PROLOGUE
Under a clear blue sky, I'm cruising at 150mph just a few hundred feet above wide open fields somewhere over New Mexico. I'm flying a bright red Pitts Special biplane on a long cross country flight from it's previous home in Columbus, Ohio to it's new home in San Jose, California. The adventure is far from over and I've already had a bunch of great experiences along the way. It occurs to me that I should write some of them down to share with friends and family and to look back on in later life. No doubt many of the thrills I've experienced will eventually get superceded, but right now I want to record their impact on me. Ideally, I'd like to keep the story interesting to pilots and non-pilots alike but a large amount aviation speak is inevitable. As field after field passes beneath me, I start thinking about what I should write...

FIRST FLIGHT
The decision to buy a plane of my own was not at all hard to make. Choosing exactly which plane to get was a little trickier. After wrestling with several options for many months, I had narrowed the choice down considerably. Thanks to some goading from a friend and fellow pilot who knew me well enough, I finally zeroed in on a Pitts Special S-1S for sale in Columbus, Ohio. A single-seat aerobatic biplane, the Pitts has a great reputation for it's maneuverability and strength but is somewhat infamous for the demands it places on the pilot when it comes time to land.

After much careful planning, I am now in Columbus talking to the plane's seller and now former owner, Jim. When he first got it, he'd christened the plane "Red Bug" and I've decided to keep the name. Now, here I am sitting in the cockpit, preparing to get aquainted prior to commencing the long journey home. It's Thursday afternoon and I'm planning on setting off for California on Friday morning. In preceding weeks, I've spent some time getting additional training in the front seat of the larger, two-seat Pitts S-2B. I have been warned that the single-seater would be quicker and more sensitive than it's larger cousin and Red Bug's former owner, Jim advises me to try taxiing around the hangars a little before heading off to the runway. I start up, release the brakes and start to roll. A quick stab of left rudder to turn around and whoooaah, this thing is sensitive! The plane responds to steering inputs like a go-kart, without any hesitation whatsoever. OK, I need to be sure that I tap the pedals with far less pressure than I'm used to. By the time I make it around the last hangar though, I'm getting the feel for it and I tell Jim that I'm heading off to the runway.

All my checks complete, I'm cleared onto the runway. I take position and pause for a moment to memorize the image of the how things should look on landing. The view to the front is completely obscured by the engine, so I'm taking note of the position of the horizon and runway edges in my peripheral vision. By the time I come in to land I'll probably have forgotten again, but I go through this little exercise to convince myself that I have nothing to worry about. I slowly push the throttle forward and get to work on the rudder pedals trying my hardest to keep things going in a straight line. Almost immediately, it's time to push forward on the stick and raise the tail to see where I'm going. I'm actually doing better than I'd expected and before long it's time to pull back on the stick and lift off. The plane leaps from the ground and starts climbing into the air like a scalded cat. As I pass 100mph, I steepen my climb to keep the speed under control. I continue to accelerate however and have to steepen the climb further and still further, laughing out loud as I do so.

Minutes later, I'm several miles from the airport and it's time to play. I start off with a slow roll and I'm immediately impressed with the feel of the controls as the horizon rotates before me. The amount of pressure required by my hands and feet is incredibly light. This plane is going to be an absolute delight to fly. I decided to try a loop next. I pull back, oh so slightly on the stick expecting to pull 2 to 3 Gs but the G meter leaps past 4 with hardly any effort... I really must learn to be more gentle! I fly a whole bunch of other maneuvers, finishing with a flat-spin. The plane rotates and drops toward the ground in a very predictable manner. I make the required inputs to recover and the plane pops out of the spin exactly on demand. Comfortable with the flying characteristics, I head back for landings.

With short stubby wings, the Pitts is not much of a glider. Bearing that in mind, I approach the runway very high before reducing power and starting my elevator ride downhill. I drop earthward at 85mph and as I near the ground the runway disappears beneath the engine cowling. Rolling a little to the left I slip the plane slightly sideways to regain sight of the runway. At the last moment, I straighten out and wait for the runway edges to appear once again in my periphery. When at last they do, I pull the nose up to just the right angle and let the wheels touch. The touchdown is pretty respectable, but immediately the action begins. The plane starts to swerve to one side and I counter with the opposite rudder pedal. Instantly, the plane straightens and then swerves to the other side. I fishtail down the runway fighting with a plane that's behaving like a shopping cart on steroids. Finally, things slow down enough for me to relax. Just then, like a monster from a horror movie, the tail senses my relief and gives one last kick to scare the living daylights out of me. Paying careful attention, I eventually taxi off the runway at walking speed and head back to the end to go and do it all again... grinning the whole time.

Later in the day, Jim and I agree to fly together to a nearby field for more landings and some aerobatics. With me in Red Bug and he in his replacement Pitts named "Betty", we takeoff and fly in loose formation to the other field. Somewhere along the way, Jim rolls upside down and we fly side by side like this for a while. I really want to roll upside down too, but decide I'm not familiar enough with the plane to want to attempt inverted formation flight! We arrive at the field and after I've practiced some more landings, refueled and checked the oil, we fly off to do some aerobatics. Jim observes some of my maneuvers and offers advice from the air. I'm just pulling out of a maneuver when suddenly the cockpit fills with smoke. Fortunately it clears quickly, but I can see that something is wrong. Oil is running out from under the engine cowling and all down the side of the plane. Without hesitation, I turn back for the airport and tell Jim what I'm up to. He follows behind as I streak towards the runway like a red comet with a blue smoke tail. The engine gauges still show oil pressure as I come in to land and I finally shut down and step out of the plane. Oil is absolutely everywhere. It's all down the side of the plane, the belly, the lower right wing and a good deal even made it into the cockpit. I open the cowling and my suspicions are confirmed. Fearful of overtightening the dipstick while the engine was hot earlier on, I'd gone to the other extreme and undertightened it. The rigors of aerobatics had caused it to work loose and the engine had started belching oil out of the filler neck. Fortunately, I've only lost a quart or so, but I'm amazed at how much mess so little oil can make. Feeling slightly humbled, I follow Jim back to his hangar to start cleaning up. I have the feeling that I'm going to be cleaning this mess up for months!

BOLTON FIELD, OHIO (TZR)
It's early on Friday morning and I'm climbing back into the cockpit again, only this time I'm saying goodbye. I'm nervous about the long flight that awaits and a little saddened that I couldn't hang around and fly in Ohio for longer. There appears to be plenty more fun to be had in the local area. However, if I'm going to be able to afford to run this thing, I have to get back to work on Monday morning, so I really must leave. I taxi out to the runway and takeoff. The tower grants me my request for a low pass, so I circle the field and buzz down over the runway giving a farewell wing-wag before climbing off to the southwest. I'm now officially on my way home.

Storms, tornadoes and generally nasty stuff ruled out most of the mid-west as an option, so my route will be southwest to Texarkana, west almost to Los Angeles and then northwest to San Jose for a total distance of 2100nm (2300 miles). The plane has a 19 gallon main fuel tank plus an additional 4 gallon ferry tank for cross country flying (no aerobatics!). The combination of the two tanks give me an endurance of 2 hours flying time or 1.5 hours to my destination with a 30 minute reserve. This should yield about 200nm (220 miles) between stops. Since only one tank can be selected at any one time, Jim has instructed me to switch to the ferry tank soon after takeoff and run it until almost empty before switching back to the main tank. The procedure is to start a 20 minute timer and when it expires watch the fuel pressure gauge for a drop. When it starts to drop, I'll have a few seconds to switch back to the main tank before the engine stops... great! After 18 minutes, I'm glancing at the fuel pressure gauge almost once a second. I actually get 22 minutes of flight time before I see the drop. I switch to the main tank and after a brief pause, the gauge rises again. I feel proud that things went so smoothly. Moments later however, the engine splutters and starts to die. My heart does the same! What the heck is happening? I reach down and check the fuel selector and mixture and they're in the right positions while I look outside for a suitable field to land in. There are plenty of choices, but I really don't want to have to do this. All of a sudden the engine surges back into life (followed shortly afterwards by my heart). Perhaps it was just something in the bottom of the tank that got sucked through when I switched over? It appears to be running OK now, but I keep a watchful eye on the gauges just in case.

CLARK COUNTY, INDIANA (JVY)
At last I reach my first stop. There are some other planes in the traffic pattern but I squeeze my way in and make an uneventful landing. As I taxi up to the fuel pump the fuel guy walks up grinning. I'm smiling too as he complements me on the plane. I like that a lot! In need of practice, I opt to fuel the plane myself but I'm a little too eager and overfill the top tank spilling fuel into the cockpit. Oh well, it's already covered in oil, so a drop of fuel won't hurt! I check the oil and tighten the dipstick again...firmly! I walk indoors to get something to drink and rest a while, but after sitting for less than a minute I want to climb back into the plane and fly again. As I walk outside a small crowd is admiring the plane. I try to act cool as I walk up to them, but that's hard to do when you have a big dorky grin on your face and your jeans are covered in aviation fuel. One of the admirers says he'd be too scared to fly a plane like this and my ego lays back and basks in the glory. I say goodbye, climb in and head for the runway. People are watching me takeoff, but I resist the urge to show off. A regular takeoff in this plane is impressive enough. On to the next stopping point.

For safety, I climb to 5000 feet before going through the tank switching ritual a second time. When the time comes, I experience the same phenomenon. I'm less surprised this time, but no more comfortable with it. What on earth is causing this? Why didn't Jim mention anything? I carry on towards my destination but pay particular attention to the location of each nearby airport along the way just in case.

FARRINGTON, KENTUCKY (FIO)
My next stop is a small field called Farrington. I make my approach and realize that the runway is considerably narrower than any of the places I've been in the last couple of days. I tell myself to remain calm and try my hardest to keep the thing going straight. It goes well and I slide back the canopy as I taxi to the fuel pumps, quite proud of myself for surviving another landing. I'm greeted by a few people at the pump who want to know all about the plane. They're quite impressed with it and once again my ego starts sunbathing. The field happens to be the homebase of a gyrocopter factory and I watch someone practicing landings as I refuel. They touch down at walking speed and the whole thing looks so much more relaxed than one of my affairs. I climb back into the plane and head out to the runway behind them. After they've taken off, I position myself on the runway and open the throttle and start my rocket ride skyward. I catch them in no time, but I'm already miles above them as I pass by.

Again, 20 minutes later, I climb to altitude and watch the fuel pressure gauge. As it starts to drop, I turn the selector back to the main tank again. It's beneath my knee and a little awkward to reach. In fact, I have to turn it to the off position, readjust my grip and then turn it to select the main tank. Moments later, when the engine splutters for the third time, I realize my mistake. Leaving it momentarily in the off position is probably allowing an air bubble into the system. Next time, I'll try a different method.

I've been doing most of my flying between 1000 and 2000 feet up. Low enough to enjoy the scenery but high enough to give me a margin of safety should I stop paying attention to what's going on. I would fly higher still, but I'm fighting a headwind and it'll only get worse at higher altitudes. I'm now over farmland in eastern Arkansas and it's very flat beneath me. For fun, I drop down low over the large open fields. Flying at about 100 feet, the view is awesome. I look at the hedges rushing past the pair of bright red wingtips off to my left and smile at the view. I feel like a barnstormer.

NEWPORT MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, ARKANSAS (M19)
After passing Little Rock, I find my next stop at Newport. On approach I notice a couple of large yellow biplanes working in nearby fields doing cropdusting and keep out of their way as I set up to land. The landings are becoming less intimidating now, so I feel quite relaxed and fail to notice that this is an unusually wide runway. My peripheral vision picks up the edges earlier than normal and I flare to land a little too high. My speed bleeds off and I'm still not on the ground. Realizing what's happening, I blip the throttle at the last second to cushion my fall. It helps, but I still hit hard and bounce back up again. Hoping that the cropdusters aren't watching, I wrestle the plane back onto the ground and sheepishly taxi off the runway. It appears that complacency will bite at every opportunity. I talk for a while with people as I fuel the plane. They point out a burned out wreck of a cropduster in the corner of the field. Apparently, the day before, the pilot had landed and climbed out of the plane leaving the engine running. On the way out, he accidentally knocked the throttle wide open with his knee! As the plane accelerated, he was thrown clear and watched as it started spinning in circles on the tarmac. As he stood wondering how long it would take to use up its fuel, the local sheriff drove up and parked nearby. The pilot explained the situation to the sheriff who decided that his car was in no danger. Unfortunately for him, he was wrong. Shortly before seeing his car and the plane go up in flames, he was running for his life with the plane behind him before tripping and falling flat on his face. I'm still laughing at the story as I climb into my plane and taxi past the wreck back to the runway.

It's fuel tank time again and this time I'm ready. If I reach under my left knee with my right hand, I can switch tanks without pausing in-between. I do so and hold my breath in anticipation. The engine doesn't hesitate at all and I breath a sigh of relief. Another lesson learned.

HOPE MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, ARKANSAS (M18)
It's mid-afternoon as I reach Hope airfield. There's a slight crosswind as I approach the runway, but nothing serious. My landing isn't pretty but it is safe. I'm still flaring too high and resolve to fix that problem next time. It's really hot on the ground, so I quickly refuel and get back into the air as soon as possible.

Climbing out of Hope, I can finally stop heading southwest and start flying directly west. Now it really feels like I'm headed in the right direction. Sitting under a clear bubble canopy, the sun is slowly toasting my forehead. I can climb to cooler air, but my main concern is getting sunburnt! Wishing I'd brought a cap with me, I have a flash of inspiration. I grab one of my unused maps and stuff it under my headset. I now have a 12" sunvisor projecting over the front of my head and I'm extremely grateful that no-one can see how stupid I must look right now!

GAINSVILLE MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, TEXAS (GLE)
I pass just north of Dallas and on to Gainsville, Texas. There are some skydivers about to jump, but I manage to get into the airport before they do so. I'm really getting tired now and my landing proved it. As I taxi off the runway I recall that I'd promised to do a better job this time, oh well. As I refuel I meet a fellow traveler at pump heading on a similar long flight in the opposite direction to me. I want to stop and chat, but I need to start thinking about where I can spend the night. There's a field on the way to Amarillo at a small town called Childress. I call ahead and verify that someone can meet me there to put Red Bug to bed for the night and take me to a motel. For the last time today, I launch myself up into the sky and head for my next stop.

CHIDRESS MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, TEXAS (CDS)
Childress really is in the middle of nowhere. It looks like another ex-military field with long runways and enough parking for a squadron of large bombers. I check the windsock and luckily it's more or less straight down the runway. Crossing the runway threshold, I notice another windsock pointing in a totally different direction. Fortunately however, the wind isn't all that strong so I bounce, swerve and skid my way to a standstill before taxiing over to the hangar. It's early evening so I have to phone for the attendant to come in from home to pump fuel and hangar the plane. We push Red Bug into a large hanger and park her next to some large farm machinery for the night. I wonder if rats will climb inside the plane but reassure myself that the smell of engine oil and aviation fuel will probably keep them out. I call for a cab to the motel and then make the obligatory "I'm still alive" calls to concerned parties while I wait.

I get to the airport shortly after sunrise on Saturday morning. I'm refreshed and ready to go. Unfortunately, I'm in a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere, so I end up waiting an hour before someone shows up to help me take the plane out of the hangar. I pack my gear and head for the runway. I'm just a little bit offended that no-one is watching my takeoff however! On my way to my next stop is a dried up river bed. I sink down low and follow its course with a rhythmic set of sweeping turns left-right-left-right. It feels good to be back in the cockpit again.

TUCAMCARI MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, NEW MEXICO (TCC)
First stop of the day is at Tucumcari. I'm the only plane for miles around and break the silence with my landing. After a decent night's sleep, my landing is much better than the ones I'd done the day before. It's only 9 o'clock but it's already getting hot. The field elevation is at 4000 feet so I'll probably notice a lack of performance on the takeoff. After refueling, I carefully adjust the mixture for maximum power at this altitude before taxiing onto the runway. I open the throttle and the plane still surges forward reassuringly. Happy that things are going well, I stop paying attention for a split second and suddenly find myself aiming for one side of the runway. I start to correct things when I feel that lift-off time has arrived and I coax the plane from the ground still travelling slightly sideways. I continue to accelerate and climb away from the airport glad that I won't have to face the onlookers that just witnessed my worst takeoff yet.

The scenery is starting to get a little more interesting now. Carved into the ground below are some large deep canyons. There is absolutely no wind, so I drop down into one and play Luke Skywalker for a while. The canyon floor doesn't look too hospitable so I don't want to hang around down here for long. I pull up to altitude again and decide I've earned a snack. I reach down into my bag and fumble around for something to eat. Unfortunately the plane is not in perfect trim and rolls slowly to the right when the stick is let go. By the time I've found my breakfast, I can hear the engine picking up speed. Looking up, I see that the ground is above me. I've rolled slightly inverted and am now diving. I have plenty of altitude so I'm safe enough, but I think this is Red Bug's way of letting me know that she doesn't like to be ignored.

Ahead are some cliffs and I wonder if this is the start of the mountainous terrain. I pull up above them only to find that they are the start of a large plateau that extends as far as the eye can see. On top is nothing but farmland. Lots of fields and lots of cows. I fly low to take in the sights and get a good whiff of the country air. The cows look interested as I fly by, but I try not to get so close as to scare them. I find an empty field and skim along at just a few feet above the surface. I can see widely telegraph poles ahead and the devil on my shoulder is telling me that there don't appear to be any wires between them, so why not fly through? Common sense prevails however and I pull up before reaching them. As I pass close by, the fine strands of wire are clearly visible stretched between them. People don't tend to put up telegraph poles for no reason.

DOUBLE EAGLE II, NEW MEXICO (AEG)
My next stop is at Double Eagle just north of Alberquerue. Right before I get there are some mountains rising to 10000 feet. In most other planes I fly, I'd be looking to fly around them, but Red Bug eagerly climbs up and over. I'm smiling broadly again. I drop into the traffic pattern and follow a couple of other planes to make an acceptable landing. This airport is at 6000 feet and the altitude is taking it's toll on the planes here. They labor into the air and slowly claw their way skyward and then circle the runway for another landing. I'm intrigued to see how Red Bug will perform. After rehydrating myself and fueling the plane, I'm off to find out. The takeoff roll is noticeably slower than I'm used to and the tail is a little reluctant to leave the ground at first. Soon enough, however we're airborne once again and climbing high above all the other aircraft. I could swear that Red Bug is smiling as much as I am.

Heading towards Arizona the action of the sun beating down is generating a lot of thermals rising from the rocky ground below. In turn this is making quite a bumpy ride. I try climbing higher for smoother air, but even at 10500 feet, it doesn't seem much better. I don't really mind all that much, Red Bug is strong enough to handle it but it could wear me out eventually. It feels like someone has tied one end of a skipping rope to the tail and is whipping it around in circles. Every once in a while, the skipper trips over the rope and my head is slammed into the side of the canopy. I check the G meter and see that it's reading from 0 to almost 3Gs from turbulence alone! Ahead of me are some large white puffy cumulous clouds. The sun is really bright and it's illuminating the clouds as if from within. Part of me thinks that the large one I'm heading for could be a thunderstorm, but the brilliant whiteness of it makes it look innocent enough. It does appear to be raining however, so I decide to veer just to one side of the rain for the sake of the plane's paintwork. Just as I make that decision, a bolt of lightning connects the cloud to the ground in front of me. It looks really bizarre against the clear blue sky but is unmistakable. As my conscious mind debates the spectacle, my subconscious has already banked the plane and put me in a high speed dive in the opposite direction from the cloud... or did Red Bug do that by herself? I give the storm a wide berth and press on westward.

WINSLOW MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, ARIZONA (INW)
Next up is Winslow, Arizona and I suddenly find myself singing Eagles songs. I can hardly hear myself through my earplugs above the noise of the engine but I'm sure that my tone is perfect. As I approach the field I listen to the automated weather report and suddenly stop singing. The wind is about 30 degrees across the runway at 16kts gusting to 27kts. I really didn't want to have to deal with those kinds of winds until I'd had more experience in a single seat Pitts. With such limited fuel however, I'm committed. In 5 minutes I'll be into my reserve and there's nowhere else to land. I study the windsock as I enter the traffic pattern and circle the field. I then put myself into "Pitts Landing Mode", loosening up my ankles, taking a deep breath and telling myself that squeezing the stick like a lemon isn't going to help any. I set up for the runway and roll into a slip to counteract the wind. I'm still drifting though, so I roll a little more. By the time I have the heading under control, the wing is dipped so low that it will contact the ground long before the wheels. Clearly, this is not going to work. I have no choice but to level the wings, point the nose into the wind and crab sideways down to the runway. This will get me there OK, but if the wheels touch the ground at this angle, the plane will flip for sure. As I near the runway, I wait until the last second and straighten up, dipping the wing as much as I dare. Red Bug's bricklike gliding ability comes to the rescue and I touchdown almost immediately without giving the wind a chance to drift me off course. It still takes a lot of effort to keep things under control however and I can feel the tires skidding as I swerve around while simultaneously fighting to keep the wind from lifting up a wing and flipping me over. My heart is pounding as I taxi off the runway.

As I climb out the plane I watch a large forestfire waterbombing plane land. He has no such trouble with the wind and makes a perfect landing before taxiing over to where I'm chaining Red Bug down before she gets blown away. The pilot of the waterbomber walks directly over to me and asks if I'd like to swap planes. I smile and tell him I'd much preferred to have been landing his plane in this weather than mine. I'm too shaken to ask him what his plane is, but it has a large radial piston engine and a turbojet mounted under each wing. He tells me it can hold 25000 pounds of the sticky sludge they use for dumping on fires. When my nerve returns, I taxi over to the fuel pumps to fill up. It's hard to do in the wind with dust being blown into my face and once again I overfill the top tank and it runs inside the cockpit. I decide that I really don't much like Winslow, Arizona. I start up and head to the runway. The takeoff won't be as frightening as the landing, but it will still be a challenge. I try my hardest to do everything right and it pays off. The takeoff isn't pretty but it's successful. As I climb out from Winslow, I'm yelling at the top of my voice with excitement.

Not long after leaving Winslow, I glance down and am surprised to see Meteor Crater. It's an impressive sight to see such a huge hole in an otherwise flat area of ground. I'm tempted fly down into it, but the high winds and presence of lots of people deter me. I snap a picture and continue onward. Shortly after, I can feel my ears stinging, burning even. I pull out an earplug and it feels wet. I'm confused for a moment until I smell the fumes of aviation fuel. The earplugs had been in my bag on the floor after landing and subsequently got soaked in fuel when I filled the tank. Looks like the rest of the flight will be considerably louder.

KINGMAN, ARIZONA (IGM)
I listen to the weather as I approach Kingman and am disappointed to hear that the wind is much the same as Winslow. The good news however, is that it's straight down the runway. I make one of my better landings. As I taxi off the runway I see that there are a bunch of airliners parked outside with dust covers over everything. I taxi past a huge MD-11 and can't resist the opportunity for a photograph. I shut down in front of it and start to climb out when a security guard drives over and tells me I'm in a restricted area. I tell him that I just want to get a photo and he tells me "OK, but make it quick". I walk away from Red Bug and turn around. I'm too close for the MD-11 so I walk further and turn around... still too close! Eventually I get the shot, start up and taxi over for fuel. I get a small welcoming party again and people want to know all about the plane. I tell them that they have great weather for training in, but I wish I'd had more single-seat Pitts time before facing it. They help out with suggestions on my route to my next stop and I heed their advice. I know they're watching as I takeoff and fly westward.

BARSTOW-DAGGET, CALIFORNIA (DAG)
At last, I'm back in California. I drop into Barstow-Dagget for fuel, but by now I've realized that if I don't mess around, I could actually make it all the way home before sunset. I pay for my fuel and takeoff as quickly as I can.

I have to fly around Edwards Air Force Base before heading north. It's a strange place to see from the air. Built on a huge dry lakebed, it looks flat enough to be manmade but is just too vast to possibly be. I hug the edge of their airspace and point the nose of the plane for San Jose. I'm up at 12500 feet right now, heading over one last range of mountains in my way. It's cold up here though, so as soon as I'm across, I dive down to warmer air. I fly low again, hugging the terrain as it gently rises and falls. Coming up on my left is a ranch and I think I'm leaving enough room to avoid being a nuisance to them but as I pass by, I notice a commotion behind the fence. Dozens of people are running to the edge of the fence to see me fly past. As I get closer I realize that they're not people, but ostriches! They all have their beaks pressed up against the fence fascinated by this curious bright red bird before them. Perhaps they're a little jealous that I can fly and they can't.

PASO ROBLES, CALIFORNIA (PRB)
I have about 2 hours before sunset as I land at Paso Robles. I don't expect to find anyone here, but I know they have a self serve fuel pump. The place is dead when I arrive and I refuel in record time. It's now been 12 hours since I set off this morning and home is less than an hour away. Without any ceremony, I'm off the ground and making a beeline for home. I'm careful to hold my heading as accurately as possible for fear that I might wander off course and add another minute to my journey time. The 45 minute flight seems to take forever.

REID-HILLVIEW, CALIFORNIA (RHV)
At last I can see Reid-Hillview airport and I suddenly feel very tired. I get a clearance to land and set up for an approach I've flown hundreds of times before, though never in a Pitts. There is a mild crosswind blowing, but after today's events, I'm not concerned. I pull the throttle to idle and wait for the wheels to kiss the runway. They finally kiss the runway with all the affection of a rabid pit bull. I bounce back into the air and am caught completely off guard. The wind picks up the left wing and I overreact by raising the right wing far too much. I get things straight in time for a succession of smaller bounces as I swerve left and right across the centerline. As I roll onto the taxiway, the tower controller comes on the air "Ooooh, that looked like fun". "Leave me alone, it's been a long day" I tell him.

I taxi to the flight school I sometimes teach out of to show people the new toy. As I answer a barrage of questions, people take it in turn to climb into the cockpit like it's some kind of fairground ride. Everyone is impressed and I'm feeling quite smug.

EPILOGUE
I've spent about 20 hours in the plane getting here from Ohio. My back is a little sore from sitting for so long, but my face is aching too from all that grinning. My ears are ringing from flying the last few legs without earplugs. To sum it all up, I'd say that this is one of the least comfortable ways to see the country is and not entirely practical. That said, however, I wouldn't have missed it for the world and if somebody asked me to fly a Pitts across the country tomorrow, I wouldn't hesitate to accept. Just let me get some sleep first!