On our morning of departure to Iowa City, the sunrise at Kickapoo seemed to look its best.
We must have crossed our fingers very hard for a tail wind. It worked! The winds pushed our tail at forty knots, giving us a speed of 192 knots over the ground, which is remarkable for a Cherokee. We arrived in Bartlesville, Kansas, in no time. I had good practice talking on the radio, too, covering a large chunk of ground and so quickly. I spoke to Sheppard (118.2, ?), Fort Sill (118.6), Fort Worth Center (128.10), "Oke" City (124.6, 124.2), Kansas City (128.3), Tulsa (124.0), Kansas City (127.8), and then to Bartlesville air traffic on 123.0.
Leaving Kickapoo, though, turbulence became an issue for a while. Sheppard issued a wind warning over the radio. I felt a bit nervous, but looked over at Mary and saw her looking as cool as a cucumber. I tossed my iPad in the back seat so that I would stop glancing at the ground speeds while being tossed like lettuce in a salad and hoped the wings would not fall off.
Bartlesville has a nice airport. We taxied to the wrong building, but the nice man in attendance, Phil, brought the fuel truck to our plane. He handed me our first fuel bill showing twenty-one gallons for $112.32 at full throttle across 216 nautical miles with a tail wind. I feel sure this will be the only fuel slip I will adore.
Outside the terminal at the airport stands a sculpture of two children.
Bartlesville has a long history in oil and aviation.
In studying the weather, mostly on my iPad and on Mary's Garmin 496, between Bartlesville and Iowa City, we discovered the Amelia Earhart Airport.
Mary looked at me over the rim of her glasses.
"It behooves us to land there," I said.
Mary looked at the map. She studied the matter from a practical pilot's point of view, and then announced that yes, we would proceed to Amelia Earhart Airport for refueling, rather than fly to Saint Joseph.
Amelia Earhart Airport.
As we taxied toward what looked like fuel pumps, we noticed a woman standing on the grass, waving at us. Now confused by the sight of a woman standing on the grass waving her arms, we began to turn toward the pumps; but turning away from her only made her wave her arms faster. We began to wonder what the woman wanted from us.
"Maybe she escaped from the local state hospital," I said.
Mary taxied the plane toward the woman, whose face now showed some level of exasperation. Once within shouting distance, Mary opened her window and shouted, "We just wanna get some fuel." The woman shouted something and gestured for us to taxi onto the grass and turn 180 degrees. Mary complied and parked.
"We just want some fuel and then take off. We're headed to Iowa City," Mary told the lady.
"Aren't you with the Forest?"
"Uh, no. We're with the Air Race Classic."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll get 'im to tow you to the pump."
And so we made acquaintance with Leta, the airport manager.
Leta took over our lives for three hours. We had no say and no control over what we would do before departing Amelia Earhart Airport.
"Have you ever seen the house where Amelia was born?" We both shook our heads. "Let's go over there so that you can see it. You haven't seen the Forest, either, have you? First you have to see the International Forest of Friendship, so we'll head over there first."
A sculpture of Amelia stands in the Forest.
At Amelia's house of birth, of all things, Mary bumped into her old buddy, Wally Funk. Wally said that everything's happening at the same time, the Forest Friends fly-in and the Air Race Classic, and that we two had better win.
View from Amelia's house of a bridge over the Missouri River.
The "Dragon House" in Atchison, Kansas.
We met Leta's locksmith.
Drove around behind "Raggmop" wondering what the rag was all about
and why his dogs were not with him.
And we stopped at Leta's friend's (Albert) ice cream and sandwich shop for lunch. Finally we ate. I felt famished by then, though delighted by the pleasant surprise Leta gave us, two strangers passing through the Amelia Earhart Airport.
"Tonight's the cocktail party for the Friends. You have time?" she asked us.
Lester flew in for the Friends gathering and to fly orphaned children. We left him in the terminal telling stories about aviation and walked toward our plane.
Mary spent some time walking around Amelia Earhart airport looking for a faucet. She brought several empty jugs along and is experimenting with weight at the tail end of the plane. How much weight can we put toward the back to make the airplane fly faster? For now, we think it amounts to four gallons of water. (Ha-ha.) No, seriously.
Leta insisted that we fly over the International Forest of Friends to see the image of Amelia in the landscaped garden. I show an upside-down image of the artistic rendering -- with plants and brick -- of Amelia.
On our way to Iowa City, feeling pleased by our adventure in Atchison, thanks to Leta (our new BFF), we encountered a couple of clouds at 5,500 feet. Mary flew underneath them, and we arrived in Iowa City shortly thereafter. I talked to "Saint Jo" (124.70), Kansas City (127.9, 125.25), Chicago (118.15), and Cedar Rapids (119.70).
Check-in went smoothly for us, for we brought all the documents needed, such as pilot's license, medical certificate, insurance, and WINGS certificates.
In the picture above I show that other classic racers have arrived and parked on the grass as we taxi toward our parking spot. Dave loaned me a set of "claws" to pound into the ground ("Take a hammer," he said to me, "a big hammer.") to which we attached the plane with ropes.
Both of us have opted to remain in our rooms this evening, allowing the day's events -- wonderful events -- to seep into our memories, and to allow our bodies to rest. We have a big week ahead of us. Outside my window, festivities called for a band to play jazz, providing me with music while I record my experiences of this day.
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