The morning was humid and threatening again.
Our first priority at the South Bend Airport was to get weather information. A computer terminal was provided and another pilot happened by who was getting weather for his own flight. "Don't know why I bother - Only frighten myself - and I have to go anyway!" He muttered. I was shocked. "You don't have to go and no one can force you to risk your life." He pointed to his large, sleek, turbo-engined cargo airplane, just outside. I was quite concerned about him. "I don't care how big your plane is. Those storms can tear you apart." He shrugged as though resigned.
The storms were travelling east. The newspapers had front-page stories and pictures of the damage caused by tornadoes through Gary and Chicago. However, they had passed and our journey of the previous day had meant they passed over us during the night - three days faster than if we had waited. It's best to go meet a front, let it pass over, then go again, as Ed had predicted. (In future I would just rather not get quite so close!)
We took off from South Bend at twelve-thirty and I had decided from now on I would fly the plane from the right seat.
As we passed over the lower end of Lake Michigan, past Gary and Chicago, I found myself wondering, as I did so many times on the flight, how beautiful this land must have been before Europeans spread here. The factories spewing filth into the lake and stinking smoke into the air. The towns with all the cars, one can smell acrid burning and stale rotten-eggs smells at thousands of feet altitude. This must have been pure water, quiet forest, pleasant lakeside - perhaps only as little as two hundred years ago. I wondered how many generations of Europeans had caused such devastation. Ten ? What would it be like after twenty!
Chicago passed quickly to our right. How many times I have driven through those busy streets, spent days in the big trade show buildings on the lake-shore. Now they were toys below us. Stretch out ones' hand and pick up a toy crane, touch the Meigs Tower. What a joy flying is!
The sky cleared in the wake of the storms. The afternoon stretched before us along the beautiful golden valley of the Mississippi River. DYY hummed contentedly along. Ed and Elly dozed peacefully with their headsets over their ears keeping some of the noise out. I began to feel comfortably snoozy myself. My instructor recollections began to nag again. "Always keep looking for emergency places to land. Watch the pressures and temperatures. Watch your heading and altitude. Keep your scan going. Check your heading indicator with the compass every ten minutes. Never trust the fuel indicators. How long have you been flying ? Should you turn to the left fuel tank?" Lists of advice and admonitions ran through my mind. The warm sun, the calm flight and the beauty of the peaceful landscape sang a seductive siren song.
From the river valley I held the heading and began to fly away over a plain. The towers and smog of a large town were on the horizon. We passed Rochester, Minneapolis and St. Paul on our left - Just like that. This was my first really long flight with DYY and I was awed with the speed at which we travelled. Distances and terrain which obviously present real problems for earth-bound vehicles, pass as nothing beneath her wings. Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, now Minnesota. We headed steadily N.W. Past Duluth on the right, Mille Lacs and Brainerd, out of range of the Flight Service Stations and beneath their radar (to keep out of cloud - as I did not have my instrument rating at that time). Over vast areas of the Chippewa National Forest and Leech Lake Indian Reservation.
"Ooh, look at that!" - far below us there in a shallow lake was a moose gallumping across. All we could see from that altitude was his muddy zig-zag track. It was good to know he was there, free, eating his favourite water plants.
It had been a good day, but a very long flight for me. I usually fly for about two hours at most. This had been three and a half hours with DYY's mind-bending buzzing. I think it is very good at my age to do something which requires extended interesting concentration. Flying certainly does that.
Our destination, Bemidji, was just ahead. We called the Unicom and on the second try a friendly voice replied, giving us the wind direction: "light and variable" - and telling us we could use whichever runway we liked.
I went overhead the field, turned to the downwind leg, did the usual checks: primer locked, masters on, mags on both, carb heat hot, mixture rich, fuel on both, oil temperature and pressure ok, seat belts secure, doors and windows, brake pressure. I turned final and suddenly felt the extra pressure of having to land in the right seat. I was so tired. I didn't feel like explaining and blurted: "I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO LAND IN THE RIGHT SEAT!" "OK, I have control" said Ed - and landed DYY so smoothly the wheels hardly knew they were down.
The Unicom operator had been just about to close his office when we called. He began to telephone local hotels for us. It was the 4th July next day and everywhere was booked. He remembered the Bemidji University sometimes takes guests, so eventually we found rooms there.
I had never stayed at a university residence before. They provided clean separate rooms, with sheets to make up the single cot beds and towels. The shower facilities were large and clean. The cost was very reasonable: $29.00. single. The majority of the other guests were from the Elder Hostel Group. They were studying renaissance art.