Along the Gulf Coast of Texas, we are occasionally, after a cold front moves through, blessed with almost perfect flying weather. The humidity drops, the temperature cools, and all plans for being in the office drop away. And you’re not alone, as almost every pilot within 200 square miles decides to head to their airport of choice to alight and burn holes in the bright blue sky.
Not that long ago, I was looking out my window at such a morning, and I said, “Darn it, I’m going flying!” I called up the training center where I rent my favorite steed—a well-worn Piper Warrior—and found that said steed was “down for maintenance” (an indication of things to come; call it Sign #1), but they kindly offered me an equally well-worn Archer (for a few dollars more per hour) to carry me skyward. I gladly accepted (more horsepower is always worth it, right?) and headed off as fast as the big-city traffic allowed (in other words, glacial—Sign #2).