Far Away Places

Well, I just reluctantly agreed to let my father and my brother fly my little boys across the Atlantic in the Beech, their plan being to see England, France and Germany and a few other places, show the boys real castles and famous places.  I only agreed after a serious discussion with my father about the old bird's (the airplane not my dad) range and what kind of weather they could expect to have, as well as how the boys were doing on the flights they were making now.

The Beech has six fuel tanks, two main wing tanks plus four auxiliary tanks, also in the wings.  These provide 318 gallons of usable fuel ("go juice," my dad calls it).  They've been flying at a cruising speed of 186 knots and burning 48 gallons per hour, but if they fly at 163 knots, they only burn 33 gph. That gives them a range of 1,380 nautical miles with a 45 minute fuel reserve. 
The longest leg of their flight will be that from Gander, Newfoundland to Nuuk, Greenland, a distance of 920 nautical miles.  The next leg, from Nuuk to Keflavik, Iceland, is a distance of 760 nautical miles, and then from Keflavik to Glasgow, it's 680 nautical miles, but that will be the longest stretch over open water.  So, if conditions are good, they can cut crossing time by cruising at 186 knots with plenty of reserve, but if necessary they can drop the cruise down to 163 knots and my dad says he could stretch their range even more, if needed, by dropping the rpm down to the bottom of the green and pushing the manifold pressure up (the old Charles Lindbergh range-extending trick).

My brother only has a 30-day leave, so he will have to get back to his ship not long after they arrive in Britain.  The plan is to then park the plane and do most traveling by train, which the boys should love, never having been on a train.  My dad, well into his seventies, can't be expected to supervise my boys through Europe and then fly the plane all the way back home from Europe by himself while also taking care of two little boys.  He says it's no problem, but he would. I know that is just too much for him and also unwise, especially on the flight back when he's going to have to direct all his attention to the airplane, so I will fly over to Albion and catch up to them and take charge of the boys while sight-seeing, then be co-pilot and babysitter on the return journey.  And, yes, I can actually be the co-pilot: I earned my multi-engine and instrument ratings on this very same D18S when I was in high school (part of my dad's plan to have me become another Nancy Love, Betty Gillies or Jackie Cochran).

I discussed this with el jefe and he is all for it.  He is going to see if he can get some leave and meet us in Europe and visit for at least a few days. I hope he can. I miss the dopey guy so much and the boys will go crazy to see him again.

Okay, to be honest, I am a little nervous about all this (a little she says...a little?), but everybody wants to do it and so I said okay. I can't be the one to put the kibosh on this grand adventure they are all so eager to undertake.  And it is a wonderful experience for my boys, one they will remember all of their lives.  And I don't want to turn them into scaredy cats by saying how crazy and dangerous I think the whole endeavor is (which I do).  I will trust my dad and my brother and cross the fingers on both hands. 

 Postscript 7/28: Okay, the way we have it worked out now, my mother will fly to Scotland and be waiting when the adventurers arrive in the Wright Flyer -- yes, she'll take the high road and they'll take the low road and she'll be in Scotland before them! -- and take charge of the boys and return with them on a commercial flight.  Once they are safely home, I will fly to meet dad and el jefe (who avows he will plow me like an Iowa cornfield -- el jefe not my dad!).  I'll meet them in Paris and we'll noodle around the 6th arrondissement for the remainder of jef's brief leave, hang out at Les Deux Magots and book shop along the Seine. They'll probably want to go out to the  Musée de l'air et de l'espace at Le Bourget. I'd like to see the remains of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's P-38 (actually an F-5 my menfolk would inform me) that they have on display there. Then I'll fly back with dad in the bug smasher (what he calls the Beech). I've got a feeling I will be doing most of the driving as dad will doubtless be bone tired and the drone of the radials is sleep-inducing.