“To live is to fly, low and high. So shake the dust off your wings and the sleep out of your eyes,” is a line from the song “To Live Is to Fly,” written by a Texan, the late Townes Van Zandt, and made popular by another Texan, the late Guy Clark.

Those songs, along with Jerry Jeff Walker’s “Mr. Bojangles,” have been long-standing hits on my own aviation playlist. I say aviation playlist, though my ability to listen to music while flying has all but disappeared, and that, paradoxically, is a good thing. Back in the old days, when I flew mostly VFR, one could listen to uninterrupted music while flying. Once I got a Cessna P210 and headed for the flight levels, music in the air became much harder to appreciate.

Multiple panel-mounted music systems allowed for ATC communications to interrupt the songs, but that was frustrating. Nothing worse than bellowing along to the Eagles’ “Hotel California” only to be interrupted by a pilot who requires his rerouting to be repeated three times with phonetic spelling. By the time the music comes back on, all you hear is “…but you can never leave.”

I bought the Cessna P210 right about the time Hank Williams Jr. released a song called “High and Pressurized.” In my day job as a cancer surgeon, I played this song in the operating room, the car, and the house. We were going up, up to those flight levels. “It don’t take long to get there, if you’re high and pressurized. It ain’t very far from nowhere, if you’re high and pressurized.” There’s a line about the mile-high club, but that’s for a different day and different magazine.

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Just as with the P210, I finally twigged to the fact that music in operating rooms inhibited communication. Though there aren’t many thrills that can match performing a complicated cancer operation while listening to some Jimmy Buffett, I gave it up. I am down to listening at home or in the car. This is a real but necessary loss. I had noticed that when we closed a patient’s incision after a big operation, the residents and fellows seemed to work a little faster if Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” was playing.

No doubt I’m dating (aging?) myself with these titles, but the music my kids listen to seems to reflect the times: dirge, lament, and depression. Many surgeons play classical music while operating. That wasn’t for me. I was more into the Eagles than Gustav Mahler. Interestingly, the effect of music on surgical task performance has been studied. A report in the International Journal of Surgery compared multiple studies and concluded that “classic music when played at low to medium volume can improve surgical task performance by increasing accuracy and speed. The distracting effect of music (should be considered) when playing loud or high beat type of music.” OK then.

“Eight Miles High” by the Byrds was thought to be a drug song, but to me it represented a band of young musicians who had discovered the private jet and thrill of rocking westbound at 43,000 feet. Can you imagine such a thrill? Come to think of it, altitude always seems to provide perspective and release from earthly concerns.

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Foo Fighters, and Pink Floyd all recorded songs called “Learning to Fly,” but they aren’t about learning to fly actually. They are metaphors quite easily understood by any pilot. They are about recovery and restoration, victory and perseverance. Isn’t that what learning to fly is really all about?

The album that captures the romance of commercial flight was made in the 1950s. Come Fly With Me by Frank Sinatra featured songs about Chicago, New York, Brazil, and Paris.

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The cover showed the jaunty crooner with a come-hither gesture. In the background lurks a Constellation in TWA colors. Given that Connies flew nonstop from San Francisco to Paris in the ’50s, I can’t imagine a more romantic image.

You want lonely? Try “Early Morning Rain” by Gordon Lightfoot. “Big 707 set to go…She’ll be flyin’ o’er my home in about three hours time.” If that doesn’t conjure up a lonely, barely sober dude by the side of the runway, I don’t know what does. You want wistful? In “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” John Denver, contrite but not reformed, sings of separation and regret. He promises a wedding ring, but we’re not convinced.

Whereas songs about commercial travel are redolent of separation, loss, and loneliness, tunes about flying are exuberant and, well, uplifting. It is all about becoming airborne. My flying friends, when queried, came up with some great tunes. The theme from the 1954 movie The High and the Mighty is all strings and whistling—just like that ancient pelican John Wayne whistles about in the cockpit. One suggested “Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolf. I’m confident you’ve got a few.

Every friend mentioned the song that captures the exuberance and challenge of flight: “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins. If you were alive in 1986, had an interest in flying and a pulse, you could not get this melody out of your head. I don’t know how old you were when that movie, Top Gun, came out, but anybody over 8 will remember the ripped bodies, grave bravado, amazing flight scenes, and the iconic line, “I feel the need…the need for speed!”

As the movie opens, we watch fighters launch off a carrier deck, steam curling up, the quick salute, and then the cannon shot. The P210 didn’t fly like that, but it was close enough for me. I felt exhilarated as if I were Pete Mitchell, Tom Cruise’s character.

A need for speed indeed.

This column first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post That Sound of Music in the Air appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1979 Cessna P210N Centurion.

Cessna’s 210 Centurion has a well-earned reputation as a fast and flexible personal transport machine. It can carry heavier loads than many competing piston singles and maintains the short-field performance for which the Cessna high-wing family of designs is known. A wide, roomy cabin has long been among its selling points. Adding the comfort of pressurization allows pilots to give their passengers more of an airline experience when traveling at higher altitudes while taking advantage of smooth air and favorable winds.

The Centurion for sale here is considered the top of the line among Cessna singles because it has the high-altitude performance and accommodations that match many larger twin-engine models. It makes an ideal family airplane because its ability to fly high without the need for supplemental oxygen means passengers can enjoy the convenience of not having to wear oxygen cannulas in addition to the impressive transit speeds. Pilots will enjoy the airplane’s forgiving flight characteristics and stability, especially when flying IFR.

This 210N has 5,073 hours on the airframe, 324 hours since overhaul on its 310 hp Continental TSIO-520 engine, and 324 hours since new on the Hartzell propeller. The aircraft is equipped with GAMI injectors, Turboplus intercooler, pressurized magnetos, and auxiliary vacuum pump.

The panel includes an Aspen EFD-1000 Pro PFD EFIS system and EFD-1000 MFD, Aspen synthetic vision, 400B Navomatic autopilot, backup HSI with ILS and glideslope, backup altimeter, backup transponder, backup GPS-396, GME 347 audio panel, GNS 430W GPS/Nav/Com, Garmin SL 30 Nav/Com, GTX 330 transponder, ADS-B In and Out and an EDM-700 engine monitor.

Pilots who want to step up to pressurized comfort and flexibility when traveling in the flight levels should consider this 1979 Cessna P210N, which is available for $234,000 on AircraftForSale.

You can arrange financing of the aircraft through FLYING Finance. For more information, email info@flyingfinance.com.

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The post This 1979 Cessna P210N Centurion Is a Family-Friendly ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

On a route I’ve flown a zillion times, epiphany! Because of a painful, expensive, nine-week-long annual on our Beechcraft P-Baron in Florida, my family found itself in New Hampshire without a way home to Tampa, Florida (KTPA). I know that sounds ridiculous, but hear me out.

Our rescue lab mix is an aggressive dog not welcome on the airlines, so Rocco has become accustomed to (spoiled by?) the wonders of general aviation. He’s traveled in a variety of excellent airplanes, including the Baron, a turboprop, and two jets. He’s made the trip in fine style in this manner. Yet our airplane was more than 1,000 miles away. We needed help on a route I’ve come to know intimately.

I called Tom deBrocke and asked if he’d pick us up in his twin Aerostar. “Sure,” he said. DeBrocke’s an airline captain, an airplane nut, and an instructor, but most importantly a good friend. He’s gone coast to coast to help me out before.

It is close to 1,100 nm from Tampa to Lebanon, New Hampshire, but I doubt anybody has flown this route more than I have. At first, it was a Cessna P210 with stops in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina, or Lynchburg, Virginia, northeast bound, or sometimes Norfolk, Virginia, and Charleston, South Carolina, heading the other way. The northeast trip averaged 6.3 hours, the southwest slog 7.4. Most recently, our Cessna Citation CJ1 could make the northeast-bound trip in less than three hours.

Since it had been more than 25 years since I had negotiated the northeast corridor in a piston airplane, I was full of questions about this trip in the normally aspirated Aerostar.

• READ MORE: Master of Airplanes: Rocco Is One Lucky Lab, Indeed

Lesson No. 1: Aerostars are amazing. Tom had told me he planned to land in Salisbury, Maryland (KSBY), on the way up, but when I turned on FlightAware, I saw he had already overflown KSBY at 13,500 feet. So muchhttps://www.flysbyairport.com/for normally aspirated. I scurried to the airport to meet him. He made the trip in 5 hours and 24 minutes. This pleased me as I was paying for the fuel.

“Almost like a transcon at the airline, but I still have an hour’s worth of gas left,” deBrocke said upon stretching his legs. He collected his bags and checked the airplane, showing no interest in using the bathroom. Waving a portable john alarmingly close to my nose, I was relieved to hear that Tom hadn’t needed it. We arranged for hangar space as rain was predicted.

Lesson No. 2: There is no hurry. Usually, I’m running around wanting everybody to hurry up so as to get to Florida while it is still light and avoid any thunderstorms. Tom showed no such urgency. By the time we drove to breakfast, borrowed the crew car so we could leave our car at home, and returned to the airport, it was almost 11 a.m. After careful loading, explaining to my wife, Cathy, how the emergency exit worked and getting Rocco settled, we taxied out, did a fastidious run-up and took off. There was no rush. Tom was completely at ease. Our destination was Elizabethtown, North Carolina (KEYF), where it was said we could get 110LL for $5 per gallon.

Lesson No. 3: Just ask. I already knew that you almost never get the routing recommended by ForeFlight in this part of the world. But I watched with interest as Tom worked to get us headed in the right direction while level at 8,000 feet. First, he secured direct to Hartford (KHFD), saving about two minutes. When told we had to fly out over Long Island to fixes 40 miles over the Atlantic Ocean, Tom keyed the mic and said, “Hey, Approach. Any chance we could cancel here and climb to 8,500 and go direct to Richmond (KRIC)?”

“IFR cancellation received. Climb VFR to 8,500, keep the squawk.” Just like that, we were flying directly over JFK with Manhattan out the window. I had never had the nerve.

Lesson No. 4: VFR has special responsibilities not evident while flying IFR in jets. Having flown IFR almost exclusively since 1975, I was only distantly familiar with sectionals, military operations areas (MOAs), and restricted areas. Sure enough, Philadelphia Approach was kind enough to suggest heading to KSBY then JAMIE to avoid a restricted area around Washington, D.C. Patuxent Approach confirmed this wisdom. From then on, I watched as Tom sought to confirm the ceiling of various warning areas, MOAs, and Class B airspace.

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Lesson No. 5: Even the pros can miss something. As we started our VFR descent to KEYF, the AWOS announced winds favoring Runway 32. As we discussed how to enter the pattern, Fayetteville Approach asked if we were aware that all runways were closed at KEYF. What? No mention on the AWOS.

Not embarrassed, Tom said, “I must have missed that NOTAM, and it isn’t announced on the AWOS.”

“The closure is definitely in the NOTAMs. State your intentions,” came the rejoinder. “Standby,” said Tom. We quickly found Lumberton, North Carolina (KLBT), nearby with $5.50 gas. Though we could have entered the right base for Runway 31, Tom did the right thing. He overflew the airport and joined the left downwind. In no rush and at ease, he chirped her on.

“Oh, there’s the reason for the $5.50 gas,” said Tom, spotting a self-fueling spot. While Cathy and I walked the dog, Tom filled 114 gallons into three tanks via a choreography required to keep from tipping the airplane on its wing.

Only later did I look up KLBT on AirNav to see the full-serve and self-serve gas were both $5.50. When apprised of this, Tom didn’t miss a beat: “But I’m quicker.”

Lesson No. 6: It is so important to have really good friends. This is true, in general, but if you can find one who loves airplanes, that’s the best. I’ve been very lucky in this regard.

Gassed up and heading for home, we got the rest done IFR with an astoundingly favorable route. Tom had arranged for his Nissan Pathfinder to be on the Sheltair ramp, so unloading was easy.

Once all in the car, Tom drove us down to see our own long-lost Baron, snuggled in its hangar. As we swung back around to head for the exit gate, two line guys came roaring up in their golf cart: “Hey, you’re going the wrong way.” “Yeah,” said Tom. “This is the owner of 260 Alpha Romeo, and he just had to lay eyes on it.”

Ain’t that the truth.

This column first appeared in the December 2023/Issue 944 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Pilot Learns Something New Even on Familiar Route appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

“I doubt it,” I thought, after looking at the radar. There was a line of thunderstorms associated with a cold front stretching north to south across our route.

“Nah,” said Jason, “We’ll fly above that stuff.” Such was my introduction to flying jets, in this case the Lear-jet 31. With a service ceiling of 51,000 feet, there weren’t many clouds we couldn’t top; at least theoretically. I say theoretically because getting a Lear to Flight Level 510 before running out of jet-A was a challenge. Nonetheless, I was learning about the benefits (and perils) of high-altitude flight.

Starting out in a Cessna 150, altitude was a pretty simple matter. With careful attention to density altitude, most takeoffs were possible and cruising altitudes were seldom much more than a few thousand feet above mean sea level.

Owning a Cessna P210 got me thinking about pressurization, advantages of flights in the high “teens,” and the thrill of announcing my presence at a flight level. Though credited with a service ceiling of 25,000 feet, I doubt I ever made it higher than FL210. That was exhilarating enough for me. A Hank Williams Jr. song called “High and Pressurized” became my anthem. “It don’t take long to get there if you’re high and pressurized,” went the first verse. It is a tune about the satisfaction that comes with owning or renting a pressurized airplane. There’s a line about the mile high club, but that’s a topic for a different day (and maybe a different publication).

Pressurized piston airplanes have the admirable trait of being able to fly low into headwinds and to ride the tailwinds up high. Turboprops aren’t so lucky. These airplanes basically have jet engines that are more fuel efficient the higher they fly, so bucking headwinds down low rarely makes sense over long distances. With service ceilings of 28,000 to 31,000 feet, you aren’t going to top any big thunderstorms in a turboprop either.

Jets, however, make surmounting the weather a real possibility. That Lear 31 trip was my introduction to such magnificence. In fact, we laughed at my naiveté and at the wall of lightning and mayhem beneath us as we roared westward at FL430. Later that night, we retraced our route from Texas to St. Petersburg, Florida (KPIE), and climbed to FL470. We would have kept climbing, but the peninsula of Florida was fast approaching—and we didn’t want to overshoot and end up in Spain.

I don’t know how high I have been. I mean that in a strict sense of altitude msl. Redeeming mileage points, I rode on Concorde once from KJFK in New York to Heathrow (EGLL) in London. After much whining and begging, I was allowed to enter the cockpit. I was astounded to see the altimeters showing 52,640 feet (I think). Given a block altitude (who else was going to be up here?), the pilots said they just sought the best altitude for the prevailing winds and temperature. The airplane was so fast—it routinely cruised at Mach 2.0—that eastbound trips and westbound trips weren’t but a few minutes different in regards to time en route. Soon, I was ushered back out of the cockpit by a stern British Airways flight attendant, so I really don’t know how high we actually got.

Part 135 flying in a Cessna Citation CJ3 was my real classroom for learning about high-altitude flight. With a straight wing and hence relatively docile flying characteristics up high, we consistently flew at FL450 when possible. With generous and knowledgeable captains, I learned that although we could top those huge Midwest thunderstorms at FL450, it was still a good idea to avoid flying directly over them. Just because it looked clear didn’t mean there weren’t ferocious funnels of turbulence rising from these prodigious forces of nature.

I’m currently privileged to fly a Cessna CJ1. Its service ceiling is FL410, but I had never been that high in it until recently. Powered by two Williams FJ44-1A engines with a “mere” 1,900 pounds of thrust each, the CJ1 never seemed very enthusiastic about flying above FL390. Then I was taught a lesson.

While the airplane was parked at Wichita’s Dwight D. Eisenhower National Airport (KICT) for a routine maintenance visit, the Textron Aviation service center per-formed scheduled engine checks and replaced some seals. As part of their post-maintenance protocol, they flew the airplane. I watched with amazement on flightaware.com as the Textron pilots flew right up to 41,000 feet.

Two days later, I was headed from KICT to Lebanon, New Hampshire (KLEB), a distance of 1,200 nm. With just a modest tailwind and me as the airplane’s only occupant, ForeFlight calculated I would land with 908 pounds of fuel. Though certainly legal, my personal minimum is 1,000 pounds of gas upon landing. Good weather was forecast at the destination for the next eight hours. After that, Hurricane Irma was to wash the Northeast clean.

I decided to start out with the intent to climb to FL410,carefully check position, time en route, and fuel consumption against ForeFlight’s nav log, and see what happened. Thirty-nine minutes after takeoff, I was level at 41,000 feet; better than the 48 minutes shown on the navlog. The airplane felt exhausted, as if it had flung itself onto the shore after a difficult marathon swim, but gradually recaptured airspeed such that I was soon clocking 357 ktas and 0.62 Mach, as predicted.

The tailwind was slow to materialize but fuel flow was down to 320 pounds per side, less than 100 gallons an hour. The Avidyne 550s showed me landing with 855 pounds of gas—not ideal, but that didn’t include fuel saved when the power is retarded for descent. This number also improved when those 60 knots of tailwind made their long awaited appearance.

So, I sat there, fat, dumb, and happy. In time, the Nexrad radar update showed me skirting the hurricane and zooming along at a groundspeed of 435 knots. I was euphoric. I poured a cup of coffee and nuzzled the oxygen mask. I’m told the song “Eight Miles High” by the Byrdsis about drugs. With the cabin altitude at just over 7,600 feet, hot coffee at my side, and improving estimated fuel-at-destination calculations, I required zero drugs for mood enhancement.

Oh, yes, I landed with 990 pounds of gas and a 1,200-mile smile.

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in the Q2 2022 issue of FLYING Magazine.

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