I believe I am stricken with a virus known in medical circles as “irrationalis behaviorus.” It is characterized by expressions of emotions such as crying hysterically and maintaining unrealistic expectations. The most severe cases of the virus are found in aircraft owners.
Or, in my case, former aircraft owners.
You may recall that I sold my second Citation Mustang earlier this year. Awesome airplanes and the best bang for the buck ever made by Cessna/Textron. But, I finally came to the conclusion that I could no longer afford the operational costs of a jet. And combined with not having a business to take advantage of the tax benefits, I decided that my time was up.
That decision lasted about six months.
In the interim, friend Larry King generously offered to let me lease his fine M2. However, he promptly departed for 70 days on an around the world adventure in his airplane.
Have you ever been without an airplane for months?
I began to softly cry myself to sleep each night. I dreamt about loading Garmin software, filling tires with nitrogen and wiping bugs off windshields. Upon returning from his journey, I confided to Larry about my strange behavior.
“Can’t you take medication for that?” he asked.
“Larry, I am already reading old copies of Twin & Turbine out loud in the middle of the night in my bathroom,” I responded. “Patty says either buy another plane or chew some of Peaches’ CBD dog treats.”
I still can’t afford a jet. But then, I couldn’t afford to own one before. Indeed, this lack of reasoning is a symptom of the virus. I visited my internist, who verified my diagnosis and told me that there is currently no known cure. It seems all the government funding for the malady has been diverted to build the southern border wall.
In order to find a cure, I first had to admit my addiction to turbines. And, a strong preference for one on each wing. I know all the arguments of single versus twin, but in the end, the twin will likely get you at least a little closer to your destination after an engine failure.
I began to “irrationalize” perhaps owning a King Air. Surely this would be cheaper than a jet. My capital investment would be less. No monthly engine reserve deposit. Parts prices are cheaper. My internal temperature began to rise. I think this is called a fever.
I consulted the internet, a place always full of excellent factual data. There were many King Airs available and well within my price range. I spent hours looking at pictures taken in the best light possible. I fell in love with one loaded with avionics and engines and propellers. Patty and I went to take a look.
Its gleaming paint sparkled under the high-intensity lights in the hangar, but something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Perhaps it was the age. The airplane’s logbooks had years of handwritten entries. It was older than my son – and he’s over 40. So, I passed.
I soon realized that buying a well-used airplane is full of pitfalls. I needed professional help.
Stay with me.
Fly safe.
