STUCK IN THE MUD

Not a happy camper, I took no photos today.  Picture me shoe-deep in mud, in the rain, holding jumper cables up to the external power plug, sparks flying over my hands from the poor connection point.  My head was two feet away from the sputtering propeller as Bruce and I attempted to jump start our Cirrus SR22. (Usually, Bruce won’t even power-up the plane while I’m still outside.) Trying to jump a Cirrus that needed a good 24 volt battery with two old 12 volt batteries hooked together did not work.  To make a long and very frustrating day short, the FBO allowed us to trickle charge our battery overnight – once Bruce removed it from the Cirrus. Oh yeah, the plane was stuck in the mud.

THE SWAMP

Lee Airport had not invested in visitor parking. The airfield staff located in the "White House"  rarely – if ever – showed up according to the locals. They did not collect tie-down fees. The small amount of paved “visitor” parking was taken by the Naval flight school fleet of Cessna 172s. So, we had to park on the grass with a “push-in” on uneven ground. When we parked, it was dry, but the storm that kept us in D.C. drenched the parking area. Because it became routinely muddy, we learned today that the locals called their visitor parking area, “The Swamp.”

The plane was stuck in The Swamp until we could get the engine started. The only FBO staff on the weekends was a high school aged girl running the gas pumps.  After several hours and once the Naval flight school instructor brow-beat her, she called the FBO at home to get instructions.  We attempted to jump-start the plane ourselves on the field, but it failed.  My shoes were never the same.  Finding a tow truck company for 18-wheelers, I almost convinced them to give our plane a jump. They had jumped a Cessna before; however, the owner balked at our 28 volt engine system as it might blow their 24 volt alternator.

The FBO did not want to trickle-charge our battery on the field because it was raining and it would take all night. (Bruce was not keen on leaving the hood off with engine exposed in the rain either.) So, Bruce removed the battery from the Cirrus SR22 – which was not easy to do especially since it was his first time – and trickle-charged it overnight.

CASTING CALL - AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN

While Bruce took care of the plane’s battery, I informed our hotel in Charleston that we would not be coming and then scrambled for a room at the last minute on a booked-solid Saturday night.  I learned that the Annapolis Naval Academy had their yearly formal event tonight. I got lucky and found a room unsold due to a broken TV remote control.  I was relieved to be set for the night.

The taxi service in Annapolis – a network of independents who worked other full time jobs - was a dream. Our driver was a plane enthusiast.  His brother - a Pakistani - flew helicopters for the US Army in Afghanistan.  After checking in, we walked the town at sundown.  The streets were swarming with officers in dress uniforms hooked to the arms of young women in prom dresses.  We lucked into a table at a really good Italian restaurant under our hotel. Cold by the door, I kept my jacket on.  Though too tired to say much, we enjoyed our meal immensely.

Our hotel room was uncharacteristically noisy as the visiting girls woke me up at midnight, 1:30 AM and 3:00 AM.  Exhausted, Bruce was dead to the noise and slept through.