News Photo by William Kelley The author’s Cessna 140 is seen parked at the Grangeville, Idaho airport in July 1971.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is the 42nd in a series of stories adapted from William Kelley’s unpublished book, “Wind Socks, Grass Strips, and Tail-Draggers.” Last week, Kelley got hassled by customs as he landed in the Lower 48.

I was so angry and tired that I wasn’t being rational.

I had worked myself into a lather just because I wanted to test myself. The goal was to fly from Alaska to the Lower 48 in two days. I had done it, but for what? I probably missed some nice country just because I was running an endurance test with myself.

The episode in Spokane didn’t end there.

“Say, I’d like to get fuel now,” I said to the lineboy when I walked out of the customs office.

“Sorry, sir, but the truck’s broken,” he said. “I won’t be able to fuel you till morning.”

“Now, wait a bloody minute. I just paid $25 for the privilege of flying at night, after hours, and, by damn, I’m going to fly.”

By that time, I had the opinion that it was all a conspiracy among the people in Spokane. I figured somebody had told the lineboy to not fuel me, that I might be a whacko.

Really, I’m lucky somebody didn’t call the cops and have me thrown in jail for threatening folks. There were several uniformed people around the ramp.

“OK, I’m going to fly anyway.” I started for the plane. “If I run out of fuel and kill myself, it’s your fault.”

I included the customs official in my statement, as he had just come to the door to see what the commotion was. I’m sure they were all worried about my flying.

I stormed into the night. At the main terminal, I checked with Flight Service to see what the weather was between Spokane and Grangeville, Idaho.

A security guard led me to the Flight Service Office and told me to refer to him when I decided to leave. He was going off-duty. Without reference to him, the guards wouldn’t let me out on the ramp.

Earlier, when I went to the plane to get the money for the customs’ official, a security guard shined a light on me and asked what I was doing.

The guard who took me to Flight Service told me there had been a rash of bomb threats in the area. There were extra guards, and they were tight.

That was more than 50 years ago. Have things really changed?

I found that out after I had come unglued in the Customs Office. I could really have ended up in jail.

The weather looked good. I explained and complained to them my feelings on the fee and the lack of fuel. I told Flight Service I was going, but couldn’t get fuel. They all told me to be careful. I don’t know if they meant to watch where I went or what I said.

For a couple hours, I walked around the main terminal and practiced self-denial and disbelief. All those plans to beat the fee when I went to Alaska, and they got me on the return. For an hour, I tried to rest in a dark area of the terminal. A cleaning lady banged around the seats with what sounded like a cast iron broom.

At 3:00, I decided to head for Grangeville. The first security guard had told the second one about me, so, when I went to the plane, he took me. He helped me remove the tiedown chains and push the plane to the ramp. When everything was checked, I called ground control on the radio and requested taxi instructions.

There wasn’t much activity, so there was no trouble in terms of heavy aircraft to watch as I taxied to the runway. After the runup, tower cleared me for takeoff at 3:30.

The night air was calm, the weather good. With the altitude I had, I could see many little towns asleep below. I could see their lights, anyway. By the time dawn broke, I was near Cottonwood, Idaho. My destination, Grangeville, was 20 miles ahead, at the base of Mount Idaho.

It was just past 5:00 in the morning when I landed at Grangeville. I tied the 140 and went into the airport lounge, which was left unlocked just for people like me.

The trip to Grangeville was neat. There was a reason — even to the madness — that I had waited until 3:00 to leave Spokane. My intentions were that it would be dawn by the time I ran out of fuel, should I not make Grangeville or lose my way. That way, a landing wouldn’t be as hazardous out on the prairie.

It was a good flight and helped soothe my otherwise travel-weary nerves and body.

The biggest reason for my anger and short fuse was the lack of sleep. I know that about myself. Still, I pushed. The last night in Alaska hadn’t allowed me much sleep.

The couch in Fort Nelson hadn’t been the most comfortable bed.

Another reason could have been the tension created from pushing myself so far in those two days. I was in the air about 26 hours during those two days.

That is more than three days’ worth of flying time in a commercial operation.

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.