c-172 vs. Godzilla

It was the mouth of a lion. That's all I can say... big teeth, big claws, big, scary, mouth of a lion.

You know what they say about flying? "Hours and hours of complete boredom followed by 15 seconds of sheer terror." Well, last night was more like 20 minutes of sheer terror--at least for the passengers. We were planning a flight from EVV down to Patti's restaurant on Kentucky Dam, but radar an hour before takeoff showed T-storms developing right over Paducah, so I had to make the no-go again. Instead, I tossed together a flight plan for Effingham in IL (a city that can't even say it's own name... thanks Tom!), and we headed North into good weather. BIG MISTAKE.

Vader was conceived by the midi-chlorians. Sometimes I forget... I was conceived by Murphy's Law.

Those southern storms were so beautifully dormant when I took off, but then came hurricane Katrina to push them north. To make things worse, Katrina's front shoved them about a hundred miles, then stopped right on top of Evansville Regional Airport.

This was happening as we were enjoying our meal at the Neimerg's Steakhouse in Effingham, IL. Everything was in order: the sun was just above the horizon as our taxi pulled into the airport, the skies were clear, and it looked to be a wonderful return flight to Evansville. But wait... were those storm clouds to the South? No... it can't be. We'd have to get closer to really call those storm clouds. They just look like pretty sky paintings from here! Thank you God for those eloquent brush-stokes!

Brush-strokes with... giant bolts of fire shooting through them? Hmmm... Must be the work of God...

So the sun set, and it became dark outside. And then it got darker, and darker, until the only things we could see were the occasional streetlights in the occasional town and, well, giant bolts of fire gathering all around us. I glanced over at Mindy in the right seat, and for some reason I decided subconsiously that she wasn't nearly frightened enough. So I flicked on the landing light (airplane headlight) to see what beset us.

We were in the clouds, and the moment I realized it, we hit moderate turbulence.
I call it moderate, because in a 747, the pilots would report to their controlling facility "We are experiencing moderate turbulence." In a Cessna 172, Moderate turbulence in a thunderstorm is the equivalent of off-roading a Dodge Neon without any shocks. So, FLASH!!! SCREAM!!! RUMBLE-RUMBLE-RUMBLE!!!

What, this was your first flight with me? Pish-posh!

I simultaneously yanked out the carb heat and power, slowed the airplane down from 115 knots to the turbulence penetration speed of 97 knots (actually, 95... I'm careful), then barrelled down to 1300 ft (Evansville TPA). All the while I was trying to counter every dip and roll with an anticipating reaction just to keep my three passengers from vomiting (yes, my wife was also with us), as the lightning bolts shot all around us. And that wasn't even the fun part.

Then I started to worry, because even though I had two VOR's telling me my exact location, I couldn't find the #@$%ing airport. Tower kept calling me, "Niner-Lima-Kilo, the airport is now at your 2-o'clock. Do you have a visual?"

"Eh, no. Niner-Lima-Kilo."

"Niner-Lima-Kilo, the airport is now at your 12-o'clock. The runway is on high illumination. Do you have a visual?"

"Er, eh, no.... Niner-Lima-Kilo."

"Niner-Lima-Kilo, you are landing at the airport on runway 22. You are on the glideslope. You are ten feet away. We have tapped into our power reserves to bring you a new standard of supernova, and we are flashing a gigantic strobe light (similar to your Dad's) at your cockpit. We can see the horrified, lost expression on your face, you are so freaking close. You are now circling the airport mindlessly while we take bets on how you are going to die this evening."

The scary part was that I could see everything: The city, the roads, the little street lights along the suburbs... But NOT THE AIRPORT!

Then, after flying for another few minutes, I saw a big black beast of clouds just ahead, ironically in the perfect shape of the Evansville Regional air field as seen from the North. Hmmmm... I thought to myself. Then like that, we broke through, and I announced to Tower that I had the field in sight. As they cleared me to land on 22, I could hear in the background a cascade of *sighs* and *groans* and *crap, I lost that bet!*
Lightning was surrounding us, I mean ALL around us, and I managed to line the plane up with 22. After a slightly steep approach (I wanted to keep my speed up in case of wind sheer... of which there was no shortage), she rounded out 100 feet past the numbers, and made probably the most beautiful, painless landing I've ever pulled out of my... "hat." We could barely feel the airplane settle down on the pavement, much less touch the gear.

I deserve a merit badge for pulling that off.

But instead I earned a couple of frightened in-laws and a terrified wife... hmmm...

Tune in next week when I find a new way to kill my own mother!

dfb