A Flight to Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome(8/23/2005)
On this particular day I planned to visit a place, which had been recommended to me by a woman my wife and I met at Oshkosh, Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome. Old Rhinebeck is in New York State just east of the Hudson River. It is a place where airplanes from 1903 to the 1930’s are painstakingly restored to flying condition. Anyone who has ever watched a program on the history channel about world war one aircraft has undoubtedly seen footage shot at Old Rhinebeck. On summer weekends people watch World War I-style dogfights and barnstorming acts. I wasn’t there on a weekend, but all the aircraft are stored in open front hangars, and can be seen even on week days.
Before taking off, though, I had to cancel a multi-engine lesson I had scheduled at another airport. Having shelled out the equivalent cost for a set of new spark plugs the previous day, I wasn’t gung ho to shell out another chunk of change. When I called to the cancel the lesson, the FBO operator, said “oh…I guess you didn’t hear about the Seneca…it’s no longer airworthy.” I needed to hear the rest of this story, so I said “I hope nobody was hurt.” Apparently, someone hadn’t chocked the wheels, and it had rolled backwards into a brand new 2005 Mercedes. Good thing I called.
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| Candlelight Lake, CT |
On the way to Old Rhinebeck, I stopped off at Candlelight Farms airport, where I had taken a lesson in a WWII Stearman biplane a few days before. Tim, the instructor, and his wife were there, so I stopped in for a friendly chat. I checked the sectional and departed for Kingston, NY, the closest airport of Old Rhinebeck.
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| Candlelight Airport in New Milford, CT - a small grass strip on a hilltop. |
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| crossing the Hudson River westbound |
Although it is possible to land some planes there, the Aerodrome itself is neither long, nor flat, nor straight, so landings by private aircraft are discouraged. I landed at Kingston, and took a 20 minute taxi ride over the Hudson River to the aerodrome. The approach to runway 33 at Kingston is a real eye opener, because the final approach is made over a bridge across the Hudson. After requesting a top off, I called a taxi. The cab materialized about 10 minutes later. The driver was a sweaty, obese man with long, scraggly unwashed hair who acted as though taking me to Rhinebeck was a supreme inconvenience. After a long and unpleasant taxi ride, the driver dumped me off at the Aerodrome.
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| buildings along the grass runway |
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| a flying replica of an Albatross in an outside hangar |
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| a Renault tank |
I walked through the main gate into a ghost town. I walked through the open hangars examining the old airplanes, but it didn’t take long and I was starting to feel like the trip had been a waste of time. The cabbie had told me an hour in advance for a ride back, so I found the pay phone and called for a pick up. On the way back to main road, I noticed a sign that said “Please See Our Museum before You Leave, Straight up the Hill across the Road”. Considering that I thought was at the museum already, this information came as something of surprise, especially in light of the fact that I had just arranged my departure. I hustled up a curving road opposite where I had come in, and saw the museum when I turned a corner. There were four whole hangars full of airplanes. Fortunately, I still had an hour to kill, and was able to see all the historic items, engines, and aircraft the museum had accumulated.
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| The actual museum, which I almost missed. |
Half an hour late, the taxi showed up to take me back to Kingston Airport. The cabbie was an amicable twenty-three year old self described “musician”, with a piercing in just about everything, which could be pierced. Unpierced areas were heavily tattooed with designs featuring gratuitous skulls. Despite his rough exterior, however, he was friendly and talkative, and the cab ride went quickly. Surprisingly, he knew a lot about airplanes. He told me he was the only one in his family who was not a private pilot. As we came off the bridge across the Hudson, I noticed a herd a small dear standing by the side of the road. I asked him if that was some sort of park, and he said no, and that there were normally deer everywhere in town expect the main streets. Pretty soon we were back at the airport where, he dropped me off. I paid for my gas and departed.
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| approaching Tweed-New Haven airport |
I left on runway 33, banked left, and climbed out over the Hudson where a large freighter was creeping against the current up toward Albany. On the way back, flying at 2500 ft., Connecticut seemed to be one giant forest with two major cities sticking up out of it. As I neared New Haven, I flew over my mom’s house, my old school, then across the city and the harbor. I was number two for runway 2, and the plane in front of me made an unnecessarily wide pattern, which had us both out over the water. If either of us had had an engine failure, the search and rescue people would be looking for us with a trawler. As I was landing, I checked the elapsed time for the flight: 40 minutes. Later, at home, I calculated the ground speed for the return flight with my E6B. It had been 144 knots.
