Flight 64
[PAST 60-HR MARK ON THIS FLIGHT]
01/14/97
C-172
TEB-ACY-TEB
sky clear; wind 310/10; cold
Man, what a day! The visibility is unrestricted, the wind is benign, and there's not a single damn cloud anywhere in the area.
There is a band of darkness to the west and north, however, and the forecast for the area of my planned flight is like a bad (recurring) dream: clouds NW; high winds... reports of turbulence, wind shear, and low-level icing... dammit, I can't fly to AVP today!!
Well, C. had told me to plan a southern alternate if need be. He's off today, but N. signs off on my hastily (but accurately) prepared plan for Atlantic City. The original assignment included a stop at Allentown, but I've already used up some of my slot time... ACY exceeds the 50-mile minimum to make it a legitimate X-C; so what if it will be almost cheating, just following the coast down and back?
Good crosswing takeoff, then I start off the trip by treating myself to a Hudson corridor transition. The air is crystal-clear, and the engine snores peacefully. The wind is pretty stiff, so we crab downriver, alone in the exclusion except for a few helicopters below.
Exactly eleven miles of very cold water lies between the Verrazano Bridge and the town of Atlantic Highlands across the bay to the south, and I must remain below the 1500-foot floor of the Class B. But it doesn't take long to cross it.
Sandy Hook approaches to my left, and once past its tip, I am free to climb to 4500. Up I go, taking care to make landfall on course- where the huge military pier juts out into the bay at the foot of the town. The pier slides below, on target and on schedule.
Once 23F is leveled, trimmed, and leaned, I can sit back and relax a little. Water on the left on the way there, water on the right on the way back, and a few easy waypoints strung along the shore. Easy.
Abeam Manahwakin, I call ACY Approach. They vector me to a long right base for 31, and I touch down with aplomb on the sunny, windswept runway. I hear a pilot on the tower frequency discussing "disarming" his aircraft- seems that the local ANG is using this field.
Ground sends me to a ramp where a kid in coveralls actually waves me into a parking space with a pair of orange wands... well, hush my mouth! All this fuss for me and old 23F!
Stumbling into the FBO with a mumbled greeting, I am asked to sign the register. It suddenly occurs to me that line boys and orange wands can be expensive... just as I am about to ask how much this will all cost, the lady behind the counter asks "Is this a training flight?"
"Uh, yes... it is."
"Okay, well there's no charge for training flights", she says cheerfully.
"Thanks!"
Sitting down to call Flight Service and "plug in" the weather for my return navlog, I notice that everyone else in the room speaks with a slight Southern twang. Is Atlantic City really that far south, I wonder, or is this some kind of invasion?
But I don't care if they talk funny- she didn't say "student flight"!
Soon enough it's time to go. Taxiing to the runway, I see two vicious-looking A-10s take off in formation.
Then it's my turn.
The tower vectors me away from the field, then clears me to climb immediately. I hear the pilot of a Convair, of all things, negotiating his approach with Tower.
"CessnaTwoThreeFoxtrot, traffic is a Convair, at your ten o'clock, two thousand."
And here she comes, still almost a thousand feet overhead, flying perpendicular to my course.
"23Fox has the Convair in sight."
Our courses intersect, but there is no need for concern. Besides a comfortable vertical distance, our awareness of each other's position keeps us safe. The big, old twin disappears behind 23F's sun visors briefly, then recedes to my right.
Navigating back is almost boring, except for a little uncertainty as to the best crab angle.
Spellbound by the fine weather and lulled by the ease of the trip, I almost forget to descend in time to duck under the Class B.
The wind is gusty now over the Hudson; I have quite a crab going as I pass the Twin Towers, and steel myself for the inevitable bumps encountered over the George Washington Bridge in days like this.
I continue north another mile or so past the bridge, then turn SW and call Teterboro. The controller gives me a long straight-in for 24. The low sun is glaring right into my eyes on the approach, and I'm not surprised to hear a jet pilot behind me call "negative contact on the Cessna- still looking..."
The landing is all right, but I am still spellbound, I suppose, because I start taxiing without permission once clear of the runway, and the tower reminds me to stop and contact Ground!
Next: a missing entry, and the long solo X-C
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