Two Kinds of Pressure
Windmills southwest of Childress, TX There is no tra ffi c at the small airport in the Texas Panhandle. That’s good, since there is no time to spare for flying the tra ffi c pattern. I bank the Zenith CH601 HDS, N314LB, line up for short final, manage a rather smooth touchdown, turn o ff midfield for the single taxiway, shut down the engine, jump out of the plane, and, right then and there in the tall weeds, find RELIEF. The adult human body on average consists of 57% water. It seems that more than half of that liquid is now fertilizing the grass. Feeling more relaxed again, it’s time to look for gas for the plane. There are some old hangars, a few rusting hulks of cars in the weeds, and a camper with a pickup truck. Not very promising. I knock at the door of the camper. After a while, the door cracks open. A man slips out, wearing pants and nothing else. I think, "Probably got him out of bed," and say, "Sorry to bother you." He smiles and responds,