In search of a road trip

College students are always in search of a party and a road trip. When you are in a fraternity, though, they take on new meaning. The parties are larger; the road trips are longer and more adventurous. A kegger in Lancaster at Shelley's was a good excuse for both.

Instead of driving to Lancaster, a very small town about 60 miles to the north of Grand Forks, two fraternity brothers and I decided to rent a plane and fly up. Brad was a member of the local flying club, so he got us a Cessna 172 for the trip. He needed the cross-country time, so decided to use it as a training event. Randy and I were along for the ride.

Brad knew there was no airport in Lancaster, but Randy and I successfully convinced him we didn’t need an airport. There was nothing illegal about simply landing in a field by Shelley's place. It was surely against the rules of the flying club, but that didn’t matter. Brad agreed the adventure was more important than the rules of the club. With anticipation we grabbed an overnight pack, and drove westward out of the city to the Grand Forks’ airport.

We arrived bout 15 minutes later, parked the car, and walked into the yellow hanger building to rent the plane. Since Brad was the club member, he filled out the paperwork. While waiting for Brad, Randy got the weather briefing. Within a few minutes, the three of us were walking across the ramp to aircraft.

The Cessna152 is a single-engine, four seat plane, with high wings that sit above the cabin area. Although the interior is tight, there was plenty of room for the three of us with our overnight bags. Randy and I tossed our bags into the small cargo area behind the rear seat, and stood around while Brad filed the flight plan, calculated the weight and balance, and got the aircraft ready. When Brad was ready, we jumped in and put our headsets on. Brad was in the left seat; I was in the right seat; Randy was in the back.

After a quick taxi to runway 35L, Brad powered up and we took off. The weather was great – a perfect day for flying. We could see for 30 miles, fields of various shades of green and black. Each farmhouse was distinguished by small groups of trees. The railroad and roadways were clean lines cut into the span of fields. Brad flew overhead I-29 northbound, looking for Lancaster off in the distance.

Within about 45 minutes, we were near Lancaster. Even though you can see everything from above, it is hard to distinguish one farm from the next, or even one town from the next. We couldn’t determine which farmstead was Shelley’s, so to sort it out, Brad followed the track of county roads to the location of Shelley's house. After getting to the general location, we easily spotted Shelley’s white Thunderbird parked in the yard. Once we flew overhead, several people walked into the open yard to signal we were in the right spot.

All we had to do now was land in the field across the gravel road. To check the "runway" conditions, Brad descended and buzzed the field. To our disappointment, the alfalfa was too high; the field would not work for a landing strip. We would have gotten hung up in the tall grass. After a little discussion, we opted to land on the paved roadway near the party site and taxi to the yard. That wasn’t illegal, but probably against local ordinances, but that didn’t matter. From this paved road, the house was only about 1/4 mile down the adjacent, gravel road. We decided to land and quickly taxi to the house.

Brad maneuvered us for landing, and skillfully touched down on the narrow, paved roadway. After coming to a stop, he made a 180-degree turn on the roadway, and taxied back to the gravel road to Shelley’s house. As we turned off the pavement onto the gravel, we noticed the propeller was picking up and spitting stones. He stopped and pulled back the power. We couldn’t risk damaging the prop. We sat on the roadway for a minute to ponder the situation. Randy said, "Let me out and I’ll walk over to Shelley's."

By this time, though, Shelley and his other friends had driven to meet us. We explained our predicament. We couldn't taxi on the gravel roadway for fear that rocks would chip the prop. He suggested we try the grass strip near town. Huh? Why didn't we think of that?

We decided to takeoff on the paved roadway and head for the grass strip. To minimize weight in the aircraft, and to reduce takeoff and landing distances, Brad and I asked Randy to ride with Shelley to the grass strip.

Brad started the engine, and powered forward to the center of the roadway. The trick would be to time the takeoff so that no cars would approach us on the road, causing a head-on collision. Shelley and Randy would see to that. They drove forward of the aircraft about a half mile. Somehow, they missed stopping the only car on the roadway that hour. This unknown car approached. Brad and I waited until it passed. The Cessna, centered on the roadway, with wings spread over both lanes, and the prop spinning, was definitely an obstacle. The car slowed to a crawl, and passed slowly under the left wing. The look on the peoples’ faces was priceless. All we could think was that the cops would be there soon.

After the car had passed, Brad powered up for takeoff, and released the brakes. As we began to move, I mentioned the fact that there was a power line a short distance ahead. “We need to remain on the ground until we’ve passed under the power line,” I said. He agreed. As the 172 slowly accelerated down the “runway,” the nose of the aircraft lifted off. Now the main wheels were off and we were in ground effect. I immediately raised my voice and said "we won't clear that line; you need to fly under it." He didn't respond. I focused on the approaching wire. The plane began to climb higher.

As we slowly climbed, the power line got closer, and closer. “We surely would not climb high enough to clear the line,” I believed. As the line got closer, I grabbed the yoke and forced it forward to stop our ascent. Brad and I worked against each other for a second; he was pulling the nose up and I was forcing it down. He stopped struggling and released the yoke, allowing me to dive back into ground effect. I pushed harder on the yoke to keep the plane close to the ground. As the line quickly passed overhead, I commented to myself, “My God, I can see the twist in the cable. I hope it clears the prop.” A second later, I realized the aircraft was still flying. I released the yoke. With the extra speed, the plane popped up quickly. Brad took the yoke, and stabilized the climb. He flew toward Shelley’s white Thunderbird in the distance.

About two miles to the west and one-half mile to the north was an old, run-down golf course and a grass strip. Brad descended to about 500 feet and circled around the field. Assessing the situation, we commented that this “field” was not groomed, and hadn’t been used in a long time. The strip wasn’t much better than the alfalfa filed! We noticed there was even a steel post in the center of the strip. The grass looked about a foot tall. The ground didn’t even look level. Brad and I discussed the landing, and we were both concerned.

Randy and Shelley had driven to the strip and were waiting for us to land. Brad and I needed some field condition information, so decided to drop a note to Randy. We wanted him to assess the ground conditions and give us an OK sign if they were good. We took Randy’s thick paperback FAR book, wrote a note in the front cover, and tossed it out the window. Because we were flying at about 70 knots, the book shredded into a dozen pieces as it descended to the ground.

Randy had no idea why we threw the book out, so never went to pick it up. He just kept waving us in.

Brad and I both agreed we should give it a try. He completed his landing checklist, and shot a normal downwind, base, and final. As the aircraft touched down, it began skidding sideways a bit, but slid to a stop in the tall grass. We missed the post! Brad powered forward to where Randy and Shelley were parked, and shut down the engine.

As we all laughed nervously, Randy walked to the aircraft and asked in disgust why we ruined his FAR book by throwing it from the aircraft. While laughing and sweating, we secured the plane and jumped into Shelley’s car. We drove down the rolling dirt driveway, leaving the plane behind for the keg ahead.

While at the party, we surrounded a bon-fire, and laughed about the earlier events. Brad played the good pilot and wasn’t drinking, but the rest of us were. Over the course of the evening, I had only four keg-cups of beer, but Randy had more.

As the time passed, Brad noticed that the stars were disappearing. Since Randy had gotten the weather, Brad asked him what the weather was supposed to do. Randy didn’t want to say anything. After some prodding, Randy finally gave the truth. Thunderstorms and clouds were moving in, and would cover the area though Sunday. Brad was livid. He needed to have the plane back in GFK by tomorrow, -- Sunday morning.

Brad insisted we leave immediately. It was ten o’clock in the evening, the skies dark. The aircraft was parked on a bumpy, overgrown field, with a steel post in the center of it. An argument broke out between Brad and Randy. Randy wanted to stay and continue the party. Brad won, and we got ready to go.

After a few minutes drive, we arrived back at the plane. Shelley shined the car lights on the field. We couldn’t takeoff from this field. Not at night, with the weight of three people. The grass was too high and wet. The aircraft would not lift off in the short distance.

After assessing the situation, we opted to taxi out to the main, paved roadway. Brad got in the aircraft, started the engine, and powered forward. He taxied slowly down the rolling, dirt driveway. After descending the first rolling hill, the aircraft stopped in the “valley.” The aircraft didn’t have the thrust to power the aircraft up the small hill. Randy, Shelley, and I grabbed the cross braces on the wings, and pushed the aircraft up the hill. After traversing two or three more of these small hills, we finally made it to the roadway.

Brad powered the aircraft onto the pavement. Randy and I jumped in, and looked down the roadway. About 100 feet down the roadway was a no-passing sign, with another sign directly opposite the side of the road. Our wingspan looked wider than the road. Would the wingtips clear between the signs? Instead of gambling, Brad taxied the aircraft forward to the signs.

Indeed, the aircraft did not fit between the signs. The wing-tips were wider than the roadway, and would hit both signs. Randy and I jumped out, and began to jockey the aircraft through the signs, like a couch through a doorway.

After clearing the signs, Randy and I got back into the aircraft. Brad lined up on the centerline. We looked forward down the roadway to check for more signs and power wires. It was dark, the visibility about 500 feet. We really couldn’t see farther than the headlights. Shelley drove down the roadway a ways and returned, giving us reassurance there were no obstacles.

Brad planned a short-field takeoff, powered up and released the brakes. As soon as the aircraft began to fly, he pulled back and got the aircraft above road-sign altitude. Quickly the aircraft climbed above “power-line” altitude. As soon as we were about 200 feet in the air, we lost visual contact with the horizon. We were in the clouds.

Brad hadn’t completed any instrument training, but I had finished my instrument check a few weeks earlier. I took over the controls, and climbed up to altitude.

We didn’t get a weather briefing prior to leaving, so we really had no idea what was ahead. Randy assured us the thunderstorms were still a ways off. It no longer mattered. We couldn’t turn around and land on that “runway.” We could only head for Grand Forks.

Brad was in the left seat; I was in the right. Because I had never flown in the right seat, it was awkward and I was having a hard time. It may also have been the four beers I had earlier. I tuned in the VOR to Grand Forks, and tried to establish our position from GFK. As we continued ahead, I struggled trying to establish a track to GFK. For some reason, the heading I was flying didn’t seem to be correct. Cross-referencing our heading indicator with the compass showed we were flying in the wrong direction. I began to climb higher to attempt to get on top of the cloud deck. Luckily we reached the top of the clouds at about 3000 feet. I could see the lighted cloud-tops over GFK off to our left. We were flying west! I made a turn southward and proceeded visually to Grand Forks.

Because we left Lancaster in a hurry, we didn’t file a flight plan. If it were a visual flight, we would have been legal – for the most part. However, because we were in instrument conditions, we would have needed an IFR flight plan. Brad wasn’t IFR rated, and I didn’t have my certificate, yet. On top of that, I had been drinking, so wasn’t legal to fly.

After we were heading in the right direction, I asked Brad to get the current weather and traffic information for Grand Forks, but told him not to talk to anyone. I didn’t want anyone to know we were up there. Fortunately, the control tower had closed at midnight. We listened to the Grand Forks common radio frequency, and planned for a stealthy landing. We would taxi to the ramp, tie it down, and quickly leave the site.

Once we got to the Grand Forks area, we descended to pattern altitude. Fortunately, the airport was in the clear for approach and landing. Brad took over, flew the pattern, and made a smooth landing.

After he parked the aircraft, we all jumped out of the plane. Randy and I grabbed the three overnight bags and ran off the ramp area into the building. Brad tied down the aircraft, then cleaned the grass off the wheels and out of the break linings.