From International Falls on the Canadian border I turned south for the first time on my trip, and after saying goodbye to Graham I headed out across the vast northern forest areas feeling very lonely.

I was heading for my first fuel stop of Cloquet, on the Minnesota/ Wisconsin border [near Duluth] 140 miles and about 2 hours and 15 minutes of flying time. Down below the terrain was beginning to turn into endless miles of uninhabited forest, and my engine began to make louder, peculiar noises the more desolate the area became; it is amazing how the mind can play tricks in a situation like this.

Down below there were no emergency landing places whatsoever just mile after mile of tall pines in all directions broken occasionally by a thin dirt road barely discernable through the trees, needless to say I was very glad to have a Rotax 4 stroke behind me. In the Microlight / Ultralight world when using a 2 stroke you come to expect an engine failure or two; the use of a 4 stroke greatly diminishes this expectation.

I tried to convince myself of all this as I eventually gave up looking for suitable deadstick [no engine] landing places and instead practiced in my mind the art of landing into trees. There are various theories on this highly dangerous maneuver. The one I favour is firstly look for an area of young trees i.e. not very tall and stall or drop into them that way if you and your machine drops through the middle it is only a short distance to fall, usually nose first. Another method is that if there is a small clearing available at ground level dive between a pair of trees and tear off the wings which should bring you to an immediate stop. Landing on top of tall trees is not good because if the tree tops don't support you down you go right through the middle, usually a long way down.

My ultimate destination was Oconomowoc just outside Milwaukee a private field owned by Bob Newburg. I was to visit three trikers there who had contacted me on the internet, but that was 460 miles ahead. I arrived at Cloquet mid morning and the heat turbulence met me about 1500 feet. Down below looked busy, with construction vehicles working on the new runway. As I had come to expect when landing this time of day, I was thrown up and down and side to side. As I lined up on final approach I just managed to flare the wing as a strong hot gust of wind hit and my little tyres squealed as I was thrown to the left.

Quinten, the youngest FBO

I taxied over to the fuel pumps and found 25yrs old Quinten Anderson in charge of a brand new building and runways, all very impressive. Quinten had been the FBO here for 3 years and was by far the youngest I had met. He was also a trainee cop and part time fireman. As I watched the very serious faced State Trooper come and go in his own little helicopter the wind began to pick up and the forecast was not good for that night. I was told the State police go out looking for Marijuana plants, which are often hidden in the middle of the very high sweetcorn crops.

Quinten kindly me took me in his truck the 2 miles to a local restaurant where, after a very tasty burger, I walked back for the exercise. Realising I was here for the night he helped me push my machine into an empty hanger space and offered me the facilities for the evening. Everything was brand new and there was a shower with fluffy towels and a brand new fully fitted and equipped kitchen. Quinten also gave me the use of his computer and I was able to email my wife and friends. As appears to be the norm in the USA Quinten was a true gent and made sure I was comfortable before leaving for the night. The time arrived for my evening meal and digging into my bag I found a few mini tins of Tuna, a bag of M&Ms and a packet of dehydrated potatoes. The potatoes were a disaster and looked and tasted like liquid wallpaper paste, but the rest went down with a Coke, and I bedded down for the night vowing to use a bit more imagination when shopping for emergency rations (as I called my food bag).

Next morning I was up at 4am and in the sky before the sun rose. I had a lot of miles to cover and again a lot more of the vast stretches of forest. My next stop was Sawyer, Wisconsin an oasis in this backwoods wilderness, 75 miles to the south. It was very early when I circled overhead to land. I could see a car and movement below, so expected fuel to be available.

The airfield employee barely gave me a glance as he gassed me up and mumbled “Good Morning”. There was coffee available but it looked private and none was offered, so I mounted up and flew on across many more miles of uninhabited back woods. At one point I clocked up a full 50 miles of dense forest without a break, feeling very very vulnerable Next came Stetsonville a further 85 miles south. By now the trees were beginning to thin out and much to my relief farms were beginning to appear. I fuelled up again at Stetsonville after a quick word with the man in charge. After pointing at the Coke machine he rushed back his grass cutting and I took to the skies yet again.

Next stop was Wisconsin Rapids, a large town and a short 55 mile hop. I was there in less than an hour and was met by Donna, the lady in charge. She managed the airfield together with her friend and also ran a flight school called “Wings”. Donna kindly gave me the airfield courtesy car and I shot down to the nearest restaurant for a good meal. As usual I was starving - not suprising since all I had had to eat in 18 hours was a small tin of tuna and some wallpaper paste.

Back at the airport I was able to purchase sectional charts covering most of the north eastern USA and a new plotting protractor [I keep sitting on them]. I learned also that this was Cranberry country and the funny looking ponds I had spotted as I approached were in fact “Cranberry Bogs “ The berries were grown in an enclosed pond like area, and at harvest time the fruit is shaken loose onto the ground, the pond flooded and the now floating crop fished off the surface using giant nets. Donna gave me a sample of the pure juice; it was very strong and delicious. She then introduced me to the local Quicksilver dealer, Ken Snyder. Ken had a hanger nearby where he builds and teaches his customers to fly this very light fixed wing Ultralight. I was to meet up with Ken at Oshkosh in a few weeks time where he was Chief judge for the EAA [Experimental Aircraft Association].

Ken Snyder

That night Ken and I went for a late Pizza and on returning he introduced me to his fridge [full of beer]. I blew up my airbed and prepared to get a nights sleep under the wing of his son's aircraft. Todd is a local cop, and I felt very secure as Todd and his cop friends were fellow flyers and would stop outside during the night to check all was well. LEFT: Camping in Ken's hangar

The next morning Ken arrived very early carrying a cup of coffee, and soon I had packed up and soared into a very threatening looking sky. I had half expected to turn back, and in fact made 3 miles and 1000ft before scooting back very quickly. The air, which should have been smooth at that hour of the day, was extremely turbulent and the visibility was bad and getting worse.

Later that day I spotted a mother and two little boys looking wistfully around waiting for an aircraft to leave the ground. It turned out to be Anne with her two sons Zach and Dylan, who were very keen to learn more about flying. I took them to Ken,s hanger and showed them around my machine, and after a photo session and a few ground based lessons they went off home two converts into the microlight world. RIGHT: Zak and Dylan Try Microlighting

I prepared for another night in Kens hanger, this time a bit nearer to the fridge. That evening Ken had to leave early so after giving a few of his friends a trial flight I went off for a beer and a burger with his friend Ron. Ron was a retired metal stress analyst who had grown up in the poverty and crime ridden back streets of Chicago, he had led quite an interesting young life during the 40,s and I promised not to repeat his stories here, suffice it to say not all of his young life was spent on the right side of the law.