Rosanna had certainly made this part of the trip worthwhile. Maybe next time I’d get that fish in the boat and get a real picture. I checked the plot from MMTM to KSAC and it was 1,554 air miles as the Mustang flies. I could come down and see Rosanna again by a direct flight.
I flew northwest across the badlands of Mexico, then up the Texas México border along the Rio, which hardly qualifies as a river other than there isn’t any other water anywhere as a contrast. This was only a two hour flight, short compared to so many of the legs.
The first time around the world, I hurried as I got closer to home and got home exhausted. I had decided to relax on the final legs so that I wouldn’t be a danger those last legs. I have to admit, I had to fight off the desire to turn the plane when I landed in Las Cruces and take off for home. Instead, I stuck to the plan and got the plane fueled and locked up for the night.
I had already noticed the change the moment I crossed the border. Suddenly, the ATC was all over me again, and I had to follow the rules. No more being the only plane within 500 miles. ATC at first didn’t want to clear me to Las Cruces and gave me clearance to Albuquerque and clear customs there. I answered, Unable. In ATC speak, Unable has a particular meaning, it says I can’t, the plane can’t or it is dangerous. When a pilot in charge tells ATC unable, they have to come up with a different plan. So they told me to go to Tucson and clear thru Customs. This was before Homeland inSecurity so I answered, Unable. I mean I had filed the required paperwork and they had approved it. Now they want to change their minds? Hell with the lousy bureaucrats. Now a days, with Big Sister running things you have to get permission to fly your own plane home and they assign you to an airport of entry. I wish Jefferson was alive these days. He'd be leading Americans into the streets to take back their own Government. I guess that is what the tea party movement is, people trying to take back their own government. I was going to Las Cruces and that was that. Fuck Customs. I wasn’t carrying drugs. Finally the girl on ATC got it and cleared me to Las Cruces, but I was to check in with the tower once on the ground.
After landing I taxied to the tower, chocked the plane, and met the fuel truck. After I got the plane all fueled and closed up, I went in to the tower, found the phone and called in. The tower supervisor was pissed, I could tell. He told me he was coming down. We went out to the plane and he looked in the cockpit, asked me to open the access panels and how much fuel I had on board. When I told him he was pissed. How come I didn’t go to Tucson? I told him that I just had it filled. He got a little sheepish look and said the ATC was giving him crap about a drug runner. I laughed and he did too. He knew drug runners didn’t use Mustangs since they can’t carry shit unless it was slung under the wing. He said that unless it was a joint there wasn’t anyplace to smuggle drugs on this plane. He told me to lock her back up and off he went, I hope to tell the Customs geeks to screw off and let him run his airport.
The airport is up on a bluff above the city, which is down in a valley. I hopped into a taxi and the driver found the hotel. The hotel had a spa and restaurant. But when I got there, I found out they had a dinner buffet that night. So I cleaned up and came down for the buffet. Back in America I thought as I filled my plate. No more food that I didn’t recognize and no more adventures. Oh well, Home.
I watched ESPN in the room. Boy was that a way to get back into things. The network was full of Super Bowl hype. I found myself getting caught back up in the hype. I was truly home.
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Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2009, 2011