Now that I had proved myself Lloyd and his wife Jolene together with their friends Charles and Jessica set out to cram as much as possible into the few days that I had. It seemed they wanted to show what their forebears had achieved in the few hundred years since the British ditched them in the most inhospitable piece of real estate they could find at the time. With almost nothing but the clothes they stood up in and now stranded in a land of dangerous swamps, man eating reptiles, poisonous snakes, disease and death, many of these innocent French settlers paid for their pride with their lives.

Despite the English king they struggled and made the best of it calling their land Arcadia [as I mentioned earlier this means paradise] and that is what the Cajuns built for themselves. They are a very relaxed people and justifiably proud of their achievements and French ancestry, many still fluent in what is a now their own modified version of the French language. They have their own brand of music which I guarantee is impossible to listen to without tapping your feet and feeling happy , it is to me, a mix of French ,Irish and Country and Western and is popular worldwide. They also have their own unique style of dancing which ranges from the simple two step to the very complicated Jitterbug .

Most people have heard of Cajun cooking which takes many forms and usually contains liberal amounts of hot peppers , forget the tasteless copies from the supermarket freezers there is no comparison to the real stuff. The most famous of the Cajun cuisine of course is the Crawfish which looks like a cross between a large shrimp and a miniature lobster. When they know its party time and a hot bath is in store for them they become quite aggressive and can deliver a hefty nip, I know from experience. When the weather is dry these creatures bury themselves deep down in the soil until the rain comes. The Cajuns farm them as a delicacy and cheat by providing ideal conditions by using natural or manmade bayou's [ponds]. They drop in mesh, mini lobster pots baited with corn and once in the pot they cant get out until they are popped into the cooking pot for a 10 minute hot bath .I went out in the boat with Lloyd and Charles to earn my supper pulling in the pots and riding shotgun ready to shoot any snakes that were also after an easy supper. As I was to find out it wasn't the snakes that bit the hardest it was the Crawfish !

After cooking, the steaming Crawfish are dumped on a trestle table in a huge mound and it's every man and woman for themselves. Twist the head and pull off, squeeze the tail and gently twist and pull, sounds easy but I got left a long way behind until I was rescued by Jolene and Jessica much to the annoyance of their husbands as the peeled mound grew on my plate they muttered that they had been married 30 years and never had that done for them and what did this Limey flier have that they didn't ?

Lloyd who had contacted me on the Internet is an Instrument engineer working for a large oil company. He has a French Cosmos Trike which had originally been damaged by one careless owner. Lloyd ordered a new wing which itself arrived damaged! The day after I arrived we went out flying and Lloyd complained that the Trike was flying crooked and the wing had a bad pull to the left. We later found that the left wing batons were out of profile and the hang brackets were bent! Unlike us Trike flyers in the UK who have access to numerous instructors and knowledgeable friends as well as the local factory, people like Lloyd crave local instruction and guidance for their choice of flying machine, Mainair are attempting to remedy this by appointing distributor /instructors wherever possible around the USA.

In contrast Charles is an up and coming GA pilot, flying what he calls real airplanes! he farms Crawfish and runs a computerised high tech machine shop from a converted barn in his back garden, deep in the Cajun countryside, in which he turns out very high quality parts for the offshore oil industry, deep sea diving machines which look a lot like the crawfish he farms! at the same time he is building his own airplane and all of this on his own, a man of many talents.

Jolene , Lloyds wife together with her 5 sisters look after their ailing mother on a full time basis working 24 hour shifts turn about, sitting with her all day and sleeping alongside her at night. This sort of dedication is rare in the western world today. That evening as she came off “shift” we went off to the local town fair for none stop Cajun music, food and beer.

Next day Lloyd whisked me off for a tour of the swamp on his boat, Lloyd used to do this for a living and I got to see a lot more than the tourists, as we disappeared into the deepest wildest parts. It amazed me how he found his way around this mind-blowing infinite maze of deadends and very narrow side channels. This is a very beautiful and wild natural place full of protected wildlife which included many poisonous snakes alligators a vast variety of exotic birds and gigantic rats! and many creatures I had never seen in their natural environment.

It was almost time to leave and Jolene's family threw a BBQ to celebrate! I was kept busy giving rides to potential Trike flyers and then just as it got dark Jolene who has a real fear of flying and definitely would never fly in a trike, suddenly jumped in the back with courage gained from Mr. Budweiser , and we were off, she of course loved every minute of it as anybody who tries it does, and has sworn to fly with Lloyd when he has more experience.

Next morning I was up at 4.30am and getting my equipment ready and loaded for the onward journey west across the Sabine river and into Texas, that was 100miles away and just past Dequincy my next stop over for fuel before a further 100 miles into Cleveland east Texas , just on the edge of Houston Intercontinental airspace.

I had checked the weather forecast which said that a storm front was on the way through but I wouldn't meet it till I was safely on the ground at Dequincy; they were wrong! About 70 miles out from Lafayette and an hour of calm air and daydreaming the visibility started to deteriorate and slowly got worse. I spotted a suitable farmers field and landed to wait it out. Once safely down the air appeared to clear lower down .My biggest fear was the numerous tall communication towers found everywhere in the USA, some as tall as 2000ft not all shown on the chart and not all lit with flashing beacons. As I was flying as low as 500ft you can imagine I became very interested in their position.

The local farmer suggested I follow the highway as he thought that there were no towers along that route, which would take me right into Dequincy about 25 miles further west. Off I went now at 500 ft and eyes on stalks looking for the telltale tall outline and immediately spotted two dead ahead and I also spotted another plane about 200 ft below me heading in the other direction, he seemed in a big hurry.

Just as I decided to turn back after hearing on the radio various distant aircraft heading for shelter I ran into the storm front now a lot further to the east than was forecast . I was now gripped by a giant invisible hand and shaken till my teeth rattled , all over the sky. Cursing my stupidity and fighting for control I made a “u” turn and applied full power with the bar back, to obtain full speed and flew like all the hounds of hell were chasing me, downwind, in the opposite direction. The front was in fact moving at the same speed as me so I couldn't fly out of it. About 3 miles back I had spotted a potential landing site just in case, and I headed for that.

Still being violently thrown around I kept my head and flew low across a lovely meadow looking for power lines rocks and potholes , all clear, so I turned and lined up, in my haste and distracted by the storm front my huge groundspeed told me I was about to land downwind , potential disaster! So calling myself names that would have put a sergeant major to shame I circled again and was down. This was Boggy Creek Cattle Farm near the town of Ragley and run by Greg Henry and his wife Mary. They quickly helped me to tie down and took me to the house for shelter where I met their son Wesley, a medical student. As I waited for the front to pass I chatted to Wesley and showed him Nicks Micro Pages and my website. I explained to Wesley that to us Brits everybody in the USA was a Yank; Wesley explained that is more than a bit of an insult to a southerner as to them a Yank is a northerner! He decided to complain via the website. (See 'He Calls Us Yanks' - Ed). Meanwhile Mary, his Mum, was cooking up a storm of her own in the kitchen and said that if I stayed a few hours I was welcome to a traditional Louisiana meal of Ettouffee, a kind of Cajun stew made from shrimp and fish and delicious. I reluctantly decided to head off to get some miles under my belt instead and with the help of Wesley loaded up, posed for photos and soared into the clearing sky west towards Dequincy.

Dequincy was all but abandoned but with a lovely new asphalt runway and no local interest at all. There was a huge rough hand painted sign NO FUEL and I was at least 5 miles from town! I removed my underseat tank and was just preparing to march down the road and stick my thumb out when Ricky,the local gas leak inspector who lived in a mobile home on the airfield, appeared . He very kindly ran me to the petrol station where I got all the fuel I needed together with a take away of sausage and mash. At the airfield Ricky directed me to the abandoned office. It was now well past midday and I hadn't eaten since 5 am. The office was now home to a group of pigeons, I chased some of them out and settled down amongst the piled up furniture, piles of scattered papers and pigeon droppings to eat . Now too hot to fly through the increasing heat turbulence I lay down on the floor and fell fast asleep.

The trip to Cleveland of about 1 ½ hrs was uneventful and within ½ hr I spotted the Sabine River, the state border , and 1 hr later was over Cleveland airfield on the edge of Houston Intercontinental airspace. Cleveland is a small town but its airfield's main runway is a fantastic 1 mile long ! I was to stay overnight and be picked up by Sam, an old friend, the next morning after he finishes his shift as a Deputy at a downtown Houston prison. I met Sam and his wife Shirley almost 20 yrs ago when I traveled to Texas to work in the booming oil industry. Sam was then a Police Officer in the Houston PD. I was lost and looking for directions, so followed Sam's patrol car for a while. Sam, very suspicious, led me into a vacant car park and jumped out, hand hovering over his pistol, and demanded to know what I was up to. We became firm friends and he and his family including 18 month old Nathan visited us in the UK. Nathan has since grown up, obtained his private pilots license and joined the army. Sam, a career officer eventually retired and now supplements his income by watching over prison inmates in one of Houston's high rise prisons. This is a fast growing industry and Sam expects to be in full employment for a few more years yet when he and Shirley will high tail it to west Texas and the high country to a piece of land in the mountains they have set aside for full retirement .

Now over the very impressive runway of Cleveland [eat your heart out Lloyd] I landed in very calm conditions and a lovely evening and was met by Alf Vien, the FBO, who helped me to tie down on the “ramp” [aircraft parking area]. Gear unloaded and machine securely fastened Alf offered me his truck to find a place to eat and suggested I bed down on the comfortable office couch . The weather forecast for the night was light rain continuing for a few days but I was staying over 2 days so it didn't effect me. I checked the tie down straps and went to bed.

About 3 am I was woken by a dramatic sight - there was continuous lightening in every direction , not the odd one or two flashes then gone, as seen in the UK, but non stop lightning across the sky in every direction. I just had time to stand up and think “how pretty” when what I later was told was a freak tornado hit the airfield . My machine was pointing into the wind direction and within the space of a few seconds was bodily picked up at the front, breaking three of the four tie down straps, and thrown backwards. Now the right wing which was dropped down into the wind began to lift and this time I could see that if the last tie down strap broke the whole thing would be blown away, definitely hitting the next aircraft along and totally destroying my own. Dressed only in light cotton shirt and pants and a pair of beach shoes I sprinted out grabbed and pulled the right wing tip down into the wind direction and threw myself across it face down. All this in the space of a few seconds. Soon the wind picked up with a vengeance and the storm hit full strength, the lightening began to strike around me in the local area and the rain, now being driven parallel to the ground, came in a continuous sheet. Back at the office only about 50 ft away I saw the lights go out as the town power supply failed so now apart from the lightening flashes I was in total darkness. As the storm raged around me I assessed my situation; I was lying in about 2 or 3 inches of water and spilled fuel flat out and looking up at the wing above me. By now I was beginning to shiver violently and my feet were going numb. I could see from the lightening flashes the left side landing gear had broken away and the cockpit had settled down on the left breaking away the left hand exhaust unit. I weigh 15 stone [200 pounds] and the wind was so strong that it was lifting me and the wing bodily at least 6 inches off the ground but it was not moving along the ground, and if I hung on I thought I could save my plane from further damage as well as the next few along. I lay there for about an hour while the storm battered everything I heard later that the local township suffered from flooding, felled trees and broken power and phone cables.

The opposite wing tip was pointing up in the sky of course, and it suddenly dawned on me that it was a tempting target for the still frequent lightening and guess who was hanging onto the opposite metal end and lying half submerged in water and spilled petrol?

Things that went through my mind during that hour:

“A cup of tea would be nice”

“I wonder if I will light up like in the cartoons if the lightning strikes”

“Pity Granada TV are not here to record this - it would look good on film”

“I can't feel my feet . . . I wonder if they are still there”

Slowly the storm began to pass. Once the wind had died to a reasonable level after about an hour I was able to half crawl and half stagger to a wheeled iron BBQ parked against the fence, drag it over and tie the wing tip to it. Next, now getting the feeling back in my legs and still shivering uncontrollably, I found some small hollow concrete blocks and piled them on the BBQ.

I got back into the office, stripped off and - unable to find a torch - pulled all my stuff out of the rucsac looking for dry clothes. That is when Alf arrived. He didn't laugh at the time of course but since has related the story of the unexpected sight of me standing in total darkness, occasionally lit by the receding storm flashes, hair [what is left of it] standing on end, half dressed, surrounded by heaps of dry and soaking clothes with a look of total disbelief on my oil streaked face. It usually gets a good laugh .

Welcome to Texas weather Dave!

When dawn arrived we restored power and waited for the floodwater to drain off. I assessed the damage and contacted Mainair after sending digital photos by email . It soon became apparent that it wasn't the end of the trip. Apart from the left hand exhaust system being bent and a broken propeller blade the most expensive part ,the Rotax engine ,was undamaged. The wing and Trike required a full strip down and check and various parts replaced . A very time consuming and meticulous job, but with Jim, Roger and Mark of Mainair on the other end of the phone and the right parts I reckoned I should be back in the air in about three or four weeks allowing for parts assessment and delivery.

Alf, the airport Manager and FBO, has invited me to sleep on the very comfortable couch to be next to the job, for as long as it takes. He, along with others, takes me to the local store for food and essentials and when Alf gets sick of the smell he takes me home for a shower. They have found a corner of a hanger for me to work in and supplied me all the tools I need to sort it all out. Sam and Shirley supply me with bedding and whisk me off for a square meal at regular intervals.

Welcome to Texas people Dave!

Alf is Canadian born and an ex cop from the Alameda County Police Department North California in San Francisco Bay. This was during the late 60s and early 70s, and of course the Hippie and Flower Power era. From the stories I have heard from Alf about those days, I suspect the only difference between them and liberal minded Alf was the length of his hair and the uniform. He met his wife Sherry, a Texan, at high school and eventually moved here to Texas and into the muffler [exhaust pipe] business. After years in the 'rat race'' as he puts it , and by this time a fully fledged pilot instructor he decided to sell up his three shops and take on Cleveland airport. This he does for the love of flying and the freedom to charge around in his truck blasting out his favorite rock music. As it is a non profit, non salary job 57yrs old Alf gets by by giving flying lessons, while local taxes cover the airfield expenses. This is pretty much the same throughout the USA . Earlier on this year Alf's much loved dog “Lacey” was killed by a car and now lies in the shadow of the office and the F101.

It is the 18th May and I have just received my replacement parts I will update when I am ready to continue my journey West

Regards