Coast to Coast (10 page)

“Pop, look down there quick!”

“What?”

“At the end of the runway. Quick! It’s a duck pond and there’s a doghouse for ducks!”

“Birch, if you’re going to fly the plane—”

“I am, but I know you’re flying with me. I could feel your hand on the control. Anyway, it didn’t seem to want to take off for me.”

“You did fine. The air’s thinner because of the elevation. So it takes longer to get off.”

“You mean the higher up you are, the worse the plane flies.”

“That’s about it.”

“You finish climbing, Pop, and then I’ll fly for a while.”

The air was calm. Below the shadow of the J-3 moved across yucca-covered ranch land.

“See that access road on either side of the interstate?”

“Yes.”

“We could land on that if we had to.”

“Well, I hope we don’t have to.” She looked down at her map. “That little town right ahead must be Pyote. It’s got the kind of four-legged water towers you see in western movies. All the other water towers we’ve seen were round and modern and advertised the high school football team—Bear Cubs … Panthers …”

They flew the distance from Pyote to Pecos in silence.

On either side of the road were fields with pale circles where oil storage tanks had sat in better days. The only green spot was north of Pecos where a rancher had trees and a swimming pool. South of town was an old Air Force base with only the foundations of the buildings left, the long runways disappearing into the weeds.

Birch, shook her head. “There wasn’t a single house between Pyote and Pecos, did you notice, just some red and white towers. You know what I wanted to ask you about?”

“What’s that?”

“On my map it says ‘Street Patterns,’ and out in the middle of nowhere, there are a whole bunch of lines, like streets.”

“Oh, somebody probably laid the streets out and sold mail-order lots and people who didn’t know any better sent in their money.”

Birch was looking out the window. “Western towns can’t hide anything, can they, Pop? It’s all right out in the open, where they dump their garbage, where they play their football games. Should we have stopped at Pecos for gas? There’s not an airport for miles.”

“With any luck, we can make Van Horn, if not, we can land on the access road.”

“Pop, you’re looking for an excuse to land on that access road.”

“I’m not, it’s just comforting to know I can. I’ll fly for a while.”

Birch pulled her yellow visor low over her eyes. There wasn’t much to see. There were a few towns along the interstate, but they had a shut-down look. To the north were the rugged crests of the Apache Mountains, to the south, the forest-crowned peaks of the Davis Mountains.

“We’re climbing up out of the Pecos River Basin now,” Pop commented.

Birch nodded. Her eyes were closed. She awoke an hour later with a start.

The first thing she saw was the gas gauge. The wire was bumping the bottom again. She pulled off her eyeshade and spun around. “Where are we?”

“About twenty-five miles from Van Horn.”

“Are we going to make it?”

He shook his head.

“Not again!”

She faced forward and pulled herself up on the support bars. “So where are we going to land? Not that access road. I knew it. You’re been dying to land on that access road ever since you saw it.”

“There’s not a thing wrong with that little stretch right down there.”

“Pop—”

“And there’s a truck stop … We could land right into the wind. We’ll roll a little longer because the elevation here’s about four thousand, but there’s plenty of road.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. Last night you were talking about being so careful and not taking any risks and how important it—Pop!”

“I can’t hear you. You aren’t speaking into the tube.”

She whipped off her earphones and spun around. “You can too hear me.”

“Don’t talk. I’m busy.” They flew above the access road, turned and circled back. Pop cut the throttle. Birch gripped the support bars and closed her eyes.

She could feel the plane bank as it turned on final approach to land. She glanced over the side. They were so close to the truck stop, she could read the names of the trucks. Then the plane sank slowly and settled with a bounce onto the access road.

They came to a stop and Pop said calmly “Now I’ll taxi to the truck stop and get some gas. Why don’t you go in and get us some hamburgers?”

Pop and Birch walked to the truck stop—Pop to the gas pumps, Birch into the cafe.

She sat at the counter. “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” she said to the waitress.

“What, hon?”

“Did you see us land on that access road? That was us in that airplane. We just landed right outside your window.”

“Well, I missed that.”

“Everybody did, and if they didn’t miss it, they just went, ‘Well, there’s an airplane landing on the road.’ Nobody batted an eye, and we taxied across those cattle guards, and people go, ‘Well, there’s an airplane taxiing across cattle guards.’ Our plane’s parked right down there. You can see it if you look.”

“Well, it sure is.”

Birch shook her head. “Nothing bothers you people in Texas, does it?”

“Not much,” the waitress said.

“I wish I was like that,” Birch answered.

“P
OP, YOU KNOW WHAT
you forgot to do yesterday?” It was day five. Pop and Birch had taken off from Las Cruces, New Mexico, at 7:28 and were now flying toward Lordsburg. “What?”

“You forgot to call out, ‘New Mexico!’ when we passed El Paso.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you were probably worn out from flying over El Paso. Pop, I don’t want to exaggerate, so how long were we over El Paso?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“How high were we?”

“Five hundred feet.”

“I believe that because I could actually read the road signs. Next Exit—Las Cruces.

“I actually know every brick and bush in El Paso,” she went on, “and there was not one place to land. El Paso has everything in the world but a place to land. The only possibility was, like, the Sun Bowl. Pop, where would we have landed if the engine had quit?”

“Well, it didn’t, did it? We made it to Las Cruces.”

“But if it had? Would you have landed across the Rio Grande in Mexico? There were some nice fields over there. I always have wanted to visit Mexico.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather crash in the United States.”

“Well, I wouldn’t. Why?”

“Birch, will you be quiet for five minutes.”

“Yes, after I say one thing about Deming. That’s Deming up ahead. Deming has more billboards leading into it than any city so far.”

Silence.

“You know what my favorite billboards are?”

Silence.

“Those that advertise
The Thing.
Ninety miles to
The Thing.
Don’t miss
The Thing.
Pop, what do you think the thing is?”

“I have no idea.”

Birch turned around and looked at him. “Pop, I am sitting up here feeling so good and talking my head off and you’re going, ‘What? … Nope. I have no idea?’ So what are you worried about?”

“What makes you think I’m worried?”

“Every time you get stingy with words, I know you’re worried.”

He worked up a smile. “I’m not worried exactly but I’m not fond of this head wind.”

“Head wind?” Birch looked out the window. “We have a head wind?”

“Actually it’s a crosswind.”

“That’s why all the dust is blowing across the road,” she said. She was just beginning to get a feeling for the powerful forces in the air.

Pop said, “Yes.”

“It was so calm when we took off. I thought it was going to be a beautiful day. Now there are crosswinds. What happened?”

“The forecast said the winds would be out of the southwest—it’s just stronger than they said.”

“And I especially wanted to go fast today. I figured out yesterday—you know those big maps they have on the walls at airports? With the neat little string so you can measure how far you’ve got to go? Well, I measured at Las Cruces and we only have seven hundred more miles. I figured two good days and we’d be there.”

“Look down on the ground.”

“What am I looking for?” She leaned against the window.

“See the shadow of the plane?”

“Yes, I love shadows from the air. That’s how I look for other planes. Like when we’re going through a controlled area, the radio will say, ‘Three six two, traffic at two o’clock, three miles,’ and I look on the ground—for the shadow! Like, look at the telephone poles. The shadows make them look ten times as tall as they are.”

“Look at our shadow,” he said.

“Oh, I see what you’re getting at. Out shadow’s at an angle to the road.”

“This is what’s called crabbing. You’ve seen a crab going along the beach, haven’t you, sort of sideways?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what we’re having to do because of the crosswind.”

“You don’t like to crab?”

He smiled. “I don’t like to land with a crosswind. It’s hard to keep the Cub straight on the runway. It wants to ground loop.”

“I know what that is—it’s like a wheelie.”

“I did one ground loop in the service, and the whole landing gear had to be replaced.”

“I don’t want to waste time replacing things, so let’s don’t ground loop.”

“I’m going to try not to.”

Birch looked at her map. “Where are we going to land?”

“The road’s turning south now, and we’re going to cut straight across and land at Lordsburg. It’s an east-west runway, which is bad, but there’s a dirt strip into the wind—the Flight Guide calls it Dirt-ruf. Maybe we can land on that.”

“I hate to leave the road, don’t you?” Birch said. She watched the trucks and cars grow smaller. “It’s like leaving civilization.”

“We’ll be following the pipeline.”

“A pipeline is not civilization.”

Birch leaned against the window. The land below was sandy barren except for cactus and sagebrush. Ahead, the sharp peaked hills were blue against the morning sky.

Neither of them spoke.

They crossed a dry creek bed. The plane was so low that Birch could make out animal tracks in the pale sand. “Cow tracks and some little ones,” she commented, “jackrabbits or lizards.”

“The Continental Divide’s along here somewhere,” her grandfather said.

“Well, I’m glad there’s something along here. Is this a desert?”

“It doesn’t quite qualify.”

“Why not? It’s desolate enough. Oh, look there’s a house—what do people do way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Live.”

“Well, that’s obvious.”

She leaned against the window to look at the gray, weathered house. The cows in the creek bed were so dusty they blended into the ground.

“See the windmill,” Pop said. “That tells you something about the wind.”

“I would never have noticed that, Pop. You pay attention to things like which way smoke is blowing and what way clothes are blowing on the line and how waves are blowing on lakes. You notice a lot of things, Pop. You’re—what’s the word I want? Sensitive, I guess, though you’re more than that.

“You know, when we started on this trip, there was something I wanted you to tell me, and I couldn’t ask. I wasn’t ready. And then when I talked to my dad on the phone, he said he’d talk to me when I got home. Which relieved me.

“And then I realized, Pop, that I was relieved partly because I wanted to hear it from you—whatever it was. Because I am probably closer to you than I am to anybody else in the world. And if you told me, I would take it better. I mean that as a compliment.”

Pop said, “What are you muttering about up there?”

“Oh, nothing. I was paying you a compliment.”

“I’d like to hear it when we get down from here.”

Birch nodded. “I’d like to tell you—when we get down from here.” She and Pop fell silent then.

They passed another creek bed, and Birch checked the tracks. “More jackrabbits, cows, I swear I see horned toad prints.”

The foothills were seamed with dry washes now. Stunted shrubs had collected in the deep wrinkles.

“Well, do you feel better?” Pop said. “We’re meeting back up with the interstate.”

“I’d forgotten about that.” She looked up at the line of traffic in the distance, no bigger now than a string of beads. “Yes, I do feel better. I like company.”

“And that’s Lordsburg ahead. I’m going to call them on the radio and see if it’s safe to land on the dirt.”

“W
ELL, EVEN I KNOW
it’s windy when the wind sock is sticking out like a pole,” Birch said.

“Be quiet,” Pop said.

He turned on his radio and set the frequency. “Lordsburg Unicom, Piper Cub three oh three six two.”

“Plus, we are the only fools in the air. I have not seen one other plane.”

Pop waited. When there was no answer, he said again, “Lordsburg Unicom, how do you hear Piper Cub three oh three six two?”

“They’ve probably closed up and gone home,” Birch muttered to herself.

A voice from the radio said, “Cub three six two, Lordsburg. Hear you five square now. Go ahead.”

“Lordsburg, Cub three six two is ten miles east, over the interstate, landing Lordsburg. Say wind and traffic and what is the condition of runway one-nine?”

“Cub three six two, wind is two zero zero at about twenty knots, gusting to twenty-five or thirty, favoring runway one-nine. No reported traffic. Runway one-nine is dirt but condition is good. No problem for a Cub. Over.”

“Roger, Lordsburg. We’ll be coming up on left base for one nine in a couple of minutes. Keep me posted if there is any significant wind change.”

“Rog, three six two.”

“It looks all right,” her grandfather said.

“How fast is twenty knots?”

“Don’t talk to me now.”

“Well, it’s my life too!”

“Between twenty-five and thirty miles an hour!”

They approached the airport in silence. Pop turned the J-3 on final. He said into the radio, “Lordsburg traffic, Cub three six two turning final for one nine.”

Birch could see the runway below—dirt with yellow arrows on the edge made out of automobile tires.