After losing control of his company during a period of poor health in late 1935, C. G. Taylor started up again by building the prototype model A in Butler, PA in 1936, but moved to Alliance, OH the same year to take advantage of the offer of financing and factory space for production. Just about all Taylorcrafts were subsequently built there. The factory buildings are still there; however, they are being used for other purposes, and the adjoining airstrip is gone. The nearby Barber-Alliance airfield is now the rallying point for present-day T-Crafters. And it is here that the annual Taylorcraft Fly-In is held each year the first weekend after the 4th of July.

I was really up for this, having packed the plane for the past two years and then being weathered in. I got up at 3:30 AM Friday morning, July 10, 1998, with the expectation of being airborne at O dark thirty. But, of course, such was not to be. I finished loading the plane in the pouring rain, then waited. At 10:25 I was able to get off the ground during a sunny break between showers, and much to my surprise, I was able to stay on my intended course without encountering any more showers. I made a slow climb up to 6500 in order to get a smooth ride above the broken cloud deck, but I couldn’t see enough of the ground to be sure I was staying on course, this being navigation by map & compass. So I opted for mental comfort over physical comfort and dropped back down to 3000 for the bumpy ride below the clouds.

After over-flying Wind Sock Village, I adjusted course slightly for a direct flight to Cooperstown, NY. The clouds thinned, and I was able to get back up to 4500 by the time I passed Saratoga Springs. I should have stopped there for gas, because I soon realized that with the headwind I was bucking, I wasn’t going to quite make Cooperstown (mental note – planshorter legs). I persisted in this foolishness until abreast of Fulton Co., then turned 90o northwards to land there, which I did ungracefully in the gusty crosswind without taking out any of the runway lights.

While gassing up with the super high-speed nozzle, I managed to douse the windshield with 100LL, so I pushed back and munched a bagel while the plane aired out. By now it was 3 o’clock, so I pressed on for another 25 minutes to Cooperstown, where I got out my gear and cooked up a decent supper. I wanted to fill my wing tank, but no one there knew how to run the gas truck (mental note – don’t plan to get gas at grass strips during the week). I figured I could skirt to the south of Binghampton and make the 150 miles to Grand Canyon State, so I pressed on again at 5 o’clock.

To the south of Binghampton, I realized it was risky going to Grand Canyon, as there was nothing else around there to divert to, so when I hit the Susquehanna I turned south with the intention of going to Bradford County for gas. Well, I had cut the corner and hit the river south of Bradford County, and plodded dumbly on, overflying a small airport which I couldn’t identify, until I broke out into a valley with a huge city with a big airport with jets whizzing around it – oops, Wilkes-Barre. I did a fast 180 and dove to get off their scope, and went back upriver and landed at what I now knew was Skyhaven at Tunkhannock. This was the best move of the day, as the owner, Steve Gay, graciously offered free camping in his lounge which has four couches to choose from. This is a primo stop-off, with a Wal-Mart across the street and a diner, a 24-hour supermarket, and a Subway right next door. I finished the day out on the veranda outside the lounge, tossing back tea and apple Newtons as the near-full moon rose over the hills. It don’t get no better.

The next morning was severe clear. I rode into town with Steve to have breakfast at a diner, then he went back to work stripping a straight-back 172 he had to get painted for a customer before he could take time off for Oshkosh, and I got airborne at 7:20. I followed the ridge line to the north of Williamsport and Lockhaven until intersecting I-80, then followed the interstate at 4500 feet.

I waited exactly two hours before dumping my 6-gallon wing tank into the nose so that I knew that at that point that I had an easy hour of fuel remaining. The nose tank float wire had bottomed out and didn’t come back up – bummer. I shook the plane side to side and up and down – nothing. If I had a plugged vent or fuel line, I had exactly 15 minutes to get on the ground with the engine running, in which case I could just make Clarion County up ahead, just to the north of the highway. I throttled back and started a slow descent, then flew a very close-in pattern. The float wire popped up as soon as I touched down ( mental note – don’t wait till the last minute to switch tanks). Say, this is getting to be really educational.

I topped off, then continued up the highway to Grove City, then turned direct for Alliance, cross country, by way of downtown Youngstown. I arrived at 11 AM and got in line in the pattern with my head going every which way, as six jumpers were on the way down from 14,000 feet. None of the other traffic stopped, so I didn’t either. There are perpendicular grass runways with Taylorcrafts, gyro-copters and ultra-lights going both ways on both runways with six jumpers at a time landing beside the runways every hour. Man, this is a crazy place!

I immediately set off checking out the all manner of Taylorcrafts there assembled. Had a nice chat with long-time Taylorcraft factory owner, Dorothy Feris. Introduced myself to Taylorcraft Owner’s Club prez, Bruce Bixler. After awhile, I went off to an obscure hanger where resides a pristine model F-22 fuselage frame on saw horses, and set to work getting detailed measurements.

Saturday evening there was a banquet in one of the hangers. I signed up for the barbecued ribs. There is just no way to tackle a rack of ribs delicately on a Styrofoam plate with a plastic knife and fork, but to pick it up and gnaw. I did my best Hannibal Lecter impersonation. I had blood and gore all over my face, up my nose and dripping off my beard. I got sideways glances, but heck, I was hungry. After finding a hose and taking a bath from the neck up, I returned for live music, the club meeting and awards presentations. I thought I had the “Longest Distance” sewn up, but some bugger from Arkansas edged me out with 850 miles to my 650. I looked at a map, and that sucker must have wandered a fair bit. The next award was for “Longest Ownership”, and I had that one, no contest, with 30 years.

That night the jumpers had a beer bust in their hanger across the field – all night long, with Richter wrenching heavy metal music. It didn’t stop until the roosters started crowing. My ears were ringing in the morning; they must have been stone deaf. But they were up jumping again fairly early. It’s such a shame to waste youth on the young.

Sunday morning, most of the planes vanished. I hung around in hopes of getting an audience with Forrest Barber, the airport owner, to get a first-hand flight report on the clip-wing T-Craft he used to do aerobatics in. Then: I went off to that hanger again and took a lot of pictures of the F-22 fuselage. At 2:00 in the afternoon, I topped off with 80 octane and headed back east and: I arrived back at Skyhavenin 3 hours to the minute.

After topping off with 100LL, I walked to Subway and brought back a #5 meal, and ate it at the picnic table while watching Steve Gay go around the pattern with a student. I walked across the field for a hot shower in the showerhouse, then sat back at the picnic table plotting courses and passing the time with the locals. It still don’t get no better.

The next morning there was some valley fog, so I cooked up a leisurely breakfast out on the veranda, then tidied up and swept out the lounge. I was off at 8:45 AM on a course due east for Poughkeepsie. The flying was perfect – no wind, no clouds. I popped a tape in the cassette player and watched the world go by. Upon arriving at the Hudson River, I zigged north around Stewart AFB, then zagged south around Poughkeepsie and landed at Stormville.

I sat in the shade and had a nice chat with airport owner, Peter O’Brian. It turns out that he is the one who got Cole Palen started by finding the original batch of WW1 planes down at Roosevelt Field. But now he was retiring. He had just sold his 1929 Kinner Bird. He had also turned the airport over to his daughter who found she could make a lot more money by filling the whole property with flea markets on weekends. There were still about two dozen airplanes there, but while being sold off or moved elsewhere, they were corralled in snow fence for protection from the marauding flea marketeers.

I left Stormville at 11:20 and hopped up to Great Barrington for gas. By now the thermals were picking up, and getting the directional gyro set correctly to the bouncing compass was a little less certain. I managed to get into the wrong valley and passed east of Great Barrington without ever seeing it. I had to turn back west to land there after getting my bearings from Mt. Greylock in the distance (mental note- sitck to your compass and don’t go charging off in the direction of a shiney roof that appears to be an airport hanger).

After a quick gas stop and a free donut, I was on my way again. Navigation was a no-brainer with checkpoints like Mt. Mannadnock and Lake Winnipesaukee, and I arrived home at Norridgewock at 3:30 in the afternoon.