Flying on 9/11

I have successfully resisted the urge to join every other blogger on the planet and talk about where I was and what I was doing on 9/11/01. Let me talk instead about what happened to me on 9/11/06.

I was due in Ashland, Ohio, at 10 a.m. for a Pastors of Excellence retreat. The night before, I checked the weather, and it looked like I would not be able to fly myself there (I am not instrument rated, and the forecast was for low ceilings and visibility). I was bummed, because it's a three-hour car trip, but only 45 minutes across Lake Erie in the plane. However, when the alarm went off at 5:30, I rechecked the weather and discovered that conditions were much better than forecast. So, after going back to bed for an hour, I flew.

Everything was fine until I was about halfway across the lake. I noticed that the oil pressure was well below the normal operating range; in fact, it was just above the red line. I landed at Sandusky, Ohio, the first airport on the far side of the lake. My stomach was tied in knots. The only two possibilities I could think of were "bad oil pump" and "catastrophic engine damage." One is expensive; the other is disastrous. After three tense hours with a mechanic named Mark, the problem was diagnosed as "bad oil pressure gauge." Whew!

I took off from Sandusky around 12:30 for the 20-minute flight down to Ashland. Nearing my destination, I announced my intentions on the advisory frequency (Ashland does not have a control tower). Immediately, a voice crackled in my headset: "Aircraft calling Ashland, be advised the Ashland airport is closed until further notice." Before long, I was over the airport and was able to see why. There was a disabled aircraft blocking their only runway. I had to land at Mansfield and call for a ride from there back to Ashland.

I'm not superstitious at all, but I think that's the last time I fly on 9/11.