As maintenance issues and costs mount, I enter the holiday season second-guessing every airplane purchase decision I ever made. Or put in a more holiday way, how can I help but play chess with the Ghost of Christmas Past when my annual inspection falls at the happiest time of the year?
Yes, I’ve come to realize that even though I’ve been flying airplanes for 35 years, since I was seventeen years old, in fact, I didn’t learn one damn thing in all that time about buying and owning them. Don’t get me wrong. I tried to learn, but some fields of knowledge require a degree from the U-of-K, the University of Hard-Knocks. You can read about how to buy a plane everyday until the cows come home, the sunsets, and the moon rises for months—I did—and you’ll still be woefully unprepared for the real world realities.
Here’s the reader’s digest version of the conventional wisdom of plane buying: Define your mission before you shop. Don’t be dissuaded by a pretty face. Do a title search. Pay the big bucks for a pre-buy inspection. Be patient.
I did all that. Here’s how it’s worked out for me:
Mission. Defining your mission means taking a hard look at the kind of flying you really do. It makes no sense to own a six-seat light twin if you generally fly alone in the local area. By the same token, if you need to fly regularly for businesses more than 500 miles from home, a Piper Cub is a bad choice. My mission required a Light Sport Aircraft (LSA). My checkbook required an older “legacy” model. I actually read a book, ironically titled Legacy Light Sport Aircraft You Can Afford to Buy and Fly, to help me get a better grip on the options, of which there were seven makes: Aeronca, Ercoupe, Interstate, Luscombe, Piper Cub, Porterfield, or Talyorcraft. The Ercoupe ended up being the best mission-fitting plane. Among the legacy models, I still believe that. But every time something breaks, wears out, or needs to be replaced for any other reason, I can’t help wondering if I shouldn’t have evaluated modern LSAs, too.
I do a lot of wondering about that this time of year.
Moving on. Related to mission definition is avoiding a pretty face. You’d think that a good way to shop for an airplane would be to go to an airport and see what’s for sale, but you’d be wrong. It’s too easy to fall in love with the wrong plane that way. Sensible airplane buying requires a cold heart, and sometimes a cold shower. I did that right. I never met Tessie in the flesh before I made the deal. I defined my mission, spent months trying to find a plane that fit my requirements, made dozens of calls to sellers, and even inked two deals that fell apart (more on that in a minute) before we bought our plane. I had seen pictures, of course, and a pilot friend whose work took him to the part of the country where she was based test flew her for me.
Our title search was fine, and I paid the owner to ferry the plane to a prebuy mechanic. This was the third time I had done that. Two other deals fell apart when deal-killing issues were discovered on the prebuy. I was spending a lot of money on airplane mechanics for a guy who didn’t own an airplane, but I was saving myself from a bigger financial disaster.
Or so I thought.
Yes, I was in a Spock-like zone of logic on this purchase, and cocky-proud of myself. But things broke down on the third prebuy. The highly recommended prebuy guy on this deal missed a ton of potentially deal-killing squawks. Of course, in all fairness he found a ton of things that were fixed to make the sale, too, so maybe it’s just 20-20 hindsight that’s making me bitter.
And patience. Did I get impatient in the end? Maybe, but I think not. I took six months, walked away from two deals when they turned sour, and avoided a dozen others early in the process. I followed the plane-buying checklist to the letter, but discovered in the end that correspondence school is no way to learn about buying an airplane.
You have to attend the U-of-K.
Yes, I’m sorry to tell you that when it comes first-time airplane ownership, you just don’t know what you’re getting into until it’s too late to get out. I know it’s one dollar total I should never look at (much less add up) but when I think about how much money we’ve spent on our old bird I can’t help but wonder if I could have been flying that sexy Sling, who’s siren song hasn’t yet released its hold on my soul. Of course, if I’d known the true cost of owning this plane, I would not have bought her, so it’s not quite relevant. Plus, even a new plane still has required maintenance, so it’s not like you can truly add up all the money you’ve ever spent on an old plane and say you could have applied it to the purchase of a new one. And, even with all the unexpected costs we’ve weathered, we are nowhere near the cost of a brand-spanking new LSA. That will take another couple of years. But the Ghost of Christmas Future has been whispering in my ear about that.
So do I regret buying this plane? Sometimes, for brief periods, yes. And I kick myself for not being smarter. But when my musings turn dark, like today, all I need to do is look at this picture:
And all my dark thoughts fly away on those beautiful wings of white and blue.