![]() ![]() They were, I figured, quietly cranking out Hail Marys. Initially, I was concerned that I might have embarrassed him in front of his friends, but I doubt they saw a thing. “ Whoa amigo, por favor!” I pleaded in a foreign tongue as I put my pinkies on his yoke (an ancient flight instructor reflex). With the finesse of a ballerina gone bad, he stabbed the floor with the left rudder pedal then rolled the wheel to the right as if applying a finishing armlock at a judo tournament. “ Huh? Hold on for a crosswind? What am I missing here?” “ OK,” quipped the pilot, “ hold on, we’ve got a crosswind.” “ Wind 340 degrees at 15 knots,” replied the tower. ![]() It was a relatively normal flight right up to the point where we turned a five mile final for runway 30R at San Jose International Airport. A nice enough fellow in a Piper Comanche, accompanied by two friends, was headed in my direction and offered the copilot’s seat. I experienced one of these unusual events many years ago when hitching a ride to a speaking engagement after my plane developed mechanical trouble. After all, strangers can teach you some interesting things, and some strange things, too. ![]() Now that’s a rule I seldom bother to use. ![]() “ Never fly with strangers, unless you fly stranger than they do.” With a little practice, it’s possible to keep the airplane within inches of the runway centerline during a crosswind landing. ![]()
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