Lots of times I talk of flying someplace, what I did when I was there, and all the things I saw along the way. One reason that I have such pleasant flights is because I try to pick only the nicest days to make my trips. With lots of other things to do, it makes little sense to make a pleasure flight in weather that is less than pleasant. It is winter though... "the difficult season"... and many factors come into play when picking a good day.

Viewed from the early morning, Sunday looked like a good day to get out, see some people and places, warm the oil, and charge the battery. The weather had been consistently forecast to feature good visibility, high ceilings, and light winds until early afternoon. Just as significant, the runway was clear of snow and frozen. The temperature would stay low enough that the ground wouldn't turn to mud, but it was warm enough that the engine would have no trouble starting. As I said, there are extra factors in picking a good day.

Airplanes, just like living creatures need regular exercise, and Sunday morning looked just right for a quick trip over to Avoca. I could get my weekly "fix" of pleasure flying, see some folks, have a plate of blueberry pancakes, and be back in plenty of time to enjoy a productive days' work around the house.

Avoca is one of my favorite destinations. I landed at the private strip that is right at the edge of town and walked the "long way" to Main Street. I passed the ice cream stand that is a summer evening treat, along the railroad tracks and past the old station, so nicely preserved. The railroads were the interface between small towns and the rest of the world for a hundred years, and it is hard for me to avoid thinking of the activity that once surrounded the station and the other buildings clustered along the tracks.

It wouldn't be fair to all the other wonderful small town diners in the country to say that Donna's Restaurant is special, but it is a place that I feel comfortable visiting even when I am by myself. It is friendly, cheerful, and the blueberry pancakes are the best I've had. I had a leisurely cup of coffee and read the paper while waiting for my order. I was glad I came, but outside it was starting to snow.

Walking back to the airplane after a very satisfactory breakfast, I couldn't ignore that the snow had increased, and that the visibility had dropped to one scant mile in the moist air that had moved in with it. I brushed the snow from the plane and was thankful that the flakes were fluffy rather than heavy and wet, for icy wings don't fly. On the way over I had noted that the snow might arrive sooner rather than later, and that I might be inconvenienced on my return. This weather was more than merely unpleasant though, it was downright poor, and I would have to work to get back to Beaver Dams.

I followed the 4- lane east and then followed 226 up the valley north from Savona, but it was no easy task. I had to stay low, well under a thousand feet above the ground, and the trip was complicated by carburetor ice. The only way that I could prevent the cold moist air from freezing in the carburetor throat was to maintain full throttle with the carburetor heater on. A wide open throttle assures the least amount of ice formation, and the higher fuel burn provides more exhaust heat to recycle into the carburetor inlet.

When I reached Tyrone I saw that the route over the hill was impossible, that the long way around the hills, to 14A and then south, was more work than I wanted to do. Larry's strip was nearby, and I knew he was home restoring the wings of a1946 Funk. A cup of coffee at his kitchen table would look a lot better than my tenuous view of a snow- covered landscape in a snowstorm.

I had an enjoyable visit with Larry despite the circumstances of my arrival. Sometimes just a bit of patience will fix a weather problem, but the look through his front window was confirmed by the radar picture; there was no letup in sight. Larry helped me tie down the airplane and offered me the use of his "spare" car so that I could cover the last ten miles of my trip home.

I arrived home but the plane wasn't where it belonged. It was tied outside Larry's hangar, exposed to the whims of the elements. Worse yet, I suspected that it could be days or weeks before weather and runway conditions would allow me to complete the trip. Things could have been worse, but this unfinished business gnawed at me. The flight had been interrupted and I wouldn't rest well until it was properly completed, with the airplane happily in its hangar.

There was a mid- afternoon lull in the snowfall, just long enough for me to return to Tyrone and fly the rest of the way to Beaver Dams. Vanished were the thoughts of the plane blowing away in a howling blizzard, or of thawing snow trickling within the wooden wings and all around the steel tubes of the fuselage. With the flight now completed, I could flippantly state that this week's flight had been interesting, different, and to a degree memorable.