News Flash! Ice Skating rink in Hell Opens!

My mother remembers when Lindbergh crossed the Atlantic. It wasn't too long
after that when she last rode in a light aircraft. She regards a 19 passenger
turbo-prop as "one of those little planes". Before today, I regarded the odds of
her climbing into my Maule right up there with the chances of sprouting wings
and flying around the room.

Guess it just takes the right impetus. She signed up for a tour of Cape May, NJ.
Got there allright. Then she started trying to figure out how she could make the
100 miles to my house after the tour was over. When I pointed out that her
options were a four-and-a-half-hour bus ride, plus a 45 minute ride from the
terminal, an eight-hour-plus train ride with four changes, or a 52 minute ride
in the Maule, she decided that the plane looked a lot bigger than she had
thought originally.

I got off the ground a few minutes later than planned, but there was a tailwind,
so I made it to Cape May on time. Nobody answered me on the Unicom, so I picked
one of the runways and plunked down. Then I headed for the terminal, pulled up,
and shut down. Nobody there. Closed for the season. Cranked up again and headed
down the line. I was pulling into the next building that looked like an FBO,
when the radio crackled to life. "Maule, your party is down here at Classic
Air." With a heartfelt "Thank you", I waddled down that way and shut down in
front of the building.

I suggested that Mama use the facilities before we left and had a chat with the
line man while loading her luggage. He has a Maule M-4 he's working on, and we
swapped stories a bit. Then it was time to load Mama.

For those who haven't tried the exercise, getting in a Maule is a bit of work.
Short, chubby, old women are not well suited to this. On the second attempt,
Mama managed to get her right foot up on the step. Grabbing hold of the bar
across the windshield was out of the question, but she did manage to get a good
grip on the door frame. After that, it was a matter of only about three tries
before she was able to crawl into the seat.

I climbed in the other side, got her seat belt fastened, and went over the
passenger briefing (which takes about 5 seconds in a Maule). When I offered her
a headset, she looked aghast and told me she'd just turn her hearing aid down.
She didn't feel the need to talk. Got started and headed for the runway.

Cape May was still under a grey 2500' overcast, but twenty miles north, the sun
was shining. We stayed at 1,000' to 1,300' up the coast. I had just come down
that way, so I knew the turbulence wasn't too bad down there. Gave her a view
of the Atlantic City casinos as we passed Bader. We stayed east of the McGuire
alert zone, but that still pulled us away from the coast a bit, and Mama started
checking her watch. I'm starting to worry about airsickness and such, but I
found out later that she just needed a bathroom. Already.

So, feeling a little pressure to get her down, I entered the downwind for 06 at
Old Bridge. Wind was from 360 at better than ten knots at pattern altitude, and
I forgot to allow for the fact that this would produce a short base leg. As soon
as I leveled off on base, it was obvious I was high, so I dumped in full flaps.
As soon as I turned final, I was slipping the plane for all it was worth. At
first, I was worried about what Mama would think - lots of people don't like
slips. Mama didn't bat an eye. I realized later that slipping the plane in would
have been SOP back in the 30s when she last flew in one of these things. Or
maybe it was just hydraulic pressure.

Anyway, we touched down halfway down the field and made the next-to-last turn
off. I pulled up at the FBO to let Mama out. Whoo-boy! If you thought it was a
problem getting her into the plane, you should've seen the gyrations needed to
get her out! If I hadn't told her there was a bathroom behind the FBO door, we
might still be there!

On the way home, she thanked me for the "adventure". Maybe I can bribe my sister
into finding out what she really thinks. On second thought, maybe I'd best not
do that.

George Patterson
If you're not part of the solution, you can make a lot of money prolonging
the problem.