With autumn in full swing in the south we’re enjoying afternoon temperatures in the 70s and low 80s. It’s pleasant enough that I can get out in the yard to tackle some of the bigger projects I’ve been putting off. When the heat of summer raises temperatures into the 90s and the humidity is high enough to make air feel like water, I prefer lounging to heat-stroke.
This most recent undertaking involves the sectioning up of large logs left over from the last three live oaks I’ve had taken down. Live oaks are dense wood. The USS Constitution, Old Ironsides, was built of live oak timbers.
My tools and I headed out to the yard with the intent of making firewood out of the remnants of those trees. Some are larger in diameter than my chainsaw is long. This girth presented a problem.
When faced with a problem, it is often wise to stop, consider options, and imagine your way through the possible risks and benefits before taking the next step. I was in the process of doing just that when the sound of an airplane overhead caught my attention. Unsurprisingly, I looked up.
My home is located approximately one mile from my local airport. I’m situated on one side of a good-sized lake, while the airport butts up against the opposite shoreline. When the winds are right, my house is directly under the downwind leg. So it’s not unusual for me to hear airplane noise for much of the day and into the night.
That’s not an imposition or a distraction. I like it.
The sky above was cloudless. Spectacularly blue and crisp, I immediately picked out a bright yellow Cessna 152 with black accents on the nose and wingtips. As the pilot initiated a base turn the identifier was clearly visible: N104UC.
The idea of cutting firewood fell by the wayside for a moment. This was an airplane that represented a decade of my life. It slid past, almost as if it was offering a greeting.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so moved, or so excited, or introspective due to something as simple and common as a 45-year-old trainer passing overhead.
N104UC came into my life on the ramp at Frederick Municipal Airport (KFDK) in Maryland. It was the fifth of a line of C152s that I have come to love with all my heart. Those little trainers served me and my peers well. Today, they’re all in private hands doing what they do best: Bringing joy and aeronautical pleasure to pilots and pilot hopefuls who see the value of enhancing their lives at the controls of a simple, basic airplane.
They are, to my mind, The Little Airplanes That Could (with apologies to Watty Piper and the classic picture book he wrote).
A decade ago, I went to work for the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA) as an ambassador. My role was essentially to be all things to all people. A job I truly loved. That role came with what I referred to as my company car: A beautifully rebuilt and upgraded Cessna 152, finished in a unique yellow color that nearly glowed in the sunshine. The airplane was distinctive to say the least.
My first was N152UC, which I climbed into beside AOPA luminary Dave Hirschman in January 2015 at Sebring, Florida. This was a simple check-out flight. Being a CFI myself, I basically told Dave what I intended to do to demonstrate my ability to fly the airplane safely. He agreed and off we went. A few steep turns, power-off stalls, takeoffs, and landings later we were done.
Dave’s comment to me upon the completion of the flight remains a point of pride to this day. “You’re a good pilot,” he said.
Dave is a man of few words in the cockpit.
I once taxied that airplane out past the T-hangars and trees at Lakeland, Florida, to hear a ground controller call out, “If you’re going to be that color, you don’t need a transponder.”
Distinctive, as I said.
N152UC was my regular ride for only a few months. When asked to fly it to Waycross, Georgia, to swap it out for a sister unit, I did. My boss flew N152UF from headquarters down to make the swap. We both got in late, just about sundown. The courtesy car got us to our hotel in town and we enjoyed a fine BBQ dinner at Hog-N-Bones nearby. In the early morning, we returned the courtesy car, climbed into our respective mounts, and headed off to adventure.
N152UF was identical in every way save for the last letter of the call-sign — a feature that served me well as controllers in Florida sometimes assumed I was affiliated with the University of Florida and gave me preferential handling.
Next came N106UC, a spectacular variant with long range tanks. I once flew her non-stop from Gulf Shores, Alabama, to central Florida. Five hours in the air and I still had fuel to spare. When the company sold that one I had the pleasure of flying off to demonstrate it for the prospective new owners on Easter Sunday. I’ve run into the couple that bought it since. They were still smiling.
In 2021 N103UC came into my life in Houston, Texas. I flew it home to Florida, then delivered it to AOPA in Maryland. My ride home was N104UC. Before heading south, I wandered north, however. To Hartford, Connecticut, for a visit with my dear old mother. Then it was back to Florida. N104UC was sold to a high school aero club last year.
Sometimes is pays to look up. There may be a special, highly detailed story connected to what flies overhead. And it’s at least possible that somebody reading this article will realize they, and I, have logged time in the very same airplane, somewhere in America.
I really hope that’s the case.
If you see one of those little flivvers on the ramp somewhere, please do me a favor and say “Hey” to whoever is at the controls. I hope they have as much fun and travel as widely in those machines as I got to do for so many years.
