[AAC Cadet Leader]

Twentynine Palms Part III

"Mmhhm, okay, got it, Momma." I said, writing the name and number on my list of contacts.

She continued, "He said he recently read your ad in Trade-A-Plane and thought there would be a remote chance that he'd meet up with you, but thought he'd give it a try anyway. It's almost uncanny that he called just last night and you're so close to where he lives. I told him that you were going to be in Corona and he said that it's real close by. It's funny what he said after that. I wrote it down."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"He said to tell you, 'If you happen to be in the L.A. area and he and his Waco happen to be available and the wind happens to be down the runway, he'll be happy to give you a ride."

"Really, he said all that? Ha. That's pretty funny. I'll call him. But first I've got to call the people around here who wrote me letters," I said, reviewing my list. "Let's see, there's Brian Launder in Long Beach with a Stearman and Torrance Parker in Torrance with a Travel Air— Hm, I wonder if they named the town after him. And there are the Baileys in Riverside. Mom, this area has a ton of good, vintage planes. I might be around here awhile...hey, before we go, how are Dad and Mary Jane?"

"They're fine. Dad's golfing with Uncle Eddie and Mary's at the library," she said.

"Good…Okay, talk to you tomorrow. I love you, Momma."

"Love you, Martichko."

After we hung up, I called the Baileys and Brian Launder, and made tentative arrangements to meet them the following day, then I called Dave Pyeatt. He sounded nice, but definitely let me know that he would be going to a lot of trouble to give me a ride.

He said, "I'll have to get up at five in the morning to jockey cars and airplanes around and fly the Bonanza up to Camarillo to get the Waco before coming back down to Corona to pick you up. I'll try to get there around ten-thirty in the morning, before the winds pick up. And I'll be happy to give you a ride—that is, if the wind is still down the runway when I get there. I don't like landing the Waco in a crosswind."

"Okay" I said, "that would be fantastic!"

"Where do you want me to take you?" he asked.

"To Flabob Airfield."

"Flabob!?!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "That's only about ten miles away from Corona! Why don’t you just take a car?!"

"Uh, well, because this whole thing is about getting from place to place in old aeroplanes, see? One of the rules I made for myself is that I can’t go to the next airfield in a car, train, bus, taxi or anything else but a plane. And it has to be one that’s at least twenty-five years old,” I explained.

"Okay, I think I get it.”

“And I've heard that Flabob is a really interesting old airfield with a lot of colorful history,” I said.

“Yes it definitely is. I’ve been there once or twice...”

“After Flabob, we can go hopping around to other fields — if you wouldn't mind taking me?" I asked.

"Sure, that's fine. As long as the winds stay straight down the runways, that is," he said.

"Okay, great. I hear Chino is a good place, too, yes?"

"It is. It’s a great place. Lots of warbirds there, and I know a lot of the pilots there," he said.

"Super...And then at 6 p.m. I've arranged to fly with a guy who's got a Stearman at Long Beach Airport. Do you think you could you drop me off there on your way back home?”

"Sure, no problem. Who are you flying with at Long Beach?"

“Brian Launder. He wrote me a letter offering me a ride.”

“Oh, I know Brian. He’s a good guy,” he said.

July 7, 1988, 10:45 a.m., the next morning…
While frantically repacking my bags in the little trailer, there was a knock on the screen door.

"Dave Pyeatt?" I asked, opening the door.

"Yes. Good to meet you, Martha," he said with a very businesslike manner, extending his right hand.


[Reader, you’ll have to buy the printed version of this book to read the rest of this life-changing chapter with accompanying photos.]