by Peter Julier
The Last Flight of Four Papa Mike
By Peter Julier
Copyright 2014 Peter Julier
With his checklist in hand, Gary, a 45 year-old self-employed businessman, started the preflight inspection of the Gobosh 700. He was feeling a little nervous about his first solo cross country flight. This was one of his final steps towards obtaining his Light Sport pilot license. He'd just had the fuel topped off; 18 gallons will be more than sufficient for his 53 nautical mile roundtrip flight from Centennial Airport (KAPA) to Greeley (KGXY). Although it is extra weight for the small Gobosh to carry, it's a great insurance policy to have just in case. Just in case of what? he asked himself. Getting lost? Diverting to another airport? Unexpected weather? There is a saying about Colorado weather; If you don't like it, just wait 10 minutes and it will change. That saying couldn't be more true, especially this close to the Rockies.
Why was he worrying so much? There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the briefer told him the weather enroute would not be a factor; just a little wind from the northwest at about 10 knots. This would be the second most memorable flight of his life, second only to his first solo last month.
Just six months ago Gary got his first taste of flying in this small plane. He had won the first place prize in a church raffle: a one hour discovery flight offered by a flight school in a light sport aircraft called a Gobosh. He had no desire to win the flight, and there was no way he'd be brave enough to go up in a small plane if he did. He was actually more interested in the second place prize, an i-Pod docking station. When he was notified that he won the discovery flight, he asked the second place prize winner, Larry Welks, if he'd like to trade. Larry's exact reply was, " Why would I want something that lasts only an hour?"
On a brisk autumn afternoon, Gary decided to take a drive to the flying club and see if he could exchange his discovery flight for something else. He thought they might have some nice model airplanes he could purchase for his nephew. When he walked into the building, all they had for sale was flight manuals, log books, key chains, hats embroidered with the name of the flying club, and instructional books. His discovery flight was valued at around $120; that would buy a lot of hats and key chains.
Brian, a tall, slender man probably just slightly younger than Gary by a year or two and president of the flying club, was behind the counter talking on the phone when he noticed Gary peering in the glass case. "I'll be with you in a moment sir." Gary just nodded back. When Brian got off the phone, he greeted Gary. "How are you doing today?" "I'm doing fine," Gary replied in an almost nervous fashion, because he just wanted to leave without explaining why he was there. "What can I help you with today?" "I won a discovery flight in a church raffle and was just seeing if maybe I could trade it in for something else, but I really don't see anything of interest so I'll just be heading out." "Why don't you want to go on the flight? It's perfectly safe," Brian tried to assure him. Gary shook his head. "No, flying is not for me unless I'm in first class in a Boeing 747." "Well the airplane just parked on the ramp, why don't you at least let me show it to you? Maybe you'll change your mind." It was a sales pitch if Gary ever heard one; this guy was wasting his breath if he thought Gary would ever end up taking flying lessons, but he thought, What the hell, I can kill some time waiting for the rush hour traffic to clear up anyway. "Sure, lead the way," he said, and followed Brian out of the building.
During the walk Brian tried to make small talk, but Gary wasn't the usual conversationalist he normally was. He was a little more focused on the activity of airplanes taxiing on the ramp in front of them. He was in awe of all the variety of aircraft they were walking by. The closest he'd ever been to a private plane was during a business luncheon at a restaurant on the other side of the airport. His table was close to the flight line, separated only by a large glass window. He could see large corporate jets parked and awaiting CEOs, rock stars or professional golfers, and smaller single engine propeller aircraft as well.
Brian pointed to a small blue and white low wing airplane. "That's the Gobosh right there." It was indeed a pretty airplane dwarfed by a much larger twin engine airplane parked next to it. Brian told him it was a twin engine Beechcraft. The Gobosh looked like a sleek, very expensive European sports car with wings. Looking at the front of the airplane, with its large air scoop resembling a mouth below the spinner resembling a large pointy nose, it appeared the airplane was smiling at him. How could he be afraid of such a happy-looking airplane? Brian opened up the canopy. "Climb in," he said. Being almost 6'4" it took Gary a while to slide in to the cockpit, but surprisingly, once he was in he didn't feel like a whale in a tuna can like he thought he would. Something about sitting in the cockpit just felt right. Brian started explaining the flight controls and the mass of dials and switches on the instrument panel. Gary was both confused and overwhelmed, but genuinely interested as he held the control stick in his hands. That was the first day he met Gobosh Four Papa Mike, and the beginning of a long relationship. Gary was sold on the idea of taking the discovery flight, and the next day he went with his current instructor, John. Before he was back on the ground, flying was in his blood.
He loved the challenges and pure excitement of learning to fly. The Gobosh was a very stable, responsive and forgiving airplane. After a few weeks in the left seat, Gary became very familiar with every ornate detail of the little Gobosh, as well as the world of aviation. Flying the airplane in the Colorado winter was an incredible experience. The Rotax engine performed so well in the colder air, and the sight of the nearby snow-covered Rocky Mountains just west of the airport was absolutely breathtaking.
His first major stepping stone was his solo flight. Gary really didn't have a lot of time to think about it, because he didn't know what day it would happen. Then, on a morning flight, John was reviewing stalls with him in the southeast practice area and suggested they head back to do some touch and goes. There wasn't a lot of activity at Centennial, and after two satisfactory touch and goes, Gary did a full stop and taxied the Gobosh back to the ramp. Before he reached the turnoff for the hangar, John asked him to stop but to keep the engine running. John reached behind his seat for Gary's logbook. Gary knew he was about to receive his solo endorsement. "Okay Gary, three times around the pattern, then I'll meet you here." With those words John removed his headset, unlocked the canopy, and stepped out. Gary was nervous, but felt very prepared. He knew this airplane very well; she would take good care of him just like she always did.
His first solo takeoff was the thrill of a lifetime; his first time in Four Papa Mike alone, with no one to tell him his approach speed was too fast or that he was turning onto final too soon. It was a fairly cool day; the Gobosh seemed so much more alive (probably due to being 170 lbs lighter without an instructor on board), and the airplane was airborne within seconds after reaching full power. There was a Cessna 172 in the pattern as well doing touch and goes. When Gary was turning onto the downwind, the Cessna was turning onto base. It was tough to see the larger Cessna when Gary was behind it, but when it turned 90 degrees from him and revealed its full wingspan, it was very noticeable. Gary's first landing was a little bumpy; just the nerves getting the best of him, he figured. The last two were as near perfect as anyone else could have done. The entire experience seemed so surreal. Did he really fly an airplane all by himself? Or was it all just a dream? Four Papa Mike had indeed taken good care of him, and after he parked the Gobosh in front of the hangar, John told him to remain in the airplane so he could snap a few photos to commemorate the event. At this very moment, just before his cross country flight, one of those photos was sitting on Gary's desk in his home office.
All preflight checks done; the little airp
lane was ready to go. Just as Gary started opening the hangar doors, his flight instructor John made an appearance. "Remember to call me as soon as you get back," he said, like a worried father about to give his son the keys to the car for the first time. "I will call you, I promise," Gary assured him. John removed the chocks and helped push the airplane out of the hangar. Gary opened the canopy and placed his sectional map and headset on the right seat. "I'll close up the hangar so you can get going. Have a safe flight." John gave Gary a departing pat on the back and Gary climbed into the cockpit. After he closed and locked the canopy, he started to feel as nervous as the day of his first solo. His solo was a piece of cake compared to "leaving the nest," as John referred to it.
After his prestart checklist was completed he started the engine. It was running a little rough until he turned off the choke and throttled up a little. The ATIS was reporting the wind from 310 at 10 knots gusting to 12, landing and departing on Runway Three-Five Right. A slight crosswind, but not bad for this time of year. Springtime in the
