I couldn't get away from Sulpher Springs airfield fast enough, but of course as I said earlier the problem was the man in charge not the town, which was a lovely place. I was now heading into Oklahoma, north, to a place called Stigler, as always it was chosen at random because it fell within the 130 mile criteria when I drew a line on the chart in the direction I wanted to go. I never made Stigler!

130 miles because that is all I can show on the map case that is strapped across my knee without having to turn it over, in the slipstream wind very difficult. This also represents approximately 2 hours flying and by then I will usually need the toilet and a cup of tea or coffee it also leaves me a good margin on my fuel without trying to stretch it. I can carry up to 13 [US] gallons. I have no idea what to expect at most of the airfields I land in. Most of them it seems are not well used but all with impressively long runways, in this part of the country almost all are North/South orientation. With the exception of the smaller private fields they all have a runway lighting system that can be switched on by an approaching pilot like me by clicking the radio on/off using the correct frequency. Particularly useful for arrivals in late evening and possible fog. Microlights don't fly in the dark. I stay well away from the larger International airports which are well marked on the sectional charts and avoid entering their controlled airspace where possible.

Stigler was 160 miles to the northeast well into Oklahoma and my route included some pretty wild and desolate country. I cheated on the chart by folding out the first 30 miles but a quick check showed nothing unusual in that section. Once airborne from Sulpher Springs where there was almost nil wind I climbed to my usual 2000 ft and immediately picked up a very nice tail wind.

A quick explanation to the few that don't understand the effects of wind on aircraft: My Mainair Blade flies through the air at about 75 miles per hour cruising, and that stays pretty constant, in nil wind that is the speed I cross the ground below. Things are a lot different in windy conditions though. For simplicity, flying at 75 mph, if I have a head wind of 10 mph I will only cross the ground at 65mph, and a tail wind will increase my ground speed to 85mph. With the 20mph tail wind I was now whizzing along at 95mph and making great progress. It was a lovely clear day with some fair weather puffy cumulous about 50 miles ahead in my path. I was heading for Indian country the home of the Choctaw Nation and had to cross a range of mountains called Ouachita.

I reached the mountains within an hour and climbed to 5000 ft to avoid them, by now my ground speed had reached well over 100 mph and was climbing by the minute, and now at this altitude it was fairly cold. Down below the view was glorious with vast areas of forest cut by the occasional mostly brown dirt roads, almost no sign of life anywhere.

As I sped across this wondrous landscape I began my usual day dreaming if my engine failed and I had to land out on these tracks how long before a car came bye? How long would my small bag of food last? These areas were known for their timber wolves and bears I quickly rummaged through the pouch in the side of my cockpit and pulled out the penknife, a 4 inch blade! Not a lot to fight off a hungry bear! Or a pack of wolves! While contemplating the “Grizzly” fight and could I outrun a pack of wolves etc , I glanced at my GPS which indicated ground speed “Oh No”! 117mph and still climbing, by Microlight standards I was fairly rocketing along.

Now this might sound good news, get there faster nice cup of coffee or tea sooner, phone home etc but that GPS [global positioning system] indicated that down below it was blowing a gale at least 45mph and climbing. We only normally fly in winds at most 25 mph and to make it worse Stigler was about 20 miles on behind a mountain I would be landing downwind of the mountain so would pick up the harsh rotor and turbulence as the wind howled across the top, which can be pretty hazardous for my little light machine.

I quickly checked the GPS and my nearest alternative was Wilburton a small isolated town and airfield 15 miles to the west but nestled in a vast valley and probably no wind turbulence, as usual I was wrong again! My ground speed had now reached 120mph! I turned left and began to drop from above the broken cloud at 5500ft above the valley floor. As I had almost passed Wilburton, easy to do at this speed I was now flying in the opposite direction with the wind on my nose! I pulled in the control bar and throttled back entering a fairly steep dive to increase air speed and lose altitude quickly thinking that the wind might decrease further down.

I was pointed straight at the airfield now about 14 miles ahead and shot down through the nearest cloud I was traveling now at about 20 mph .The upper air I was leaving was cold but very smooth and I anticipated the worst as I rapidly descended, the turbulence down there was going to be bad, but probably not like Stigler would have been. I was not disappointed, as I approached about 3000 feet my little machine began to buffet and shake but not too bad I could almost enjoy this I thought . My ground speed had now stabilised at 18 mph, so I could expect a landing wind of about 50 to 55mph, great, my arms will ache after this one.

Now at 1500ft above the airfield my Blade was becoming more and more difficult to keep on course as the howling gusting wind below hit the various obstacles further upwind of the valley creating invisible waves rotors and vortices which hit me before dissipating and reforming on the next set of trees and obstacles further down wind. I climbed back to 2500ft which eased things slightly and after what seemed like hours was to the north of the runway about ½ mile downwind, I pointed the nose directly into the wind glancing at the distant windsock which stood out solid and pointing right at me. Making a quick blind radio call on the Unicom frequency to tell anybody that was interested that I was here, no answer and down there no cars, bad sign, no breakfast, [my stomach again] Heaving the control bar back as far as my stomach would allow [some would say not far] I attempted to lose height quickly. “Oh No“ it wouldn't come down!

Here I was over 2000ft over the thankfully very long runway and the wind and thermals were keeping me aloft. Suddenly leaving that thermal I began to descend rapidly and for a short time I found that I was suddenly swooping down at a tremendous 1400ft per minute. That lasted for about a minute and I picked up another big thermal I had one last trick before I would have to go around and try again, the last thing I wanted, as the buffeting I was experiencing was horrific. I pulled the right wing down to the max of 60 degrees and immediately followed with the left and then alternately left and right. This has the effect of stalling each wing in turn and provided each turn is small it is possible to stay on course and lose altitude fast. It worked - I dropped like a brick towards the runway and at the right moment flared the wing, I landed almost like a helicopter and stopped dead more than 2/3 down the long north/south runway into the face of a howling wind.

It was still not over I had to get tied down and stabilised before I was blown over. I parked on a grass strip pulled the left wing down into the wind and tied it down using ground screws and placing my heavy rucksack across the tip to help. Made it out of a potentially bad situation yet again! My arms were in a bad way and aching badly I was very tired and needed to eat but looking around, the place was totally deserted.

In the shelter of the wheel and keeping one hand on the flying wires I made some coffee on my little gas stove, using an old mosquito net as a filter, and tucked into a Muisili Bar and a small tin of Tuna then sat down on the grass until somebody appeared. I wasn't about to leave my machine in these conditions.

I began to reflect upon how sturdily these Mainair Trikes are built, not Tornado proof but easily withstanding the battering I had just put it through, and as a bonus I was well over a 100 miles further north of Dick Caldwell. I immediately left my little machine to the mercy of the wind by falling fast asleep.

I awoke about an hour later at midday and the wind was showing signs of dying off, my leg was cramped where I had jammed it through the wires at the wing tip, I rolled over to stand up and felt a something crush beneath my left shoulder as I got to my feet I took a look and nearly died when I saw the remains of the biggest spider I had ever seen, its huge hairy legs still moving and its body fluids staining my shirt. I lost interest in sitting on the grass and decided to explore the nearby hanger and outbuildings.

The hanger was locked and the outbuildings were open, spotlessly clean and empty except for a few chairs and magazines left behind there were toilets hot water and a shower again all perfectly clean. At the far side of the hanger was a big caravan [trailer] lived in but nobody at home.

About 3 hours later Harold, a very nice elderly gent, arrived to cut the grass ready for a model aircraft gathering at the weekend. He almost immediately offered to run me into Wilburton for food and fuel. That day at the local garage I had some of the best Pizza and Coke I have ever tasted, I was starving.

Back at the airport John Hart and his wife Pat arrived. They were retired and were setting up home in the nearby hills and temporarily caretaking the airfield. John was a retired army helicopter pilot and has served a number of terms in Vietnam losing many of his friends in the process. He was also part Choctaw Indian. John gave me permission to camp out in the airport buildings and found a spot in the hanger to push in my aircraft, bad weather was on the way and I was very glad to get me and my flying machine safely tucked away, still with bad memories of Texas tornado's. I got all my equipment into the buildings and set about choosing a bedroom, looked like a 2 or 3 day wait. I chose the less private room with huge windows on two sides where I could watch the oncoming storm and the airconditioner was working. Next door was a shower with unlimited hot water, a toilet, and a phone just outside, this to me was the Ritz. The place was spotless, Johns wife Pat had done a great job. I carried an armchair from the abandoned pilot lounge and set up home tuning my little short wave radio to the distant BBC World Service.

Time for bed I was worn out, back in the hanger I connected a mini air pump to the Trike battery and began the 2 minute job of inflating my mattress, 10 minutes later it still was no firmer. My next difficult decision fix it or chance the hard floor, a big softie, I went for the fix it option and about an hour later was fast asleep.

During the night the storm front passed through I slept through the lot, now we had strong winds again, I was going nowhere. John appeared with some coffee and we returned to his trailer to check on the weather channel on TV. The weather information and forecasting system in this country is way ahead of the rest of the world with free access to an hour by hour information system for pilots, boats, and the general public alike. They have a 24 hour national TV weather channel, the detail is incredible. On the way to Johns trailer home he pointed out the entrance to the underground Tornado shelter and showed me how to get in. It had been full of water and he had just finished pumping it out. John had left the army and retired up to the wilds of Alaska but now he and Pat another 10 years older had decided to return to Oklahoma to finish their days. He had just returned from Oklahoma City to buy a huge trailer he was to return to Alaska without Pat to pick up the rest of his belongings and take them to the nearby military veterans land trust where he was building his next home. The trip up there was about 5000miles one way. This is a big country!

At lunchtime he took me along to a Choctaw Indian meeting where the local Indians who could make it in from the outlying settlements met once in a while to eat and discuss local issues including relationships with the nearby tribe of Chickasaw. They made this unarmed white man very welcome. It was all very interesting and done without the usual paint, feathers and whoops as usually portrayed on the movies. I learned a lot about the modern Indian, of course we are all aware that the Indian wasn't the aggressor but defended their land as vigorously as the American nation does in modern times. I knew it was the white man that invented scalping but was shocked to learn that the British were the originators! As I tucked into my dessert I glanced around and noticed that one or two of the older Indians was examining the top of my head. My genes have decided that the top of my scalp can reflect the sunlight, I was glad of that.

John then took me to the Choctaw Council HQ, as we got onto the main highway the storm clouds built up overhead and the lightening streaked all around. Some miles on John suddenly stopped and pointed, almost on top of the impressive Council building the lower black clouds were starting to send down thin fingers which were beginning to turn , the start of a massive Tornado. We were ready to run the other way when thankfully it disappeared. Secretly I was a little disappointed as the last time I encountered a much smaller version it was dark and I didn't have the time to use my camera. I got a guided tour of the impressive building and the museum and bought my wife Kerry some earrings from the little shop.

We returned to the airfield via the local shops and I picked up my supper and some cold beer. By now the weather had cleared so I decided to show John and Pat what my Microlight could do. After a show off spin around the airfield I climbed to 1000ft, the valley opened up around me. I had not had time to look when I arrived but now I saw a very beautiful place surrounded by mountains and green forest. The area was rich in natural gas deposits and here and there were positioned drilling rigs. I flew around the nearest much to the delight of the crew who waved madly I had spent years working on similar oil rigs so knew that this would break the monotony for them. The weather forecast for the following day looked good, I got to bed early after a few beers.

June 15th

I awoke to thick ground fog at about 6am and a lovely low temperature of 60 degrees this was heaven after the heat of Texas and it would get better as I progressed north. I left before the fog had dispersed and just over the horizon it was even thicker in my direction but by now had risen to about 1000 ft and was broken.

My first stop for fuel was Tahlequah a Cherokee Indian name here I found a brand new set of airfield buildings and Mark a local contractor putting the finishing touches to a set of fuel pumps. As the tanks were new and untested he kindly drove into town and brought me some fresh fuel while “Dutch” a local pilot found me some sectional charts that I lacked for my onward journey. These can be hard to obtain from the smaller airfields. His real name is Wilhelm a second generation German but the locals had decided to call him Dutch. He rang an English friend Nick who also came over for a chat. Nick from Derbyshire in the UK was now resident in the USA had opened a Garden center and had built his new home almost on the runway.

I now headed towards Pittsburg [no not the other one on the east coast] this was in my next state “Kansas”. On my journey to Pittsburg I covered some very pretty and very desolate country and made a low level detour 20 miles west to the state lines intersection of Oklahoma, Kansas and Missouri. Using the “Zoom in” feature on my “Skymap” I was able to fly a very accurate tight circle flying into each state in turn. Down below it was a very lonely place with nothing around for many miles I expected to see a red dotted line or a fence or whatever down there, dividing the states, but nothing.

Landing at Pittsburg an hour later I found a big and brand new place with all the facilities and the usual big smiles and friendly people I had come to expect. I was immediately offered the airport car and drove the few miles up the road for a meal and welcome cold drink. Now tanked up I waved goodbye to the great airport staff who had offered me camping facilities if I had stayed, and headed a further 70 miles north to Ottawa Kansas [not the Canadian one]. This would get me there just before dark and hopefully give me time to de-rig my machine, tie it down and set up camp for the night.

The wind began to pick up about halfway there and my ground speed once again began to increase quickly, this was due to an approaching weather front that I could see on the horizon ahead, nothing but thick black ominous cloud and this was still Tornado country, I began to sweat. I wore thin gloves so couldn't bite my nails, I just kept staring at the approaching front and at my ground speed indicator now at 105 mph about 35mph on the ground and increasing, my instrument showed Ottawa 10 miles ahead easily within sight, but it just wasn't there.

Was this the first mistake on the database I had relied so heavily on? Checking the chart in the growing darkness all looked ok and the land marks tallied but where the ---- was it! I had almost passed it when I spotted the runway down to my left in the gathering gloom. Two huge DC3 Dakotas were parked up on the ramp and not a car to be seen. I landed and coasted down the taxiway to the office and line of hangers, deserted !

I couldn't risk removing the wing on my own in this wind which was now gusting above 35mph so I parked up between two hangers for shelter while I thought about what to do, to the north the gathering storm was closing in. In the absence of help to remove the wing from the Trike without it taking off, I decided that the only thing I could do was make myself as comfortable as possible on the concrete and stay awake all night hanging onto the wing, better than another Cleveland scene.

With no grass to hammer in the tie downs I unloaded the rucksack and placed it across the wing tip, that would do for a start. I then began to hunt for some concrete blocks etc that might be left lying around to use as anchors, and as I passed the phone booth noticed an emergency number printed above. Why not, they could only say no better than a very miserable wet and stormy night on the concrete.

A 15 years old boy answered who turned out to be Chase the FBO's son and one of the most pleasant teenagers I had ever met. Chase quickly explained that his dad Tony was in Las Vegas and his mother Lisa had gone out visiting for a few hours but he would ring some friends and get right back to me. Within 20 minutes he arrived at the airport with his friend Bruce a retired bank clerk and the spitting image of the old singer and actor Burl Ives. Bruce and Chase opened the hanger and shifted things around then helped me get my machine inside. They didn't have the authority to allow me to sleep in the office tonight but were glad for me to bed down in the massive hanger, I jumped at it and after declining an offer of a ride into town for a late supper I blew up my airbed and went fast asleep in the corner alongside a pile of cardboard boxes warm and dry, they were my heroes that night.

As promised Chase and Bruce returned at 7.30am and immediately contacted Wendell Barker who turned out to be a true gent. He opened up the Dakotas for a tour and photos. These aircraft are a legend and these particular two were newly purchased as a part lot of 19 by Wendells employers Dodson International, the one I examined and pretended to fly was used to fly the South Africa President Mandela around.

Next up into town for a steak breakfast with Chase and Bruce. Turns out chase is a “Star Wars” nut, and Bruce during his career at the bank was held up by an ungainly robber who with a sack over his head leapt over the counter and fell flat on his face, jumping up he put a loaded gun to Bruce's head and of course asked for the money. Bruce proceeded to argue with him [ most of us would pay up and look unhappy]. Luckily Bruce survived and the armed robber drove off with the loot a car chase ensued and after shooting a policeman he himself was shot and killed by the same officer, as he fell injured.

Back at the airfield Chase handed me over to Wendell who had invited me to look over Dodson's huge facility a few miles away. Dodson's are an unusual company, they are aircraft breakers and buy old and wrecked airplanes of any type from all over the world. The ones that cannot be repaired and sold on are pulled apart and the parts refurbished and sold as secondhand. At the plant Wendell handed me over to Russ who gave me the grand tour, it was very impressive, acres of parts from instruments to wheel axles of every type of aircraft imaginable [except mine] he took me to the “Bone Yard” outside, row after row of aircraft shells including John Wayne's and John Travolta's old personal jets. Some were whole, minus the engines some were stripped down and some had been crashed beyond recognition . On one wrecked jet I noticed splashes of dried blood in the destroyed cockpit and said nothing, I learned later that the two pilots had survived but were badly injured.

On arriving back at Wendells office he made the tea and it turned out he was the company lawyer apparently there is a lot of red tape involved in buying and selling scrap aircraft across international boundaries. Within minutes Mr. Bob Dodson the man himself appeared and after a short 90 second conversation [he is a very busy man] I was flabbergasted when he instructed his secretary to take the address of Clatterbridge hospital and send them a donation in the UK, he also instructed her to book me into the local Holiday Inn where all his pilots stay, at his expense. Before I could thank him he was gone I was speechless [extremely unusual] I would have given up that room to have had Mr. Dick Caldwell present when he said that.

That evening before Wendell picked me up for a steak and beer I had taken a long bath used every clean towel I could lay my hands on and tried all of the 150 + TV channels. The next morning I lay in bed till 8.30am thanks a million Bob. The following day was a busy day at Ottawa field, aerobatics pilots from all over were flying in for a competition, I stayed on the ground.

Soon Chase's parents appeared and I took each of them for a quick trial flight they were very impressed and Chase was on the verge of selling his very precious Black VW Beetle and investing in a Mainair Blade. [he is too young to fly and drive]

It was now 6pm and the weather was ideal so I again loaded up, Chase filled my tanks and I headed north once again for Atchison, Kansas,the birthplace of Amelia Earhart the world famous aviator. Tony had phoned ahead and warned Frank and Lita the husband and wife airport managers that I was on my way.

Atchison sits on the Missouri river and is just east of the Potawatomi and Kickapoo Indian reservations. Again I landed at a deserted field almost in darkness as I was about 1/2hour later than planned I guessed that Frank and Lita had given me up and gone home. It was a lovely evening and I parked on a nearby grassy area next to a big crop duster plane and proceeded to set up camp under its wing, Lita and Frank appeared. Frank immediately installed the Blade in his hanger and Lita took me to the Pilots lounge and told me to make myself comfortable. More hot water a coke machine and even a TV. After an episode of NYPD Blue and a wash I drifted off to sleep and awoke about 5.30am.

June 18th

7.am Frank and Lita arrived and took me off to town for breakfast. Frank runs a business at the airport servicing aircraft engines and specialising in propellers. Before I flew on Frank and Lita gave me a whistle stop tour of Atchinson a town with a lot of impressive Victorian style homes and the birthplace of the worlds greatest female pilot. Amelia Earhart was born here and died at the age of 40 years attempting to fly around the world. She was the first woman to fly the Atlantic on May 20th 1932 landing in Ireland much to the surprise of a Londonderry farmer. This flight made her famous she was now the first woman to fly the Atlantic solo and the only person to cross twice, the first was as a passenger, she had also crossed in the shortest time of 20hrs 40 minutes. In 1937 she attempted to fly around the world but sadly never made it after flying 22000 miles the plane disappeared into the Pacific never to be seen again. The last thing this brave woman wrote before disappearing was-
“Please know I am quite aware of the hazards, I want to do it because I want to do it, Women must try to do the things as men have tried, When they fail their failure must be as a challenge to others. - Amelia

My next destination was Council Bluffs in Iowa where I was to meet up with Kevin Rutland the famous English Author and Steve Tweedt only the second Triker I have met on this trip discounting Sun and Fun in Florida. Kevin an ex Teacher from Derbyshire met his wife Anne over the Internet and after many intimate email conversations flew out to the USA on a date and was married within weeks. Before leaving I gave Frank a quick flit around his airfield but I don't think he was overly impressed, much preferring the relative luxury of his flying car[Cessna]. Now packed and fuelled up once again I had a further 130 miles to cover to Council Bluffs and with a slight tail wind. I had phoned Steve and Kevin and Steve rigged up his Trike and we agreed a radio frequency to make contact as I got nearer. I made it in just under 2 hours just before the midday heat had begun to stir up some serious turbulence.

I had managed to talk to Steve, now in the air, from about 40 miles out, and as I landed at Council Bluffs he flew in from the East. Steve and Kevin had arranged hanger space for a few days and the Blade safely tucked away, we returned to Steve's house for some lunch. Kevin promptly shoved 4 cans of ice cold Guinness in my hand. I admired Steve, like Lloyd in Louisiana he had bought a European machine and totally isolated in this form of flying was pretty much self taught, the nearest Triker was many, many, miles away. As I have said before we are spoiled in the UK with probably more clubs, instructors and machines per square mile than anywhere in the world.

During my stay with Steve and Kevin I got to see some of the local landmarks. Council Bluffs is situated right on the border with Nebraska alongside the city of Omaha, and the surrounding rolling countryside is reminiscent of the lovely Cotswolds in the UK . While Kevin restores his new home, and writes his latest book, Steve lives on the other end of town right in the middle of his workplace, he works for his father who over a 10 year period has built a huge and still expanding, high value, high quality housing development. They are not cheap but each one is built to the customers specification and contains a huge cellar complete with a concrete Tornado shelter. No skimping on these homes the quality was very impressive.

Next evening Kevin Anne and I went out for a few pints of imported draught Guinness at Dirty Harrys in Omaha while Steve played in his cellar! I was intrigued to know what went on in his cellar and found out soon enough one evening when with a strange look in his eyes he silently beckoned me to follow him down into the darkness. I was a bit nervous and didn't know what to expect although we had exchanged many messages over the internet did I really know this man? What did the average American do in the privacy of his basement? I glanced quickly around in the gloom for a possible weapon and was ready to run at the first sign of anything abnormal. I nearly had a heart attack when I caught the sound of a chain[ his keys] and he suddenly turned and threw the light switch, there spread across the huge cellar was a fantastic train set. This, like the Ultralights, was a big boys toy; many hours of effort had gone into building up the track system which twisted and turned and crossed and recrossed itself around the room. Train sounds, lights and men's voices issued from the realistic scaled down locomotives as just like the real thing they slowly and laboriously built up speed and were guided around the electronically controlled system. This was every grown mans dream and Steve had done a great job most of it had been cleverly hand built.

The next day we met the local press at the airport who interviewed Kevin and I amid the sound of rapid gunfire coming from a nearby clearing which turned out to be Chuck from the Sheriffs dept organising a small arms “close combat” practice session for the local officers. Chuck was a pistol expert and on finding out that Kevin had never fired a gun loaded up and set up a target. He hit with all six shots, I apparently only hit twice but the other 4 rounds went through the same holes so I was a better shot than him!

June 22nd

Next morning Steve and I were up before first light and as he rigged up to fly from his own field to Council Bluffs Julie his wife ran me there to prepare to fly on this time accompanied by her husband for the first leg. We swapped Camcorders and took off into the rising sun the air was as smooth as glass. We zig zagged around the sky filming each other almost all the way to Whiting Iowa a small airport 60 miles to the north, there, I fuelled up exchanged cameras and flew on. I now had a 130 mile trek to Pipestone, Minnesota - my last state before the Canadian border. I had a slight head wind and the journey was slow and a bit bumpy getting worse as the morning wore on. Within about 25 miles of Pipestone the late morning air was becoming very active, I glanced to the east and from 4000ft could just make out the town of Luverne and the runway of the nearby airport of Aanenson. I had not eaten since the evening before and needed the toilet badly so I throttled back pulled the bar in and swooped into Aanenson through the lower cloud level.

The landing wasn't too rough but the place was deserted. The pilot lounge was open and brand new with all the facilities available including a key and notice inviting any visiting pilot to use the courtesy car parked out the back. I was tied down and in it like a shot driving the short distance into town and the nearest Steak restaurant in record time. On returning to the airfield I filled up from the credit card controlled fuel pumps and once more settled down to let the heat of the day pass and the thermals die down.

A short nap and the use of the toilets revealed a wallet full of money on the floor, somebody hadn't glanced back after pulling up his trousers. While waiting for his wife to retrieve it I prepared to fly on now bypassing Pipestone and heading for Ortonville 125 miles further north.

Two hours later landed at Ortonville and again deserted credit card fuel available and a Pepsi machine tanked up on both and took off towards Hawley east of the city of Fargo just 150 miles from the Canadian border.

Because I will not now complete the 10,000 miles due to the unavoidable delay in Texas I would ask those that have agreed to pay a donation per 1000 miles to make the same donation per state pro rota up to the max of 30 states ie the same amount every 3 states flown over.

States Covered So Far

Florida Alabama Mississippi Louisiana Texas Oklahoma Arkansas Missouri Kansas Nebraska Iowa South Dakota North Dakota Minnesota Oklahoma, Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, South and North Dakota, Minnesota and points East.