Part Two: Vacationing in the Heartland

It was a bright and sunny moringing in Ozark, AR as we pulled into your average “stop-and-rob” convenience place. It was replete with an abundance of things to eat and drink and even had a “two-holer” restroom (even in Arkansas! How about that?!).

As I was pumping gas and slurping a Diet Pepsi, sharp-eyed Connie managed to catch a glimpse of a low-flying biplane as it swooped in for a landing at the nearby airport. She was quite certain that it was a noteworthy aircraft. We immediately pursued the matter and quickly found our way to the small airstrip less than a mile away.

On the tarmac sat a gorgeous Boeing/Stearman A75N1 (PT17) biplane. Connie nailed that one dead on. I was ready to give her a promotion for her outstanding observation abilities but was fresh out of medals and bars so I gave her a hug. That seemed to work for her. I almost broke a toe bailing out of the Toyota to get to the plane and its pilot. The G-forces on my camera must have been tremendous.

In only a moment we could tell that this was no ordinary Stearman and that the pilot was no ordinary pilot. The paint job was the first clue. Though the wings and tail feathers were decidedly WW2 military yellow, the fuselage was not. It was white with a (somewhat) modern stripe on its side. Likewise, the wheel covers were checkerboard and not plain. On the side was a clue as to why things were different. The sign on the side said: “The Stearman has flown to every U.S. state and Canadian Province in North America”. That adds up to “special” to in my book!

The pilot was Alan Lorenzo of Princeton, NJ who was flying the plane to Florida from a recent engine overhaul in Denver. He had stopped at the small out-of-the-way airport for fuel. As it turned out, they had no fuel until the next day so Mr. Lorenzo had to make other plans. Clarksville, AR is only 35 mi. east of Ozark and has an airport so I suspect he flew there. He was kind enough to give us one of his brochures about his travels. Connie related to him that her father, Ernest Freeman, and his friend flew a Stearman from Florida to California in 1962. I tried to hide the green of envy that was slowing strangling my face.

After snapping a dozen and a half pictures, we piled back into the Camry and boogied out for Memphis. It was a good day on I-40 in Arkansas.

The next big city we encountered was Little Rock. Little Rock sits approximately midway between Ft. Smith and Memphis and is the capitol of Arkansas. It must have been a nice unremarkable day in Little Rock when we passed through because I hardly noticed it. I really don’t recall even taking any pictures and don’t remember anything particular about it. How interesting. I may still have been in Vian or Tulsa.

The large bridge that spans the Mississippi River from Arkansas to Tennessee loomed before us by mid-afternoon. It was quite the deal to look down on river traffic and then over to see the 32 story stainless steel Memphis Pyramid that greets all eastbound travelers. Although it isn’t readily apparent, The Pyramid Arena is the third largest pyramid in the world and is actually taller than the Statue of Liberty.

There is a lot to see in Memphis but we were there to see Connie’s brother, Steve, and his wife, Paulette. Perhaps we can check out the rest of the real estate at some future time. This was the first time she had the opportunity to visit Steve since they moved to Memphis some 15 years or so ago. So, visiting was the more important matter, to be sure. The next day we did swing by Graceland which is near Memphis International where Steve is a FedEx pilot. Truthfully, neither of us are big Elvis fans so it was sufficient to just lay an eyeball on the place. I had already been to Beale Street a few years ago and Connie was unfamiliar with it in the first place. So, we really didn't miss all that much that I could tell.

Steve guided us to his place via the cell phone. He lives in an awesome suburb about 15 min. or so out of Memphis. It was little wonder that they like it back there. The fall coloration of the trees and such was spectacular (and you know who took a ton of pictures).

“Visiting”, as far as I’m concerned, means food as well as fellowship. Amazingly, the folks in Tennessee also think that way. We certainly had a grand time visiting but we certainly ate well too. Paulette must have picked up some pointers back there on how to stuff friends and relatives. She prepared a king’s repast for us for dinner that night and then breakfast the next day.

For lunch, Steve hauled us to a “Carlton’s Restaurant” where we quickly discovered why it’s one of his favorite eateries. There was no way I was going to the Midwest and not eat catfish; it wasn’t going to happen. Soooo….that’s what I ordered. Lo and behold if it wasn’t the best catfish I’ve ever eaten (and I’ve eaten a lot of catfish in my time!)! Had I not been making so much noise eating and flinging my fork so hard, I probably would have noticed what Connie and Steve were eating. However, I don’t recall. Anyway, I now had enough fuel stored to attempt the next leg of our (local) trek. That would be the airport, of course.

Since Steve owns a hanger at the Charles W. Baker airport at Millington, TN, we soon found ourselves waist deep in wings and wires. I wanted to see his WW2 Ryan PT-22 trainer up close and personally. It has been disassembled and is undergoing restoration or we would have taken it for a hop around the pea patch. In addition to the Ryan, Steve owns once of the sharpest Cessna 140’s I’ve seen in a long time. She's a beaut. I was sure that she was whispering in my ear urging me to lovingly stroke her struts and pat her propeller. I dunno; I could be wrong.

However, an even greater thrill was lurking over in a nearby hanger where Steve’s friend, Paul Bjornland, has a pristine glistening shiny red 1944 Howard DGA15P. Stay tuned and don’t touch that dial to hear about how Ol’ Brother Ran almost needed a new Huggie when asked if he wanted to fly that big baby.