August 17, 2005

Dude, Where's My Plane?!

I book 2SP for a few hours at 7pm, ready for a hop down the coast to Monterey in search (again) of actual actual. It all looks good -- the coastal stratus is coming over nicely and forecast for more to come, especially down south Monterey way. I get to the club at 6.30pm. No plane. No worries, the previous pilot's probably refueling... Well, you can see where this is going. All I'll say is I don't even get to see the business end of 27R this evening, let alone the sunless shores of Monterey, and the mortified call from the previous pilot much later explaining that he'd been sitting with 2SP's owner at a certain well-known food place at Livermore airport (KLVK) discussing flying and stuff like that and had just entirely forgotten I had the plane next only partially made up for it (hello, Ian!). Humph. The Sloppy Pilot has it right about the perils of renting -- I just wish I had the money to buy.

Still, I get to talk a while with Wendy K. at the club about training and stuff (she's very close to getting her private), and to watch open-mouthed as a Challenger (I think) departed runway 33 VFR for the hills at a high rate of knots after rotating at what seems like only a hundred or so metres down the runway. Take that, noise-sensitive Alamedans! (the noise was incredible, I have to say...). John once said something about a prominent local businesswoman or something like that who owns and flies it to Tahoe and back every day (I may have this entirely wrong), which leads Wendy to start on an amusing riff about women and flying. So I ask her what she wants to be when she grows up? Not a commercial pilot, apparently -- an answer which surprises me, given her age and enthusiasm for flying. Oh well.

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