Here’s another “I learned flying from that” from your erstwhile, and very naughty Gringo Bush Pilot. The story:
One stunning and beautiful Sunday morning I’m climbing out of Fallbrook Airpark (my home field) to fly up to the “Sin Fernando Valley” to sneak into my office in Encino while nobody is there. You know – a devious boss checking on the troops.
At any rate, as the quaint little village of Fallbrook passes beneath me, I smell the unmistakable aroma of fresh eggs and bacon as it comes wafting into the cockpit. My saliva glands are bursting – when my addled brain comes to the realization that breakfast is not served in the cockpit – at least, not in a pauper’s Piper.
Dimly aware that breakfast is cooking under the cowl, I do a 180 and descend to the field. With trepidation, I open the cowl – no breakfast … but on closer examination, and cleverly hidden by mama bird, is a nest with two eggs, just out of view over number one cylinder.
As I clean my kitchen, I add one more item to my pre-flight mental checklist.
Check the kitchen…