News Photo by William Kelley The author’s friend, Alan Scheen, poses for a photo next to Clyde, the author’s Cessna 140, which was tied down in the ditch on a road west of Talkeetna, Alaska, between Anchorage and Fairbanks, in July 1971.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is the 30th in a series of stories adapted from William Kelley’s book, “Wind Socks, Grass Strips, and Tail-Draggers.” Last week, Kelley flew around the Anchorage area and then received an invitation to join a friend near Mount McKinley.

We followed the river through flat country and reached Talkeetna with no trouble.

The sky thickened and threatened rain, but visibility was adequate.

The town of Talkeetna lies at the intersection of the Susitna and Chulitna rivers. The Talkeetna River merges with them at Talkeetna. Then the Susitna River heads toward Anchorage.

From Talkeetna, we flew across the rivers’ intersection west of town and followed the highway north 10 miles.

Alan had been there before and knew where the trail to Rick’s cabin met the road.

Road traffic between Fairbanks and Anchorage was light. The road was under construction and was closed except for local traffic. Work crews graded and hauled gravel in preparation to lay asphalt.

Two factors influenced me to land on the road and park on the road bank. Local people landed their planes on the road and traffic was light.

A third factor came into play: It is exciting to land on the road.

As the paving crews came through the area, they made paved pads for the locals to park their planes. Landing on the road was acceptable.

We scanned the road to check for traffic and made one pass eight to 10 feet above the road for three or four miles to check conditions. There was one car, but we flew over him with enough altitude for safety.

The road was in good shape from being graded and packed, despite the rains. It was crowned, so water ran to its sides, and it rolled with the terrain. We floated for a mile or more, using power and flaps in the landing configuration, until touchdown near the trail back to the cabin.

We pushed the plane into the ditch, since there was no parking pad or tiedown at that juncture. We hauled rocks and sticks and fashioned tiedown anchors.

The right wing was down, as was the tail, while the left wing stuck into the air over the road. The steep angle caused fuel transfer from left tank to right. Alan packed his pipe and was in the process of lighting it when I spotted fuel.

There was a steady stream, though small, which spilled out the right filler cap.

He lit his pipe several feet away.

There was no sign of Rick or his Chevy.

Mist became rain, and still no ’55 Chevy.

We stood beneath the wing and waited. A construction-crew shack had been placed beside the trail. I tried the knob and the door opened. We waited inside, out of the rain, and entertained mosquitoes.

Outside, the mosquitoes gathered. The only logical explanation might be that any breeze that existed when we landed dried up as the rains began. Without the breeze to blow them away, the little blood-suckers multiplied. They weren’t at critical mass, yet, but I had a revelation as to why mosquito netting was necessary on the list of required equipment.

It was cold. We were dry, but cold and hungry.

Evening approached.

We had walked a half-mile to a cabin spotted from the air. Smoke came from its stack, so we knew it was occupied. They had asked us to wait there, but we felt it better to wait beside the road. Now, we realized we were alone for the night, cold and hungry, when we could have had heat and food.

There was a wool blanket on the plane seat as an added cushion and in case of emergency. My sleeping bag was behind the seat. There were two candy bars in the plane, too.

About 11:30, we got those items from the plane and made camp. There was an old couch. We sacked out on it and shivered through the night. In the sleeping bag, it was tolerable, but Alan shook so much I thought he might come apart some time in the night.

Rain still fell when morning light filtered through the dusty window. I arose to check the world and threw the sleeping bag over Alan. He quit shaking a few minutes later. Once he warmed up, he arose. We greeted the day and watered a couple trees.

Some time later, the ’55 Chevy chugged up the road, strained by its load and the grade at that point. Rick had stopped in Palmer to see a friend and decided to spend the night.

Now, though, each of us was loaded with gear and supplies in a pack sack to carry to the cabin.

Over hills, through tree- and brush-covered bog, we trudged boot-top deep in muck. A short pause two or three times, and it was back to pack we went. The three-mile trip to the cabin took us an hour. A body would get in shape or die, if 150-pound packs were hauled in there several times a week.

We rounded the last turn in the trail and came face-to-face with the girl who had kept wild animals at bay. That beautiful, 5-foot, 6-inch, brown-haired, blue-eyed girl with the infectious smile ran to greet her husband.

A malamute pup yelped at her heels.

I fell in love with her.

Check The News next week for the next installment. William Kelley was a teacher for 32 years and has been a pilot since 1966. He lives in Herron on the family farm where he was born and raised.