Sometime, as I am working in the hangar, I look at my Colt with such a pride – my very own plane – my first. I am not sure why some think that it is ugly. I happen to think that it is a nice looking plane. I guess it is little like a parent/child relationship for my Colt and me. This morning I thought I heard a faint voice, “Colt Go Home”, coming from the direction where my Colt patiently awaits for me, hoping that I will take him somewhere to play. How could I not?
November in Vancouver is usually not very kind to weekend aviators. Rain is the normal order of the day, but this morning was different. I woke up to a rising sun, with not even one cloud in the sky. I knew right then that I would be taking my Colt to play somewhere – but where will we go? “Colt Go Home”, rang in my ears. I got it. My little friend would like to go and visit his friends back home at CYPK. Pitt Meadows here we come.
I asked for a departure clearance over the Alex Fraser Bridge. The tower informed me that there was a police incidence there, and gave me some special instructions for the departure. I decided to take the King George departure instead. I like life to be simple. The Pitt Meadows tower cleared us for the left base of runway 26 left. My Colt must have been a bit excited on arrival at his old stomping grounds, because as all Colts do, he skipped once happily before settling down – but then again, it may have been the rider.
We parked ourselves on the main apron; I left my little buddy with his friends, and went to investigate, hoping to run into someone I may know. Once in the terminal, I looked around. Not much has changed since my last visit there. The friendly faces in the restaurant clearly explained why my Colt was longing for going home. Until about two years ago, and before I bought him, this is where he lived.
The young woman behind the counter told me that she is about to go and make some fresh chocolate chip cookies, and that they will be ready in about half an hour. “Can I get you some coffee, they are really good, worth the wait.” I politely declined, told her that I must be leaving soon, and a bottle of water would be just fine. “Where are you heading?” Chilliwack. “Then don’t forget to get a slice of their fantastic apple pie there,” she advised me. On the way out, I just could not help from taking a picture of this happy fella. He must have been excited about the fresh cookies.
As I was walking back to my friend, it crossed my mind. I did not see anyone that I knew, yet, it felt like I just left a bunch of friends. I must try the cookies on my next stop there.
My Colt was patiently waiting for me, right where I left him. How could one not like a friend like that?
I was not quite sure where to go next. I had to be home around five, and it was almost two already. The apple pie sounded good, so we left for Chilliwack. Tower advised me of skydivers in the vicinity, and we were on our way. I recall from previous flights that the busy Glen Valley corridor is a place to be extra vigilant. As we were heading east, I would frequently let others in the area know of our position. We came across two or three other planes, and a helicopter traversing the corridor. As we approached Chilliwack, I decided to forgo the pie for this time. I am sure that they will make some more.
One place I have never flown on my own before, is the famous Rowena’s Inn, and the Sandpiper Golf Resort, with a nice little landing strip, nestled just on the north banks of the Harrison River. We must go there. We rounded to the north, and followed the river for a while, until I could see the familiar cluster of gleaming greenhouses – a sure sign that we are heading in the right direction.
It was a bit bumpy ride. I decided to descend to a lower altitude. I put my camera away, so I can pay attention to flying, and heed the popular saying: “Aviate-Navigate-Communicate.” One glance at my watch told me that landing at Rowena’s is out of the question today. I elected to do at least a low over flight, and pretend. Oh well, there is always the next time. I waved our wings for the golfers, the ones who were watching waved back, and it was time to go home. We landed back at Boundary Bay just after three. I wrote another 1.1 hours in my logbook, and went home to help my son Ryan to bring home a new mattress for Violet’s new grownup bed.