The climbout from Mississippi Light Aircraft was a huge contrast to my arrival; the air was smooth due to the now fast disappearing sun and lack of reflected heat which creates much of the turbulence. During the day it can be pretty vicious and up to now it has made me work pretty hard on my landings. I had just over an hour of daylight and was heading for Bogalusa, which was just over the state line and my first stop into Louisiana.

I joined the circuit over Bogalusa beneath a now rapidly darkening sky, and while on my final approach scanned the area for a nice grass strip to pitch my tent and mentally calculated how long it would take to inflate the air bed I was sitting on, and should I have a cold tin of beans with my apple for evening meal? The place was deserted but there at the far end of the runway sat a huge tough looking man on a fancy motorbike. Squinting hard to pick out the swastikas on his jacket , I taxied over practicing the Hells Angel glare [at least what I thought it should be] and decided to stay in my machine so that if the rest of the gang were hidden nearby I could get airborne very quickly.

As I approached he was smiling and didn't have a weapon I could see. It was Brad Busby, a biker and engineer at the local paper mill. He had been enjoying the evening on the porch with his wife Tammy when I flew directly overhead in semi darkness. Brad was a wannabe Ultralighter and had been at Sun and Fun to learn all about it. He went back home and returned with Tammy and his truck and insisted I sleep in his RV [caravan] overnight. As we loaded my gear on and tied my flying machine down Brad asked a million and one questions. Back at the house Tammy fed me and even tried to get me to drink cold tea !!

Next morning Brad woke me at 4.30am and we loaded up and headed for the local breakfast and fast food joint called Hardees where I was met by the strangest sight - there was a long queue at the door of local retired men waiting for breakfast at 5am.!! (See "Breakfast in America" - Ed) Turns out they all meet here every morning to swap stories and gossip and generally chew the fat, but at 5am? and retired? They usually disperse at about 11am to go home for a few beers and a kip. I loaded up my Blade 912 while Brad told me he was very seriously considering a number of Ultralight options to get in the air The Mainair Blade 912 seemed to be the answer for reliability and strength [but as I was to find out later not totally Tornado proof]. Brad, like many Trike flyers in the USA, would become part of a small but very rapidly growing band of flexwing weightshift machine owners. He has since contacted Trevor Sayer, the British Mainair dealer and instructor in Florida, to book flying lessons.

We said our good-byes as Brad headed off to the early shift at the mill, and after meeting some of the early arriving airport staff including Farley the FBO and having a quick photo session I headed west once again while the sun was still very low in the east. This is the best time to fly and I was able to fly no hands while I plotted my route to Lafayette via False river Louisiana. A weightshift trike will fly straight and level hands off quite safely with the right amount of throttle and in still air.

One hour 45mins later I was radioing my intentions as I glided into False River from 5000ft. I was so high because below me was some of the most inhospitable swampland in the USA, and I was warned that if I had an engine failure and landed in it the alligators would get me - and if they didn't the snakes would. If I managed to avoid all that the mosquitoes would finish me off - so the height was important to allow me more time to pick my spot.

False River Airfield nestles on the banks of the great Mississippi River and is a lovely place Just across the river I could see an old fashioned paddle steamer moored and on my left the city of Baton Rouge, famous for its Blues singers. False River was run by an FBO [fixed base operator] and airport manager, Yvonne Chenevert, and she was very excited when she saw that I was raising money for Cancer Research. She and her friends are members of the American Cancer Society and organise various local events to help out . She immediately contacted the local newspaper in Baton Rouge and a few friends to come on over for a chat.

Meanwhile I wandered outside to look at the local Sheriff's helicopter parked alongside my machine. He was nearby, supervising a group of stripe suited convicts working on his car. Some of the convicts came over to ask a few questions and look longingly at this potential escape route; I neglected to show them how the controls work. More fuel, a quick newspaper interview with Tommy Comeaux of The Pointe Coupee Banner and the editor of Baton Rouge Rhythm City entertainment guide newspaper, and I was climbing out to the Southwest headed for a private field just outside Lafayette airspace owned by an internet friend, Lloyd Lekandecker - and right in the heart of Cajun country.

By now it was about midday, the worst time to fly, and the American heat turbulence decided to show off. It was the worst I had encountered, and it was very difficult to stay on course. Imagine a rollercoaster of the worst [or best] kind but where everything happens at ten times the speed and that will give you some idea. This isn't dangerous of course, just hard work - tedious and very uncomfortable. These machines are built to take much, much worse - but the fun had only just begun!!

This was a 45 minute flight to Lloyd's place, but it seemed like 2 days. I radioed ahead from 12 miles out but he was on the ground, therefore although he could hear me quite clearly, I just got a crackle. Soon, a lot nearer, I started to descend. I had climbed to 5000ft to find calmer air - as the ground heats up the turbulence effect rises and so gets higher as the day wears on, and I had found none up there but it was now terrible lower down.

I approached Lloyds field using the Skyforce Skymap GPS [Global Position Satellite System] and couldn't find it; all I could see was a group of houses, a bar and some people standing around - but Lloyd confirmed that was my landing place - The Worst Airfield In The USA. At first I thought it was a joke but Lloyd, who was now visible between the bar and a large tree - in an area crossed by multiple power lines - said he was standing on the main runway!! The wind was coming from all directions down here at 500ft , and my machine was very difficult to control as the turbulence was at its worst at this height, while the landing site was no longer than the average tennis court.

In those few seconds it dawned on me what was going on. . .

About 250 years ago the British entered Nova Scotia in Canada and to the dismay of the French settlers were told to swear allegiance to the King or get out. Of course being French they very politely declined, and were immediately herded onto transport ships and taken from the land that had soaked up their sweat for 3 or 4 generations and dumped a few thousand miles to the south in the inhospitable swamplands of what later was to become Louisiana [named after the then king Louis of France]. Lloyd and his Cajun family and friends were out for revenge [Cajun is short for Arcadia, the name given to the area by these people at the worst point of their oppression; it means Paradise]. I had to prove myself to be accepted.

Down I went, clearing the first obstacle of power lines on the approach. I had now pulled the control bar right back in an effort to cut through the turbulence by increasing air speed on approach, not the recommended techique for short field landings. I dived at the threshold, avoiding a very big tree almost in the center of the runway and touched down just past the tree. Looking ahead now I could see very heavy powerlines across the end of the very short runway, no second chance then! I couldn't power out, so I had to stop.

Now moving across the rough ground at about 60 miles per hour, I pulled the control bar into my spare tyre that I keep around my stomach, wishing I had put my corset on that morning to get a few more inches. This and the footbrake has the effect of killing the ground speed rapidly. Now standing on the brake and promising to eat less chocolate, I swerved to avoid the local boozers bar directly in front of me; by now all had staggered out to see the crazy Brit hit the pile of empty beer cans against the back wall. Noting their look of disappointment I now headed for the main road a few yards on and stopped with my front wheel almost on the white line.

Lloyd had thoughtfully stopped the traffic just in case. . .

Looking on a few more yards If I had crossed the road I would have run down the deep ditch on the other side, and if I had avoided that I would have caught the many trees in Lloyds front garden before running straight through his house into his lounge and on into his giant TV set , and serve him right!!!