Family vacation
Beach traffic on the Fourth of July, a clear forecast, and an available airplane. Could it be that conditions were finally right for a family vacation by general aviation?
The drive from our Maryland home to the Outer Banks of North Carolina is six hours on a good day. With traffic at its worst, it’s taken us up to 11. So, a week before our annual family beach trip, my husband, Matt, and I sat down to strategize. Leave early to beat the traffic? Drive through the night? Make a day of it and stop halfway at a playground? We’d discussed flying before, but a week at the beach means loading up the Subaru like the Griswold family wagon—not exactly within the weight and balance limits of a Cessna 172. So, I threw out an offhand idea: The kids and I could fly and meet him there.
“Let’s do it.”
I’d expected a readback of the reasons flying and driving separately was impractical and inefficient. But the prospect of sparing the kids—and us parents—hours of restlessness and carsickness outweighed the absurdity of taking two vehicles. It was settled. Weather permitting, Matt would drive down the evening before; unload the luggage, bikes, and pool toys; and pick us up at Currituck County Regional Airport (ONX) the next morning. We’d be on the beach by noon.
Successfully flying as a family depends on a lot of factors: children’s ages and dispositions, pilot confidence, partner support. At 7 and 3, the kids had accompanied us on shorter flights and could entertain each other for two and a half hours in the back seat. Matt and I both felt good about the upcoming flight, but we’d need to apply some of the lessons we’ve learned flying and traveling with children:
Read the room. Some kids will seize any opportunity to go to the airport. Our kids can be persuaded. The cold logic of halving our travel time assuaged any anxiety over flying. And I would only fly if the forecast was free of turbulence. This would be my longest flight yet with both kids. I wanted them to enjoy it and be willing to fly with me again.
Prepare. A 172 is a 172. But my preferred 172 was in the shop, so I’d be flying an older, carbureted 172 that I hadn’t flown in a while. I scheduled a flight for the day before to refresh my knowledge of the avionics (including the passenger/crew isolate mode), headset jack locations, and startup procedures. Then I topped off and positioned the airplane in the communal hangar so it would be easy to pull out in the morning.
Pack snacks. And activity books. And toys. And more snacks. After a few meows as the preschooler discovered he could hear his voice through the headset, the kids settled down and rifled through the go bag. Applesauce pouches, coloring, snack packs, and picture books kept their hands and mouths busy.
Roll with it. The flights down and back proceeded as planned, apart from an unscheduled bathroom break at Culpeper Regional Airport (CJR) in Virginia. But as we approached Frederick Municipal Airport’s (FDK) Class D airspace on the return, it seemed the world had converged on the airport. The tower controller sequenced aircraft of all sizes and speeds onto the final approach course, and soon I found myself on a five-mile final with a Gulfstream jet following me. I complied with the controller’s “best forward speed” request, slowed down, dropped flaps, cleared the runway, and let out a sigh. We were home.
Almost. As I continued on the taxiway, the airplane began pulling to the left. I needed right rudder to hold the centerline, then even full right rudder wasn’t enough. The tire appeared normal at first, but then I depressed the brakes, looked out the window again, and watched the wheel sink down to the rim.
Seek help. With the Gulfstream now waiting, I notified ground control of the flat tire and asked the FBO for a tow. It would be about half an hour before their ground crew could make it to the disabled airplane, but AOPA colleague Cade Halle spotted us from the ramp and helped track down a mechanic, a cart, and a tug. I escorted two hot, hungry children to the hangar for cold water while my colleagues tucked the airplane away. On the way home from the airport, we called Dad and the kids told him about our adventure.
By the time Matt pulled in the driveway that afternoon, the kids had cooled off, eaten lunch, and were draped on the couch watching The Princess and the Frog. While they lounged, we unpacked the luggage, the bikes, the pool toys, and stowed them away for our next family vacation.
Related Articles
