From Oconomowoc I headed due south towards Chicago Illinois to a field just outside the city called Cushing. Here I was to try and link up with a fellow Trike flyer, Mike Hudetz, who is an instructor and French Trike distributor. I settled in for an uneventful and smooth 1 ¾ hr flight and after an hour was treated to the far distant skyline of Chicago way over to the East.

On the ground at Cushing it was mid morning and the field was totally deserted . I left a message on Mike's answer machine and sat waiting for a reply and any signs of life. Suddenly a small boy appeared from nowhere and began racing towards a mobile home at the end of the road. I shouted and asked if he knew Mike; without breaking stride he looked at me with a mixture of total surprise and terror, then his skinny little legs became a blur and he flung himself through a door and was gone. It was like something out of Alice in Wonderland - I am not a pretty sight in the morning but surely not that scary.

I finally made contact with Mike who was unable to make it out till early that evening, so with little fuel and no food I reluctantly decided to turn East below Chicago and fly to Joliet, the next airport on my track, which was only 22 miles on.

By now the wind had increased to 20 mph gusting to 25 mph so on landing at Joliet I decided to sit it out till later in the day. Here I was able to obtain fuel and walked on down the road to a fast food joint to eat. This airport was bigger and busier than most I had visited and because it was nearer the big city it was not as friendly.

My next stop was La Porte Indiana, 75 miles on to the east. This would take me right across the outer edge of Chicago O'Hare controlled airspace, one of the busiest airports in the world. The next hour and a half was rough but uneventful and I was glad to leave Chicago behind because for the first 30 miles I was forced to fly over small towns factories and power stations, less than ideal for emergency landings should the need arise.

La Porte looked very quiet as I landed followed by two other aircraft. One of them, a Gruman, contained Eric and Tom who as usual were very friendly and with a big smile shoved a cold beer in my hand and refueled me on the spot. They then made contact with Rich and Alan of the La Porte Aeroclub.

The club members had been busy building an impressive new club house in their spare time, with everybody doing a bit. They gave me the door lock combination, invited me to tie my wing down on the BBQ area outside and helped me to carry my gear in. The couch looked comfortable and the water was hot. Next Alan arrived back in the airport courtesy car, shoved the keys in my hand and gave me directions to the local restaurant. It was dark by the time I had finished tying down and had a shower so of course, after obtaining a sandwich and salad, by following the simple instructions, I got lost on the way back! The 10 minute round trip turned into about an hour by the time I saw the airport lights again. I got to sleep about midnight and was up and packing again by 5am.

Alan arrived to see me off. It turned out he was another Vietnam Veteran, a helicopter gunship pilot. They were known as the Air Cavalry, and this was a very vulnerable form of fighting. Alan was one of the many, many unsung heroes of this war who was lucky to return home and tell the tale. Unfortunately they didn't get the heroes welcome they deserved at the time.

The next town along my track east was Angola, Indiana. I had left La Porte in a very light rain which died out but the visibility decreased rapidly; time for a precautionary landing and sit it out. About 5 miles back I had spotted a nice long straight back country road so did a “U” turn, found it, and after flying too and fro a few times at 200 feet couldn't see any power or phone lines, so I landed.

I was almost immediately met by Ed, William and Jeff, the local sweet corn and soya farmers from Sandy Acres Farm just up the road. They gave me a cold drink as we chatted about farming and they told me of their worries that some of the local land was being purchased by housing land speculators. Much of it had been in the families for generations; they thought that farming would soon be dead in this area.

By mid morning the sky had cleared and I prepared to depart. With cameras clicking I turned the key switch - and nothing happened! I soon traced it to the switch itself, which had suffered in the Cleveland tornado and had chosen this moment to finally give up the ghost. My hosts raced back to the farm to dig out an old toggle switch to replace it until Mainair could ship me out a replacement.

Ready to go again an hour later and the men now joined by Rita, Jeff's mother, I said my good-byes and got airborne heading east again towards Angola.

Now the air was rough in the hot midday sun and as I passed over some lovely farming country at 1500 feet I was surprised from time to time to see farmers ploughing the fields using horses or oxen, and quite a number of horse drawn carriages along the roads. I dropped into Angola about an hour later and was met by the operators Tom and Kevin who lent me the airport car to get into town for a meal. They told me that what I had seen were Amish people from southern Europe. Their religion forbade them to use electricity or any complicated mechanical device. They dressed very simply in home made clothes and were very private and 100% law abiding. The rule about electricity related to the house only though and some of the sect took this literally and wired the barn, installing TV sets and other “complex machines”.

My next stop was Bowling Green in the state of Ohio 80 miles further east. On the way I diverted 20 miles due north to fly across the state line intersection of Indiana, Michigan and Ohio.

As I approached Bowling Green airport from a long way off I could hear a small aircraft talking to the ground control. He was pulling an advertising banner within the airport control pattern. I radioed ahead and told him I was approaching from the west and was going directly in on the east runway 09. He saw me as he completed one of his tight circuits over the little fairground nearby, and said on the radio “Oh I can see you now - I thought you were a real airplane”! I replied giving a quick explanation of what I was doing and pointed out that my aircraft's circles were a bit bigger than his real one he went very quiet.

At Bowling Green, the strange name of a nearby town, I quickly fuelled up, used the toilet and flew on. It was getting late and it didn't look like the ideal place to camp the night. From Bowling Green I began to turn South East. I had been following Lake Erie but now had to make a huge detour south to avoid the cities of Cleveland and Akron, Ohio. This was a massive area of restricted airspace and dense population and although I could have wound my way in and out of the tightly packed controlled areas it would have been difficult and hard to stay out of trouble.

Firstly I had to find a place to spend the night and Ashland, well to the south of Cleveland, was next on my track. I arrived just before dark at a lovely little friendly field just outside town. The flying club at the airfield were just getting ready to head off home but stopped to chat, and the Manager, Danny offered me the office couch and helped me unload my equipment. Space was found in a nearby hanger for the night and Mark, a club member, took me into town for fuel and to pick up something to eat - in other words the usual great American welcome.

Danny had only just got married and meant to propose at Niagara Falls at the right moment but the surprise went out of it when he pulled the ring out of his pocket by mistake while looking for loose change. He eventually popped the question on a back road well away from the Falls.

After a very comfortable night and an early breakfast I was on my way again leaving behind some lovely people. From Ashland I headed for a point south of Akron below a town called Canton and again turned this time North East towards a town called Edinboro just below the City of Erie right alongside the Lake. I had the coordinates of a small private field there called Carlson (the name of the owner) and had been invited by Scott, a wannabe Trike flyer in the process of building his house and a Trike at the same time.

My first stop from Ashland was Warren, 105 miles on, which took me about 1 ¾ hours. At Warren I refuelled; the place was almost empty except for a glider club operating off the main runway. They were using the radio but strangely refused to acknowledge my repeated calls for clearance to depart so, avoiding any incoming gliders, I left anyway.

Warren was just within Youngstown's outer exclusion zone so I was forced to fly below 2500ft for the next 20 miles as I tracked North. It was hot and very rough. I had 70 miles to cover to a grass strip alongside a house way outside town, and I kept my fingers crossed that Scott had got it right or I would be looking for an alternative. Within an hour I had crossed into Pennsylvania and a short while later was over Carlsons field with the distant figure of Scott waiting patiently by his Truck.

My email daveblade912@aol.com is now discontinued. Please use davegmzcc@aol.com

For some pictures of Dave's visit to Oshkosh have a look at my article on aviation.about.comNick