Well we made it! Putting pen to paper has been harder than the actual flight so I have decided to start the ball rolling and write Part 1, then I am sure John will carry on the motion with Part 2 and Nev with Part 3? At least that is the idea.
I first thought about flying down to Spain for the World Air Games about a year ago and started some serious planning in February and March. Many persons stated an interest from within the Wye Valley Flyers, and Broadmeadow Club, in the end four aircraft departed with a total of five persons.
Neville in a Huntwing powered by a Rotax 462, Jeremy in his Chaser with 462, John H in his new Blade / Hunt trike combination complete with BMW engine plus Peter as his passenger, then finally Merv in a Shadow 503. Quite a motley collection indeed.
Our departure day came and went (Fri 16th Jun) and so for that matter did the Saturday! Rain, wind and poor visibility ensured morale was low and Jeremy was getting itchy, for he was a competitor and time was getting on, especially as some had escaped over to France on the Thursday before the bad weather and were moving South rapidly.
Sunday started equally poor but by lunchtime a window of opportunity between squalls appeared, so we headed off for Headcorn accompanied by Neil in his Quasar who eventually ended up as far as La Fleche before touring Normandy and returning on his own. Impressive indeed for his first trip of any distance and 40 hours as PIC.
With a 10 – 15 mph tailwind rapid progress was made staying ahead of the bad weather, Farnborough were helpful and passed us through the overhead at 1000 ft with fast jet traffic above, below and to the side. Passing to the North of Gatwick we rapidly approached Redhill who were equally nice! By now we were catching up the bad weather, and rain showers were developing, visibility decreased and it got bouncy. Just in time Headcorn appeared and with 15mph and gusts of 20mph slightly offset from the runway we landed.
Half an hour later the wind was increasing and rain was falling, but by then John had negotiated hangar space and a bunk bed in the parachute club for the night. Previously Jeremy had arranged with Dave Ross from Sittles farm to meet up and he now duly arrived in his Rans, with nothing else to do we retired to the bar. I made a tactical error at this point and got into rounds with Dave who I now know can drink enormous quantities of beer with no visible effect!
The next morning was bright and sunny with a nice Westerly wind so with the flight plan open we started up, or not in my case! My starter motor failed and despondency set in. Great team spirit kicked in and my engine was started on the prop after some persuasion during which John cut himself above his eye, and I spent the crossing of the channel pondering the wisdom of flying on with no guaranteed means of starting my engine if for any reason we were separated. At least the flight to Abbeville passed quickly.
Abbeville as ever was quiet and the fuel point was closed, fortunately a passing English tourist provided a lift to the nearest garage for petrol and we were quickly on our way to La Fleche and the hospitality of Reg Whittle an English flying instructor based in France.
With a tail wind and quite thermic conditions the 3 hours 25 minutes to La Fleche passed quickly, I chose to go direct having the range and to avoid the rigmarole of prop starting, whilst some landed at Dreux to refuel and stretch their legs.
On arrival Reg Whittle was out flying so we tied the machines down, flight planned for the next day and listened to Nev’s jokes. Soon we were in Reg’s house or should I say chateau and enjoying his legendary hospitality, or should I say eating and drinking everything in the house.
Next morning a little time was spent trying to sort out my starter to no avail, before fitting a second hand pull start of Reg’s, unfortunately this failed shortly afterwards so I prop started all the way to Spain where Nigel Beale provided a new one from his extensive stock. Away about 1100 hours we pushed South to Libourne in 3 hours 30 minutes including a detour via a ULM site which had been recommended but turned out to be a bad choice.
Fuel was not available at Libourne (closed on Tuesday) so a local provided transport to a garage, this went wrong when fuel leaked from one of the containers into his vehicle causing some damage to his paintwork …… embarrassment or what. Then Nev discovered a puncture just as we were leaving, all told an eventful few hours. The local ULM club rapidly had the puncture repaired and we all completed the short leg South to Aire Sur L’Adour just North of the Pyrenees. Another great welcome from friends of John’s, tents up and into town for a few beers and food, only to discover it was a carnival night and street cycle racing. Eventually we got to bed the wrong side of mid-night.
Packing up early the next day the French Army came over and invited us to breakfast, they were apparently on exercise but did not appear to be doing anything. Soon we were on our way gradually gaining height for 30 miles to the Pyrenees just West of Pau. Our heights varied but I climbed to 8500 ft and crossed the mountains below the highest peaks enjoying steady lift in smooth air off the cliff faces. John unfortunately started suffering misfires at higher power settings which really focused his mind and forced him to move further West and cross at a lower point. Nev was at 12000 ft and climbing! With some persuasion he came off full power and joined us mere mortals! The views were amazing and conditions were perfect, still air and unlimited visibility, just a shame we had to loose 7000 ft of height.
We all met up again overhead Santa Cilia de Jaca, and landed in still air at this superb gliding airfield, fantastic facilities and a warm welcome including a celebration beer before lunch and a few hours by the pool. With the thermals settling down we packed up and took to the air heading South to Calamocha and eventually Sotos 2 hours 25 minutes away. But that is another person’s story……..
Pigs cheeks, if that’s the answer what was the question?
You guessed it, What are we eating? The look on Jeremy’s face was worth a million words.
We had arrived at an Airfield in the middle of Spain after a late afternoon takeoff from St Cilia intending to fly to Calamocha. The flight out of the Spanish Glider site had been spectacular, easy for some but for the hugely loaded BMW powered Blade it had been hard work, thermalling with the Vultures in the reserve to climb over the 5500ft foothills of the Spanish Pyrenees. After that the flight down past Zarragosa had been pleasant, passing the unusual mogel shaped hills,and Calamocha came after about 2 and half hours. However the site was remote and disappointing and so we continued onto Sotos across about 40 miles of desolate gorges. Worse than the channel or the Pyrenees in an engine failure and guaranteed to set the old ringpiece a chewing on your shreddies.
Arrival at Sotos was entertaining with Enrico the local instructor showing us the art of flying straight at anyone landing. His hospitality knew no bounds though and consequently we found ourselves sampling the porcine delights and other local specialties free and for Gratis. Enrico sorted our fuel and the next morning drove all the way from his home to feed us breakfast before seeing us off on the last part of the outward journey.
We slept that night on the hanger floor, all except Pete who grabbed a bed in the caravan, and with Jeremy on one side and Merv and Neville on the other. Surround sound snoring!
The early morning entertainment was provided by a troop of OAPs who promenaded around the airfield for an early morning constitution.
Breakfast over and we set off for Beas de Segura about 3 hours away. A superb flight culminating in a trip over a series of giant pie charts(rotary irrigation systems) and deep blue water reservoirs.
So to the main event. Something of an anti-climax the airfield was hot (40) and dusty. A new wing became very secondhand within a few hours and the campsite was a mixture of scrubby trees and dry dusty sand. The one oasis being the air conditioned restaurant but even this seemed to be hot after an hour or 2.
Strange to hold the World Air Games in such a place but I guess the provision of a couple of good hangers and an air conditioned restaurant was good for the locals. They could have provided fuel for such a major event and driving about 5 miles was very inconvenient. Lets hope that if the next games is in Britain we can provide better facilities and take benefit as well.
The next day Nevill and myself cadged a lift into the village, a true 1 donkey town which seemed to be to Nev’s liking, and picked up sufficient tucker for a late night barbeque.
The day was largely wasted in the air conditioning, attempting to find a different route back but this was thwarted by the false news that the one airfield we could make, on the Med, had been closed. Jeremy and co returned via this route and reported how pleasant it was. C’est la vie.
On Saturday we set off early for Sotos and on arrival were disappointed to find a deserted field. However within a short time a Motor Glider turned up and the occupants not only were kind enough to take us many miles for fuel but also took us into Cuenca where we spent many pleasant hours grockling and pushing Nev up the wrong hill. It was around now that Neville’s shoes, and feet, began to take on a life of their own, earning him the new name of “El Grungeo”.
Later that day we took a taxi back to the field and set off at about 17.30 to cross the Gorges of Cuenca and return to St Cilia direct. The first part of the journey was hard work and for the Blade BMW required a lot of careful thermalling to get up to about 7000. Once again the Vultures were an essential thermalling aid but this part of the flight was a bit too exciting. Once past Zarragosa, on the West side this time, the conditions calmed down and the rest of flight was very pleasant. At St Cilia we refueled both ourselves and the planes and then were pleased to find a very comfortable B and B at a very favorable rate.(about £8.00)
The following morning we set off for France. With Pete at the helm I sat back to enjoy the view. The best laid plans etc and we struggled upwards to about 7000ft. Ground speed increasing to about 80MPH, some turbulence but above all the fact that, once we looked down into France, all we could see was a sea of white, saw us crawling back to St Cilia.
Here we spent a great day, swimming in the pool, lying in the sun and partaking of the fayre.
In the evening we set off again and this time successfully crossed the Pyrenees. Unlike the earlier crossing visibility was not perfect but Pete and Myself took this opportunity to fly low around the caving area around Pierre St Martin, a small skiing village.
We landed back at Aire sur L’adour and all enjoyed pizzas and red wine. Once again the municipal shower block was left open for us to use the facilities.
Next day was spent being chauffer driven around the Pyrenees by Merv. A few highlights follow.
Disposal of “those shoes” outside a supermarket near Lourdes.
Brilliant views of the Cirque de Gavarnie.
“El Dumpo” demonstrating the 4th dump of the morning.
Nev washes his feet for the first time.
The Col de Aubisque, part of the Tour de France.
The Ski village at PSM that we had flown over the day before, and the Gorges of Kakoueta that we had scraped through.
The entrance to the Lepinaux shaft, one of the deepest caves in the world and the entertaining road signs depicting a man falling head first down a pothole.
A traditional meal in Tardets, deep in ETA country, It never seemed to stop coming but went down well before we returned to the airfield. A total of 470 Kms in 1 day!.
The next day we dumped the hire car, said goodbye to all our friends and set off for the Dordogne. There we sprung a surprise appearance at Brian Milton's house. Jade his daughter was there on her own and, once she had recovered from the shock of 4 old blokes turning up, in a taxi, unannounced accompanied us to the local hostelry and put us for the night.
Next day the weather didn’t look too good but in the afternoon we taxied back the 25 miles to the airfield at Domme Sarlat and set of again for La Fleche. We flew through some quite wet weather on the way and stopped for fuel and tea at Chatelleraux.
Here disaster struck when a local visually challenged pilot attacked Merv’s Shadow with the end of a Robin wing. This succeeded in bending the tail, damaging the nose and, as we were to find out later, bending the fuselage tube slightly. A total of many thousands of damage.
Pete and myself set off for La Fleche, with the bent tail, and left Merv and Neville behind.
Once again we enjoyed a pleasant evening at Reg and Randy’s and the next day, following a repair job, which utilized the passengers footrest from my trike, we drove Reg’s car back and had Merv flying again. They had finished off all the booze in the club hut and the Myopic had become their new best friend and slave.
Following another good night at La Fleche it came as a surprise to find that the BMW had a flat battery and no serviceable alternator. Merv and Nev set off for Abbeville but Pete and Myself stayed an extra night taking a drive down to Tours and picking up a new rotor from the late night BMW centre.
The rest of the flight home was uneventful and we met back up with the Merv and Nev at Headcorn. The usual strong winds gave us an enforced stay at Headcorn and when we eventually got going it was to late to get back to Hereford. We dropped into Popham, fed well at that Egon Ronay approved centre of culinary excellence, the Little Chef, and settled down for the last night.
We flew back above the clouds and arrived back by dinnertime on Sunday after 2 weeks and 46 hrs of flying. We found it hard to beleive the amount of gear we had on board
