Author: Kerry McCauley

“Come to England with me,” he said, “we’ll have a few laughs then fly a cool plane to Miami” he said. “The bank loan is all taken care of” he said. “The plane is all ready to go, all we have to do is show up, hop in and take off,” he said. So how come I’m sitting by myself in the garden of a beautiful bed and breakfast, eating said breakfast under a clear blue sky instead of the cockpit of a Beech Baron halfway to Greenland? Because I’m screwed again that’s why.

After riding a train an hour and a half south out of London I arrived at the Good Wood aerodrome only to find that the owner wasn’t there to meet me, my first clue that something was amiss. When I finally tracked him down he told me that the bank STILL wasn’t happy with how he was paying off the loan and seeing that it was Friday afternoon nothing could be done until Monday. ARRRRGGGGG! I was hoping to make this trip a quick one but instead of making it to Scotland or Iceland one day one I was going nowhere. Some of you might remember that Cory and I were stuck in this same place trying to get this same plane about a month ago and after a week of doing nothing went back home in defeat.   So back I went to check into the little B&B I stayed at last month where in response to the question of whether I would like anything to drink said that I would love a beer if they had any. After realizing that the owner was digging into her own very limited personal stock, that consisted of exactly two beers, I protested that I couldn’t possibly take one, but only halfheartedly. It was a really good beer.  Oh yeah and that Saturday night in Reykjavik I was looking forward to?  Not gonna happen, instead I get to spend it in the beautiful town of Box grove.  Whoopee.

Cory finally found a way to satisfy the bank in England and get them to allow the Baron we tried to ferry last month to leave the country.  So I’m off to Jolly Old today to give moving this plane one more shot and due to his busy schedule Cory will not be joining me.  What, I don’t have a busy schedule too?  That means flying over the north Atlantic, Iceland, Greenland and northern Canada alone, all alone, by myself, no help from the right seat, solo, you get the idea.  Actually I like to fly alone.  I can do what I want without explaining my actions to anyone or arguing over such important decisions as where to have dinner or how late to stay out this Saturday night in Reykjavik.  I’ll try to keep you all updated as to my progress but I can’t promise anything.  I did mention Saturday night in Reykjavik didn’t I?

I just never run out of great pictures of Greenland.

In India “full service fuel” has a different meaning.

At 2,217 feet the Burj Khalifa tower in Dubai is the worlds tallest building and really something to see from the air.  When I took this picture last year I was struck by the fact that the entire city was covered in desert colored dust from frequent sand storms.  At least snow eventually melts.

Next to the ramp in Petropavlovsk Russia is this tiny Orthodox chapel.  I’m not sure if it was for passengers to say a quick prayer before climbing aboard whatever ancient jet that will hopefully take them out of Siberia or for the surviving families to mourn the dead who didn’t make it.  Either way it’s still a pretty little building that would never be allowed in the US.

33 hours.  That’s 18 hours longer than my longest flight, Agadir, Morocco to Abidjan, The Ivory Coast.  1800 miles over the Sahara desert, at night, by flashlight because my electrical system went tits up  malfunctioned.  I’m still pretty damn proud of that flight but it’s nothing compared to Lucky Lindy’s flight.  Ferrying airplanes eastbound over the Atlantic means fighting a whole host of challenges but one of the worst is fatigue.  Losing three or four hours a day due to time zones really takes it out of you, like how tired you are when you lose just one hour for daylight savings time.  But 33 hours alone in a cramped cockpit without even the occasional radio call to help keep you awake must have been hell.  Just try sitting in your living room for 33 hours without sleeping.  I’ll let you watch Netflix, surf the internet, text the local pizza joint for a delivery, update your Facebook page and even get up to go to the bathroom.  I bet you still fall asleep before hitting the 33 hour mark.  My hat’s off to you Lindy, I might have done it many more times than you, but you were the first.