "go" on carpet or rug.  So we keep the bedroom doors closed all the time.  Still sometimes he leaves a little surprise.

I recently drove out and visited a couple of "my" drilling rigs.  At the time I had four wells drilling, but I only had daylight to visit two rigs.  At each rig there is a mudlogger team working.  Mudloggers are geologists who work at the wellsite and look at rock samples that come to the surface in drilling mud.  They also measure gas and look for oil in samples or in the mud.  This information can be very useful...  The rig above was on the TX-NM state line.  This is in one of the least populated areas of the United States.

The second rig was in a slightly more scenic spot, next to a little hill.  At this well we were collected whole core.  I surprised the mudlogger by showing up unannounced. 

A few weeks ago we had some 80-degree weather.  It seems like out here in West Texas the weather goes from Winter-like to Summer-like pretty quick.  We had frosty mornings with chilly 40 degree days and then suddenly a string of 80+ F days.  Now (early April) it seems we are pretty firmly in a summer pattern, upper 80s to 90s for highs.  Anyway, I live on the west edge of town.  There is a big field to the west of us, full of mesquite scrub and probably 100s of other plants I can't identify.  Recently they came in with a big machine and "cleared" a huge area of the mesquite.  Really only anything sticking up more than four or five inches was cut away.  What results is that you can see a bunch more of the stuff near the ground, like the flower above.

This scat was mostly hair.  Bobcat or fox scat?

One day I mowed the lawn.  Midland has now restricted watering to once per week, so it's unlikely the lawn will survive much into the real summer.  Unless we get some significant and well-spaced-out rainfall.  Trying to keep the trees alive, though.

I found out recently there is a mountain bike park in Odessa.  

 I brought the dogs to the dog park on a Monday.  I had the day off.  There were no other dogs, but Anna and Daniel had plenty of fun in the big mud puddle.  Afterward we went for a 30-min "dry off" walk in the nearby desert park behind Sibley Nature Center.

I got to fly again on the company King Air, on a short hop to Artesia, NM.

Tonight a big line of strong Thunderstorms developed in a line south of Midland, from Odessa to Abilene.  Not much rain fell north of I-20, but the storm moved slowly off to the south and looks like it dropped some precipitation onto reservoirs near San Angelo... which we in Midland rely on for about half of our water supply.

Recent newspaper article says Midland, TX has the fastest-selling homes in the country (lowest days on market).  Things continue to boom here, with more traffic every week.  More restaurants and services are opening, but they don't seem to be keeping pace with the population growth.  Debi saw an article reporting that 1,000 people per week are moving to the Midland-Odessa area.  Could it have been per month?  1,000 per week is 52,000 people per year to an area with <250,000 people.  Either way, that's pretty hardy growth.

Three Adventures, One Day

The events detailed in this blog occurred on 1/15/2012

Over three months has passed since I left you, dear readers, hanging at the end of Installment 1 of The Return of the Cessna.  Stay tuned -- there are two more installments, ending (we hope) with the safe and successful arrival of 86-Juliet at KODO in Odessa, TX.  When did Texas last see so much IFR weather?  Decades?  A century?  Before the Wright Brothers?  Thankfully for the rest of us out here in West Texas, all this weather has brought a fair amount of moisture, much of it in the form of snow -- three significant snowstorms have blown through so far this year.  On Christmas Eve I strapped on the ole XC skiis for the first time in... five years?  And did a lap through the desert.  The desert that will soon be the extension of my subdivision.  Then I have to find another desert.

With so much time passed, you know there are many adventures to write of.  Two more Cessna 150 trips, and in there a two-week trip to Spain with my hermana.  I've got a bunch of blog backlogs, going all the way back to our Memorial Day 2011 trip to the (wildly popular) Garner State Park near Leakey, TX.  That's the story where I drive Debi's CUV into a very, very large rock (ok a large boulder) late in the afternoon on Monday, Memorial Day -- in fact right as Debi was preparing to depart for Houston, over five hours away.

But let's put all that behind us right now.  Look forward to hearing stories about the past later.  Because today was really something.

It started off innocently enough, with sleeping in and trying to kick this flu-gastroenteritis-food poisoning I seem to have picked up.  Debi decided on Saturday that she wanted to visit Carlsbad Caverns and perhaps the Guadalupe Mountains, about three hours drive west of us (Midland).  She and Mary have Monday off work-school as it's MLK day.  Well I don't have it off of course.  So I came up with this scheme: they leave around 11 am and drive to Carlsbad, NM and go to the airport there.  Josh and I fly the Cessna 150 from KODO to Carlsbad, arriving around 2 PM, the same time as Debi.  Then we'd drive to Caverns, eat and come home.  The perfect storm aligned: Josh was available (with some shuffling), the weather was good (but strong westerly winds reported), Debi set off in time, etc.  I decided to head over to KODO a little early to ogle and caress 86J, and I thought, what the heck? -- I'll take my motorcycle! Now all legal, licensed, and insured, but with almost no riding skills to speak of except those picked up in my 2-day motorcycle course, I set off in black leather jacket, gloves, full helmet and boots for KODO, about 20 miles away.  My longest previous road ride was about 5 miles, on residential streets, with no one else around.

Blasting west toward Odessa at 50 mph on the 191 frontage road (Sunday - almost nil traffic), my 250 cc enduro felt like it was giving all it could, just over 5000 rpm.  The wind blasted at an equal 50 mph, in addition to my speed, heading in the opposite direction, making for what felt like a 100 mph headwind.  I crouched forward to counter the wind, and the bike wavered in the gusts.  Gradually I opened the throttle more (who knew there was more?) and brought the bike up to about 60 mph.  The wind seemed to die down a bit, so I took the next on-ramp onto 191, which is one of three divided highways between Midland and Odessa (each towns of 100,000 souls).  With the throttle wide open, I merged onto the highway and gradually saw 65, 66, 67.  Barely brushing 70, I was no longer accelerating.  The onrushing wind was brutal but I felt stable, yet I was taut, expecting any unexpected thing at any moment.  Very gradually, I relaxed, and I thought, hey this is fun!  Climbing up to an overpass, throttle still pegged, the bike slowed to 69, 68, 67, 66, 65...  Cars changed lanes to pass me, sailing slowly by like land ships passing on the left.  I find it odd that I'm looking down on the passing SUVs and pickups.  The enduro is a tall bike and the rider sits up high and straight.  I can just touch the ground on both sides on tip-toes; I need to lower the suspension one or two inches to make this a better street bike.

Pull into the airport and punch in the code, open the gate.  Now that I have a hangar here it's like I own the place.  Push open the triple sliding hangar door, planes taking off nearby, it's a busy Sunday at Schlemeyer.  Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooowwwwww, the sound of the planes hacking at the air to take off from the ground.  I stand there a few moments, in awe of this -- the fact I am about to use this machine to travel through the air to a faraway place, see an interesting sight, and fly back.  I am about to use an airplane.  Not fly around the pattern, not go on a sightseeing or training flight (although all are uses).  Actually go somewhere!  In this here, my airplane.

After a thorough preflight inspection I saunter to the FBO in the almost-70 degree sun in my leather jacket.  To the lineman (boy) behind the desk - my Cessna is sitting in front of hangar 26.  Can you pull it to the line and top it off?  Thanks. A few minutes later he is zipping up backwards on a riding lawnmower, my little white plane in tow.  Drives over to the rickety old Ford fuel truck, maybe older than my plane, and chugs over to it, fills it with 100 octane low-lead avgas.

Josh comes in via Diamond 20 from MAF.  The wind is blowing hard, gusting, and the 150 is not tied down.  I'm hanging around the tail, like I could do something if it took spontaneous flight.

Another quick preflight and we hop in, do the runup on the fly, and take off south, turn right over West Odessa and point west, into the wind.

Slowly, we move westward.  In this plane, the wind aloft can be a significant fraction of the top airspeed.  We cross all of the Delaware Basin, and I try to spot "my" rigs.  Coming into Carlsbad, no one else around.  Taxi to the FBO and tie down the plane.  Inside, Debi and Mary are watching.  Apparently they watched my landing.  I realize I've been to this airport before, in the King Air, for a visit to the BLM office located in Carlsbad.

We drop Debi's pop-up camper in the airport parking and head south to Carlsbad Caverns.  Driving up to the Caverns entrance involves going up a pretty limestone canyon, but all the vegetation is brutally burned off.  Still pretty, and when you get on top there is an expansive view from the front steps of the visitor center, making you feel like you're on top of the Permian Basin.

What luck -- today is "free day" at the Caverns.  We join one of the last tours and spend a couple hours underground.  Mary seems in a hurry to get it over with.

Debi & Mary

Poor photo of a stalagmite

After the cave we all ride to Carlsbad for some dinner.  My favorite Mex place is closed, things are often closed on Sunday night.  Finally we find a newer BBQ place and have a good meal.  Darkness falls.  Debi drives us back to the airport, drops us off and hooks onto her pop-up.  They hang around a bit and end up going to a nearby KOA-type place.  I preflight the plane and we get in.  Using my iPad, I look at an airport diagram to get re-oriented.  It is completely dark now, and the area surrounding the airport is pitch black.  After checking the winds (still from the west), I taxi to the correct runway and we line up for takeoff.  On the takeoff roll, nearly ready to leave the ground, my attention to drawn to what I can see straight ahead, and that's nothing.  Blackness.  Now, when we landed I recall seeing some significant foothills off to the west. And at this moment, we are fast approaching them (well, 70 mph or so) and climbing rather slowly... barely 500 feet per minute.  Ahead there is nothing -- no light in the sky, no shadows of mountains, no ranch light or street light.  All is darkness.  I begin to tighten up, to tense, and I scan intently just ahead of the plane's nose, waiting to see a flash of ocotillo or some rocks just before I hear a terrible crash and feel the plane jolt.  But it doesn't happen.  We continue to float serenely, with almost no sense of where we are, how high we are above the ground, or how fast we are travelling.  The little 100 hp motor continues to hum, indifferent to its altitude.  I continue to tense until I can't bear it.  Perhaps 45 seconds has passed since the wheels actually left the ground.  Gently, very gently I begin a shallow bank to the left.  We are not really high enough to turn sharply.  Turning sharply risks losing altitude.  So I turn ever so gently, hoping to balance the demands of a turn with a continuation of our climb, and we scoot over the hills as we are finally pointed south, then southeast, then east, in a slow drift like a lazy compass turning.  Now we are pointed east, with the strong wind at our backs, and we are moving away from the menace of the foothills of the Guadalupes.  Now they can't touch us.

Eastbound, home.  The wind pushes us back and we arrive back at KODO around 10 PM.  It's cold now, but after we put the airplane away I climb back on the Kawasaki and resign myself to a cold and miserable ride home.  My illness is acting up again, and I feel chills coming on.  But it's only 20 miles and I survive, with the help of a hot shower back home.

I slept in but damn, I sure made up for it.

BEG Mudrocks Conference

On Monday I fit in a rushed morning of work.  At lunchtime I hurried home and threw together clothes and supplies for a 4-day trip to Austin and Del Rio.  Then into the Tacoma for a five-hour drive to Austin.

On the way to Austin on Highway 71.  This is a very familiar route; I've driven it many times.  It's the way to Houston.  Recently I drove both ways -- from Beaumont to Midland and then back to Beaumont the following weekend, as part of the long process of returning my Cessna 150 to Midland.

Highway 71, going east.  I was surprised to see a fair amount of water in the Concho River in San Angelo.  Yes, the river was some eight feet lower than last time I saw it, just about a year ago during spring break.  But there was water, that milky blue-green water I normally associate with glacial runoff, but here in Texas that's the color of rivers before they pick up the brown of mud down across the Balcones fault zone, downstream of Dallas, Austin, or San Antonio.  Texas has a big stair step in the middle of it, and that's the Balcones.  The west side is "up" and the east side is "down".  The stair step runs through three of the four major cities in Texas.

Green, green, green.  Every mile I went toward Austin the roadsides got greener.  The weeds pressed up against the shoulder, fairly bursting with planty life-force.  Coming from brownish Midland on the Llano Estacado made it look that much more green.  The entire drive, my eyes were open in a way they weren't before.  The hills seemed more interesting and, well, more hilly.  Again this is probably due to my eyes being accustomed to the unrelenting flatness of Midland-Odessa (and Houston before that).

Into Austin, I stopped for fuel at my normal place, a Shell station on the north side of the road.  Then onwards (on 71) to the Austin airport to pick up a colleague who flew from Midland to Dallas and into Austin.  It's a five-hour drive and probably almost a 4-hour plane trip all told, so I prefer to drive it.  Picked up colleauge and got a bit lost trying to get to County Line BBQ.  After a nice drive on Barton Springs Road, we found it and had quite a good meal just before closing time.  I need to come back in the daytime to enjoy the view from the patio.

For several days I had been fighting a cold and after dinner and the long drive I was pretty beat.  I was glad to finally arrive in the area of our hotels in north Austin, near the University of Texas JJ Pickle Research center.  Sleep, up the next day for lectures all day (Tuesday).  Tuesday evening another colleauge arrived, also drove in from Midland.  Dinner at Roaring Fork steakhouse, pretty good.

Wednesday a morning of lecture then a drive to Del Rio, Texas.  Other colleagues rode in one car and I drove the Tacoma alone, down I-25 to San Antonio and then west on US90 through Hondo and Uvalde.

Driving new roads is a treat.  I get to see new things, and I love to.  I keep a map in my head of all the places I've been and roads I've driven.  From Austin to San Antonio and I-25 and then west were all new roads for me, new territory (--Ed: of course I have been to San Antonio but not via this route).  It was super green, even into Del Rio (normally thought of as a dry place).  Weather was sprinkly but the clouds broke up into scattered cumulus and the sun shone, warm day.  Getting out of the truck in Del Rio, it felt humid and almost tropical, and I immediately liked the place, it had a good, vacation-y feel to it.

Field trippers with our motor coach (Thursday a.m.)

Road cut.  Note T-shirts = warm.

Next day (Thursday) we spent the entire day looking at Eagle Ford equivalent rocks, Del Rio (formation), Austin Chalk, Boquillas.  My cabin site on my land in Big Bend, another 200 miles west, is on the Boquillas carbonates.  The day was warm and sunny with puffy clouds.  West of Del Rio is the impressive Lake Amistad, a reservoir on the Rio Grande created in the 1960s by the US and Mexico.  The lake was low but still pretty.  This was my planned destination last year (really, 2010), the day before Christmas when I was on my way to the Del Rio area with Sabkha in the Miata.  I got a late start and I ended up turning back, walked Sabkha around the 'hood.  That night she had her first seizures, two major ones, and we spent several hours at the emergency vet.  I didn't know if she'd survive the holidays, but she did, and seemed to recover.  Still, this was the beginning of a decline that led to the decision to put her down in August 2011.  So although we never made it to Lake Amistad, visiting this place made me think of Sabkha as I still often do.

Colleagues from Concho (Tom and Pat)

At lunchtime on Wednesday we visited a viewpoint along the Pecos River, looking upstream at the Pecos High Bridge, which replaced a low railroad bridge built here in the late 1800s (sorry, Google for an exact date if you want it).  Quite a pretty view, but somehow lacking.  I don't find flat-lying sedimentary rocks (especially carbonates) to be an inspiring background to anything, and I'm also very partial to Arizona.  Or at least New Mexico.  Still, it was lovely, with the bluish water and all the trees poking out above water line.  Are these trees that grow in the riverbed or are they corpses from the drowning of this area after the construction of Amistad Dam?

Pecos High Bridge on the Pecos River at confluence with the Rio Grande

Pecos with the dead (?) trees

Picnic area at Pecos River overlook

In the evening, at one of the last stops of the day, the warmness suddenly turned cool as a few puffs of cold air came up the road from the west.  On Thursday morning we woke up to cold and spitting rain.  We spent a half-day in the field.  I drove my truck so I could leave from the trip and head north out of Comstock.  But I forgot my camera at the hotel in Del Rio.  I went back for that and stopped at the Lake Amistad NRA visitor center.

Driving back to Midland was about 3.5 hours.  First up to Ozona, under I-10 (so many times I have driven east-west here on I-10, now I am ignoring it and going under it).  Then up to Big Lake (there is not one) then Rankin and into Midland.  The drive on 163 between Comstock and Ozona is very pretty, with big trees close in to the road in many places and water visible.  Closer to Ozona is a large burned area.  Dead junipers dot the hillsides (dead from drought).  North of I-10 seems hillier than I remember.  It is grey and continues to mist/rain all the way into Midland.  Everything seems green and happy from the rain, although we are getting nowhere near enough to reverse our drought conditions, nevermind fill up the reservoirs we rely on for water, up on the Llano Estacado.