Flying

All of my blabbering got me to thinking about the best times in the air. I flew a lot during the hot and humid days down there in Florida when the breeze was up and the cotton puffs were collecting to form the big CU's that wreaked havoc at the end of the day. The best times were when I got up at 0430 or 0500 and drove to Sarasota Airport before anyone was there and pulled out my favorite Stearman, a PT-17 with a Lycoming and a McCauley prop. Chocked and thoroughly checked, I primed it, pulled it through, cracked the throttle, and propped it off, untied the tail rope, pulled the chocks, and let it warm up. The sun wasn't quite up but the sky was light pink and the air was cool and still. Perfect flying time. Take off on the runway of choice, no traffic, and climb out to the Gulf and the beaches. There you could cruise along at 500 feet or climb to 2500 and watch the sun come up in a clear cool smooth sky. Then it was drop down to the beach and cruise the surf line at whatever altitude you chose, for miles. Not a bump in sight. Sun up. Turn around with a wing over and cruise the beach back to the point on which we lived and buzz the house and head for the airport to get the airplane back before operations start. The rest of the day was spent working at the airport performing the duties that gave me the privilege of an hour of the best of times. It was like eating dessert before dinner but I learned to like it. Oh yeah, it was terribly difficult.

 

We had several PT13,s and several PT-17's. My favorite was a PT-13 with an R-680.