Day 34 Airborne

Madras Airfield is home to the Erickson Aircraft Collection, a theme was developing and I headed there in the hope of seeing some of the fire bombers that Will flew and perhaps some other classic aircraft. On the way I stopped for gas and a chat with Ronald who attended to my needs. Here’s a ‘shout out’ to the gas attendants of Oregon and New Jersey. Ronald was drafted in 1958, along with Elvis Presley, not a great piece of luck as the drafts between the Korean and Vietnam wars were relatively small, it was a lottery and his number came up. He served in the 82nd Airborne and now he served me.

The collection, not really a museum although the planes all had background information and there were artifacts however the vast majority of the exhibits were working aircraft dripping oil onto the hanger floor. Spookily ‘I melt with you’ was playing on the radio as Kim greeted me, that song is following me. Kim hadn’t been there very long and was very enthusiastic, something that I don’t think will wear off.

Admission was a very reasonable $9 and the hangers were packed with amazing war planes, the only barriers were strips of striped tape around where work was being done, how refreshing to trust people to act responsibly. Their PBY Catalina flew! Not today so I had to settle for a joy ride with Dave in a Spearman biplane WWII trainer, this one built in 1942.

IT WAS FANTASTIC! Preparing the aircraft, the lower cylinders on the radial engine have to be drained of oil to prevent hydraulic lock, helping to roll her out of the hanger, climbing the lofty step onto the wing and into the front cockpit, all had me grinning like a loon. Dave shared his knowledge of the controls and instruments and explained that the only electrics on the plane were for a later ‘flywheel starter’ that saved all that, wooden ,propellor swinging. No radio, no sat-nav no intercom, he would tap me on the shoulder and check on me in the conveniently mounted mirror. We warmed up the engine, taxied out, checked the magnetos were both good and headed gracefully up into the blue yonder.

We flew a big circuit over the lake, its dam and the gorge below where streams from the recent rain fell over the lip in single file as if surprised by the sudden drop.

Dave did a couple of ‘crop duster’ turns to demonstrate the smoothness of the craft and his skill and we returned to land on the grass strip next to the main runway.

Overstimulated, I made tracks towards Boise with the Guzzi now running sweetly, I’d unscrewed the two idle mixture screws half a turn each to richen the mixture (its an altitude thing). The road was long and occasionally wet, especially after I stopped for soup and garlic bread in Mitchel, an old stage coach town in danger of becoming a ghost if it weren’t for travellers like me. Gas stations and civilisations of any kind are few and far between here, the landscape is brutal and beautiful and the road unforgiving, racing torrid rivers down steep gorges cut like wounds and emerging onto the plains.

I wasn’t going to make it all the way to Boise Idaho but pressed on as long as I could bear, losing an hour returning to Mountain Time, and stopped in Vale where the only Inn (out of two) with a room was “Bates’ Motel”. I was glad to see it.

Sadly Google maps did not capture my flight, not sure why not, appropriate though being from another time.