Home-field touchdown
Del Rio, Texas, is a long way from Phoenix, so I was delighted when tailwinds accelerated our progress that Friday morning. Our Flying Carpet normally cruises at 140 knots, but by the New Mexico border we were making 170 kt across the ground. Half our solitary journey lay in Texas, and with few towns beyond El Paso, the Rio Grande proved our only companion. By the time Amistad Reservoir filled our windshield we were doing 180 wonderful knots and almost hated to land. Just four hours from takeoff, we joined the traffic pattern over sleepy Del Rio, across the river from Ciudad Acu�a, Mexico. It was an astounding performance for a fixed-gear Cessna 182. Rarely do such powerful winds extend for 600 miles.
At Laughlin Air Force Base that evening, Raytheon
T-6A Texan II trainers circled the pattern. Austin took us for Mexican food, and we toured downtown Del Rio. The next morning Austin demonstrated the flight simulators on which he trains. After sampling Texas barbeque, we visited Amistad Reservoir and admired cliff paintings at Seminole State Park. Then Jean supervised the tidying of our son's apartment. Under a rug she discovered Austin's practice traffic pattern outlined in masking tape. "Good thing he keeps busy with training," she chuckled privately, "or life might be pretty quiet here."
Sunday over breakfast I phoned for the weather. Although clear skies prevailed, so did Friday's weather pattern--with stronger westerly winds than ever. "They're talking moderate turbulence," I lamented to Jean, "and 36-knot headwinds all the way home."
We stayed low for the first 50 miles to dodge the brunt of the winds, and then climbed to clear terrain. Lower and lower sagged our groundspeed as we ratcheted skyward, until at 8,500 feet it settled at a meager 90 kt. "Surely this can't last," I grumbled, but it did. To pass time we munched snacks and photographed the severe landscape.
"Ughh," moaned Jean after an eternity of bumping and bouncing, "three hours aloft and we aren't even to El Paso." Clearly a fuel stop would be required. We were discussing options when the orange Low Voltage indicator lit up our panel. Here we languished over trackless badlands with a failed alternator circuit. There was no danger in it; under clear skies we could turn off the battery electrical system and navigate via pilotage and our portable GPS. But the headwind had deprived us of adequate fuel to reach Phoenix. Help might be hard to find on Super Bowl Sunday, so wherever we landed we must be prepared to stay.
I briefed Albuquerque Center, explained that we'd temporarily leave the frequency, and changed our destination to El Paso where we might find service. "I'll inform El Paso Approach," said the controller. "If able, call me back in 12 minutes."
I turned off the electrical system and began troubleshooting. Months earlier we'd experienced a similar in-flight problem when the alternator regulator circuit breaker popped. After resetting it, everything had returned to normal and stayed that way. Our mechanic could find nothing wrong with the charging system. "I can't fix this intermittent problem until it happens more consistently," he'd explained. "Fortunately it's only the regulator circuit and shouldn't harm anything else."
Now, 20 flight hours later, the same circuit breaker had popped again. Jean retrieved the handheld GPS while I shut down the panel and waited 10 minutes for everything to cool down. Accepted practice is to reset popped circuit breakers only one at a time; if it happens again something nasty is going on. "Cross your fingers," I said to Jean. Gingerly I reset the breaker and activated the master switch.
The errant breaker remained engaged, and the low voltage light stayed off. But what, if anything, might again trigger the breaker? Cringing, I flipped on the radio master switch, then one radio, and a few minutes later, the transponder. The radio sounded scratchy at first, but that proved to be another pilot's handheld transceiver--hearing of our electrical problems, he was testing his backup. "Why don't we have a portable radio?" Jean asked.
"I've been meaning to get one," I replied.
"Well, Greg, you are hereby authorized to buy one."
"Contact El Paso Approach," Albuquerque advised, "and good luck." Even with the electrical system back, our dilemma remained. Though our battery might continue charging in flight, any refueling stop would be a potential failure point. And if the problem recurred after startup, we couldn't take off again. I radioed El Paso unicom only to learn there were no mechanics on duty.
Knowing we might get marooned wherever we landed, Jean and I decided to proceed closer to home. I informed El Paso Approach, and onward we droned, still using only one radio, our transponder, and the handheld GPS.
Deming, New Mexico, offered fuel when I radioed, but claimed no maintenance even during the week. No good getting stranded there. Silver City also had fuel, but no maintenance. Our remaining option, Safford, Arizona, lay out of radio range. That too is a quiet place so we dared not gamble further on fuel or repair services.
Remembering mechanics within driving distance of Silver City, we landed there in howling winds. All systems worked perfectly after refueling, so delightedly we steered homeward. Only in the final hour did our groundspeed crack 100 kt. Thirty minutes out I tried to isolate the electrical problem by sequentially activating every possible cockpit switch. The breaker never popped. Six and one-half flight hours after takeoff, we finally arrived in Phoenix--dazed, battered, and yet elated. We'd missed the Super Bowl, but scored our own winning home-field touchdown.
Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include Flying Carpet, The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, Job Hunting for Pilots, and You Can Fly! Visit his Web site.
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