I’m off course. Again. I’m paying too much attention to the damn engine monitor, and not enough attention to my navigation instruments. I sigh, and start to bank right to get back on course. I’m 800 feet above the pines that cover the top of Rowe Mesa between Santa Fe and our home base at SXU. To my left is the canyon that Interstate 25 snakes through on it’s way south from Colorado.
Suddenly, it occurs to me: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. And Tess a dull girl. I roll left instead, sail over the edge of the mesa and ride the downdaft earthward, dropping, dropping, dropping into the canyon. The cliff face rises above me, I level off 600 feet above the freeway, and point Tess’ nose at the isolated butte called Starvation Peak.
I’m on our way home, but there’s no reason not to have fun on the way. The fear I’ve felt since morning has dissolved, blown away in the slipstream. After the first test flight of Engine3 I did a second, longer flight near Santa Fe; flying in circles above the open fields south and west of the airport. There wasn’t so much as a hiccup out of the newest engine. It ran strong. It ran smooth. The oil pressure stayed steady, and on landing all was good, only a few thread-like streams of the yellowish break-in mineral oil staining the belly. Nothing to write home about.
The only problem is we have too much power. Well, too much power for our prop, which will need to be re-pitched to better match the new stroker engine. We knew from the beginning that this might happen, but my team and the propeller shop agree that there’s no need to modify the prop before the break-in flight, so long as I avoid full power, so I’m ferrying Tess home to get her ready for the flight to a lower altitude. Tess and I are Dallas-bound on the weekend, if the weather holds. I know this place in an old radar tower that has a rockin’ brisket-stuffed deep-fried jalapeño that’s been calling me…
As Starvation Peak slides by it occurs to me: We’ve both been starving these many months, Tess and I. Back in the sky once again I relish being Civis Aerius Sum, a citizen of the air. And it seems to me that Tess is equally happy to be back in sky, I can almost hear her aluminum heart singing with joy.
I decide to drop in on the family on the way home. I dial Debbie on my iPhone, patching the call through to my headset thanks to the amazing technology called Bluetooth. “Take Rio and go outside,” I tell her.
“Where on earth are you calling from?” she asks.
“Ten miles west and 500 feet up,” I tell her.
As I bank over our house, I look down over the wing and I can see them, a tiny pair of figures far below, waving up at me. I wave back, roll level, rock my wings and head out over the desert. Just south of our house I pick up the Pecos River and decide to follow it to Santa Rosa, turning right, then left, then right again, weaving back and forth across the landscape as the river snakes through the mesa lands.
I circle Santa Rosa Lake once, then for the first time in many months, Tessie’s tires smoothly kiss the runway at her home base. It’s a sweet landing and a sweet homecoming.
After refueling and washing the dust off her wings, I pull her into her hangar. Then I just sit, drinking in the sight of her. Her smooth lines. Her many shades of blue.
And for the first time in many months, I feel at peace.
Photos by Lisa F. Bentson