Page 18 - I have lost my sense of time

The sun is sinking below the horizon. No real land marks to guide me. So, to look at the chart is almost useless. To turn right or left is almost as useless. I continue north by northeast. Getting home has taken over me. The light colored grasses are changing to dark colored grasses. The blue gray sage brush has changed to an even darker gray. There are no more shadows. The sun is down below the horizon now. The sun, like the compass, is like a light house that helps the ship's captains guide the ship from the shallows. I am for sure out of landmarks even though this country is more familiar than where I have been. I haven't considered time as measured by a clock. I guess I only considered time by the shades of sunlight from dawn to sunset. Now, there is no more daylight. I have lost my sense of time. The only landmark that will let me know that I am in Montana is Highway 212, a two lane highway that runs from Belle Fourche to Miles City. I can hardly see the compass, but I can still see the landscape below the airplane. If a dirt road would show up, I think I could still see it. Visibility to where I am going is narrowing fast, colors from day into night have changed as though controlled by a rheostat. Still, there is almost enough light that if I can get to the highway I would see it. There is just enough contrasting color to tell me if I am turning left or right. There is a dim light ahead, probably a radio tower. I will head for it as it is not too far to the right of my course. It is my guiding light. I think to myself that if something should happen and I accidentally wreck this airplane that someday when this light goes out that whoever should be the one to replace the light might accidentally find my airplane. Now, I see a car light. The angle I see it from the nose of the plane lets me think it could by Highway 212. If I can only get to it before complete darkness sets in...

Page 17 - I won't make it on up to Ekalaka

     As I get close enough, I tell the attendant that I would like to get the airplanie filled with gas as soon as possible because I would like to get on up to Ekalaka, MT before dark. He tells me that it is doubtful that I will make the Montana border by night fall. He informs me that after the sun sets night fall comes quickly in the fall and winter months, and that it will probably be dark by about six or close thereafter.
     The airplane is serviced. My bill fold is handy as he tells me the cost of the gas. I have the amount to the penny. During all of this, I have remained sitting in the airplane. Paying out the window. Sort of like being at a drive thru.
     After I have paid, I ask if there is anything between the gas pit and the direction I'm pointed.  I am going to start my take off at the gas pit. He looks at me funny and tells me, "It's all yours. Go for it!" I hollered out my thanks as he propped the plane. It started on the first try. I wave as I carefully line the plane up in a direction that is clear of any possible surface debris. I ease the throttle forward as Piper, continental, Champion and Lewis all come together in crescendo as the airplane begins it roll to the northeast.
     In seconds the plane is airborne. About 15 degrees is the compass heading. Land marks are few and a shallow climb to get all the airspeed and ground speed available. I leveled off about fifty feet above the ground. A few minutes after leaving Gillette, the Powder River is under my left wing tip. I'm still in the short grass country. Occassionaly, I see deer or antelope and a few head of cattle scattered here and there. Flying so low I can see long shadows from the sage brush and can almost smell it as I near home. I suppose the attendant was right after all. It will be sun down long before I make the Wyoming Montana border. For sure, I won't make it on up to Ekalaka that day as it will be dark.

Page 16 - I need all the daylight I can get

     I'm at Casper, a more accommodating facility. I land and take on fuel and again, and I am on my way.  It is nearly 4pm when I depart for Gillette, Wyoming. The cast afternoon sunlight tells me I need to make good time on this leg of the trip.  Again, I am blessed. I follow a highway up. "Fly little airplane. Fly."
     A few minutes after leaving Casper, I find myself in almost familiar territory. To the west of the route and near the route are the head waters of the Powder River that I surveyed in Montana and to the right of the route is the Belle Fourche River that will eventually flow through Bell Fourche, South Dakota. "Fly little airplane. Fly as fast as you can!"
     The sun is getting toward the left wing tip as a I skim about a hundred feet above the ground. At times, 5000 ft is indicated  on the altimeter.  I see deer and antelope here and there as I race across the short grass country.  I think, "Probably excellent sheep country."
     Gillette is in sight. Only a light breeze as I see a runway right in front of me.  I won't even circle as I now need all the daylight time I can get.  The country side glistens. The air is clear. No snow anywhere, but mother nature has turned the green grasses from orange to a near gray.
     My feelings are of exhiliration. Everything seems like it was all preplanned. This voyage is coming together like clockwork. The sun is still by the wing tip. I am ever so close to home and the conclusion of an eleven year old dream. At the same time, it might end a multitude of dreams I have had over the years about this very trip. Dreams where none end up in a successful trip to Ekalaka, Montana.
     It is well that right now I travel alone as far as another person is concerned. They would never understand the anxious moments I have. How could so little mean so much as everything means to me right now? I would like to say "Yes! I did it!" But, I am not home yet. I feel the success of this trip has not really been mine, but of the Holy Spirit. I feel like there will be a day that I bend down on my knees giving thanks and praise and glory to the Lord for what He has done for me.
     Landing at Gillette, the sun is nearer the wing tip than the horizon as I taxi off the runway and on to the ramp where there just happens to be one of the airport attendants standing and directing me to the gas pit.