Alltrikes

There's a little grass strip amongst the tussocks in a nearby valley that I love.  It's on a river terrace above a small gorge surrounded by soft green hills, and although it's only a half hour's flight from home it has a wonderful feeling of isolation.  You can scoot in on a fine summer's day, stroll down to the river, cook up some sausages on a fire, read a book in the sun, and generally feel like you're the last person on Earth.  Here's a shameless selfie of me and Penrod (the XT912 in the background) enjoying a sunny afternoon of solitude on this strip:

So, join me on today's story on short finals.  It's winter, and cold - well below zero - and we're dropping into this strip for a final preparation before heading to great altitudes and even lower temperatures in the Alps.  We're coasting over the fence at the northern end of the strip, engine at tickover, floating now... there's the mains down... hold off the nosewheel... a bit more... and we're down, rumbling along the bumpy grass, brakes on, rolling to a stop at the end of the strip.  Taxi back, and shut down.  Nice!

But wait - a black shape has lumbered onto the far end of the strip, followed by another... and another... and another... ye Gods!  A regiment of cows is emerging from the gorge and invading the far end of the strip!!  Big, black, organic mobile arrestor hooks; a million supermarkets' worth of steak, mince, milk, cheese and yoghurt, randomly distributing themselves along the three hundred metres of river terrace that is supposed to be my takeoff.  And... AND... they're coming my way, an advancing front of raw beef armed with saliva-coated tongues, soft dewy eyes and cloven hoofs!  Now, the strip is wet and soft - it's winter, there's been a ton of rain and recently snow, and these cows each weigh as much as the Empire State Building.  Their hooves are puncturing the strip with craters that could gobble the front wheel of a trike.  And these look like just the sort of cows that would enjoy hopping up and down on one foot.  I'm sure if I looked into one of these cow-foot-sized depressions I'd see upside down underdressed Europeans sunbathing on a Spanish beach.  Also, It's widely known here in Kiwiland that it takes over 200 litres of water to make 1 litre of milk.  What's less widely known is that cows poo sixteen times their body weight every minute when they see a trike.  Right over my airstrip.  Crikee!!!

"Ah... SHOO!  Please girls, I just need this terrace for one minute!  C'mon, please, you look thirsty and there's some lovely fresh water down by the river..."  I run towards them waving my arms.  As you may know, cows startle but they're curious.  And I don't speak cow, but I'm sure that I lip-read one say to her neighbour "Say, Daisy, that bloke in the black and silver flight suit waving his arms like a demented pilot grounded by cows looks JUST LIKE the guy who was feeding out extra-delicious hay from the back of a tractor yesterday!  Let's take yet another massive dump in the middle of the airstrip and go and check him out!"  And did you know that to cow's ears, a Rotax 4-stroke aircraft engine sounds IDENTICAL to a diesel engine on a Massey Ferguson tractor pulling a trailer-load of hay!!

RMMMMMMMMRattlerattleSQUISH/SPLAT/SPLOP/SPLATTER... phew!!!  That was the messiest takeoff ever but we're safely airborne with no cows tangled in the wheels and heading for the Alps.  That should be where the story ends, but of course there's a little more.  I'm ignorant of this at the time, but look: we're now 8000 feet above Bealey township. Lumps of semi-frozen cowshit peeling from the spats, mudguard and undersurface of a trike are raining down on Bealey's peaceful inhabitants from a clear blue sky.  Drivers on State Highway 73 through Arthurs Pass are wondering if cows have developed the art of flight.  Swinging back over the Craigieburn Range, skiers enjoying the fresh powder and July sunshine are startled by the sound of a microlight.  Looking skywards at the small craft buzzing by a few hundred feet overhead, they are even more surprised to find that it needs some basic training.  "Mummy, that trike SHAT on me!"

Sigh...